Why I Don’t Want a Little Girl

Just because I have 5 kids doesn’t mean I want to have 5 more. People are confused. They think that I just want to pop them out because it’s a party for my vagina or something. WRONG! Being pregnant was not some idealized experience for me. It sucked. Labor sucked even more. And I remember every single minute of the pain. Women who say they forget the pain the instant the hold their bundle of joy is full of shit. There might be a momentary lapse based on the euphoria of the moment, but as soon as you go to pee the first time you are feeling something. Then there are the weeks of healing, which suck. Oh, don’t forget the whole concept that you are now someone’s mother for the rest of your life and at least 18 years of that child’s life will be spent under your roof.

Recently I have been asked on numerous occasions, “When are you going to try for a little girl?” Are you kidding me? I am a mom to 5 boys at home and in the evening I teach dance. I get my fill of girls and all things girly. In fact I spent the last week or so realizing that I say the same things and have the same gut-wrenching feelings at home and at the studio. For example…

  • Your homework and schoolwork is the most important. I am constantly beating this into my boy’s heads. They want to do everything else first instead of focusing on homework and studying and then doing whatever it is they want to do. SHOCK! Girls are the same way. I am constantly telling my students that their schoolwork is the most important and they cannot use dance as an excuse to slack off. And I ask them about their grades just like I do my boys. I even know when their report cards come out and will be quick to make a student sit out if she needs to study.
  • Members of the opposite sex are dumb. I am always telling my boys that at their age girls are just drama and dating is dumb. Now, girls are always wondering why boys are stupid and I am constantly telling them that boys are just drama and dating is dumb. You think they would learn after I have said this a few hundred times but they are teenagers so I repeat myself a lot.
  • If you wore your clothes right, I wouldn’t see your underwear. Boys sag their pants. A lot. Mine try hard to get away with it but my husband and I have sufficiently embarrassed them enough that they are pretty good about keeping their pants up. In dance you are supposed to wear a leotard and tights, no panties. But alas girls are constantly wearing their underwear and then are embarrassed when it is noticeable. In fact there was once that I realized I have the same underwear as one of my students. Talk about weird. The bottom line is if you wear your clothes the right way, we will all be happy.
  • Mess with one of my kids and I will go all Mama Bear on you. Ok, this is an obvious statement with my boys. I mean I can beat on them and mess with them, but let an outsider mess with them and I will open a can of whoop ass like you have never seen. I would lay my life on the line for them. But of course I would, they are my boys. Now, when I started teaching dance I knew I would become attached. But I had no idea I would fall in love with some of these girls. So when they are hurt I want to hurt someone. One of my girls was getting messed with by this tramp at her school and I heard about some of the stuff that was said, I was mad I could have spit fire. I felt that same rush of I am going to kick someone’s ass come over me and it was all I could do not to run this girl over with my car.

There is so much more but this gives the normal outsider a basic idea. I complain about my boys a lot and there are days when I am counting down the years left on my sentence, but in the end I wouldn’t trade my boys for anything. They make me smile, they make me laugh, they make me cry, and they make me proud.

And then there are my girls. They include me in their talks about their boyfriends (or lack of boyfriends); they ask me about girl stuff (that I am not always the best at answering!!); they include me in dress shopping, little things going on in their lives, and the big things too. They make me smile, they make me laugh, they make me cry, and they make me proud. And I love them all. So when I am asked why I don’t want to try for a girl, I simply give the most honest answer I can. Because I already have 60 girls and between them and my boys, my hands are pretty full.

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Get off my cereal!!!

OMG! I have figured out how to make millions of dollars. I am going to loan my boys out for 30 days to whoever wants to lose weight. That’s it. No exercise required. Although you will be very hungry because they will eat everything – including all the food on your plate!!!

Seriously, I am on the verge of starvation. I hid in the bathroom on Saturday to finish my sandwich. Yesterday I went to work 30 minutes early just so I could enjoy a quiet snack. These boys eat like it is their last day on Earth. And before some do-gooder tells me I need to be more aware of child obesity and that I should control my kid’s portions I have two things to tell you. 1) I like my arms, fingers, and hands and prefer for them not to be bitten off and 2) my boys are the furthest from overweight. They could eat an entire cow every day for weeks and would still run every single calorie off. Don’t believe me – ask their doctor. I want to bottle their metabolism and sell it, too. Maybe in conjunction with the 30 day loan deal??

My point for this rant is actually directed at Mr. Evil himself – The Bean. He may look cute and adorable. He may be jibbering and jabbering at you with those huge brown eyes fixated on you and all the while he is stealing your breakfast!! I am so not kidding. The bean is almost 29 months old and refused to sit in a high chair. Or a booster seat. He has to sit at the table like his brothers. So he was in his seat next to me eating his mini-pancakes (there was like 8!) and I was eating a bowl of cereal. I was chatting with the other kids when Wrestlemania said, “Mom, The Bean is stealing your cereal.” And sure enough fingers and all were in my bowl stealing pieces.

Fine, here finish my cereal. I give him my bowl and go into the kitchen to get another. I thought I was smarter than The Bean. I thought I was craftier. That’s what I get for thinking. I decided to eat in the kitchen standing at the counter. The Bean finished MY first bowl of cereal (and pancakes!). I got about halfway through my cereal when there was a toothpaste malfunction and I was called out of the kitchen. My cereal would be safe on the counter, right? WRONG!

I come back into the kitchen minutes later and that PIMA baby was eating my damn cereal. AGAIN!!! I yelled, “Get off my flippin’ cereal!” He smiled mid-chew and tells me he is hungry. I tell him I am hungry, too. He offers me a bite of my cereal. So I spend the rest of the morning sharing what is left of my second bowl of cereal with The Bean.

So I sit her anxiously waiting until naptime cause I am still hungry but need to make sure the bottomless pit of a toddler I have is asleep so I can eat in peace.

Dinner with Boys

Dinner with Boys – 10 Things to Be Prepared For

10. Teenager asks, “Mom, when you were 15 what were you doing with your friends?” (My advice if you did anything like me, deflect and avoid the questions.)

9. Anything about vomiting, farting, burping, or dropping a deuce. Boys always want to talk about these items and always when we have company.

8. Almost pre-teen boy asks, “How much hair is going to be down there?” Not even close to being a pre-teen boy, “There is going to be hair WHERE????”

8. Jokes that start with – You know how I know…..

7. Say EYE. Spell M-A-P. Say NESS. Say it all together. (Did you really just try that??)

6. When a woman has a baby, does it really make a popping sound when it comes out?

5. Blonde and Yo Mama jokes (and since I am the Yo Mama, well it gets interesting at times)

4. Mom, what’s another word for va-jay-jay?

3. My teenage son had just finished Health & Sex-Ed and stated, “I know how babies are made.” Me, “Do you have any questions or anything you want to talk about?” Son, “I know what you and dad did to make my brothers.” Me, “Okay, do you have a question?” Son, “WAS I HOME????”

2. Mom my friend thinks you’re hot and it’s weird. Could you not be so pretty? Maybe look older?

1. One son tells Dad, “The Bean’s little boy parts were hard today.” Younger son announces, “That happens when guys look down mom’s shirt.”

(And before you ask yes these have all happened at our dinner table and sometimes in the presence of friends and family)

Easter – part one

Ok, so while my demon spawn are outside torturing the wildlife (oh and the neighbors, too) I want to take 2 minutes and start my Easter recap. You know it’s a holiday when there is too much to fit into one blog. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for someone peeing their pants in laughter AND there is only 20 minutes left on the timer until dinner is ready. Enjoy part one…..

6:15 am – DADDY! DADDY! DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!!!!!! (accompanied by the pounding of tiny little fists on the wall) My first thought The Bean is awake…. second thought he is not calling for me so let Hubby fetch him. I paced my breathing so Hubby wouldn’t know I was awake and was in a total Zen of I am not moving when the Hubby fidgeted. SUCCESS IS MINE!! I win cause I’m still (fake) asleep.

6:30 am – The Bean is now singing at the top of his lungs throwing things out of the crib. I haven’t moved a muscle. Hubby is faking sleep, how dare he?? No, it doesn’t matter that I am doing the same thing because well, I don’t really have a good reason – but that’s not the point. I will not cave in and silently wish I knew how to fart on command. I bet that would get him out of bed.

6:40 am – I kick hubby and mumble get the baby. He tries to be cute and says, no you. I don’t think so. I kick again harder; he is calling for you so you need to get him. I know this was a bad excuse to use since normally The Bean is calling for me, but it was early and I wasn’t thinking coherently. I am aware that this line will be come back to bite me in the ass some morning in the probably-near future.

Hubby gets The Bean, settles him down with some Mickey Mouse Clubhouse in between us. All is blissful and I am catching a few extra minutes when…

THAT’S MY EASTER BASKET!!! MINE! MINE! MOM, HE IS TAKING MY CANDY!! Hello, 7:30. People in China are now calling me telling me that my children are fighting over candy and I should probably handle this. I wonder if there is a surgery to install volume control on kids. What about a mute button? I vow to put my tummy tuck research on hold and devote more time to researching these elective surgical options for my children.

Alright, the dragon is up. And it is Sunday, and I love Easter service. But, first some well-placed threats. I calmly tell the mob to get ready for church – nice pants, collared shirts, belts, brush your teeth and comb your hair. Also if you screw with me this morning I will stick my pretty white heels so far up your butt we will have to go to the hospital so they can cut open your back to remove my shoe. AND THEN I will beat you with my shoe for ruining it. Clear? You could have heard a pin drop.

However, my threat worked to well and we were ready to leave in less than an hour. The Bean is pissed because he wants all the Easter baskets and I am beginning to wonder if my ears are bleeding from the 20 minute long tantrum. My choices – 1) get to church early or 2) listen to a tantrum for another 30 minutes. No question there, we are going to church early.

We make it to church and all is settled. The mob was enjoying donuts and I was having 30 seconds of adult conversation. I was on the verge of a whole minute when The Bean gets The Look. The Look is a joyful, evil, I-am-about-to screw-with-mom type look. He smiles sweetly and takes off running. We go a large church and I am wearing a stupid dress and even stupider heels, which does not go well with having to sprint after my toddler who is leaving fire in his tracks.

One of the other moms tries to deter him and the two of us are trying to corner this toddler. Picture a football field, The Bean stolen the cookie and is trying to make it to the safety zone. Blocking his path in the front is Mrs. J looking so pretty but also well-trained on toddler herding (I think our kids conspire sometimes in class although I am sure mine is the bad influence). Coming up behind him is me and I am desperately trying not to fall on my face and provide an inappropriate peep show. Mrs. J darts to the right, The Bean darts left, Mrs. J darts left, The Bean dives right and sprints around a sign. I am closing in and he runs around a pole with me in hot pursuit. He is almost within my grasp when he dives between some gentleman’s legs. I make a quick maneuver to the left and catch him by the scruff of his neck when he gets slightly deterred by gawking at some little toddler & tiaras type princess in pink. (Where do people find those big poufy dresses? I mean, wow!)

I give him a firm scolding and trying to catch my breath and look like I am in control take his tiny little hand to lead the way back to the table we were sitting at. Just as I was feeling like I had the upper-hand my scoundrel of a son takes off again!! I was quicker this time and only tripped once and caught him within seconds before he could go out the front door. Screw being a good mom. I swatted his bottom and scooped him up like a sack of potatoes.

I stared straight ahead as I re-joined my family. Bless my parents, they were trying so hard not to laugh at me because deep down I think they were afraid I would go all mommy-dearest on them, too. I blame the dress and heels, had I been in normal clothing The Bean would have never gotten away but alas I tried to be all feminine ONE day and this happens. Next year I am wearing pants.

Can you believe it was only 9:15 am?

The Bean’s Beer

Yup, you read the title right! Of course it wasn’t real beer but….

We went out to dinner last night because of a special church service we were attending and let’s face it, I love any excuse not to cook and all-you-can-eat pizza is a gold mine for my mob. My mom and I are sitting at the table with The Bean and she makes the mistake of letting him have a sip of her root beer which set off a full-blown juice is gross and I want Me-Me’s drink in my cup fit. I weighed my options – 1) say no and watch this progress to full on crying, refusal to eat, I have to remove my kid from the restaurant tantrum OR 2) say yes and everyone can calming finish eating, including myself. Yep, I am that mom and decided not to fight this battle and told my mom to let him have some in his cup so we can all finish dinner peacefully. The added benefit was that I could actually eat and we would still be on time for church.

The Bean was super happy and was just being disgusting adorable. I made the comment to him, “Are you happy Me-Me gave you root beer?” Every heard a toddler talk? The pick a few words and repeat them, like “Me-Me gimme beer.” Yup, that’s right, The Bean being super excited starting yelling, “Me-Me gimme beer!!” As if the do-good moms sitting around us were not already appalled at the fact that my family takes up two booths, my boys laugh loud and and can 4 large pizzas by themselves, NOW the toddler is yelling that we gave him beer. I don’t know what was funnier; my mom’s stunned face at his repeating phrase, the shocked looks on all the other parent’s faces, or the fact that my boys thought it was the coolest thing they had ever heard. I couldn’t help but laugh and continue to enjoy my dinner (which was warm and that is something that doesn’t happen to often for me!)

It gets better. My mom and MT (my 13-year-old) left early for church since they are in service and I am rounding up the remaining members of my mob when The Bean starts freaking out for his beer!! He is yelling, “I want beer!” and I couldn’t figure out why he was yelling until I realized we had left his cup on the table. I did try to correct him and told him that is his cup but he still called it his beer. I am heading to church and all I can think is he is going to start going on about beer in his childcare class. Great – NOT!!!!

I did rinse out his cup and filled it with water before checking him into class, saying a silent pray that my son would not start screaming for beer. When I picked him up no one said anything, but then again, even if the Bean had said anything they would probably chalk it up that he is one of my mob and nothing surprises anyone when it comes from my kids. Although once we were home and settled and I was relaying the story to the hubs he asked The Bean if he liked root beer. To which my wonderful troublemaker replied, “I like beer!”

I calmly looked at the hubs and told him, “That’s your son!”

My spring break

So it’s spring break. Now spring break for me is no longer the relaxing, blowing off steam, beach break it used to be pre-motherhood; it is now a week where I have to figure out what the heck I am going to do with 5 kids and I don’t even get to escape to the studio in the evening. (Note: I teach dance classes in the evening.) We have been managing pretty well. On Monday my teens even spoiled me and got the baby breakfast so I could snuggle in my bed for an extra 30 minutes. The boys have been spending a ton of time outside (thank you Lord for the amazing weather) and during The Bean’s nap time I have been allowed to escape and have coffee with a friend on Monday and yesterday I got to meet my SIL and help pick out her wedding dress. Pretty cool right? (I told you having teens is awesome sometimes.)

So today I was hanging with my kids all day. We got up this morning and hung out and then we trekked off to Chuck E Cheese. Taking my mob anywhere is a task but to some CEC may seem scary but to me it’s awesome. I get to be a kid. Mind you I love video games, so getting to play some of the bigger ones is pretty cool to me. I was rocking out on Guitar Hero (I even had a little groups of fans crowding around), got to take out some killer robots, and was smoking the competition in some high-speed racing. It was cool, and I got to do it with my kids. My teens (who were less than thrilled with CEC) chased around The Bean and I got some QC with my other 2 rugrats. We enjoyed all the greasy fun the place had to offer and when we finally left, everyone was laughing and was in a good time. I know some parents do not like CEC and while I respect your opinion, I suggest removing the stick from your butt and stop being a grown-up for a few hours. Relax and act like a kid and your kids will have more fun with you, too.

After The Bean’s nap time we were all outside playing. And no, not me sitting on the steps, I mean we were all playing. I alternated between tossing the football with Wrestlemania (my 7-year-old) and schooling Mr. Mouth at basketball. We brought out some music and next thing I know we had some other neighbor friends hanging out, too. It was all around a fantastic day. As the sun started to set and I was sitting on back porch enjoying a bottle of wine thinking life is good when I realized…. I AM A COMPLETE FLAKE!!!!! My son had rehearsal for an upcoming performance and we completely forgot. Even he forgot, and by the time I remembered practice was over.

So as I finished my last glass of wine, took in the sounds of laughter and sarcastic teasing going on in my backyard, I came to the conclusion that even when you think you got it all figured out, there is always something else. And that is ok because it keeps life interesting.

Oh, just a piece of advice – greasy pizza and bubbly wine are not a good combo so make sure you have some Tums available. This blender is switching off for now.

With A Spoon

I may be a weird parent, but my kids are just as weird. Anyone remember the AT&T mom, with the mom look? My mom look is so perfected I could stare her down in a nano-second. This is my teens favorite commercial so I’ll share before continuing.

I can look at one of my boys with that look and they know I am serious, I don’t even have to speak to them. It’s kinda cool actually. And when I break out the look and mom-tone, I mean business. So anyway, I was getting on T-Man (my 9 yr. old) about hitting his brother and I told him with the mom face and tone, “If you put a hand on your brother again, I am going to cut your hand off with a spoon.”

He looks me dead in the eye and asks, “Why a spoon?”

Without missing a beat I answered maintaining my mom face & tone, “Because a spoon is dull and it will hurt more.” (Yes, that’s right I stole my answer from Robin Hood and didn’t even blink an eye when I said it. Obviously this answer would not have worked if Mr. T had seen Robin Hood.)

He kinda looked slightly terrified and said yes ma’am, apologized to his brother, and exited the room as quickly as possible. I found it kind of odd that Mr. T seemed far more concerned with what I would use to cut his hand off with and why I would use that instead of the actual act itself.  One of my teens looked at me after the incident was over and asked, “A spoon? Really that is the best you could come up with?”

I smiled and nodded, “Yup, a spoon. Wanna test me?” He laughed and said sometimes I am a scary, weird mom. He has a point, but then again I never had any plans to be nominated for a Mother of the Year award. And my tactic worked because Mr. T hasn’t hit his brother again.