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."

Today's been the kind of day where you scream hysterically if I put you down. You refuse to sleep. Or eat. And all you want to do is bite my nose. I'm sure there's a term for a day like today. 

It's also a "if you're a contractor I've hired please no call no show, it's pretty awesome keeping the toddler away from the china on my table because all the furniture is moved out of the living room. Still." 

It's a please cry because you don't think your contractions require apostrophes. And that I most likely invented contractions in order to ruin your life. And the kind of day where I require you to draw circles.

Today's the day you strike a deal with your sister that you will unload the dishwasher if she sweeps the floor. And when she reneges on the deal and you try to call her out she shrieks "You shouldn't have taken me seriously! Why'd you think I was serious?" 

This kind of day is the kind where I make the mistake of letting you look at the Thomas toys. And when the time comes to leave, you punch me and try to bite me and yell at me "Homas says ow!" 

Today was the day. The day when I was that mom. The mom carrying the shrieking, thrashing toddler through the store. And getting those looks. Because clearly I am the old woman who has so many children I don't know what to do. As the disapproval washed over me I may have said "Yeah I already tried frowning and tsking, but thanks for trying." 

What's the name of my autobiography.....oh yeah, that's right Not My Finest Moment.

But oddly satisfying. 

Today's been a blackout kinda day.

"MOOOOOM! Can you come up here please? Now?" Those are chilling words to hear, especially after 36 hours stomach illnesses presenting in numerous fashions. "What's going on?" "There's nothing wrong. It's actually something good." And so it was, Mac had written, in his darlingest  first grader handwriting, i mac love my family. Punctuation comes later.

There are contractors galore coming and going. They seem mostly amused by the circus in which they were required to work. One mentioned to me that he too had five children. He proudly recounted how he had them alternate making dinners and doing their own laundry. They were able to function on their own as they moved out, teaching their roommates. Then he sprung it on me "My wife took off a few years into it. Left me alone with everyone. Make sure you're taking care of yourself. Don't burn out."
.
Sweet advice, and worthwhile as well. Not that I'm concerned that I'll burn out on motherhood. More likely just not wake up for three weeks straight. Now that sounds delightful right about now. I think of this blog as a way to vent frustrations or try to make sure I see the day's event in the most positive light possible.

To me it's bittersweet that I only have eight or so more years left with Baba. Not that she'll fall off the face of the planet, or write me off completely, but I only have a few years left to imprint my hands on her heart. It's going by way too fast. That's not to say I look at Cinco and think "ah man, eighteen years to go."

And now I have to go, start along my afternoon soccer runs. Wonder what I'll feed them, they really seem to notice if I'm not johnny on the spot with food. And the appropriate amount of food. Both Baba and Baby will enlighten me as to what THEY think to be good meals. Cereal for dinner is not a good option. Peanut butter and jelly is not acceptable for lunch because "there's too much sugar in jelly and I don't like peanut butter." Also, Baby doesn't like turkey burgers and when I told her they were for dinner her first question was "How big?" And in case you were wondering, they were too big.

So I wrote this post about not really needing that much of an escape from my kids. And then I took all five of them grocery shopping. Now I am ready to r-u-n-n-o-f-t. Screaming the whole way. Which will make it easier for them to find me.

If there's puke involved, it's a Monday. Especially if the father figure is going all white knight on the situation and decides to handle it. And reassures you that it's all good. Just on a hunch, it not being a first rodeo or anything, you decide to double check. And find that the little bit of spew that occurred in the bathroom and that the father figure cleaned up was preceded by copious amounts of spewing in the bedroom. Like the bed, and the floor and the clothing thrown on the floor because people still don't use hampers in this house.

Life with five kids is always complicated. It gets especially complicated when Cinco decides that she does want to eat anymore. At least during daylight hours. Because there are way better things to do like look at ceiling fans, trying to crawl and nurse at the same time and chew on my computer. But mostly look at ceiling fans or wonder why mom and dad bought a house with a stunning paucity of ceiling fans.

It's not that she's interested in table food. Well she is, until she actually tastes it. Cinco gets frenetically excited when she sees food. I'm still expecting her to take off with the hysterical flapping she does. However, she has yet to be impressed with what she's been fed so far. I consider it training for the rest of her life eating her mother's cooking. Never lives up to your expectations.

Now Cinco's the active little girls. She hauls diaper at a remarkable pace. So she does find herself needing nourishment, after her entertainment. So, when the lights go down, she starts to eat. All night. And my little girl who so perfectly slept through the night for the first few months of her life, threw that game plan out and wrote a new one. I'm not a fan of the new one.

After a couple of weeks of watching Cinco drift off for good around 5am and knowing that I had to teach a math class at 7am, I decided to write my own game plan. So I now have to pump a bottle for Cinco and feed it to her. It's a win win, she eats and sleeps.

The downside is that I have to pump. Which takes up it's own time, time that I don't really have. And it attract unnecessary attention. Mostly from X-Man. The first few times he just pointed and laughed. But obviously he thought the process over. He came over tonight and pointed and shrieked with delight "Mommy robot. Robot!"

I believe that I have solidified my standing as the coolest parent. I'm a robot parent. The father figure can take them to Chuck E. Cheese all he wants. I'm a robot!

I'm sure you're all missing me and wondering why I didn't blog yesterday. I know I am.

I was kicked out of my house. By chemtrails. Or chemicals. Or something. Whatever they use to seal refinished hardwood floors. So, off to grandma's house we go.......wait I've been on this ride before.

So, the children who have always been fairly cooperative with bedtimes and not so cooperative. And have been running around the house. Mostly to their Nana who hugs them and loves them and tells them they are so cute. It's not helping.

And there's been a moment of weirdness.......which in my life isn't that unusual, but this was weird.

So this is a British actress named Jodhi May. She's about my age and my height and there are some similarities in our features. Oks she looks quite a bit like me. Or I like her, as she is older. I first became aware of her existence in 1992 when the film The Last of the Mohicans came out. The movie was acceptable and all that, my friends became obsessed for a while, but I grew tired of the whole thing. So I created the Help Through Strength Society and sent them anonymous letters advertising seminars to help them get over their addiction to the movie and the actor Daniel Day Lewis. The idea came to me while in church, which means on of two things, I wasn't paying attention or it was divinely inspired. I'm going with the latter. In case you were wondering, no one took me up on my seminar offerings. And, to add insult to injury, they assumed my older sister came up with the idea. She's always stealing my thunder. Seriously, she was three states away, and her baby shower gift totally out shown mine. Somehow hand crocheted baby cowboy boots are WAY more popular than baby jammies.

But I digress. As chemical refugees, we are all sleeping in my sisters' bedroom. And there are hand painted images from the movie in the room. That's the advantage to having artist friends obsesses with something, free artwork! And of course, Alice Munroe, portrayed by the aforementioned actress, is depicted.

So Nana comes into the room to say goodnight, and X-Man charges over to great her. After hugs and snuggles, he grabbed her hand and said "Mama, mama." I, being as attentive as always responded "I'm over here dude." Nana, fully aware that his mama was not outside the room, where he seemed to be wanting to head, just stood and smile. But X-Man was not to be deterred began to push her leg. Puzzled, Nana began to walk. X-Man rushed around put his arms up and said "up peeeze!" Nana obliged and then he pointed to a picture by the door. A depiction of a certain character from Last of the Mohicans. He pointed and said "Mama, mama." And then wanted down.

I would have assumed that his siblings put him up to it, but they hadn't ever seen the picture before either. Mac helpfully explained to him "That's not mom, that's some weird person." I have to admit, it's not the most flattering depiction of the person in question. And if that's how X-Man sees me, I'm just a little alarmed.