the oatmeal chronicles

My 3 year old son is difficult.  No...that's too mild a description.  He is the sweetest most beautiful little boy to ever unleash evil upon the earth.  He is like a delicious sweet lollipop (once you get past the hard, tooth-breaking, face scrunching sour outer coating).  Some days we ponder seeing a doctor to see if there is a name for what he is.  But for now I just like to say "he is JUST three!!" 


He is fussy, quirky, indecisive, explosive, and of all 3 kids, takes the most of my time.


For example, today's morning-long epic oatmeal battle.  A rough transcription:


"Mom, get me oatmeal.  Cold oatmeal."
(mom)"What do you say?"
"Puuuuleeaaasse!!!!!"
(oatmeal delivered)
"fanks"
(time passes, baby sister sneezes from across the room)
"MOOOOOM!!  She sneezed on my oatmeal."
(mom)"no she didn't"
"Well, I don't want it cold.  Frow dis out and make me new oatmeal.  Cook it.  Wif a new bowl and spoon, too."
(I must pick my battles) "Ok - but what do you say?"
"COOK IT!"
(mom)"no, what do you say to ME for doing something nice for YOU?"
"PUUULLEEEEEEEAAASE!!"
(oatmeal is cooking in microwave)
"I don't want it anymore."
(mom)"what?"
"I don't want my oatmeal."
(sigh)
(15 minutes later)
"I want oatmeal cooked."
(mom)"Well look at that, I have some made already, how about that!  Cooked and everything!"
"It's got sugar cooked?"
(mom)"Yup, right out of the package.  Brown sugar."
(looks at his oatmeal with a frown)
"It looks like barf because it's wet and cooked."
(He EATS!)
"All done.  I want more oatmeal cooked, ok?"
"Ok"
"I don't want oatmeal cooked.  I'm full."
"Ok"
"Oh, I want more oatmeal cooked, ok?"
"OH kay"
(half second bowl eaten, oatmeal obsession has come to an end)


Oh, my poor poor patience.

Ode to Mom

I haven't cut my hair in 4 years
Or worn make up in about 8,
I've forgotten the joy of sleeping in
Or staying up real late.


I've given up on looking nice
I'm usually covered in goo,
Vomit, urine, snot or milk
And we mustn't forget the poo.


Always broke and low on milk
Mom and Dad never get out,
The kids run wild tearing up the house,
All day they scream and shout.


But mom, she knows her babes are sweet
And she knows this won't last forever,
These will be the days she misses most
When she and her babes were young and together.

3 year headache.

I have a headache.  Actually, I've had a headache for about a week now.  Actually make that 3 years.  I'm not sure if it's from my kids yelling at each other, or from me yelling at them, or perhaps a little of both.  Regardless, I have one heck of a pounding brain.  


I have attributed my head pain to stress.  Child-related stress of course.  You just can't deny it.  Having 3 kids is stressful.  You get out of bed: one is crying.  Your first sip of coffee: they are fighting.  You walk out of the shower: something is crashing.  You're trying to make dinner: they are all whining. You try to use the washroom: they are hitting each other. You try to go to sleep: someone starts crying.  On and on and on and on, day in and day out: noise, noise noise noise noise!!!


So, I try positive visualization.  A sort of word faith for moms:  if you say and believe it, it will come to beautiful fruition!


Here's how that goes:  I'm sitting at the table, reading the newspaper.  The two big kids are playing on the computer.  The babe is wandering about, playing with toys and chasing the dog.  There is a scuffle, and big kid one begins yelling at big kid two.  As always, to be expected, a loud, whiny "mooooom" is soon directed your way.  The positive visualization begins!!


"Mooooom, he pulled my hair!!"


In MY head I hear "Mooom! He hugged me a little too hard!"


I say, "Oh well, don't worry about that, babe."


She says, "MOOOM! He pulled my hair and spat at me!"


In MY head I hear, "Mooom! He hugged me too hard AND kissed me!"


I smile, "Oh gosh that's sweet!"


Her protest intensifies with tears, "MOOO-OOOM!  He is turning off the computer, he has a fist full of my hair, and he gave me a nose bleed!"


I giggle and laugh as I drown out and ignore the fight, and from the kitchen comes a crash and splat as baby drops a full carton of eggs on the floor.


In MY head I hear "Get off your ass and stop daydreaming you FOOL!!"  


Crack open the Tylenol and suck it up, baby.  It's going to be a long 19 years x 3.  

1st, 2nd, 3rd child musings

I've picked up on a behaviour pattern in this house, and after much observance and analysis have come to a conclusion on the behaviour of first, second, and third children. Of course, all data is pure speculation, and based entirely on the goings on in one specific household, but certainly it seems to be holding true for us. It goes like this:

The first child is a gem. The novelty; the easy going babe that gets undivided attention, every cry tended to, the entire family completely surrounds and spoils; in other words, every child would be so lucky to be the first or only child of a family. The attention, along with never being for want, shall create the perfect child, spoiled in every way, never in need of misbehaviour to gain attention or to get what he or she wants. Discipline is rarely necessary, and therefore moms and dads don't get a good handle on it the first time around. This child is well behaved, well mannered, happy, well adjusted, and very little problem (until siblings enter the picture, that is!).

The second child is a shock. Mom and dad realize that they should have taken juggling courses, because now they have a wonderful little child, and a new screaming, hungry, poopy baby to contend with! But “our last baby was such a pleasure, why would this be any different?” And it very well may not be...in the beginning. Case-in-point. My little boy started out a sweet little baby, and by 14 months was a raging, trouble making lunatic. I should have known we were in trouble when he started walking a week before 10 months old, and he has reigned sweet little boy terror down on the house ever since. Mom and Dad don't have a lot of experience with discipline (considering the first was simply perfect), and they often let the second child go'atter thinking “it's just a phase...he'll get over it” etc, etc. Not so.

The third little one comes into the picture. Mom and Dad are well experienced now. The third baby takes cues from the second, and learns to spit, pull hair, and run wild by the time she is walking. Time outs are well in place by the time said baby is 16 months old, and they all just cross fingers and pray that the hands of fate don't deal them with another hellraiser.

It's rather scientific and logical if you think about it. Simply put, when moms and dads are outnumbered in a household, there is hell to pay. Baby one, easy. Baby two, Lord help us. Baby three? Hmmm....our fate remains to be seen....she doesn't talk yet......

Daily Tidbit

When you have too many kids and not enough money, you make due with what you have.  


My version of a garburator?  Using a fork to mush the stuff into the drain.

in the beginning, there was a positive pregnancy test....

Once upon a time, there was a 24 year old girl.  8 years later she had 3 kids (hellions), a husband (kid #4), a suffocating mortgage (mixed blessing), 2 dogs (ugh), 2 cats (ick), and 6 snakes (quiet, polite, mess free, and contained in a cage.  perfect).  

But seriously, I don't even know how I got here. It's all a hazy blur, and that's without any mind-altering concoctions (btw, could you spare an Ativan?). I was a kid, and then a miserable teenager, and then an aimless 20-something, and then a mother.  Did I miss something here?  Each time a new baby arrived, the intensity of life rose, and now here I am: three kids, constant messy clutter, food fights, arguing, hugs, diapers, dirty fingers, sticky cheeks, run, run, run, try to get some sleep, what's going on? I am mother in survival mode.  If I were to look for a “real” job right now, I don't think the plethora of skills us mothers have acquired would be valued. However, allow me to list all the rolls we fill as mothers. We all deserve doctorates: Mom, Phd. I am a professional house cleaner, cook, nanny, laundress, nurse, psychiatrist, book keeper, budget guru, mediator, taxi driver, entertainer, teacher, and it goes on and on.

First and foremost as mothers we most certainly must master the art of multitasking. My personal best involves making dinner while sipping coffee, emptying the dishwasher, holding a baby, and yelling at the big kids all at once. I can hold my pee for hours on end until the opportunity arises for me to do so without fear of someone jumping out a window or setting the house on fire; and most of the time I do duck into the washroom, I do so with a nagging audience. "Mooooo-oooom.  Are you pooing??  Eeeewww!!  Mom's pooooooooing!!!"

I have a working mental inventory of the cupboards and fridge, and as I write shopping lists, I do so with the order of the store aisles in mind because I have even that memorized (can you say OCD?). I can guestimate the price of a shop withing 20 dollars. I can get myself and 3 kids up, fed, changed, and ready for the day by 7:30am. I can survive on 4 hours of sleep without a nap. I can smell a full diaper from the other end of the house. I can be pooped and vomited on time and time again without cringing. My only cringe is for the amount of laundry it causes. Gross smells don't phase me, nor does diarrhea. You can throw it all at me. I'm a mom.  

I am......The DIAPER JOCKEY.