As we are approaching the end of the year and Christmas is fast approaching, it was time to arrange Christmas cards. A portrait studio was having a decent sale, so, actually being rather on top of things, I went ahead and made an appointment. I even bought X-Man a shirt and Gestated Cinco a sweater in the grey and blue color combo I was working with.

The clothing was where my control began and where it ended.

I scheduled the appointment late in the day to accommodate futsal schedules. It also ensured that X-Man got a nap, and therefore, one would hope, be cooperative. We got there just a few minutes late and waited and waited. They were running behind, as per usual. X-Man was getting restless, so we went for a walk and observed the “mis-mas” decorations that were up. X-Man was very impressed. And he was completely uninterested in returning to the photo studio. He expressed his displeasure very vocally.

If X-Man was going to be forced to return to the studio, it would be on his terms. His terms included hanging out in the photography room itself, never mind that others were using it. Again, he was very vocal in his displeasure. And physical. The concept of restraining him was degrading. At least in his own mind.

And so it was under these circumstances that the Christmas photo session began. X-Man was annoyed at life. Cinco was only interested in eating my chin and not having her nose wiped and Baby was crying. See, I made her button up her sweater, so that she was wearing it the way it was intended to be worn. Quite cruel and unreasonable on my part. I know. Just ask X-Man, I was being cruel all over the place.

In my focus on keeping X-Man corralled, and in a passable mood, I forgot to instruct Mac on how to behave. Mac is a good kid who wants me to tell him he did a good job. I’ve learned that if I clearly spell out my expectations for him, he will almost always measure up. He knows what I mean when I tell him “Don’t be silly.” But I didn’t remember to say that.

So there we were, in front of the camera, Cinco focused on chewing on my necklace, X-Man harrumphing, Baby pouting and Mac gleefully repeating “stinky socks!” back to the photographer. As X-Man stopped arching backward, the tone of Mac’s voice registered with me. “Don’t be silly Mac.” The photographer smiled and said “well, it might be a little late for that.” At that, X-Man decided he was completely done with the process and began to bellow so that there was no misunderstanding.

I mentioned that I wanted to individual shots of Gestated Cinco, so that she didn’t end up with a complex when she discovered that there were plenty of pictures of her siblings and none of her. For some reason, maybe because she had never seen a family of this size or contemplated life with a fifth child, the photographer completely lost it, not unlike X-Man, although she was laughing not crying. “You’re a riot.” I guess she’d been listening to my muttering the whole time.

So I left with some nice pictures of Gestating Cinco, could not find a picture of Mac where he didn’t look high and X-Man, well it’s X-Man. An appropriate glimpse into 2013.

Dare I hope, we've turned a corner? It occurred to X-Man yesterday that using the potty and getting candy is a much more pleasant experience than attacking his mother. Took long enough, but, maybe just maybe. Of course, he has put it together that the more often he uses that potty the more candy he gets. So, I've had to take him numerous times so far this morning. But I'm not complaining.

At some point in this circus, the father figure should actually learn to quit underestimating his children. Cinco keeps threatening to crawl, she likes to hang out on her hands and knees and then sort of jump forward. This process takes too much time, so she still ends up army crawling if she's really committed. And she's always really committed. As a result, she's all over the place. And has discovered the stairs. The father figure saw this and commented "She'll be climbing those soon." I responded "I think now is about the time." "Oh no, she can't even stand on her own." And with that Cinco pulled herself upright and the foot of the stairs.

It took her at least five minutes before she figured how to lift her little leg up onto the stair. Then she was stuck. She gave it her best efforts and managed to get her whole body up there, with the exception of her little leg which she was balancing. She couldn't bring herself to lift that last leg. But that won't last long.

Of course I have boys and therefore they are physically incapable of staying out of the drywall dust. I asked the drywaller guy to leave the paper on the floor for protection as I painted. Should of thought it through. X-Man was actually making dust angels. His hair is so thick, he seriously resembles Pig Pen. Clouds everywhere. Fortunately the paper is loud, when small feet hit it. Which means I need to go chase someone down right now. Maybe distract him with the potty.

Have I mentioned that we all have colds and X-Man finds tissues a personal form of torture. I'm waiting for CPS to arrive, called by well intentioned neighbors. I plan asking them to wipe his nose, while keeping him out of the construction zone. And then resting my case. And yes, the white powder hand prints all over me are really and truly dry wall compound.

I was motivated to begin this blog partly based upon reaction to my facebook status updates. They mostly involved Mac's antics as a toddler and people were highly amused by them. At least someone was laughing.

So, I started a blog. And I kept my facebook account, although I admit that I don't update my status quite as often. In fact, I often hold things back for this blog. But, there's enough there that a "bot" was able to create a mash up of various statuses of mine. Everyone was doing it, best reason ever, so I decided to let it access my old posting and see what it came up with. For kicks.

This is what it produced.

"I am not allowed to volunteer too. Sticking with the team called The floor did not need to liberate and not allowed to volunteer too. Sticking with my math book. Baby's response just love karma." 

Yep. Somehow my sister ended up with "Go Irish Beat USC" and I ended up the with that. I guess I post drunk on facebook way more often than I thought. But it does help clarify at least why my children seem to ignore me so much. They can't figure out what the heck I'm talking about. I know see what they typically look at me as if I had three heads. And not one of them attractive.

Apparently I stick with teams and math book. And I have issues with volunteering. I also recognize why I have over 20,000 page views on this blog. They're not coming to laugh WITH me.

Also, X-Man just ran up to me and gave me a hug and a kiss. Which means he peed somewhere that is not a potty.

One day X-Man will be potty trained. I just hope I'm alive to see it. I'll be able to brag to all my friends on bingo at the senior center. Until, I'll continue to live at the mercy of his whims, which seem to be tied to the most inconvenient moments possible. Today I was expect the dude to come and finish the job. He arrived and sat in the driveway, as per usual, finishing his morning cigarette. About that time I heard, "MOOOOOM! X-Man's POOOOOPY!" "Yeah and it stinks too!" Well happy Monday to me. The moment I unleashed X-Man's weapon of mass digestion, the door bell rang. Of course it did. Now, I could have run downstairs to open the door. But I know how that would have ended. Lots and lots of Clorox all over the bedroom. So, I dispatched Mac to tell Baba to please let the drywaller in.


I came downstairs to see Mac at the front window enunciating very loudly "I. DON'T. KNOW. YOU. I. CAN'T. OPEN. THE. DOOR." and Baba calmly unloading the dishwasher. The drywaller guy actually shook Mac's hand, once admittance was granted, and told him "good job." I was still trying to figure out how the whole "go downstairs and tell Baba to let the gentleman I am expecting in" translated to "yell out the window." Oh well.


Painting. It ain't like the movies. It's not fun, you don't look cute in overalls, there's no cute boy to playfully paint the tip of your nose. There are toddlers to help though. All sorts of help. And the father figure was bound and determined not to help. Overtime my gluteus maximus. He could smell the paint a mile away and kept his distance.

Time the nap, it's a tricky game. I knew I needed to go and get paint and supplies for my newly finished walls. However, I knew that I wanted to paint during nap time. I also knew that I wanted to get some work done on school and I wanted to spare myself some hassle. I could leave with breakfast dishes still on the table and the kids would start asking for lunch immediately. Plus, the sheet rock guy was still there. I could leave after he left, but Cinco was sleeping, fitfully, with a stuffy nose, so that sleeping baby was going to lie. I was hoping to time things right, just after lunch, and get back in time for naps. But never underestimate X-Man's ability to sleep wherever. And his determination to continue sleeping into the store. I have lost count of the number of times I've had to transfer his totally limp body into a shopping cart basket and watch him sprawl out and make himself at home.

So this meant no painting during nap time. But it did not mean no painting. I'm dying to finish off the house so I tackled the job. I only had to chase X-Man out a couple of times. He only stuck his hands in the paint once. His siblings sat slack jawed being entertained by minions, so successfully that they didn't notice that the ONE thing they were supposed to do, keep X-Man out of my way was not happening.

All in all, it was one of my more successful painting experiences. Never one to do a thing half way, I tend to paint when nesting. For the record, there is no nesting involved this time around. And I tend to paint during nap time. Back in the peaceful days of Baba and Baby and gestating Mac, I was painting my bedroom a bright cheery yellow. My bedroom was large and it was a multiple day project. The entry way to the master bedroom was next to the girls' bedroom door. Behind which, Baby was allegedly napping.

The phone rang, distracting me and causing me to leave the room. I left mid project, obviously, and was gone less than two minutes. Ya'll know how this is going. Sure enough, I returned to find an entire gallon of yellow paint, suddenly not so cheery, spilled on the beige carpet. And, to add insult to injury, a trail of little yellow footprints led out of my room, into the hall, which too had beige carpet, and into Baby's room. They stopped right at her bed and there was a little bundle under all of the blanket, desperately trying to sleep.  In case you were wondering, her bedroom carpet was beige too. But fortunately she had pulled all the books off her bookshelf, so several of them were covered in yellow as well. But not her carpet.

I was not amused and spent the rest of my afternoon, and extended nap time or sheltering in place as it were, scrubbing yellow paint out of the carpet. I managed to convince the father figure to not pour turpentine all over the carpet and all in all it was a very successful salvage operation. For some reason, I found the little yellow feet not sentimental at all. Unlike the little blue hand print that Baba left on her bedroom door, back when I was nesting with Baby. Probably because it was just one. Or I was still in the phase where everything a child of mine did was super adorable. Yeah, not there anymore.

I got an email from Baba’s soccer coach today, he thanked me for communicating so well with him and complimented me on how well I juggled everything. I don’t really know what he was talking about. Yes Baba showed up on time to all her games and practices….mostly. Some of those 7:15am show times were more like 7:25am show times. And Baba showed up dressed properly. So kudos to me. I won’t mention that she’s the most self-sufficient of my children and that Mac showed up to one of his games wearing two left shoes….different sized shoes. Why shatter the illusion?

It’s been yet another extremely frustrating day. X-Man can control himself when it comes to the potty, he runs around diaper and accident free. Well mostly. He sat on the potty for twenty minutes this morning. I knew he needed to go. I saw him drip and then work hard at control. I gave it all I could, but Cinco started yelling for me and fractions won’t divide themselves so off the the ignored children I went. So off he got. He took off running and before I could get his diaper on him, he peed on my new finished hard wood floor. I think he hates me.

Although this process hasn’t been easy on him. He has been denied all candy and cookies. And he has chosen to deny himself. But it is crushing his soul. I caught him climbing into the oven today. I guess if he can’t wear a diaper, life’s just not worth living or something. He was outraged and horrified that there were severe consequences to his actions. He kept protesting “No phhphh (his sound for hot) MA!” Oh ok then. He also has been denied the pleasure of watering the kitchen floor, since I locked the water dispenser on the fridge. It’s all good though, he’s just taken to turning on the dishwasher. Which would almost be convenient, but he doesn’t use soap and likes to empty out all the dishes he can reach first. And somehow Cinco always manages to discover them before I do. I’m beginning to remember why I homeschooled at the kitchen table and not in a dedicated room.

Gestated Cinco and X-Man have really been ganging up on me this last week. It started at Church on Sunday. Cinco was giving amens most loudly and had to be ushered out. X-Man was desperate to come with me. I let him, knowing that the whole two babies one mom ratio wasn’t in my favor, but I wanted him to feel like an important person, one who didn’t need to fight for mom’s attention. And therefore would use the potty because he didn’t need to use diaper changes as a time for maternal interaction. (The father figure says I overthink things. I say I change too many diapers). X-Man hung out quietly for a while. He sat sweetly and watch a little boy behind him drive toy cars. The boy offered X-Man one, and he played quietly. But soon I needed to return to the father figure, Cinco was getting more agitated and wanted to take a walk. So I told X-Man it was time to go. X-Man knew what that meant. He grabbed the car and headed out the door, which he opened himself, and took off running. I made him give back the car. And so the rage began.

I dragged a bellowing X-Man out to the vestibule. He had gone completely limp. I set Cinco down on the floor to restrain the thrashing toddler. Cinco saw the leaves that had been tracked in on the floor and was thrilled. X-Man was not silent. A gentleman offered to hold Cinco for me. This gentleman was my brother’s future father in law, and someone I’ve known for decades, so I was comfortable letting him hold my little girl. X-Man questioned the wisdom of this decision. Well, questioned is a rather gentle term. He proceeded to filibuster this choice loudly and physically. He lunged towards Cinco bellowing “No my baby, baby, baby.” He clearly forgot about the lost car and was convinced I had just handed off his sister to some person. And most likely he was next. Or something. The father figure showed up, annoyed at the noise that could be heard church wide, I was annoyed that the father figure had taken so long to show up. X-Man began screaming at his father “mama baby baby no!” His father took Cinco and X-Man’s panic subsided.

 

But it returned today. As I picked up my three older children from class, X-Man decided that it was just too much to walk, and that I should carry him, along with Cinco. Unlike Gestated Cinco, X-Man is heavy and completely uninterested in assisting me in holding him up. I was lugging over fifty pounds of child towards the classroom and found a friend of mine. I handed her Cinco. And I headed to the bathroom with X-Man.

Hysteria city. X-Man was throwing himself against the door. I thought this was a freak out based upon the thought that I might make him use the potty again. Because that’s pretty much his reaction. But when I encountered my friend with Gestated Cinco all became clear. X-Man lunged towards his sister, grabbed her arms and pulled her back to me. The boy is strong! He then frowned upon both myself and my friend. You would think if it was this important that I hold his sister, he might want to help out and get down. But no. I was back to holding nearly sixty pounds of offspring.

When the father figure heard he decided to have X-Man teach a workshop to Mac on how to react when he sees his sisters with boys.

It's been a bad day. A day of ignoring me, It doesn't matter if you're the father figure, my children, my students or contractors. No one listened to me at all today. I wish I was exaggerating to make a point. But I'm not. It was a bad day.

It had its moments. I managed to look like an acceptable mother on the book of faces. Well. the fact that I was on the book of faces probably negates any of the benefits I would have gained by appearing to be a good mother. Oh well. There was a game on Facebook where you were to add the phrase "with a chainsaw" to the end of the last book you read. My entry was "Thomas the Tank Engine's Happy Birthday Surprise....with a chain saw." I was pleased because this indicated that I had actually read something to my children. Something other than the riot act.

But I was back, reading the riot act away, later that afternoon. We were on a tight schedule. Between work and ring around the receiver with various contractors--trying to wrap my head around the fact that there was a $1300 swing between bids for the same job--I needed the children to quickly and quietly get ready to go. I had to take the father figure's work boots into be repaired, as they looked as if his heels had been the only brakes on his theoretical motorcycle. We had swimming lessons, soccer and voting to do before I could get home to meet the next contractor. Tight schedule people. And it was clear from the thumping upstairs that obedience wasn't on the list of things to do. Baba was the ring leader. Quite literally. I walked into their bedroom and saw Baby and Mac and X-Man all chasing Baba, running in circle.

Sing goddess, sing of the wrath of the mother. Whoo boy did I lose it. The older three stood before me, heads bent, with all the appearances of remorse. Remorse that they got caught, I'm sure. And I raised the roof. X-Man was a little late to the party. He had continued to run around the circle of remorse but even he could not ignore my wrath. He hasn't seen me like this, possibly ever, so he was obviously concerned that he handle the situation correctly. He pushed his way to the front and center of his siblings, turned his face heavenward and began to bellow. I was upset enough that I ignored him at first, in fact he wasn't even on my radar. But despite the severity of my lecture, I could see the allegedly contrite children's mouths begin to twitch. That did not help my blood pressure. But I did pause to observe X-Man's depiction of "Child Mid Lecture." He was still bellowing, a bellowing similar to the sounds he makes when he is set on the potty. He was rubbing his eyes as if there were tears there, an academy award performance if ever there was one. "Are you sorry for being naughty X-Man?" He picked up on the change in tone of my voice, removed his hands and betrayed his dry eyes. We made eye contact, his little brown eyes had that gleam in them.
er there was one. I stopped mid threat and looked at him.
And then in a moment that, while amusing makes me just a wee bit terrified for the future, he spun around, and began pushing his siblings "GO GO GO!" 

The scheme is strong in this one.

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."