Boys are Dumb


Sometimes I feel really bad for my daughter being in a house of mostly boys. If it wasn’t for me, she’s be truly the only girl because even the cats are boys.

Don’t get me wrong, she totally holds her own against her brothers. She is after-all a tom boy and when that doesn’t suit her, she is bossy as hell which she comes by naturally because she is my daughter.

It’s just that no matter how much she tries to be like the boys, she can’t be a boy. Those natural born, genetically given, imprinted girl tendencies will always come out . She can’t help it which means no matter how hard she tries she, like me, will never fully understand boys.

For example, whacking a tree with a stick. The boys do this. They get great joy in performing this task and will go at it for hours on end but when asked to explain why? Why do they do this? They will just shrug their shoulders and pick up a rock to throw at other rocks.

It makes no sense to me. I have just come to the conclusion that there it must have something to do with the penis. There must be something in that organ that makes these acts make sense to them. And since I will never have a penis, I will never understand it.

Claire is slowly grasping this concept.

It’s difficult for her. All she knows is brothers and their weirdness and since she wants to be included with her brothers and their play, it’s a daily struggle. But sometimes, when she’s feeling girly and those female tendencies are at their highest and she can’t take it anymore.

“… yeah and then Elmo’s head will explode,” Jake said in between bites of waffle.

“Next his body. It’ll explode all over the street,” Quinn chimed in making Jake and Hayden snort with laughter.

“And his purple blood will be all over the place making the buildings explode,” Jake said, gesturing with his hands.

“The explosion will be HUGE… EPIC!” Hayden added.

“Elmo’s exploding head,” Jake said, now beside himself with laughter.

“STOP IT! STOP IT!” Claire yelled at the top of her lungs across the breakfast table which made the boys laugh harder and broke me of my Facebook reading trance.

“Claire, don’t yell,” I scolded.

“But mom,” she whined. “Make them stop. Tell them to stop talking about explosions.”

When she said that word the boys snickered and giggled again like they were all 13 and in a room where there was naked boobies.

I sighed at her request. My sluggish not fully caffeinated brain trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Boys, stop it,” I said halfheartedly, just trying to keep the peace.

Claire gave me her, ‘mom that’s totally not gonna work’ look because she thinks at times she is a better mother than me and pushed back her chair to take her dirty dishes to the sink. The boys once again started discussing Elmo’s head exploding and purple blood going every where.

“Why do they have to talk about exploding so much?” she said looking at me, waiting for an answer that would enlighten her.

“I don’t know,” I said after a sip of coffee.

She wasn’t satisfied and she stared at me, her eyes begging for knowledge and understanding.

Then I felt like I could keep the secret no longer. I had to give it to her, I had to give her the only answer that has been keeping girl’s (and women) sane since the beginning of time.

“Boys are dumb.”


Mama’s Losin’ It


Loves Pokemon, Loves Girls

The giggling on the play ground made me look up. I scanned the area and noticed that Hayden had befriended a little girl.

I smiled. No matter where we are, that boy always befriends the girls. They are his number one choice when it comes to a playmate. Mainly because, girls play like he does.

Hayden is not so much into the rough and tough play of boys. He doesn’t have a competitive bone in his body so sports don’t interest him, don’t get me wrong he loves a good wrestling match with his dad and brothers, but he’s just more into the imaginative play that little girls tend to do.

I love to watch my kids play. The stories they come up with are so involved and interesting. I remember playing the same way when I was their age. My neighbor friends and I used to come up with stories based on the soap operas our mom’s watched when we were supposed to ‘resting’ but really we snuck in and watched to.

But we always added princesses and princes to our stories. people fell in love with the wrong prince, stole each other’s prince, had babies and died. Then we’d all share Popsicles under the shade of the backyard tree. Oh, childhood… how I miss it.

“You know that little girl knows about Pokemon, right?” I said to Jeff as I walked up next to him.

“She doesn’t just know about Pokemon, she knows Pokemon like what they evolve into, their class and every thing,” Jeff explained, proving that he too have been watching them play.

Pokemon08- (1)

“Oh Hayden is in love!” I said. “Totally met the girl of his dreams.”

Jeff nodded and we both walked over to a near by bench to sit. We both took out our phones as the kids continued to play. Every now and again, I’d look up and do a head count. I spied Hayden, Quinn and this little girl were laying on the ground under the slide.

“Did you hear what Hayden just said?” Jeff asked

“No,” I said, looking to Jeff.

“I didn’t quite here the little girl but Hayden said, ‘You can take my pants off but my underwear is just going to far.'”

“Oh  my!” I said with a half giggle because it was kind of funny and thank God the boy had standards. “Sounds like we are going to need to have a talk with him and girls and how pants stay on.”

Jeff nodded and returned to studying his phone. He was completely unphased by this. I, on the other hand watched Hayden and this girl more. Thankfully, the talk returned once again to Pokemon and which one they were going to try and catch. They got up from under the slide and began running around.

The wind whipped around me sending a chill up my spine. I looked at my phone clock and because we had already been playing for almost 3 hours, I gave the kids a 5 minute warning that it was time to go.

“Ok guys,” I called after 3 and a half minutes. “It’s time to go.” I was cold and wanted to go. Someday they will figure me and be able to tell time and know when 5 minutes is really up but for now, I’m safe in my ending it early.

Jeff stood and ran after the Claire and Jake. Quinn bounced to my side and Hayden was still running after the little girl.

“Hayden, come on. It’s time to go!” I called.

“Aw, mom!” He yelled back.

“Sorry buddy, it’s getting cold and I need to figure out what to make for dinner. Say ‘good bye’ to your friend.” I said.

“Good bye, Ava! Good bye. And call me. Call me sometime, ok!” Hayden called after his little friend and then shouted our phone number at her.

“Oh for pete’s sake,” I thought to myself, this boy is totally smitten.

With that, Hayden ran up to my side and took my hand in his. His smile was infectious.

“Mom, when we get home, I am going to call Ava and put a white sock on my door knob so that I can dirty talk to her for a long long time,” he said with a giggle. “Mom, she was just so cool. She knows Pokemon. I really, really like her.”

In that moment, I had two thoughts. Please let ‘dirty talk’ mean talking about mud and it’s time to have a serious conversation about girls.



I am the Mother!

I am the mother.

I didn’t get all these stretch markers on my belly and three inch nipples from breast feeding because I thought those things would make me look hot and sexy. No, I got them because I had babies.

So yeah, I am the mother.

As the kids have gotten older, my job as the mother has gotten a bit easier. Um, easier might not be the right word since I would gladly go back to the days where the triplets were babies and not mobile and Hayden took naps… yeah, those were the easy days. It’s just that as the kids have gotten older, they are able to lighten my load. They are able to help out more.

I can say things like, “Will you please go and gather all the laundry from upstairs and bring it down to me” or “Please empty the dishwasher” or “Take out the trash” and after they grumble and complain and whine about how they “have to do everything around here”, they do it, willingly. Well williningly, once I threaten to take away every single video game player, computer and TV.

But it is the rare occasion that one of the kids, usually Hayden, comes up to me and says, “Mom, can I help you?” That I know my job as the mother is really getting easier.

It just warms the cockles of this momma’s heart when my children ask to help out and are actually be helpful.

But this helping me out has had a side effect that I could not have foreseen.

The children have begun to think that they are the mother. At first it was just Claire. And to be honest, I kind of expected this because she is a girl, it’s in her nature to mother and she is my daughter which means she also has this natural need to be in charge but recently I have noticed Hayden has gotten in on the act.

He has taken to telling his younger siblings what to do, being the boss and even tried to punish them when they don’t listen to him, which is all the time so he is constantly trying to put them on the naughty chair.

This is not going over well with the younger children and many arguments have been fought, refereed and left me saying, “Hayden, I am the mother… Not you!”

Let’s just say that this has been a difficult lesson for Hayden to learn since he has started trying to mother me.

It started innocently enough, I was making dinner and Hayden sauntered into the kitchen and said, “Mom, can I help you with anything?”

I smiled down and my oldest son and decided, what the hell. I was making spaghetti, he could help me brown the sausage. I taught him how to squeeze the sausage out of the casing but when that ended with him gagging and faking vomiting so I took over and just had him stir the meat in the pan.

He was doing a good job and soon it was time to add the sauce and then the pasta. I made the vegetable and put garlic bread in the oven. Hayden and I were having a good time in the kitchen and I could tell that he was proud of himself.

Then my phone beeped with a text message and since the only thing left to do for dinner was just let it cook,  I turned my attention to it.

I responded to the text and then began to peruse Facebook and Twitter. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Hayden needlessly stir the sauce and saw the little kids come under foot in the kitchen.

“When are we gonna eat?!” they whined.

“Mommy, I soooo hungry,” they wailed.

“I want a snack,” they echoed each other.

I was about to answer when Hayden stepped up and said, “If mom would get off her phone and stop texting, we could totally eat dinner.”

Jeff’s laughter filled the house as it took me a minute to process what just happened. When I did, I answered him the only way I could, with my best teenage angst, “Well dude, I can’t make the oven cook the food any faster.  A duh!”

Hayden rolled his eyes at me as I then added, “Also, I. Am. The. Mother.”

The Sick Christmas Spirit

Do you know what day it is?

I have asked this question in fun before but this time I am not really sure. I feel like it should be Monday because the last thing I remember is sitting in a restaurant, enjoying a family dinner on Sunday evening.  I saying enjoying because Jake was encouraging me to drink more wine… he’s a good kid what can I say, and now I believe it’s two days later from when that happened.

This morning the kids had to wear summer clothes to school since the laundry pile is beyond out of control. I had to justify how  blue cheese stuffed olives could be considered not only a vegetable but perhaps a whole meal while packing the kids lunch. And I may have to burn my favorite pair of yoga pants since in them I did things that should not be done by a normal human being.

What would cause this massive wrench in my normally totally organized and chaos free life?

Sorry, I was laughing too hard after writing that last sentence.

Anyway, I was hit by the plague. Good Lord, was I hit hard. I haven’t been this sick in years, my nurses immune system totally failed me and not only let in bronchitis last week but the stomach flu this week.

I haven’t done this much coughing and puking since that one night in college, which I can’t go into the details about because my mom reads this blog… Hi, mom, but let me just tell you that I believe that I sprained the muscles in between my ribs. And I don’t even know how to make those muscles work.

(Oh ouch, how breathing, laughing and coughing hurts)

I also discovered that Jeff truly loves me because only a man who is hopeless and utterly in love with me would hold me up, strip me out of closes I peed in while vomiting, put me to bed and then stay up while washing all those clothes and the bathroom rugs I shat on. If that isn’t holding up the ‘in sickness and health’ part of our marriage vows, I don’t know what is.

But being sick sucks and all this sickness is not helping me in finding my Christmas spirit.

I don’t know what it is but this year, I just can’t get into Christmas. Sure, the house is decorated and I did do some Christmas shopping at Toys R Us which was an experience that if I am ever going to repeat again, I am going to need heavy drugs, but I am just not in the mood for it all.

I look at our beautiful Christmas tree and just get annoyed with it since at least 30 times a day I have to yell at the cats to stop chewing on the lights for fear that the kids will come home from school and find electrocuted cats under it instead of presents.

And they say cats are supposed to be smart. Seriously.

I did have a glimmer of hope in finding my Christmas spirit. I woke up and the ground was cover in a light dusting of snow. The tree branches were white and glimmered in the fresh morning sunlight. My wish for a white Christmas seemed to be coming true.

I pointed out the new developments to the kids who promptly jumped up and down with glee then even before breakfast had go out and play in it. I suddenly found myself on a 38 minute crusade to find snow pants, boots and gloves, praying each kid didn’t grown too much from last year so that it would all still fit.

And my efforts were rewarded with 12 minutes of peace before someone was cold, had to go potty and decided that maybe breakfast should be had before playing outside.

The kids also had their annual choir Christmas concert this weekend. I thought for sure this would bring me into the Christmas spirit.

Nothing screams Christmas and all it’s goodness then babes dressed in robes up in the front for church singing “away in a manger, no crib for his bed…” at the top of their lungs. My heart melted. I could feel the spirit spreading through me. My mommy heart was bursting with pride as I watched each one of my babies sing.

And then as the song came to an end and a collective “aw” was heard around church, Jake brought it home by saying, “Can we just hurry this up please, I gotta get home and make my list for Santa.”

Ah yes, right there it is… the Christmas spirit.  Not!

So whether I like it or not, Christmas is fast approaching. From all those people who refuse to stop counting down to it, I am talking about my children, there is like less than 20 days left, quiet possible less… heck, Christmas could be tomorrow but I am thinking not judging by all the emails from stores telling me that I can’t live without this or that this Christmas.

I will get my ass in gear and it will be a wonderful holiday but first I am gonna take a nap because this is the longest I have been upright in days and I am feeling a bit dizzy.

Swimming, Happy Birthday, Hot Dogs and Eating Cats

Swimming as got to be one of my children’s most favorite activities.

Like given the choice between spending hours playing video games or going to the pool, they will choose the pool.

I believe that this love affair with water and swimming started in the womb. You know because that’s all you do in the womb… swim around in fluid that contains your own pee like just in a swimming pool.

I watch some parents struggle to get their kids to go into the water but with my kids, I have to struggle to get them out.

Each year they get braver and braver where the water is concerned and  this year the thing to do is to swim without a life jacket.

For Hayden, this is not an issue. He has had many years of swim lessons and actually knows how to swimming very well.

Jake, Quinn and Claire, well… they kinda drew the short end of the stick where swim lessons have been concerned as in they didn’t get any.

They don’t really seem to care because they happily wear their life jackets and that is that.

On one trip to the pool that Jeff  took with the kids without me, meaning he forgot the life jackets, the kids swam without them. Jeff told me of their accomplishment but because I didn’t witness it myself, I promptly forgot about it. I am sure I was proud of the kids in the moment but then got distracted with something shiny and moved on.

Well since I forgot, this caused a major freak out on my part when I saw Jake and Claire enter the pool without life jackets on.

“OHMYGOODNESS!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I screamed at them.

Both Jake and Claire stopped and looked at me.

Then Jake spoke, “Um, mom. I am trying not to drown here.”

“Yeah, mom… me too. I am trying not to drown here too,” Claire echoed.

Then just like they were little Micheal Phelps or something they took off swimming.


I hate singing “Happy Birthday” and when I’m in charge of a birthday gathering, I ‘forget’ about singing the song when the cake is pulled out.

That song is just horrible.

I cheer and holler and woop it up then quickly shove cake at people so their mouths are full and the song can’t be sung.

When a large groups of people sing it, who are not professional singers or Opera stars, the result is usually similar to nails on a calk board only slightly more melodic.

Plus there is always one person in the group who thinks that they need to be the conductor and begins waving their arms around like they are trying to land a 747 in the backyard.

It’s just awful.

So if you are ever around me on my birthday, please don’t sing. Talk me happy birthday, rap me happy birthday or spank me happy birthday but don’t, just don’t, sing me that song.


I like a good hot dog.

I know that hot dogs are not the best food and are probably made from lips and ass holes but stuff that stuff into a casing and cook it over an open fire then add ketchup, a toasty bun and a cold beer in my hand and I am a happy girl.

Summer time just begs for hot dogs and that is probably why it is my food of choice at our yearly pool party we have to celebrate the birth of Jake, Quinn and Claire.

Now, I am not just talking about normal hot dogs. I am talking like Costco size hot dogs. They are big, juicy and sausage like. It’s so yummy, my mouth is watering right now.

I usually call these hot dogs, ‘the adult hot dogs’ which are not to be confused with the ‘kid hot dogs’… the more normal size, bland hot dog that kids love to eat.

This year, Hayden wanted to try and ‘adult hot dog’ and as a mom who doesn’t tell her kids ‘no’ when they want to try some food, I had Jeff prepare him one.

Jeff placed Hayden’s plate in front of him and as Hayden hungrily grabbed this hot dog, he held it high and proudly yelled, “OH BOY, LOOK AT THE SIZE OF MY WINNIE!”

Women grasped, Grandma fainted and me and the men laughed and laughed and laughed


I want to show you something beautiful.

Something that I (and many others) have been praying for.

Something that I am super hopeful means really, really good things.

This is Merry.

And this is Merry eating and drinking like a freaking champ!

Considering, I wasn’t sure we’d get to this point, I grin like an idiot and watch him every time he runs to his bowl.

*happy dance happy dance happy dance*

The Potty Talk

If you have children in your house who can talk, like really talk not just a word or two but carry on a conversation, then there is one constant in your life.  Besides the back talk, whining, sass, constant questions and over sharing there is potty talk.

Not familiar with potty talk?

Consider yourself lucky.

What I mean by potty talk is the constant verbal diarrhea of words like burp, fart, butt, poop, pee, vagina, penis, phrases like poop fart, I will poop on you, let me smell your butt and sounds many, many different sounds and noises made to mimic farting.

In our house, this is continuous.

Now the fact that the kids find this so funny might be a little bit my fault and a lot bit Jeff’s fault because Jeff is what I like to call hyper-gaseous and never fails to let a fart fly in the silence of a serious moment which always makes me laugh. Also, there is just something hysterical about a small child letting out a huge burp that would put a frat boy to shame.

These things are funny so I laugh. I can’t help it.

Well, the kids see that I laugh so they will laugh too and it has just spiraled from there.

And it is so out of control.

I have decided that things need to change. I don’t mind the occasional potty talk and fart joke but the constant stream has to stop. So, I have been really cracking down on the kids and making sure that I don’t laugh when the gas is passed.

It has been a struggle but I think we are over the hump. I even figured it was safe to take my children out of the house again. During our ‘decontamination’ I had been keeping the kids away from stores because I didn’t want the steady potty talk to cause some little old grandma to have a heart attack.

That causes a lot of paper work and I just don’t have time for paper work.

One morning, we needed to go to Costco so I loaded up the kids and off we went. Things were going fine. The talk was good, the kids were staying fairly close to me and no grandma hearts were stopped.

We had just come out of the ‘cold room’ (what the kids call the produce section) when Claire started yelling, “Look, mom… Tooshie!!”

“Claire,” I said calling her closer to me, “What are you talking about?”

“Mom, there is tooshie over there,” she repeated.

I looked around the store for someone with a bare butt hanging out or maybe a kid who had lost his pants. When I didn’t see anyone, I leaned in closer to her to talk.

“Claire, I don’t know what you saw but it is gone now,” I said, “And honey, let’s call the butt by it’s name ‘butt’ or if you must ‘gluteus maximus’.”

Claire looked at me like I had three heads.

I smiled and then began to walk on.

“Mom,” Claire said sternly, “Tooshie. TOOSHIE!”

As she spoke she pointed to a sign above the deli case and it hit me that she was talking about Sushi and not Tooshie.

“Oh,” I said, “Sushi. You are talking about sushi.”

She smiled and nodded, “Yummy, tooshie.”

“Honey, that is not sushi those are some sandwich wraps but they do kind of look like sushi,” I said.

I let out a sigh of relief, thanking my lucky stars that the potty talk teaching was still working. Tooshie wasn’t bad. Sure, it’s not anatomically correct but she is a kid so it will do.

“Come on, Quinn and Jake let’s go,” I said wanting to continue and finish the shopping. I began to walk towards the next aisle when I heard Quinn yell behind me,

“But mom, lots of FARTS ARE COMING FROM MY ASS!”

Apparently, I have been worried about the mouth of the wrong child.

Potty Talk Decontamination round Two coming soon.

Butt Out Nosy Neighbor, I Got This

We have this neighbor that totally thinks that I am a terrible mother.

He is not a close neighbor, in fact the only thing that I know about him is that he gets his granddaughters off the bus and he smokes a pipe. In general, he is nice and we exchange pleasantries every afternoon while waiting at the bus stop but that is about it.

Oh, and he thinks I can’t handle my children.

The bus stop is at the every end of our road which is a private drive and not a very busy street but it butts up to a very busy local highway.

In the afternoon’s while waiting for the bus, I always have Jake, Quinn and Claire with me and the last thing that they want to do is sit in the van and wait. And let’s face it the last thing I want if to keep them cooped up in the van. Do you know how much damage three 4 year olds can do to the inside of a van in ten minutes.

Yeah, it freaks me out to think about it too.

So we get out and they explore and run around and play.

They climb on rocks. They jump over a broken fence. They pick up stones. They try to get each other to eat walnut shells. They look both ways and run across the street.

I have no problem with any of their activities. They all know not to run in the big road and if they see or hear a car, they know to run and stop onto the side of the road.

We have practiced this many times.

So while we are waiting for the bus the kids play, I tweet and watch the kids and the neighbor puffs on this pipe and paces.

I am not exactly sure what happened but one afternoon the neighbor started scolding Quinn for getting too close to the road. I immediately looked up from my phone and put it away. I thought that maybe I had missed something and decided to pay better attention to the kids.

Quinn was quietly picking up stones and Jake started to run towards the big road but I knew he was going to stop at the large rocks when the neighbor scolded Jake and told him that he was too close to the road.

“Oh, Jake wasn’t going into the road,” I began, “He was just going to the rocks. He is fine.”

The neighbor gave me a half nod and continued to pace.

I decided that maybe seeing three young kids running in three different directions was too much for this man. It is my life so I am totally used it but maybe for him it was making him nervous. So I asked the kids to come close and told them not to go past the fence anymore.

They whined but agreed and started to play once again.

I took out my phone to check the time because it felt like we had been waiting for the bus forever when I heard the neighbor again scold Jake for being too close to the road.

I was just about say something to the neighbor thanking him for watching the kids but I was all over them and he didn’t need to when Jake spoke up.

“What’s that? ” Jake asked pointing to the pipe in his mouth.

“It’s a pipe,” the neighbor said pulling it out of his mouth and bringing it close to Jake’s face. Apparently its alright for my children to get a good healthy does of second hand smoke but its not alright for them to run around and play like children.

“Well, it stinks.” Jake said and then added, “You are old and MY MOMMY SAYS I CAN RUN ON THE ROCKS!”

And with that Jake ran around the rocks closest to the road.

The neighbor glared at me but all I did was smile and say, “The bus is here.”

He may have meant well but when it comes to parenting my children and being able to keep tabs on three young children at once, I totally got this.

And the kids know it.