Attack of the Barbabyian!

Barbabyian is 1!  How did this happen?  Why is he still so needy?  Shouldn't he be a big kid now?

Perhaps I am the only one who feels she should get the party when a baby turns one.  Yes, I made it.  The sleepless nights, the endless feedings, diaper changes blah blah blah.  Oh well.  I was feeling pretty good about our little family party on Sunday and then at mass Monday morning I threw my back out.  BIG TIME.  The barbabyian was trying to propel himself out of my arms (because he a)has no fears b)thinks he can fly) and I sort of lurched and put him down in one awkward motion that ended with my back seizing up.  I literally could not move.  I finally limped out of mass stage whispering to the visiting school kid, "Just bring him back to the vestibule!"  Out of control.

So, now we are having one of those days when I can't do anything and my house is a disaster area.  Oh well, it makes me feel like I do a lot around here, because when I don't do it, things get to looking real bad, real fast. 

Why is my back doing this now?  This is something I have been thinking about a lot as I alternate sitting, lying prone, and putting my feet on the couch while lying on the floor.  Between the advils this is what I have come up with:

1) I am not as young as I used to be and I haven't been as nice to my back as I should be.  That probably has a lot to do with the barbabyian who has been a "hip ranger" as of late.  Doesn't.Want.To.Be.Put.Down.Ever.  Not really cute anymore seeing as he takes to flying out of my arms at any given moment or lurching for anything that strikes his fancy out of reach.  I have been performing contortions of all types recently and it has come back to haunt me. 

(Dishes while holding baby? Sure!  Change loads while holding baby? Sure!  Vacuum while holding baby? Sure!  Cook while holding baby?  Sure.  Go up and down every aisle of Costco while holding baby under my arm in the airplane position? SURE!)

Everything is an adventure with this guy.  He may not be walking yet but he climbs, crawls, and gets into everything!  Toilets, bookshelves, toys, cupboards.   He escapes outside because his brilliant siblings leave the doors open.   We found him upstairs on the bunk bed on his birthday when no one else was up there.  It was the lower bunk, thank goodness, but he knows how to get to the top bunk too.  He even climbed under the minivan.  Talk about bad body mechanics trying to get him out!

**No, I didn't run over my child.  That is just from when he decided to crawl under the van.**

Public restrooms are places of pure torture and with my caffeine and water habit I have to suffer them daily.  Trying to go while holding the barbabyian has made for some really awkward moments let's just say.  

2)Jesus is trying to tell me something.  You see, I don't exercise at all.  I have had this little agreement with the big guy that I call "Body by Jesus."  We made a deal.  I was going to take out the time to go to daily mass and do mental prayer and spiritual reading and he wasn't going to let me get too heavy.  The way I saw it I didn't have time to exercise, it couldn't be a priority, so he had to help me.  I would do my part of course, watching what I ate and trying to eat and drink healthy, but he was supposed to help me out.  I really don't exercise unless my mental health requires it, which is usually while pregnant.  When pregnant with the barbabyian I walked every single day because if I didn't there was hell to pay.  But October is coming on, the cruelest month for me mental health wise between shorter days, allergies galore and fatigue from the beginning of school.  So, now that I have been shown how much help my core muscles need I have no excuse.  Exercise has to become a priority so I can take care of my family.  End of Story.  So, Body by Jesus is taking on new meaning.  Now, he's gotta help me figure out how I can add one more thing to my insane schedule.  Go Jesus go!

No, I didn't! Yes, I did!

I just googled up "fashionable orthopedic shoes."  Shoot me now.

Someone is solidly middle age.

Future En Are Ay Members

As some of you may know, my dear husband if very proud of his membership in a certain 2nd amendment supporting organization.  This interest in hunting and the right to bear arms has, not surprisingly, taken root in our children. 

Exhibit A:
The Conqueror has encyclopedic knowledge of all the weapons used during World War II, including artillery on all military aircraft since the inception of military aircraft.  I have seen him tested by people and he can just spit the stuff back.  Crazy.  He's also taken a hunter safety course, practiced shooting (with parental supervision of course) and is eager for his first hunt whenever it may be.

Exhibit B:
Biki cannot wait to go hunting with her Daddy.  She goes past woods and says things like, "I can't wait to go hunting there.  I bet there are some big fat deer in there!"  Did I mention she is a total carnivore?   Once at about two her dad was cleaning some doves he had shot (yes, people kill the bird of peace) and she was entranced.  I was pregnant at the time and literally had to leave the premises due to the gore involved (I have a very weak stomach for meat while pregnant) but Biki just kept watching her dad rip out the meat and remarked, "MMMMMMMMMMMMMM....YUMMY!"

Exhibit C:
Beanie packing heat at the soccer game at age three. (It is a toy cap gun just so nobody calls CPS.)


Exhibit D:

Yesterday I was nursing the baby down for a nap while Momo was supposed to be taking a nap.  I kept hearing her whimpering so I asked what was the matter.  The following ensued:

Me: What's the matter Momo?
Momo (in a whiny voice):  I am so sad I can't have a gun.
Me: A what?
Momo: A gun.
Me: You want a GUN?
Momo:  Yes, a He.llo Kit.ty one for my birthday but you won't get it for me.  (Dang straight kid.)
Me: What do you want a gun for?
Momo: So I can go hunting with my daddy and shoot deer.

Quick Takes- Fortnight for Freedom Edition

1. Tell me you know about the Fortnight for Freedom.  Please.

**Umm, yeah, that includes catholics.

2.  I can't understand why people, catholics in particular, aren't more concerned about this recent intrusion on our RIGHT to the free exercise of our religion.

3. Have you noticed commentators talking about the "freedom of worship"?  Newsflash...that's not the text of the 1st amendment.  Read it yourself.  It talks about the establishment of a national religion (bad) and the free exercise of your religion (good).  Presumably the freedom to worship is part of the 1st amendment, but our 1st amendment freedom is way more.  I think they just want people to be able to pray in their church or bedroom but not have their faith inform the rest of their life.  Sorry, but I am fairly certain that loving God with my "whole mind, heart, and soul" is going to carry over into my public life.

4. Ok, now that we've had our civics lesson let's talk about how I am actually making tshirts to wear to a local rally.  Me, who never makes anything.  I got the iron on transfer printout idea from my dear friend who did something similar a while back.

5.  This is what happens to dorks like me who like nothing better than to talk about religion and politics and studied the founders in college.  I decided to use the two graphics above on my tshirts for me and the kids because I thought they were more warm and fuzzy than the others I found here.

6.  But they are pretty cool.

7.  In closing, if you don't think this HHS mandate thing is a big deal, you really aren't thinking about it enough.  I am ramping up the prayer and sacrifice this fortnight and am going out next Wednesday to exercise my 1st amendment rights in defense of my first amendment rights.  And you know what?  I am doing it for the children, because this is their America to inherit and I want them to have the same freedoms I had growing up.  That is looking increasingly unlikely, but I owe it to them to at least try to change things.

Go see Jen for more quick takes.

If you have nothing nice to say....

...Say nothing at all!

That might be why I haven't been blogging despite the fact that my better half now lives 8+ hours away.  I usually blog up a storm when he's gone, but I just don't have it in me!

But things are looking up around here.  Contract on the house looks good, a moving date has been secured along with a new domicile across the culdesac from an acquaintance with 5 kids and a park out back.  Whew!

So without further ado I give you a Momoism.

****

An older sibling was informed none too nicely to get pick up a mess that Momo had made earlier.  I had indeed asked her to start picking it up but she was either a)being too slow or b)I gave up being consistent and passed the job on to someone older and somewhat more responsible. (I think the former makes me look somewhat better...but anyway.)

I yelled at the Conqueror to put the Memory cards in the "dang" tin.  Except I didn't use the word dang.  The word I used rhymed with ram. 

Momo immediately got irate, threw up her hands and said, "MOM!  You told me to put the cards in the d@^^ tin!"  Of course, everyone started laughing, except Momo, who had no idea that she just said a bad word.  Yup, laughter at swearing three year olds.  That's where we are at right now.   Perhaps I should take another blogging hiatus.

You can't make this stuff up...

***Sometimes this blog is only about stuff I want to remember and tell to the kids at family dinners when they get older.  It really isn't that interesting, just one of those crazy days that seem to be increasingly common!***

So today, the first day off of school, we decided to run some errands.  The original plan entailed waiting for a quick service at the dealership.  The swagger wagon just hit 90K and needed some TLC.  So we roll in, all coordinated in red, white, and blue for the holiday.  We had just finished daily mass with all the members of the greatest generation who always love seeing patriotic young kids on Memorial day.  (One year one guy slipped us a $50.  True story.)  But everything pretty much went downhill from there.

Scene 1-

Upon arriving at the dealership the guy opened up my hood as children spilled out of both sides and gave out a, "Ummm....you're going to need a new timing belt."  I knew this was not good.  Not good for my pocketbook.  But okay, detachment.   Let's talk about what really counts.  "How much time is that going to add?" I asked.  "Oh, about two or three hours."

Well, we were planning on waiting so then I realized I needed to switch gears.  I ask about rentals and the service assistant says she'll call Enterprise.  Great.  We go and wait in the waiting room while I shoo all my kids into the "kid room" so they avoid watching Judge Judy and other highlights of daytime television.  Five seconds later I hear a huge "THWACK" and Momo is on the floor.  She ran directly into a glass wall at full speed and was knocked to the ground.  She's screaming, everyone within a 30 mile radius is staring, and I put on my best game face and try to calm her down.  Ok, minor problem but we work through it.

Scene 2-

They have decided to give me one of their minivans but just need to see my insurance card.  No problem.  We all move out to the cashier area to check out.  The card isn't in my wallet, so I hand the baby to a child (big mistake) and run out to get it from the car.  Ruh roh.  It isn't there either.  I checked every nook and cranny and start hyperventilating thinking that I could have been pulled over without proof of insurance.  Not good.  Keep in mind I am raking through my disaster of a car while some dude is sitting in the driver's seat ready to pull away.  I'm muttering to myself about getting pulled over and he helpfully points out that the cops in South Carolina are much worse than in Georgia.  Great.  Anyway, I get back into the cashier office- which was totally visible from the car- to find the baby screaming and children fitfully shoving a sippy cup in his mouth.  What the?  Turns out he had been dropped and wasn't all that happy about it.  I tell them I don't have an insurance card over the din of the screaming baby and they tell me to call my insurance company to fax something.  OK, things are looking up.  I just need to get the baby happy first.

Scene 3-

We return to the lounge and the guy with the textbook is really happy to see us.  I start feeding the baby and call my insurance company.  I finally get through and it is the slowest, yet ever pleasant, person I have ever encountered.  "OOOKAY, let's double check all your personal information from the last ten years" sort of thing.  Children are shoving snacks in my face,  I am desperately just trying to be nice but get the dang fax sent, and it is taking so long the dealership people are coming over saying, "Just give us the policy number!  That will be enough."  I kind of got the feeling they wanted us out of there.  Go figure.  I finally say something like, "Please sir, I just need to get my 5 kids out of this waiting room as fast as possible" while he continues to lecture me on why I need to carry my insurance card.  All the while my children, out of the corner of my eye, are talking to the dealership manager who's picking up their trash and chatting with them about school.  He's a nice man and I know his wife but I just wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and die.

Scene 4-

We load up carseats and got the hell out of there, faxed copy of my insurance card in hand.  I didn't take anything out of my car that I would need for the next 3 days- no makeup, no garage door opener, no stroller.  We just booked it out of there.  Can't wait to show up again and return the car!

7 Quick Takes- Vol.1- The Moving Edition

1. Umm...we are moving.  Sometime.  When, I don't know.  Because we are trying to sell our house.  And we put a lot of work into selling it, but it isn't selling.  Oh, and did I mention that we are listing it for less than we paid for it?   Wrackin' frackin' economy.

(I wish I could say the above was true, but I am fairly certain there are a few Mommy Dearest memoirs in  the works.)

2.  To complicate matters further, I am now a single parent, because the Colonel is already at our new duty station.  Single parenthood isn't for wimps...but sadly, I am a wimp.

3.  This is sort of like the deployment, but I have two more kids, including the needy, yet ever smiling, 7 month old who tries to climb stairs and swipe things off of shelves.  There are also house showings, soccer, baseball, and May.  May is crazytime but at least this is the last day of school.  THANK YOU JESUS.  (Except can you help with keeping the house clean now that all 5 will be underfoot all day?)

4.  The thing about deployments is at least you get more money.   (That sounds so callous, but work with me.)  And of course being the thrifty gal that I am during the last deployment I put all that extra money to good use.  How?  I used hazard pay to take the kids out to dinner when I knew I didn't have it in me to be on good behavior in private.  I have to be nice in public because there's no yelling at Panera!  Sad, but true.  But this time, there isn't any extra money and there's that cute 7 month old who turns into a holy terror at the restaurant trying to knock every plate and cup off the table while propelling himself off the highchair along with the three year old who randomly yells one word sentences so loud the twenty somethings on their laptops jump even though they are wearing earbuds.  Delivery anyone???

5. Showings are a new experience for me.  So new and exciting that I hope I never have to sell another house as long as I live.  I totally understand my husband's general agitation when he's taking call.  Why?  BECAUSE YOU CAN NEVER RELAX.   I check my cell phone compulsively looking for my realtor's name to show up on the caller ID.  You never know when you are going to get "the call".  You know, the one when they say they want to come see your house in exactly 1 hour and you pull a U-turn right there and race home to just put the lights on in your immaculate house.  Oh wait, my house is never immaculate for more than 5 minutes when people are actually in it.  When you have 5 kids it always take at least an hour to make the house presentable.  Every showing is totally insane...cleaning toilets, chucking stuff in laundry baskets, speed vacumning with a babe in arms.  I pack all the random stuff in the minvan and drive off drenched in sweat and covered in grime.  I am fairly certain I look like I'm either homeless or a hoarder as we tool around town driving slowly through random parking lots.  We stop at a park and the van opens up.  The children jump out, hair uncombed, clothes dirty (because I ignored them and sent them to play outside while I cleaned my way out and no way was I going to let them back in to make themselves presentable) and people just sort of look and gather their children close.  Oh well, this can't last forever.

6.  You know things are bad when you see a 2 motorcycle speed trap ahead, envision yourself getting pulled over and literally breaking down in front of the officer "I am so sorry sir, this is just the straw that broke the camel's back" and then ACTUALLY start crying as you drive past the radar gun.  That Ponch and Jon duo had no idea how lucky they are they didn't pick me.  BTW...No, I'm not pregnant.

7.  This is all very whiny, and I am sorry.  I just feel like whining.  Have no fear though...I am offering up this CRAZY time for many good intentions I promise.  Lost jobs, surgeries, health problems, cancer, sick children, crime victims.  I can't get over how many horror stories I have heard since this moving saga started. I am convinced God is telling me to get it in gear with this whole communion of saints thing.  We're all in this together!


Go see Jen for more!