I was planning a post for today. I actually had pictures selected and everything. Then X-Man played beat the clock with the front door in a desperate attempt at escape. He lost. And now is bleeding from his eye. Which means stitches or ebola. We're waiting at urgent care, he's watching Netflix,  I'm writing. It's almost as if we were home.

Of course he made the mad dash right as I was serving dinner. So I'm hungry and bloody and out of books on my kindle. And I'm very aware that I might have to pin down X-Man while people wave sharp objects near his eye. Stay tuned.

It the kinda day where there are numerous things that X-Man feels the need to cry about, yet none is worth the effort it takes to conjure real tears.  He wanted to watch My Little Ponies, which after a long day of playing outside, seemed reasonable. The father figure told him to come into the living room where he could stream Netflix. X-Man collapsed on the ground wailing “No Fletflix….Plonies!!!!”  Rough life.

It’s also been the kinda day where I show up for Baby’s doctor appointment twenty minutes early, because I am that together. Only to be told by the very polite receptionist “I think Dr. Raj is at our 87^th Avenue location today.” She could have just as easily said “Dr. Raj is always at our 87^th Avenue location, you know, the one closer to your house, and you really should know that seeing you’ve brought various children to him over the last few months.” I am holding Monday responsible.

Other highlights of the day included trying to explain to X-Man why he should just wear underpants. He certainly prefers going to commando, however he also tries to maintain some sense of decorum. In order to enjoy the best of both worlds, he kept trying to pull down his shirt to cover himself. In order to fully clothe himself, he needed to crouch down and pull his shirt over his bent knees. This then made it very difficult to walk. Frustration abounded. Underwear was not a solution. It is still unclear what the solution is, but it is most definitely not underpants.

It just occurred to me that I signed Baba, Baby and Mac up for a sports camp that starts at 8am tomorrow. I regret this choice immensely.  

Welp, X-Man had a nice long nap. He can't open his bedroom door, so I have his sisters listen and when they hear him stirring, they open the door. They opened his door today when I decided he needed to wake up, so he could go back to bed......later. He didn't appear. Further investigating showed that he had locked himself in the closet and fell asleep there. It seems like the thing nightmares are made of, but he appeared refreshed.

We found ourselves back at the dentist's office. I think that X-Man will begin to refer to it as the bank because all mommy does is give them money. I would curse the father figure for the pathetic wussy enamel he has gifted some of the children with, but I've got a bad ticker, of the hereditary kind, so I'll just keep my mouth shut.

Mac had cavities. Between his teeth. Apparently flossing only twice a week caught up with us quickly. He was nervous about everything, and when I explained to him that they would be giving him a shot, he began to cry. The worst kind of for a parent. The "I'm trying to keep it together and I'm opening my eyes really wide because I am going to be brave but one tear slipped out." Ugh. I promised that he could squeeze my hands as hard as he could. That was a mistake.

The boy was remarkable during his shots. He held perfectly still and broke my fingers. The nurse asked him to come back to show other six year olds how to get their shots. He said no.

He didn't get upset until the dentist started working away on his tooth. He gave muffled yelps and squeezed my hand and the tears rolled down his face. The dentist was perplexed as children don't tend to freak out AFTER they've been numbed. The dentist would try to talk to him and he would be too upset to talk except to say "you've put a hole my tooth." Well yes, and if you'll hold still she'll patch it up.

He reacted even more forcefully with the second tooth. He finally yelled "IT HURTS!" And this is when we learned that Mac processes Novocaine faster than anyone the dentist had ever seen before. She was nervous to give him more, as he's a little kid. I was certain if the boy said he hurt he did, and my hands seemed to agree. He was explaining it wasn't the noise of the drill, his tooth hurt when I observed that he was talking without drooling. And for as much Novocaine and he should have in his system, he shouldn't be able to talk at all.

So he got some more. It was the right choice. He was perfectly still and even let go of one of my hands. I had scoffed when the father figure said that Novocain always wore off too quickly, but he might have been on to something. By the time we got home, the boy was back to normal completely, he said his mouth didn't feel funny anymore.

Looking back at the last time he had fillings, back when he was four (thank for nothing no enamel father figure) he used nitrous oxide to help take the edge off. And yet, even with the nitrous, he had been.....not relaxed. Poor guy, I think I see why now.

Probably scarred him for life. Although he nonchalantly declined any and all prizes declaring them "For little kids."

With the end of the school year approaching, both for the kids and for me, it's been rather crazy here. So, naturally, Cinco and X-Man decided to sprout runny noses, of the super gross variety. And scream like banshees when their faces are clean.

Due to X-Man's tiny, and possibly non existent, sinuses, he is on daily medication. The kind you squirt up his nose. Yeah, the pharmacist was very helpful when he said "You're trying to get this in a two year old so......good luck." The thrashing and the snot and the screaming are a good start to my day.

In addition, Cinco believes that she should get some as well. Because X-Man does. And that's all the reason she needs. In an attempt to squelch one meltdown, I indulged her desires. Mostly. I touched the medicine to her nose, dispensing none, but keeping the experience similar to what she had seen with her older brother. Apparently we were all taking our clues from him because she immediately dropped to the floor screaming. And thrashing. And feeling abused. Similar to the carrying on she engaged in when I first refused her demands.

I can't win for losing.

We were back at the doctor’s again. X-Man had a great time. As it had been a long time since we had been there, a whole six months, we went through checklists….again. No, X-Man doesn’t have arthritis, no X-Man doesn’t use a walker…..no, no, no. This delighted X-Man greatly, and he clued in pretty quickly that the answer to everything was no and happily bellowed the answers. Which helped convince everyone that checking his hearing might be the right choice.

X-Man was having a meltdown in the bathroom today. I didn’t let him keep my tablet while sitting on the potty. We tried that before and it ended up with my tablet in a pile of rice for a week. Of course, where X-Man is, Cinco is too. And before long both were screaming. X-Man in rage, Cinco in solidarity. As I tucked the tablet away, the shrieking got louder and more passionate and angry. I momentarily panicked as it occurred to me that X-Man might have turned his rage on Cinco. She was getting more shrill while X-Man was bellowing even louder.  Judging myself and my folly by leaving the children unattended, I stumbled upon the source of their rage. They had managed to lock themselves in the bathroom, which was its own source of potential catastrophe, but fortunately did not involve any blood drawing.

Bad mommy me had to laugh the scene in the bathroom. They sounded as if I had canceled Christmas and made them allergic to candy.  They were both pounding on the not latched door, with their heads. Knowing my children as I do, X-Man was leading and Cinco was imitating. As I gently pushed it open, I was greeted by snotty, tear stained faces. Complete over reactions to the situation. They were so hysterical that X-Man had forgotten to climb up on the sink and turn the water on and Cinco had forgotten to empty out the cabinet. Somehow it’s comforting to know that I still have that much influence over their lives. Or that they think so anyway.

The antics are dying down around here. Mostly because X-Man has acquiesced to using the potty and the weather is beautiful, which means everyone is outside as much as possible. It’s almost as if they’re gearing up for the other shoe to drop.

X-Man has a fever. Despite Mac’s best efforts, cowbell is NOT helping. Cinco just turned a year old, which means it was this time a year ago that X-Man began trying to squeeze as many ear infections as possible into one month. Yet again, his nose is pouring and his breathing is uneven and his eyes are teary. I am wondering if the poor boy has the worst allergies ever.

I had to determine how high his fever was. I don’t like to give medication until it reaches a certain temperature, just because. I had to take his temperature under his arm. This isn’t my first choice, but as my thermometer that takes readings on the temple has grown legs and walked off. I don’t blame it. But I was reduced to shoving an old school--well not that old the read out is still digital--thermometer under his arm. X-Man denounced this violation of his human rights loudly and with prejudice. I considered informing him of another way to gauge his internal temperature, but the amount of effort he put into trying to remove the thermometer from his armpit convinced me to leave well enough alone.

The boy is sick and laying in my lap. Although he is not a small child, he is a snuggle bug….especially when not feeling well.

Ah Easter. The mix of candy and outside play seems like a good one. What better way to burn off the sugar? But it also brings interesting moments of dread. Like when you discover your potty training son’s dirty jeans on the floor of the bathroom. Covered in dirty, there was an alarming crusty, yucky something all over the seat of them. I cringed and investigated further, only to determine that X-Man had sat on and melted a large quantity of chocolate. My relief was quickly replaced by horror….”did he sit and ruin his chocolate rabbit? That was good quality chocolate there! What a waste!” At least I didn’t attempt to salvage any of the squished chocolate. Although it had been that kind of day.

Today I was THAT mom. My son walked into his swimming lessons wearing only his swimming trunks and rubber rain boots. Both were wise choices, he was going swimming and it was raining. However, that’s not typically the image I like to project to the general public. It wasn’t due to lack of trying. I told Mac to get ready for swimming. I was trying to get dinner prepped and kids settled and heard Mac head out to the car. I was pleased that he was down with the drill. I hopped in the car and took off. I strongly recommend checking your children’s appearance in the rearview mirror BEFORE pulling out of the driveway. Otherwise you find yourself walking into a public building with your son, bare chested with dinosaur rain boots on his feet. And I was surprisingly ambivalent about it.

Most parents were too busy caring for their own children to seem to notice. However one mother did cast a disapproving look my way. I met her eyes and said “It’s earth day. We’re reducing our laundry needs.”

Go ahead. Judge me now.  

It's been a rough few days. Although I have been able to experience true stay at home motherhood. Just a little stir crazy now. There's only so much I can accomplish through online car shopping. It would also be helpful if the father figure wasn't working past car dealer closing times. Although, I am a fan of the overtime. It's helpful for the budget. Which has been blown by the sudden and yet expected demise of our vehicle. It was just supposed to hold out for another nine months. I mean, what's the point of a budget if everyone doesn't play by the rules.

Part of the roughness of my life currently, is Cinco is still considering getting whooping cough or something. She keeps practicing, mostly from the hours of midnight to 5am. The father figure has most helpfully moved himself to sleeping on the couch. Well, more accurately, he keeps falling asleep on the couch and then decided not to join the fun of partying with Typhoid Cinco. But last night, her hacking woke him up as well. He actually walked into the bedroom and asked "Is she ok? Do you hear her coughing?"

For the record, I was sitting up in bed....holding the baby. The father figure had nothing else to offer and so stumbled back out to the couch. My master plan is to fall asleep on the couch first tonight.

MOM! Would you PLEASE explain to Mac why cockroaches are bad!!!" There are tapestries that I really, really don't want unravel. But I don't trust Baby and Mac alone anywhere. I eemphasized my lack of knowledge of cockroaches due to lack of experience.

Gestated Cinco and X-Man have determined to remain sick for the rest of their lives. At least that's how it feels. Cinco is annoyed by her congestion and appears to hold me personally responsible. X-Man is an Italian male, therefore every illness is the single worst he has ever experienced and he is completely helpless. So much so that he laid outside the bathroom door wailing "help me" . And so I had to carry him back to the couch to watch more Thomas. The couch he has been laying on watching Thomas until I tried to sneak off.

He and Cinco are passed out in my lap. Both are completely uninterested in sharing their space. Fortunately they united in their displeasure and fought off the laptop. So I'm trying to do this while holding them and a phone. It is not easy.

They both smell of garlic. X-Man was holding his ear earlier tonight and saying "ow". And I have a sneaking suspicion that they both have ear infections. So I mixed up some garlic oil and tried dropping that in their ears. It may have helped Cinco, X-Man seems unfazed and Mac wants spaghetti for dinner. Or pizza.


.

The sickness is still with us. I'll spare you the gory details, but there are plenty. Round one was a barrel of monkeys. Round two is living up to expectations.

I survived round two, which did actually surprise me at times. This point it's particularly challenging because X-Man is flying high. Cinco is no worse for wear. Mac is well enough, until he passes out for a two hour nap on the couch. Baby and Baba are down for the count. It's challenging try to juggle their needs while wrangling the healthy active monkeys.

Not that X-Man isn't helping. Baby was laying on the couch, with a cool washcloth on her forehead, some comfort against the fever she was suffering from. X-Man made a break from the dinner table, completely spagettied. He did, however, see fit to grab the cloth off of Baby, wipe his hands and face and then drop it back on her face.

So. There's that.

Santa came. And then the vomit came. My experience over the last several years is that vomit is the price you pay for a visit from Santa. Maybe we have some special reindeer allergy or something. But it's about as regular as St. Nick's visit itself.

It's been a week since I've written. Since then we've hosted a Christmas Eve party, went to Midnight Mass, arranged St. Nick's benevolence, did Christmas, did Christmas at my parents house, cleaned up vomit, watched Baby clean up in a soccer tournament, went to a rehearsal dinner (an hour away from our home), got all my family members of the wedding party to their scheduled locations at the assigned times (unlike the rest of the party....I really need to remember that schedules during weddings are nothing if not fluid) got X-Man, Mac and Cinco and myself dressed and out the door for a wedding over an hour away (the father figure and the older girls were already there, left in two separate caravans) and survived and marathon of a wedding. In case you think I exaggerate, I give you a two hour wedding ceremony. Ok fine, it was an hour and fifty minutes...I rounded. It's impressive that I myself made it through, but considering I had X-Man and Cinco at nap time (the happy couple chose to ignore the memos I sent concerning their wedding choices. I'm still confused as to why they did not factor my needs into their wedding planning.) The father figure was a groomsman, and although both he and my brother in law had a great plan that involved them sneaking off to assist their wives with the fruit of their....well you know, both ended up sitting in the front row sans children. That was until I marched up there and dropped X-Man in the father figure's lap. Much like he had done to me just around three years ago. Not that X-Man wasn't actually being very well behaved, especially as hour two rolled around and he was still napless. However, at some point Cinco figured out that I was not holding her, and that just didn't sit right with the young lady. In the end, X-Man watered my corsage in the drinking fountian while Cinco licked whatever makeup I had still on my face. Just in time for pictures.

Not that the week was over. There was a cocktail hour to head to. And then a formal dinner. And then dancing. And then more vomit. And then a twelve year wedding anniversary. And then more vomit.

This is why I have not written for a week. Lovely as almost every event was in actuality, I hope to never have another week like it again in my life.

I woke the father figure up this morning to ask him what time he had to leave for work. I kinda knew the answer, it was in ten minutes. Then he helpfully informed me that since he had not gotten up earlier, I would have to drive him to work, for the fourth week in a row. Apparently, he was willing to try to drive his car if he had enough time for it to die and me come bail him out. But now, not so much. He's also decided he wants to buy a new car, but as we have spent ALL THE MONIES on fixing the paperweight in the driveway....ugh.

So that's how my Monday started.

Delving into the day, a student failed to call. But don't worry, I wasn't left without things to do!

While I waited for a student to call, X-Man removed all the bows from the newly wrapped packages under the tree. Cinco then ate them. Baba yelled at him and he head butted her. I told them to eat breakfast. X-Man yells "A Homas??!!!?" So I turn on Thomas the Tank Engine on to buy me five minutes.

As I was mixing up Baby's medicine that she needs to take with breakfast, I heard Cinco gagging. I run out to the living room. There, sitting in front of the TV are X-Man and Cinco. X-Man has a bowl of Honey Nut Ohs. I don't know where he got them. He has put of pile of these large cereal pieces in front of Cinco. They are attempting to eat them together. Cinco is not succeeding. I grab the ohs, Cinco starts crying and I try to tell X-Man that he is a very nice big brother to share, but Cinco can't eat these. I am picking up the cereal off the floor, meanwhile Cinco crawls over to the table where I put the bowl and begins to eat again. And gag.

Ok, death averted. Baba comes up "Mom the toilet won't flush right." Ok, go investigate. Hmm....previous owners gerryrigged it with a safety pin, that has now rusted through. Ok. Hmm...this in going to have to wait. Baby is yelling at me that she's hungry and wants to eat. Need to finish mixing her medicine. And hand out vitamins. Why aren't you all sitting at the table like I said to. Here have some vitamins. Yes yes X-Man that's my coffee cup. Thanks for drinking out of it. Oh you're offering it to me now, thanks. Have a vitamin.

I know it's a gummy vitamin, but you only get the one. Stop screaming for more. Where's Cinco....oh you're crawling up the stairs, while eating a hairbrush. Wow, you got skills. You're going to sit in the swing. Who did I just bump into? Personal space people! Oh it's X-Man, with my coffee cup...again. How did you get that? Thanks, I know it's yum! I also know I had more in it than is now....great. Now what was I doing?

Why are you bellowing Mac? Oh, there's no soap in the bathroom? There is too. I filled up the dispenser three days ago, how much do you people use? But I really don't think I should complain about copious soap usage. Of course, if the father figure wasn't allergic to olive oil, I could use my friend's handcrafted soaps, that last forever....but NOOOO......

Wait, why are Baby and Baba the only ones watching Thomas the Tank Engine? We're turning this off. Clean up the breakfast dishes and start school. Oh and figure out which presents the pile of bows in front of the tree go with. Why is X-Man on the counter? Ah, you want more vitamins. No, not going to happen. Go ahead and yell, but no.

Why is Cinco almost out of her swing? What do you mean she knows how to get out? Since she figured she can pop the tray up using her knees...great. Well let's put her here in a pile of toys, that should hold her attention for ninety seconds. Why is Baby crying? How did you hit your head? Oh, spinning around in the kitchen when you were supposed to be cleaning it. Of course. Why is there water on the floor? Ah, X-Man finished his drink and threw the rest on the ground. How very Lonely Island of him.

You know, instead of yelling "Mommy you need to see this" just tell me what it is. Why is my coffee all over the ground? Why is Gestated Cinco splashing in it? I'll answer your math question while I'm mopping this up Baba. And yes Mac, today is the sort of day that you need to wear clothes.

That's a good question to ask Baba, oh look Cinco found the Christmas tree again! What X-Man, you need to go potty? Ok good boy let's go! Let me just move Cinco away from the tree, oh she's got a good handful of the tree. I'm coming X-Man! Please take your pants off before getting on the potty. Whatever Cinco, just don't eat anything.

Yay! You went potty!!! Good work. And now everyone's going to come admire your work. Yeah, that's what this bathroom needed. Oh look, Cinco decided to get in on the fun. Alright, let's get you some candy X-Man, and Cinco is so horrified by the state of the bathroom she's taken it upon her self to get all the cleaning products out.

Should I be ambitious and put underwear on X-Man, sure why not? That's can't back fire on me. Let's settle down in the office and get going on school. Ok Mac and Baby are doing their math, everything ok. I should probably check on X-Man. And make sure the kitchen was cleaned. While I'm out here I should start a load of laundry. Why is Cinco screaming? Oh look she got her head stuck in the legs of a chair in the school room. Wow, how do I get you out of here without hurting you more? Hmm....why is X-Man screaming?

Oh yeah, I turned off Thomas a half hour ago. What's that smell....oh you pooped your underwear. You were sitting on the potty ten minutes ago!!!!! Back to the potty, pass Cinco in the hall. Remember she's not in the school room anymore, need to check her quickly.....

X-Man stay on the potty, mommy be right back. Cinco where are you. Oh you're under the kitchen table.....with a pile of cereal. Where'd that come from? What do you mean X-Man just peed on the floor? He's sitting on the potty. Oh, no, he followed me to the kitchen, because Cinco was getting into his stash of cereal. And peed on the floor.

Mac where did you get the doorknob to a cabinet? Took it out of Cinco's mouth. X-Man gave it to her. Great.

Wait...is that sharpie on my brand new hardwood floor?

That's the first hour of my day.......

I can't be the first mom to dig her daughter's under armor out of the hamper, spray it down with Febreeze and and deem it "good enough." In all fairness to me, I'm fairly certain that it was indeed clean and thrown in the hamper as part of "cleaning our room." I felt minimal guilt.

Halloween was anti climactic. I got my fair share of  "five kids? how do you do it?" I pointed to my caravan and said "All this chocolate? They only think it's for them." People laughed as if they thought I was joking.

Mac was done about ten minutes in. He started complaining and wanted to call it a night. X-Man also threw in the towel early. He decided that he should be carted around in the wagon. However, he also wanted candy. So he would shake his pumpkin at me and yell "HANDY MOM!" I did not oblige.And the X-Man determined that he didn't need any candy, or at least his need did not override his desire to stay nice a warm in the wagon.

And, as always, my best laid plans were put asunder by X-Man. I had every intention of taking his Halloween candy hostage, the ransom being potty usage. As is often the error, this plan was based upon a faulty assumption. I assumed that X-Man would want to eat his candy. Nope. His Halloween treasures are to be carried all over the house, in his orange plastic pumpkin. They are to be admired. But not removed from the pumpkin. Not even as a reward.

I made the mistake of offering him a piece, and he collapsed on the floor wailing until I put it back in the pumpkin. Then he took off running with loot in hand. Five days later, he hasn't eaten any yet. I can't shake the feeling that he knew about my master plan and had countered.

Oh, and this weekend I took Cinco into the Urgent Care. We left with a diagnosis of "fussy baby." Well, in all fairness that's what was listed under "symptoms." You would think after all X-Man's experiences with ear infections I would be able to actually recognize one. But no. I just haul babies to the doctor and say "she's crying. Fix her."

Cinco is doing everything she can to keep me from writing tonight. I guess that's what happens when you get shots while teething. Misery loves company and all that jazz.

It fashion that is becoming alarmingly common for Miss Cinco, she made it very clear what she thought of the whole going to the doctor routine. She made her statement in neon yellow squishy smelliness. X-Man, on the other hand simply continued his routine behavior while at the doctor. Not cooperative. When the doctor asked him if he talked, X-Man defiantly announced "nuhun...not talk." Complete with a fierce frown, in case the message wasn't clear. Meanwhile Mac added the constant stream of consciousness "I'd like a sticker now. Which one should I get? I saw one I want. I'd like a sticker now." He left with a minion sticker.

A passing thought, the father figure is using the vacuum again. I bought it after we moved in and he has, I am not so ashamed to say, used it more often than I have.Apparently the extra tools appeal to men. I'm thinking about writing the company to encourage them to to add this fact to their advertising. Or maybe it's just that vacuuming hardwood floors is more rewarding or something. Whatever it is, I'm loving it.

There is a slight chance that I am overreacting to a circumstance. Or something. Some very pushy alarm company salesmen showed up in the door. They really wanted to come in, and indeed tried to. Every warning bell I had was going off. I was so uncomfortable that I wasn't even snarky. And that's certainly something. I considered telling them that we had contracted the services of Misters Smith and Wesson. Only I'm not sure what kinda of weapons those are or if they are still made. Nor did I want to throw anything out there that would attract unsavory characters to my abode again, searching for items that most certainly do not belong to them. I read some stories about break ins that occurred in town, after being contacted by "alarm" salesmen. And, in a fit of Internet stupidity, I read the comments after the articles. Mostly from alleged neighbors describing door to door alarm salesmen, with pushy demeanors.

That being said, googling the name of the company led to several complaints about their sales staff, including repeating the exact same spiel. Which should have set my mind at ease. But it didn't. Not even my second glass of wine did. I'm bracing for a break in at 6:30 am, as their modus operandi dictates. If I am indeed overreacting, which I am certainly hoping I am, I will share the story of my mostest greatest overreaction to date. Which is extremely embarrassing, but also, I'm afraid, rather amusing to others. So, if I'm not robbed in the next few days.......

Speaking of over reaction, I have learned that I am not to post sweet anecdotes about dearly beloved family members on facebook. No matter what I say, other family members will freak out and call.Thereby spilling the beans that I related a story that shows how the whole world sees her the way we do. The amount of trouble my siblings get me into even now. I wish I hadn't wanted to grow up so much!

Baby sidled up to me last night and asked "Do you use our names on your blog?" First of all, I was not aware that she knew on the existence of my blog. Second of all, she asked in such a way that I knew she knew the answer. I responded "no." "That's what I thought. Is my name Baby?" "Yes, how'd you know?" "Oh I read it on your phone." Hmmmm........

We discussed the benefits of internet privacy and how they will all thank me that I use aliases. "But I still think you should use Daddy's name." Somehow, poor schmuck doesn't have the same ring to it.

It's been three days, so clearly X-Man was due for another doctor visit. The father figure tagged along and got to partake in the fun. First on the agenda, weigh the X-Man. Apparently over is not a weight class for toddlers. X-Man recoiled from the sight of a panel in the floor as if it were a bath. The father figure and I each took an arm and tried to swing him on, with enthusiastic "whees!!!" He refused to touch down, keeping his legs tucked underneath his chin. Next attempt involved the father figure holding him under the arms pits and lowering him on to the scale. I have never seen anyone straddle the scale, refusing to touch it in any manner and I've seen all the seasons of The Biggest Loser. But straddle he did, bracing his arms on the wall and locking his knees. The pregnant me (who is not in existence for the record) could have taken some lessons from this fellow.

Since we basically still live at the doctor's, they decided that they could use a previous weight and continue on. X-Man may still be in diapers, but he has his dignity and there is no lady in the world who will know his actual girth.

The result of this story is that I don't know how much X-Man weighs but I do know that he disdains strawberry flavored antibiotics with the same intensity as banana flavored ones or unflavored. He can also projectile spit them farther than I can dodge.

In case you were counting, this was visit 1643 to the doctor in the last two months. This time it was Cinco and a rash. Her great grandfather was prone to weird skin things, not my grandfather, we’re normal, so I get things checked out. Better safe than sorry. I was unaware of the various sensitivity issues that ran deep in the father figure’s gene pool when I signed up to lifeguard it. I recommend blood tests and various gene therapies . And then a pre-nup that dictates that if is YOUR weirdo familial quirks that are necessitating the doctor trip, you have to take the progeny.

As we were walking into the doctor’s office, Mac started asking me questions about Cinco’s rash. He determined, based upon the red color of the rash, that it was either lava or fire. And that life wouldn’t be all that bad in the only thing in the world was volcanoes…..that and people. And the people were “lava proof.”

Mac cut to the chase when the doctor came in.

“This is our baby and she has a rash and it’s either lava or fire.” At this point I asked Mac “What part of this is sitting still and being quiet?”

The doctor was not convinced that it was either fire or lava. She went with yeast.  Mac pointed out that yeast is not red. I pointed out that Mac is not quiet.  The doctor conceded this point and explained that yeast is not red but can make things red. Mac agreed and observed “Well she’s not breathing fire.”

So Mac concurred with the doctor and decided that Cinco has a yeast infection under her chin. This is a new one for the family annals of health. In the interests of full disclosure, it’s actually under her second chin, soon to be third. Because this is the United States of America, where you can have as many chins as you want. 

You know it’s a Monday when you realize the highlight of your day is something that would have made you cry when you graduated college or high school or whenever the world was still was still your oyster and you still dreamed of starry eyed abandon. Because in no playbook or commencement address or year book platitudes was it a possibility of your toddler peeing into a plastic bag the bright spot in your day. And yet, there I was. All I wanted was a little bit of pee in a bag and I could call the day good. At some point in time I will ask, where did it go off the rails? But at this point in time, I’m just trying to hold on to the rails.

My first mistake was setting the alarm in the anticipation of an early morning run. Cinco got wind of that and slept as noisily as humanly possible. Punctuated by moments of intense silence which had convinced me that she had died several times. This left me staring at the clock thinking about how my alarm would go off in fifteen minutes. Then I slept through it. Always the way to start the day.

On my Monday list to do was calling the doctor about X-Man. Again. This time concerning his addiction to water and extensive consumption of dihydrogen monoxide. And of course the only solution was for me to bring all five into the doctor’s office, or as the children call it….home.

They attached a little bag to his manhood and said to wait for him to fill it. It shouldn’t have been a problem; I had just finished describing how often he filled a diaper. And considering how much he was drinking, we most likely had a five minute wait. But in the back of my head I was thinking about our various potty training experiences. Basically, X-Man can watch two full movies while sitting on the potty and do exactly jack. He will then walk five steps and pee on the carpet. The boy has a bladder of steal when he feels like it.

He felt like it. I drove all over the county, wandered some stores, went to soccer practice, took the boy to Starbucks. He emptied every sippy cup in the car and downed some old coffee as well. I had

reached the point of willingness to pay the caffeine piper just to get the stupid sample. To no avail.

Every time I took off his diaper to check the little bag stuck to his skin, X-Man would apprise me of the situation “uhuh pee pees.” Say what you want kid, you are clearly ready to potty train.  Gestated happily demonstrated three different times what exactly it was I was looking for. The third time, she did so with such gusto it was clear that she had forgotten that Baby had removed the wipes from the car, because those were clearly the only wipes anywhere to bring to the father figure earlier that day, and then did not put them back. So not only “uhuh pee pees” but also “uhuh wipes” with a whole lot of “yep poop.”

And so that’s how I came to be sitting on the floor of a bathroom in the doctor’s office, running water in the sink, watching the minutes tick away  until closing time for the lab. X-Man, sans pants, was running back and forth, maximizing the reverberation the room allowed. To Mac’s growing consternation, no one was understanding his explanation of things “His body is not broken, he’s walking just fine. The only thing broken about him is his crying and he’s not even crying right now.” Cinco demonstrated her abilities to empty her body orally as well.  Baby just looked irritated and said “Why are we still here?”

To add insult to injury, I’m pretty sure that this is actually all an ear/nose/ throat issue and this whole test will indicate that everything is normal. That is, provided I can actually get a sample, and get that sample back to the lab within an hour. While hauling five kids.

  On a side note, at the park, while waiting for Baba to finish soccer practice, I saw a mother whose gestating cinco came with a matching seis. I think my Monday was probably better than hers. 

Gestated Cinco ceased gestating almost seven weeks ago. So that means it’s time to get serious about the whole exercise thing again. I exercised fairly religiously up until eight months, but my body was more than happy to say good bye to the muscles I had maintained and flabby is a state of being once again. So, workouts here we come.

There are perils involved in exercising, add children to the mix, and surviving becomes a feat in itself. After my first girls, I stuck primarily with Pilates. Because I was in my early twenties and bouncing back was actually a reality. I have left that place in life. The girls were considerate enough to nap during my exercise time. And if they did have to join me, it was a true partnership. Baba especially likes to lie next to me and partake in the various stretches. She also gave me all sorts of encouragement, telling me how good I was doing. Now it might sound silly that I appreciated my three year old’s exercise critiques but I did.

Enter Mac. Maybe it was because he was a boy. Maybe it was because I was in my late twenties. But bounce back was left in the past. And weight gain was especially gargantuan.  So I had to exercise.  And do so with a passion. Which I didn’t. Mostly because with three, one starting school and working from home, nap time was work time or collapse time. I exercised, but it was haphazard. This is actually an appropriate description of life at that time.

Then X-Man’s existence became known. I broke the news to the father figure by telling him that he had better get the treadmill into the house because I wasn’t about to become the Godzilla of incubators. I tend to cut to the chase when it’s important. No cutesy pregnancy test gimmicks for me.

Up unto that point, exercise consisted of me doing some work out while Mac assisted. Lay on your back on the floor? Why sure, and add a two year old to your stomach. Standing on one leg? Let’s use the other one as a chin up bar. Downward dog? You mean, super awesome tunnel don’t you? Child’s pose? Or mountain on which to reenact the iconic Rocky scene.

So I had to crank up my efforts while dodging Mac’s. And that was easier said than typed. And considering that I had to stop typing three times to retrieve Gestated Cinco’s binky, that’s saying something. I could get up at six am; Mac would get up at 6:05. I would wait until bedtime at night; Mac would be unable to sleep. And really, really need to be with me. I had begun to walk 2.5 miles a night on the treadmill and Mac thought that his dinosaurs should walk with me. And cars, there should be cars. He also thought that my resistance band should be used as a slingshot or Baby would harness him and run or all three of them would play red rover with it, hurling each other across the living room. My weights were instruments by which to see who could crush a sibling’s foot the worst.  It ended up not so much the exercising that helped me through X-Man’s pregnancy but rather the chasing a commandeering my own equipment from his siblings that kept the pounds at bay.

After X-Man was born and those baby pounds did slip off easily, I committed myself to exercise bigger and better. I invested heavily in Jillian Michaels DVDs and set about to be awesome. My resolve was shaken when Mac wandered in and observed for a few minutes. He then wandered off, commenting “You’re losing mom.”  I also learned the hard way that if you are developing mastitis, doing “30 day Shred” will spread the infection like wildfire. FYI.

The father figure was helpful himself. He would pass through, listen to me talk all sailor-like to Jillian and the offer “Oh, that’s not that hard.” I demurely panted pack “It’s not hard if you’re sitting on the couch dude.” 

It’s all about teaching my kids about healthy body image. Or it’s ok to be a grown person who cries.

I think that 2013 is trying to kill me. I don’t know why, despite what I write here, I really am a nice person. At least I intend to be. And I don’t get what this particular year has against me, but there’s some serious hating going on.

Not everybody is as aware of everything that Starbucks does. I am. So I have been taking advantage of the half price Frappuccino’s this week. And sharing the wealth with my progeny. It’s been fun. So yesterday, I took Sir Cranky-Pants, and by that I mean X-Man, to get a strawberry one. X-Man is my eater, and he had to sit in a hot car for an hour and a half waiting on Mac, Baba and Baby, and he’s been sick. So what better for a mother to do than load him up with sugar.

X-Man enjoyed his first few gulps and then he wanted me to taste. So I did. But apparently I did it wrong, because he kept thrusting the cup in my face, with the straw up my nose. Which might have been the intention. I finally took the cup from him, because my nose needed a break, but no melt down occurred. Rather he turned all his attention on my cup of water. And polished that off without a second thought to the treat. I’m an awesome mom. I buy my kids sugary treats and they choose water. I should win on like ten different levels.

X-Man’s been sick since Cinco stopped gestating. So it’s been hard for him to adjust to mommy not always able to hold him immediately. He still is running fevers and breaking out in rashes, and three trips in one week to the doctor haven’t helped resolve anything. He’s angry and opinionated. He’s taken to hitting and biting me. Mostly when I tell him no, or put him down to pick up his younger sister.  He bit my leg in retaliation and was shocked, shocked I tell you, be find himself reprimanded. He collapsed in a heap of wailing, leaving me to wonder why  even thought I was the one who hadn’t bitten anyone and I was the one feeling guilty. And overwhelmed with the desire to pick up my little X-Man and soothe him, which outraged Gestated Cinco who would have bitten me if the thought has occurred to her.

X-Man has been a terror and I am about ready to ship him off to reform school. But then, as I was sitting in the doctor’s office for the fourth time in a week, I watched him scratch his sister’s head, as she slept her baby carrier. Not a “you told me no” type of scratch, but the gentle stroking that I often do to his own head. I started to scratch his head, which cause him to snuggle closer to me while doing on Gestated.

It was a beautiful moment. One that ended when I told X-Man that he couldn’t stick his finger up my nose while scratching his sister’s head. If I had thought about it, I would have just left it at “don’t stick your fingers up my nose”, but I was distracted by the head butt and collapsing onto the floor in a heap to wail away. Which might explain why he can’t get healthy?

If I had let him actually empty out the contents of the garbage can, all would have been well. But as the crazy lady with five kids who seems to live at the doctor’s office, I figure keeping up appearances was more important. That would be the appearance of not being moved by the immense tragedies in my son’s life. 

It’s hard to blog and nurse. And I’m all about the nursing because Gestated Cinco loves to eat all evening and sleep all night. Yeah, not going to rock that boat.  

Some things I’ve learned over the last couple of days……

X-Man’s doing all he can to make sure that his shirts do not suffer the same fate as his ears. He does this by liberally sharing his antibiotics with his clothing.

There are several suicidal deer in the area. I am not an enabler, although I  have been sorely tempted.

Mac’s shoulders are perpetually dirty because they’re where he wipes his face. For whatever reason. Also, the father figure has been caught wiping X-Man’s nose with his (X-Man’s) shirt.

Mac’s has been very politely sneezing in everyone’s faces, to avoid Gestating Cinco’s face.

Mac’s told me that he likes to hold doors open for me “to be nice.” He also likes to make mad dashes for the automatic doors and stand in the middle of the doorway “to open it for you.”

X-Man has taken to referring to himself as “baby.” And he’s still feeling under the weather, so occasionally 

I’ll find him sitting alone, pitifully whimpering about “baby mama baby na na.” It’s enough to make me give him all the cookies I can find. I own my pushoverness.

Taking five children to get your tires aligned is not as horrible as you might think. I still never want to do it again.

I admitted to another mom yesterday that at the moment I will settle for just being “not evil mom.” That seems impossibly out of reach these days.

I should apologize to the older lady at the doctor’s yesterday. But when you come stick your “real life” fake baby doll in my face because she looks so much like my real life real baby, I might exclaim “ew.” But it’s not actually passing judgment on your odd habit, and the fact that you have a stroller for your doll, at the doctor’s, but that I was a little taken aback. Maybe a bit more personal space next time.  Maybe don’t say “this is my baby” because I will actually think you are talking about a baby. Like real. Without weirdly painted on eyebrows, because honestly that’s all I really noticed. Well that, and you were carrying a doll, and showing everyone. It’s weird I tell you. 

Who has two thumbs and just now realized that X-Man has a double ear infection. Well, not so much realized, but figured something was wrong enough to warren a trip to Urgent Care. Side note, Tuesday evening is an excellent time to visit Urgent Care, if you don’t want to spend five hours waiting.

X-Man has definitely been off his feed. Rather literally, which is always a sign that something is wrong with the boy. He’s been whiney and cranky, which I was thinking might be related to Gestated Cinco.  Just yesterday, instead of his typical MAMAMAMAMAMA in my general direction, he walked up with his arms out and yelled “Mama, mine.”

But when he spent the hour at the playground sitting in my lap, I figured something was wrong. Poor little kid. He’s not unhappy about his sister, he’s unhappy with his mother. Whoops. Should have known my sweet easy going little boy needed antibiotics, on top of the extra attention I thought he was craving.

So that’s my motherhood fail for today. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d try to figure out how Mac got jelly smeared all over his pants while trying to eat his sandwich. It truly looks like he took the sandwich apart and face planted the bread on his lap. Which is actually a possibility with him.

Tomorrow I take all five in to get the alignment of the car fixed. Oh the story is writing itself.