Yes, it has been a long time since I have posted. Truth is, well, the Goombas are growing up and spare moments are few and far between. But, I think about this blog often. I think about how it helped me through those crazy years of small children, the years that I thought would never end The years when I thought that grapes on the floor, peeled crayons, Just-A-Viruses, and endless chicken nugget lunches would never end. I think about how when all else was falling apart, I could dissect these crazy moments of motherhood down to a giggle, just to make it through the day. I think about how little my Mario, Luigi, and Peach were. And then, somehow, in the midst of... well, everything... those years are gone. Poof. Just like that.
Today is Mario's thirteenth birthday. THIRTEEN. Yes... 1-freaking-3. Holy Hades. And just like that -- *snap*-- we have a teenager. Remember the time on his 9th birthday that I wanted so badly to make him a fancy pancake breakfast, but instead, the pancakes looked more like phallic symbols? Or how about the time that out of the blue he started calling everyone "dude?" Maybe the time I scared the bejeezus out of him by threatening to cook his socks if I found them laying all over the floor again? Yep. That all happened. And I am so glad I have the blogs to prove it.
See, here is the thing... Everyone tells you, "don't blink! They grow up so fast! Don't wish it away! Cherish every moment!" But, in reality, every day can drag on for years. When your entire existence is cleaning up the same mess, the same laundry, going to the same park, watching the same kids' shows every single day... those days can last FOR. EV. ER. So, when someone says, "Oh, hug them now because that won't last forever," you kinda want to kick 'em in the taco. Apparently they forgot what life is like with 3 younglings. Or maybe they never knew. Either way, it is not comforting to a mom in the midst of it all.
But, I will admit, also, that in the throes of early toddlerhood, a tired mother is apt to forget the little moments. And so, I really encourage you moms out there to WRITE IT DOWN! I love that you all read my little blog, but if I am going to be very, very frank with you, I wrote this for ME. I love looking back and seeing all of those things that I maybe didn't get a picture of, or that I maybe would forget about because it wasn't a milestone. I love that I can see how my role as a mother has evolved over the years. I love that I can look back and see that Bowser and I made it through TOGETHER, even though there may have been times when things were touch and go. I love that I can share these stories with my Goombas, when they someday have little Goombas of their own and they feel like no one else "gets it."
This blog was my safe place. My place to write down what I couldn't even always process in my head at the time. It was a place to remind myself that we are all people, that no one is perfect. To let myself get out the emotion that would have otherwise been bottled up inside, festering and rotting my gut away.
Anyway, the point of this is that Mario is 13 now. Luigi is 8. Peach is 7. I no longer have those little minions that follow me into the bathroom every single time. Ok, Ok, they still do sometimes, but now it is more of an "Oh sick, Mom! What is wrong with you?" than an "I will just camp out and play here at your feet until you are done!" They are fairly self-sufficient. They can speak to me in words that I can almost always understand. They get themselves dressed for school and brush their own teeth without (too much) prodding.
I still have so much more that I want to share, but the fact that they can read and be embarrassed has basically squashed the public blogging. But, I will always try to remember to write it down. Not just the first loves and heartbreaks, or championship games, or amazing test scores, or first cars, or whatever... But, also the little things. Mario loves to describe anything soccer to me in MINUTE detail. Luigi still giggles uncontrollably if the word FART enters a conversation. Peach still asks me to snuggle with her at night and talk about what happy dreams we will have. I have to remember all of this, because THIS TOO SHALL PASS.
This too shall pass. It has before and it will again.
Signing off now,
Cheers always,
Daisy
PS-- Bowser read this and said, "What? Are you dying?" ha! And just for the record, NO, I am not dying. Just, ya know... wanted to give myself some closure. A little nudge to say, "time to move on to the next chapter." Love and hugs to all! xoxo
Monday, March 7, 2016
Thursday, April 2, 2015
April Fool's Day
I am not sure if I ever mentioned this story, but here is a quick preface to the actual story I am about to tell. A few years ago, the Goombas were pestering me about dinner. What are we having??? I don't like that!!! Why are you making that??? What are we gonna eat??? I was finally so fed up that I said the first (ridiculous) thing that came into my head. "You know what?" I snapped at my three little ones. "We are having... POOP SANDWICHES AND PEE JUICE!" That stopped them in their tracks. And now, every once in a while, when I am sick of the complaining or the badgering, I just tell them we are having poop sandwiches and pee juice for dinner.
Fast forward to April 1st, 2015.
Mario got me good. Yesterday morning, on the drive to school, he pulled out a slip of paper and said, "Mom, I need you to sign this." I looked at the slip. It was a detention note. The reason... incomplete homework assignments. Since getting homework done has been an issue lately (homework is SO stupid, don't you know, lame-o MOM????), my blood started to boil.
"MARIO! How could you get a detention??? You know, you are grounded from soccer until this is taken care of, and I don't want to hear any excuses! This is not acceptable!"
Mario starts laughing hysterically. "April Fool's Mom!!!!"
Damn. It took a few minutes for me to simmer down and laugh about it. Good one, Mario. You got me.... this time.
So, I went home after dropping them off at school and plotted my revenge. So many options to choose from on Pinterest. And that is when it hit me. I was going to make them the dinner I had always threatened. That is right. I was going to make my Goombas poop sandwiches and pee juice for dinner.
I worked all afternoon, getting it just right. Making the poop. Slicing the bread. Squeezing the pee. I had the table all set for when they got home from school. Since all three of them had soccer practices beginning at 5 p.m., it was a perfect night to rush them into dinner without them suspecting a thing.
We got home, and I told them to go upstairs immediately and get dressed for practice while I finished getting dinner on the table. A few minutes later they came downstairs. "We are hungry! What is for dinner?"
"Sit down and get started! You need to eat to have energy for practice!"
Luigi was the first to the table. This is what he saw:
"Ummmm... Mom?" he sounded a little choked up. "What is that?"
"Well," I said, "I decided that since no one ever really likes what I cook, I would just make poop sandwiches and pee juice for real! Sit down and eat!"
Peach stepped back from the table. She did not like what she was seeing. She hugged Bowser and said, "Daddy, do I have to eat that?"
Mario just stood with his mouth hanging open.
Luigi started to whimper. "I... don't... want... to eat poop!"
Peach followed with, "I don't think that would be good for us, Mom."
Bowser walked away. We couldn't look at each other.
"It's really not that bad," I said, as I picked up a piece of poop. "I cleaned the litter box today, so it is all fresh. You will like it if you just try it!" I took a bite of the turd in my hand and said, "It's actually pretty tasty!"
Luigi lost it. "NOOOOO!!!! Mommy I don't want to eat POOOOOP!!!!" He was crying.
Peach ran to Bowser, "Daddy, please don't make me eat it!! Please! I really don't want to eat that!"
Then the wheels in Mario's head started to turn. "Wait a minute....... this is an April Fool's Day thing." Long pause... "Right?"
I finally burst out laughing, "APRIL FOOL!!!!"
Peach started laughing and crying at the same time. Mario just shook his head and asked what was really for dinner. Luigi refused to eat anything the rest of the evening. Even after we proved to him that it wasn't actual poop.
It was awesome. My best prank ever. Poop sandwiches and pee juice. I am pretty sure someday the Goombas will be in therapy, recalling the time that their crazy mother traumatized them with poo for dinner. I am totally tucking this away to laugh at for years to come!
Cheers!
~Daisy
ps--Of course it is not real poop! To make the poop, I took brownies, crumbled them up and mixed with chocolate frosting. Put the mix in a piping bag and "streak" it on some waxed paper.
Refrigerate til ready to serve. The bread is a pound cake sliced thin. The pee juice is lemonade flavored Gatorade.
Fast forward to April 1st, 2015.
Mario got me good. Yesterday morning, on the drive to school, he pulled out a slip of paper and said, "Mom, I need you to sign this." I looked at the slip. It was a detention note. The reason... incomplete homework assignments. Since getting homework done has been an issue lately (homework is SO stupid, don't you know, lame-o MOM????), my blood started to boil.
"MARIO! How could you get a detention??? You know, you are grounded from soccer until this is taken care of, and I don't want to hear any excuses! This is not acceptable!"
Mario starts laughing hysterically. "April Fool's Mom!!!!"
Damn. It took a few minutes for me to simmer down and laugh about it. Good one, Mario. You got me.... this time.
So, I went home after dropping them off at school and plotted my revenge. So many options to choose from on Pinterest. And that is when it hit me. I was going to make them the dinner I had always threatened. That is right. I was going to make my Goombas poop sandwiches and pee juice for dinner.
I worked all afternoon, getting it just right. Making the poop. Slicing the bread. Squeezing the pee. I had the table all set for when they got home from school. Since all three of them had soccer practices beginning at 5 p.m., it was a perfect night to rush them into dinner without them suspecting a thing.
We got home, and I told them to go upstairs immediately and get dressed for practice while I finished getting dinner on the table. A few minutes later they came downstairs. "We are hungry! What is for dinner?"
"Sit down and get started! You need to eat to have energy for practice!"
Luigi was the first to the table. This is what he saw:
"Well," I said, "I decided that since no one ever really likes what I cook, I would just make poop sandwiches and pee juice for real! Sit down and eat!"
Peach stepped back from the table. She did not like what she was seeing. She hugged Bowser and said, "Daddy, do I have to eat that?"
Mario just stood with his mouth hanging open.
Luigi started to whimper. "I... don't... want... to eat poop!"
Peach followed with, "I don't think that would be good for us, Mom."
Bowser walked away. We couldn't look at each other.
"It's really not that bad," I said, as I picked up a piece of poop. "I cleaned the litter box today, so it is all fresh. You will like it if you just try it!" I took a bite of the turd in my hand and said, "It's actually pretty tasty!"
Luigi lost it. "NOOOOO!!!! Mommy I don't want to eat POOOOOP!!!!" He was crying.
Peach ran to Bowser, "Daddy, please don't make me eat it!! Please! I really don't want to eat that!"
Then the wheels in Mario's head started to turn. "Wait a minute....... this is an April Fool's Day thing." Long pause... "Right?"
I finally burst out laughing, "APRIL FOOL!!!!"
Peach started laughing and crying at the same time. Mario just shook his head and asked what was really for dinner. Luigi refused to eat anything the rest of the evening. Even after we proved to him that it wasn't actual poop.
It was awesome. My best prank ever. Poop sandwiches and pee juice. I am pretty sure someday the Goombas will be in therapy, recalling the time that their crazy mother traumatized them with poo for dinner. I am totally tucking this away to laugh at for years to come!
Cheers!
~Daisy
ps--Of course it is not real poop! To make the poop, I took brownies, crumbled them up and mixed with chocolate frosting. Put the mix in a piping bag and "streak" it on some waxed paper.
Refrigerate til ready to serve. The bread is a pound cake sliced thin. The pee juice is lemonade flavored Gatorade.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
On this day of... what???
Take a little trip back in time with me. The year is 2003. Daisy (that's me) is 26 aeons pregnant with Mario. Ok. That is ridiculous. Of course I wasn't THAT pregnant. But, I WAS 42 weeks along and feeling pretty darn miserable. It was cold outside. Snowing, icy, windy... typical March weather. And, it was Ash Wednesday. As gigantic as I was, and as wretched as I felt, I decided that church was something necessary that evening. Zaza and Papa were there and were getting tired of waiting for baby. Bowser was doing his best to keep me happy and comfortable. Getting out of the house was probably a good thing for all of us.
So, everyone bundled up and headed out the door. Well, everyone but me. I went out in my shorts and t-shirt because for some reason, my internal body temp was about 487 degrees. The thought of a jacket was nauseating. We got to the church and it was crazy crowded. Crazy. Even the Catholics who don't regularly attend Mass, somehow always feel the need to go on Christmas, Easter, and Ash Wednesday. So, it was crowded. We found a pew in the back and managed to squeeze in. I sat on the aisle just "letting it all hang out," if you will. I vaguely remember a lady smiling and asking me when I was due, and Bowser and Zaza having to hold me back from ripping her face off.
Mass began. I was hot. I had to pee. I was starving. I silently begged God from my pew to "Please, for the love of YOU, get this baby out of me!"
And then, something magical happened...
No, I did not go into labor. But, at that moment, it was pretty much the next best thing.
The priest, a lovely little man from Vietnam, began his sermon.
"Today we gather here to celebrate Ass Wednesday..."
My ears perked up. Did he just say "ass?"
"On this day of asses," he continued, "we remind ourselves, blah, blah, blah"
I couldn't help it. I started giggling. Because, you know, I am 10-years old and if a priest says "ass" I am not going to be able to control myself.
He went on, "When we think of the asses....yadda, yadda, yadda..."
By this time, Bowser was giggling, too. We were starting to get some dirty looks from the people around us.
Father then said, "When we put these 'ASSES ON OUR HEADS,' let us be reminded... bleep, blop, blorp..."
And that was the end of me. I started laughing. Hard. And peeing, because you know, forever pregnant. Also crying, because I knew I shouldn't be laughing, which of course made it funnier, which, in turn, brought on the tears. The more I tried to keep it in, the harder I laughed. Even Zaza and Papa were fighting back smiles and snickers. What was even more amazing to me, was that no one else seemed to notice that our priest was talking about "Asses to Asses, and dust to dust."
I excused myself and waddled to the restroom to clean myself up and calm down. I somehow managed to make it through the rest of the service with only a giggle here and there.
I didn't know it yet, but church was just what I needed to break the tension and agony I was feeling that evening. The next day I went to the doctor and labor was induced. Within 48 hours of that service, I was holding my baby Mario in my arms.
When I went to the service this evening, with my now (nearly) 12-year old Mario sitting next to me, I still had to stifle a little chuckle when the Deacon talked about the importance of our "asses." I'd like to think Jesus giggled a little bit, too.
Cheers!
~Daisy
*Just as a disclaimer... I have been Catholic my whole life, so I do understand the solemness of Ash Wednesday. This is not meant to offend, it is just a funny story about how a priest unknowingly helped me out of my crazy state of mind so many years ago.
So, everyone bundled up and headed out the door. Well, everyone but me. I went out in my shorts and t-shirt because for some reason, my internal body temp was about 487 degrees. The thought of a jacket was nauseating. We got to the church and it was crazy crowded. Crazy. Even the Catholics who don't regularly attend Mass, somehow always feel the need to go on Christmas, Easter, and Ash Wednesday. So, it was crowded. We found a pew in the back and managed to squeeze in. I sat on the aisle just "letting it all hang out," if you will. I vaguely remember a lady smiling and asking me when I was due, and Bowser and Zaza having to hold me back from ripping her face off.
Mass began. I was hot. I had to pee. I was starving. I silently begged God from my pew to "Please, for the love of YOU, get this baby out of me!"
And then, something magical happened...
No, I did not go into labor. But, at that moment, it was pretty much the next best thing.
The priest, a lovely little man from Vietnam, began his sermon.
"Today we gather here to celebrate Ass Wednesday..."
My ears perked up. Did he just say "ass?"
"On this day of asses," he continued, "we remind ourselves, blah, blah, blah"
I couldn't help it. I started giggling. Because, you know, I am 10-years old and if a priest says "ass" I am not going to be able to control myself.
He went on, "When we think of the asses....yadda, yadda, yadda..."
By this time, Bowser was giggling, too. We were starting to get some dirty looks from the people around us.
Father then said, "When we put these 'ASSES ON OUR HEADS,' let us be reminded... bleep, blop, blorp..."
And that was the end of me. I started laughing. Hard. And peeing, because you know, forever pregnant. Also crying, because I knew I shouldn't be laughing, which of course made it funnier, which, in turn, brought on the tears. The more I tried to keep it in, the harder I laughed. Even Zaza and Papa were fighting back smiles and snickers. What was even more amazing to me, was that no one else seemed to notice that our priest was talking about "Asses to Asses, and dust to dust."
I excused myself and waddled to the restroom to clean myself up and calm down. I somehow managed to make it through the rest of the service with only a giggle here and there.
I didn't know it yet, but church was just what I needed to break the tension and agony I was feeling that evening. The next day I went to the doctor and labor was induced. Within 48 hours of that service, I was holding my baby Mario in my arms.
When I went to the service this evening, with my now (nearly) 12-year old Mario sitting next to me, I still had to stifle a little chuckle when the Deacon talked about the importance of our "asses." I'd like to think Jesus giggled a little bit, too.
Cheers!
~Daisy
*Just as a disclaimer... I have been Catholic my whole life, so I do understand the solemness of Ash Wednesday. This is not meant to offend, it is just a funny story about how a priest unknowingly helped me out of my crazy state of mind so many years ago.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
First Day of School Eve
Does anyone know what tomorrow is??? Besides the fact that tomorrow is Wednesday, it is also the Goombas' first day back to school! Woo hoo! I am so excited---er, I mean, THEY are so excited!!! And, not only is this just back to school, this is Peach's first day of full-day Kindergarten. You read that right: All three Goombas will be in the same school, for the same amount of hours, on the same days. The day has finally come. And honestly, for all my big talk about being free and partying... Well, I am actually feeling a little bit mixed about the whole thing.
It started the other day at Target. Peach reminded me to get something that I had forgotten to write down on my list. I said, "Oh, thank you, Peach! I almost forgot!" Peach shook her head and said, "what are you going to do without me when I am in school all day? You will forget all the good groceries!" And then it hit me. She is right. I probably will forget most of the "good" groceries. But, also, what am I going to do without my little sidekick? Over the past year, we have spent our afternoons together. Just me and my Peach. She helps me count Box Tops for the school. She reminds me what to get at Target. She comes with me to get my eyebrows waxed and watches carefully, telling the waxing lady if she misses a spot. I am not going to lie here. It kinda gave my heart a little squeeze.
Then, just this evening, I was cutting tags off new shoes so they would be ready to go bright and early in the morning. I was looking at Mario and Luigi's shoes and I thought, "Dang. Those look big." So, I pulled out my tennis shoes just to see how they measured up.
Sure enough, they were the same size as mine. Mario's are even a bit bigger. There goes that squeeze on my heart again. My baby boys have feet as big as mine. Which means soon they will also be taller than me. Which means one day soon, I will have to pull out the step-stool and stand on it to yell at them.
I am so ready for tomorrow. This brand new chapter in our little land of Goombas. I am excited for all of the amazing things waiting for them at school and with new friends. I am excited for myself, to finally get a breather, a bit of a break to catch up on everything I haven't been able to do for 11 years. But, as with everything else, it is a little bittersweet.
So, tomorrow morning, I will put my smile on my face, take my babies' pictures and walk them into school. Then, when I get back out to the parking lot, I know I will cry. In fact, I will probably do the ugly cry for a little bit.
And then, I will go home and make myself a mimosa and toast the fact that I have done my job. Dare I say, even possibly a good job! I have raised my Goombas to school age and we all survived. Now on to the next adventure!
Cheers,
~Daisy
It started the other day at Target. Peach reminded me to get something that I had forgotten to write down on my list. I said, "Oh, thank you, Peach! I almost forgot!" Peach shook her head and said, "what are you going to do without me when I am in school all day? You will forget all the good groceries!" And then it hit me. She is right. I probably will forget most of the "good" groceries. But, also, what am I going to do without my little sidekick? Over the past year, we have spent our afternoons together. Just me and my Peach. She helps me count Box Tops for the school. She reminds me what to get at Target. She comes with me to get my eyebrows waxed and watches carefully, telling the waxing lady if she misses a spot. I am not going to lie here. It kinda gave my heart a little squeeze.
Then, just this evening, I was cutting tags off new shoes so they would be ready to go bright and early in the morning. I was looking at Mario and Luigi's shoes and I thought, "Dang. Those look big." So, I pulled out my tennis shoes just to see how they measured up.
Sure enough, they were the same size as mine. Mario's are even a bit bigger. There goes that squeeze on my heart again. My baby boys have feet as big as mine. Which means soon they will also be taller than me. Which means one day soon, I will have to pull out the step-stool and stand on it to yell at them.
I am so ready for tomorrow. This brand new chapter in our little land of Goombas. I am excited for all of the amazing things waiting for them at school and with new friends. I am excited for myself, to finally get a breather, a bit of a break to catch up on everything I haven't been able to do for 11 years. But, as with everything else, it is a little bittersweet.
So, tomorrow morning, I will put my smile on my face, take my babies' pictures and walk them into school. Then, when I get back out to the parking lot, I know I will cry. In fact, I will probably do the ugly cry for a little bit.
And then, I will go home and make myself a mimosa and toast the fact that I have done my job. Dare I say, even possibly a good job! I have raised my Goombas to school age and we all survived. Now on to the next adventure!
Cheers,
~Daisy
Sunday, April 27, 2014
A Short Story
We just spent a really nice afternoon playing Family Edition Trivial Pursuit with the Goombas. A difficult question came up for the kids, so I made up a multiple choice for them. It was something about an author that wrote a series of mystery books for kids. So, I gave the Goombas 4 choices: a) Cam Jansen, b) Nancy Drew, c)Alex Rider, d) the Hardy Boys.
After the game (which the Goombas dominated), Mario said, "Hey Mom, were those other books real?"
"Yes!" I replied. "Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys were old mystery books. They were introduced in the late 20s and became really popular with young readers in the 50s and 60s."
"Ok. How would you even know about something like that?" my inquisitive child asked me.
"I read them when I was a kid."
"But how could you even find such an old book before you had the internet?"
Wah, wah, waaaaaaaahhhhh....
"Well, there USED to be these things called card catalogs in the library..." And before I could even finish, my beloved Mario said,
"I mean, I didn't even realize you were around in the 50s and 60s!"
Double WAH, WAH, WAAAAAAAHHHHHH.
Thanks, Mario. I love you.
Cheers!
~Daisy
After the game (which the Goombas dominated), Mario said, "Hey Mom, were those other books real?"
"Yes!" I replied. "Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys were old mystery books. They were introduced in the late 20s and became really popular with young readers in the 50s and 60s."
"Ok. How would you even know about something like that?" my inquisitive child asked me.
"I read them when I was a kid."
"But how could you even find such an old book before you had the internet?"
Wah, wah, waaaaaaaahhhhh....
"Well, there USED to be these things called card catalogs in the library..." And before I could even finish, my beloved Mario said,
"I mean, I didn't even realize you were around in the 50s and 60s!"
Double WAH, WAH, WAAAAAAAHHHHHH.
Thanks, Mario. I love you.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Saturday, April 12, 2014
A Mommy Drinking Game
Remember that game that you played in college (or maybe even high school, or maybe even still today?) called "I Never?" If you never had the pleasure, here is how it works. One person says, "I never ran around campus naked." Then everyone who DID run around campus naked has to take a drink. You can fill in the blank with whatever you want. I never ate a worm, I never got arrested, I never fell asleep in class... ok, you get the point.
Bowser and I were talking the other day about all of the things we said we would NEVER do as parents. Oh there are so very many things.... So, I decided to make up my own little Mommy Drinking Game called "I Will Never." Here are the rules: 1-Think back to your pre-baby days and remember all of the things you said you would never ever ever do, and 2-If you did it, you have to take a drink. Ready? I've got my Coors Light right here. And, GO!
I will never let my baby cry and ruin everyone's dinner at a restaurant.
Drink one for me.
I will never let toys overrun my home.
That's another drink for me.
I will never let my child/children look disheveled or unclean in public.
Better take 2 on that one.
I will never let my child wear a Halloween costume for 6 months straight because it is the only thing they want to wear.
Drink!
I will never drag my children kicking and screaming through a grocery store just to get milk because we have been out for 3 days and we need it desperately.
Drink again for me.
I will never run out of things like milk or bread or other healthy staples.
Whew. Another one.
I will never fight with Bowser in front of the kids.
I should probably just finish this first one. *hiccup*
Ok, new beer. How are you doing so far?
I will never let the laundry pile up so much that I have to go to Walmart to buy underwear just so the kids don't have to wear their dirty ones.
Sip!
I will never be the obnoxious mother running up and down the sidelines of a sporting event screaming at her kid to "get on the ball and attack, what is wrong with you!!!!"
chug, chug, chug.
*hiccup!*
I will never bribe my children with candy to get them through the church service/school concert/grocery store.
Drink again!
I will never feed my children crap like high-fructose corn syrup and nasty things like fruit snacks and doritos.
Gulp. This one is almost gone...
I will never make separate meals for my children if they "don't like" what we are having. They will have to learn to eat what we eat.
Just gonna go ahead and finish this one.
Aaaahhhhh....
Third beer. (already?) I fink I'm theeling tipsy.
I will never feed the kids ice cream and put on a movie for dinner just because I am too tired to deal with cooking a meal that no one will eat anyway.
glug, glug, glug
I will NEVER let my kiddos watch more than 1 or 2 hours of tv a day.
Drink! Woo hoo! Thish ish fun!!!
I will never spoil them with the latest video games/gaming devices/movies/etc. (etcetera. that is funny word.)
Drinking againnnn!
Oh! I got anosther one! I will never skip pages in a book at bedtime just to hurry up and get downstairs for the new episode of Grey's Anatomy.
Drinky-drink-drink!
I will never ever lie to my kids about things like "the ice cream man ran out of ice cream," or "sorry, Target doesn't let you buy toys on a Tuesday."
Darn it, thish one ish almosht gone. maybe if i turn the bottle uspshide down, I can get more...
*hiccup*
Have you been playing along? What ish your "I Vener...Nefer... wait... NEVERER?"
Cheers!!
~Daisy
ps--have fun, drink responsibly, and enjoy laughing at how silly your pre-kid philosophies were!
Bowser and I were talking the other day about all of the things we said we would NEVER do as parents. Oh there are so very many things.... So, I decided to make up my own little Mommy Drinking Game called "I Will Never." Here are the rules: 1-Think back to your pre-baby days and remember all of the things you said you would never ever ever do, and 2-If you did it, you have to take a drink. Ready? I've got my Coors Light right here. And, GO!
I will never let my baby cry and ruin everyone's dinner at a restaurant.
Drink one for me.
I will never let toys overrun my home.
That's another drink for me.
I will never let my child/children look disheveled or unclean in public.
Better take 2 on that one.
I will never let my child wear a Halloween costume for 6 months straight because it is the only thing they want to wear.
Drink!
I will never drag my children kicking and screaming through a grocery store just to get milk because we have been out for 3 days and we need it desperately.
Drink again for me.
I will never run out of things like milk or bread or other healthy staples.
Whew. Another one.
I will never fight with Bowser in front of the kids.
I should probably just finish this first one. *hiccup*
Ok, new beer. How are you doing so far?
I will never let the laundry pile up so much that I have to go to Walmart to buy underwear just so the kids don't have to wear their dirty ones.
Sip!
I will never be the obnoxious mother running up and down the sidelines of a sporting event screaming at her kid to "get on the ball and attack, what is wrong with you!!!!"
chug, chug, chug.
*hiccup!*
I will never bribe my children with candy to get them through the church service/school concert/grocery store.
Drink again!
I will never feed my children crap like high-fructose corn syrup and nasty things like fruit snacks and doritos.
Gulp. This one is almost gone...
I will never make separate meals for my children if they "don't like" what we are having. They will have to learn to eat what we eat.
Just gonna go ahead and finish this one.
Aaaahhhhh....
Third beer. (already?) I fink I'm theeling tipsy.
I will never feed the kids ice cream and put on a movie for dinner just because I am too tired to deal with cooking a meal that no one will eat anyway.
glug, glug, glug
I will NEVER let my kiddos watch more than 1 or 2 hours of tv a day.
Drink! Woo hoo! Thish ish fun!!!
I will never spoil them with the latest video games/gaming devices/movies/etc. (etcetera. that is funny word.)
Drinking againnnn!
Oh! I got anosther one! I will never skip pages in a book at bedtime just to hurry up and get downstairs for the new episode of Grey's Anatomy.
Drinky-drink-drink!
I will never ever lie to my kids about things like "the ice cream man ran out of ice cream," or "sorry, Target doesn't let you buy toys on a Tuesday."
Darn it, thish one ish almosht gone. maybe if i turn the bottle uspshide down, I can get more...
*hiccup*
Have you been playing along? What ish your "I Vener...Nefer... wait... NEVERER?"
Cheers!!
~Daisy
ps--have fun, drink responsibly, and enjoy laughing at how silly your pre-kid philosophies were!
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Ya Gotta Have Faith
The other night, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. All of the Goombas were doing their own thing, which basically means Mario was watching Minecraft videos on his laptop, Luigi was playing on the Wii, and Peach was on her Kindle Fire.
So, I am in the kitchen, chopping something, or maybe drinking wine, and Luigi yells, "Hey, Mom!"
"Yes?"
"Ummmm...Does God see us all the time?"
Now, I have to admit here that we are not the MOST religious family. I mean, we go to church occasionally, we talk about Jesus, and we say grace before dinner, but it's not our strong suit. So, it took me a little off guard.
"Yes, He does see us all the time."
Silence for a moment.
"Hey, Mom? Does God hear everything we say?"
"Yes, He sees and hears us all the time."
Silence again for a moment.
"Mom? Is God always with us? ALWAYS?"
At this point I am a little bit worried. I couldn't help but wonder what he had done that would make him question if God saw him.
"Yes, He loves us very much and is always with us."
"Ok!" Luigi hollered back at me.
Thinking that I was about to catch him in the act of decapitating one of his sister's dolls or something, I sneaked over to the area where the toy room is. And I heard this...
"Please God, please let me win this race! Please let my cart be the fastest and Wario be the winner. Please God, if you can hear me, please let me win!"
And then as I started to turn around and head back to the kitchen I heard,
"YES, YES, YES!!!!! Mommy! He DID hear me! I asked Him to let me win the race and HE DID!!!! He really does see and hear us!"
Yes, my child, He is with us. Even in our Mario Kart racing.
Cheers!
~Daisy
So, I am in the kitchen, chopping something, or maybe drinking wine, and Luigi yells, "Hey, Mom!"
"Yes?"
"Ummmm...Does God see us all the time?"
Now, I have to admit here that we are not the MOST religious family. I mean, we go to church occasionally, we talk about Jesus, and we say grace before dinner, but it's not our strong suit. So, it took me a little off guard.
"Yes, He does see us all the time."
Silence for a moment.
"Hey, Mom? Does God hear everything we say?"
"Yes, He sees and hears us all the time."
Silence again for a moment.
"Mom? Is God always with us? ALWAYS?"
At this point I am a little bit worried. I couldn't help but wonder what he had done that would make him question if God saw him.
"Yes, He loves us very much and is always with us."
"Ok!" Luigi hollered back at me.
Thinking that I was about to catch him in the act of decapitating one of his sister's dolls or something, I sneaked over to the area where the toy room is. And I heard this...
"Please God, please let me win this race! Please let my cart be the fastest and Wario be the winner. Please God, if you can hear me, please let me win!"
And then as I started to turn around and head back to the kitchen I heard,
"YES, YES, YES!!!!! Mommy! He DID hear me! I asked Him to let me win the race and HE DID!!!! He really does see and hear us!"
Yes, my child, He is with us. Even in our Mario Kart racing.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Mario is 11!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARIO!!! Oh my. I can hardly believe that you are 11 years old! When we went to the middle school information meeting a couple of weeks ago, I had a total "pork chop moment." I got a little teary eyed and I tried to hide it from you. You just looked at me and rolled your eyes. And that is ok, because I know you are becoming your own person and you don't need your mother bawling her eyes out in front of everyone at every little milestone. But, just a word of warning, I will probably bawl my eyes out at every little milestone anyway.
I want to tell you a little story right now, about the days leading up to your birth. First of all, you know I am not a very patient person. And, dear son, before you came along I was even LESS patient than I am now. Shocking, I know. Anyway, I was not very patient. Your due date was February 26th. As the 26th got closer and closer, your dad and I were ready. I had my hospital bag packed and waiting by the door. Zaza flew in a couple of days before so that she wouldn't miss anything. Our dog, Abby Normal, paced around in your bedroom, just waiting for your arrival.
And the 26th came and went. With no baby.
That's ok, I said to everyone. He will be here soon. He just wants to be fashionably late.
The 27th came and went. Still no baby.
Well, I am a little uncomfortable, I said, trying to hide my displeasure at your failure to arrive. But, I knew, just knew it wouldn't be long.
The 28th came and went. Guess what? Still no baby.
Haha! I joked through gritted teeth. At least it isn't a leap year! Wouldn't want a leap year baby. (Actually, at that point, I would have taken any baby, but that is neither here nor there.)
I prepared myself for a March baby. And that is when my sanity started to pack it's bags and leave.
Ok, baby! If you are born today, I will take you to Disney World for your first birthday! So, come on out!
March 1st. No. Baby.
Now I was just getting angry. Come on, Baby. Get out. GET OUT. If you are born today, I will take you to Disney World EVERY YEAR for your birthday. Now that's a deal!
March 2nd. Still. No. Baby.
There were a few things happening at this point that I feel should be noted.
1--Zaza tripped over Abby Normal and hurt her shoulder. So, we went to the emergency room, where everyone came out with wheelchairs yelling, "we got one for L&D!" (Labor and Delivery to the lay person) Imagine my happiness when I had to waddle by and say, "Nope. Here for my mom."
2--My belly was too large to drive myself anywhere, so Bowser would drive me and Zaza to the mall every day. We walked probably 438 miles around that mall. And we saw every movie in the theater.
3--People were calling like crazy, wondering if Baby Boy had made his debut. I eventually stopped answering the phone.
Moving along... At this point, I figured, Ok, well, at least he will have a cool birthday! 03/03/03! And, baby, if you are born on this day, I will buy you a pony! And of course the Disney trips are still on the table. So, come on, this is your eviction notice!
March 3rd. You refused to budge.
I think it was sometime around this point when Papa finally gave up waiting and drove out to await your arrival. Not that it mattered. You had no interest in seeing what the outside world was like. This time, I promised you a car, whatever car you wanted, gifted to you on your 16th birthday.
March 4th. No. Baby.
Then came Ash Wednesday. It was about 2 degrees outside, but I waddled out in my shorts and tank top so that we could go to church. Because, obviously, you had no intention of gracing us with your presence. The priest at that particular church was from Vietnam. And when he gave his homily, he had a slight lisp, so it came out as "Ass Wednesday." So, in the back of church, Bowser and I sat giggling like idiots every time he said, "Ass Wednesday," or "on this day of asses," or "to ass we shall return." It was the highlight of my week. Oh and...
March 5th. Ugh. I was getting desperate.
Which brings us to the morning of March 6th. Doctor appointment. I played several scenarios in my head in which I had to beg and plead with the doctor to just take this baby out. I vowed to myself that if she wouldn't do it, I would do it myself. I ran up and down the stairs at the office when we arrived, just so that I would look extra pathetic.(Of course, running is really a subjective verb to a lady who is 9 and a half months pregnant.) Thankfully, something worked and my blood pressure was pretty high by the time I got back to the room. Induction it is! "Take your time," said the doctor, "go have lunch, get your things, yadda yadda, blah, blah."
We got home and I gave Bowser 10 minutes to get his affairs in order, because we were going to the hospital NOW.
The rest is just a long drawn out story about how I labored for hours, thought my nurse was Anne from Anne of Green Gables, pooped on the bed, spiked a fever, and ended up with a c-section. But then, there you were, chubby and loud and beautiful. The most precious gift I have ever been given.
Mario, you made me crazy in those last days. But, I will tell you what, my Baby Bear, you were worth every minute of that wait.
Happy 11th birthday, my curly-haired, soccer-playing, football-loving, Pokemon-catching kiddo. I love you more than words could ever say.
Love always,
Your Mom, Daisy
I want to tell you a little story right now, about the days leading up to your birth. First of all, you know I am not a very patient person. And, dear son, before you came along I was even LESS patient than I am now. Shocking, I know. Anyway, I was not very patient. Your due date was February 26th. As the 26th got closer and closer, your dad and I were ready. I had my hospital bag packed and waiting by the door. Zaza flew in a couple of days before so that she wouldn't miss anything. Our dog, Abby Normal, paced around in your bedroom, just waiting for your arrival.
And the 26th came and went. With no baby.
That's ok, I said to everyone. He will be here soon. He just wants to be fashionably late.
The 27th came and went. Still no baby.
Well, I am a little uncomfortable, I said, trying to hide my displeasure at your failure to arrive. But, I knew, just knew it wouldn't be long.
The 28th came and went. Guess what? Still no baby.
Haha! I joked through gritted teeth. At least it isn't a leap year! Wouldn't want a leap year baby. (Actually, at that point, I would have taken any baby, but that is neither here nor there.)
I prepared myself for a March baby. And that is when my sanity started to pack it's bags and leave.
Ok, baby! If you are born today, I will take you to Disney World for your first birthday! So, come on out!
March 1st. No. Baby.
Now I was just getting angry. Come on, Baby. Get out. GET OUT. If you are born today, I will take you to Disney World EVERY YEAR for your birthday. Now that's a deal!
March 2nd. Still. No. Baby.
There were a few things happening at this point that I feel should be noted.
1--Zaza tripped over Abby Normal and hurt her shoulder. So, we went to the emergency room, where everyone came out with wheelchairs yelling, "we got one for L&D!" (Labor and Delivery to the lay person) Imagine my happiness when I had to waddle by and say, "Nope. Here for my mom."
2--My belly was too large to drive myself anywhere, so Bowser would drive me and Zaza to the mall every day. We walked probably 438 miles around that mall. And we saw every movie in the theater.
3--People were calling like crazy, wondering if Baby Boy had made his debut. I eventually stopped answering the phone.
Moving along... At this point, I figured, Ok, well, at least he will have a cool birthday! 03/03/03! And, baby, if you are born on this day, I will buy you a pony! And of course the Disney trips are still on the table. So, come on, this is your eviction notice!
March 3rd. You refused to budge.
I think it was sometime around this point when Papa finally gave up waiting and drove out to await your arrival. Not that it mattered. You had no interest in seeing what the outside world was like. This time, I promised you a car, whatever car you wanted, gifted to you on your 16th birthday.
March 4th. No. Baby.
Then came Ash Wednesday. It was about 2 degrees outside, but I waddled out in my shorts and tank top so that we could go to church. Because, obviously, you had no intention of gracing us with your presence. The priest at that particular church was from Vietnam. And when he gave his homily, he had a slight lisp, so it came out as "Ass Wednesday." So, in the back of church, Bowser and I sat giggling like idiots every time he said, "Ass Wednesday," or "on this day of asses," or "to ass we shall return." It was the highlight of my week. Oh and...
March 5th. Ugh. I was getting desperate.
Which brings us to the morning of March 6th. Doctor appointment. I played several scenarios in my head in which I had to beg and plead with the doctor to just take this baby out. I vowed to myself that if she wouldn't do it, I would do it myself. I ran up and down the stairs at the office when we arrived, just so that I would look extra pathetic.(Of course, running is really a subjective verb to a lady who is 9 and a half months pregnant.) Thankfully, something worked and my blood pressure was pretty high by the time I got back to the room. Induction it is! "Take your time," said the doctor, "go have lunch, get your things, yadda yadda, blah, blah."
We got home and I gave Bowser 10 minutes to get his affairs in order, because we were going to the hospital NOW.
The rest is just a long drawn out story about how I labored for hours, thought my nurse was Anne from Anne of Green Gables, pooped on the bed, spiked a fever, and ended up with a c-section. But then, there you were, chubby and loud and beautiful. The most precious gift I have ever been given.
Mario, you made me crazy in those last days. But, I will tell you what, my Baby Bear, you were worth every minute of that wait.
Happy 11th birthday, my curly-haired, soccer-playing, football-loving, Pokemon-catching kiddo. I love you more than words could ever say.
Love always,
Your Mom, Daisy
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Morning Routine
Mario is in 5th grade. This means he has been attending regular school for 6 years now. Luigi is in 1st grade. He has only been for 2 years, but has watched his brother go through the morning routine for 6 years. Peach is in half-day Kindergarten. She, too, has been watching the morning routine her entire life.
So, with 6 years of morning routine under their belts, why is it that every morning we have to start all over as if we have never done it before? The very definition of the word routine is "regular, unvarying, habitual, unimaginative, or rote procedure." (thank you, dictionary.com!) Let's break that down, shall we? Regular -- not out of the ordinary. Unvarying--it does not change. Habitual -- something you do all the time that becomes a normal every day occurrance. Unimaginative--we aren't going to wake up one morning and find dragons sitting at the breakfast table or get to fly our broomsticks to school. Rote procedure--you shouldn't even have to think about it, you just do it.
And yet, every single morning it is as if my little Goombas' brains have been reset as they slept. It goes something like this:
6:45-ish: Everybody wake up! Wakey, wakey, eggs and bake-y!
Mario--Why do I have to get up so early?
Luigi--I'm too tired!
Peach--Do I HAVE to go to school today?
Me--Because we have school, you went to bed early so you are fine, and YES. School. Just like last week and the week before and the week before and the week before....
6:59-7:06: Breakfast! Come on everyone! Get breakfast so we can get ready for school!
Mario slumps downstairs and begrudgingly and ever so SLOWLY gets a bowl of cereal.
Luigi tumbles down the stairs with no socks on and goes to play with his Hot Wheels.
Peach bounces down the stairs and begins to regale us with play-by-plays of all her dreams.
Me: Mario, move it along. Luigi, breakfast not cars. Peach, please sit down and eat while you talk. (**repeat no less than 7 times)
7:18-7:26--Brush teeth! Brush hair! Get shoes on! Let's get out the door! (this is in my "happy voice")
Mario--lingers over cereal. Yawns. Stands on the vent to "warm up."
Me--Mario, come on. Brush your teeth. Do what needs to be done.
Mario--I brushed my teeth yesterday. And why do I have to comb my hair? It's not like anyone cares.
Me--I care. I care a lot. And we have to brush our teeth every day. Just like I told you yesterday.
Mario--Fine, whatever, no one cares about any of that.
Me--(getting aggravated) Just. Go. Do. It.
Mario--stomps upstairs. Plays in room. Wanders up and down the hall. Finally brushes teeth. Comes down with hair still in curly afro.
At the same time--
Luigi--running around island. Grabbing toys. Picking on Peach. Crawling on the floor.
Me--Luigi, if you are finished eating, please go brush your teeth.
Luigi--I'm not done.
Me--Then sit down and finish so you can do the rest of your routine. (oh, see, there is that word again--routine!)
Luigi--Ok. Takes one bite. Decides that now is the appropriate time to lay on the couch and burrito up in a blanket.
Me--Luigi. Finish eating.
Luigi--I'm done. Can I play on the DS?
Me--No. It's a school morning. What do you need to do next?
Luigi--*blink, blink* I dunno?
Me--Brush your teeth.
Luigi--Oh yeah. Runs upstairs. Then back down. Then back up. Then back down. Starts to put together a Lego toy.
I won't even go on here, because this is pretty much what happens til we walk out the door.
And at the same time--
Me: Peach, if you are done eating, please go brush your teeth.
Peach--Wait mom. First I want you to smell my breath.
Me--No thank you. You can just go brush.
Peach--But, I want you to smell it NOW so that you can smell it again after I brush.
Me--Again, no thank you. I know what your morning breath smells like. Just go brush.
Peach--breaking down into tears. I juuuuuusssssst want you to smeeeeelllllllll mmmmmmmyyyyyyy bbbbbbrrrrrreeeeaaaatttthhhh, mmmmmmooooooooommmmmmm!!!!
Me--Fine! *sniff, gag* NOW GO BRUSH!
7:28: Ok, everyone get your shoes on and grab your backpacks! It's time to head out! (At this point, I am trying to remain cheerful, although my will to live is slowly diminishing.)
Mario-- I forgot to do my Math last night.
Luigi--throwing socks at Peach and laughing maniacally. Wiggling butt in Mario's face.
Peach--I don't know where my shoes are, but can I bring blankie and ALL of my My Little Ponies with me?
Me--banging head on kitchen counter. Just. Get. Your. Shoes. On.
7:39: GET YOUR SHOES ON AND GET OUT TO THE CAR!!!!!! (Yes, I have lost it by now.)
Mario--Why do I even have to go to school anyway? I just want to play football. **hair still in curly, bed-head, afro.
Luigi--I can tie my shoes! And look, Mom, I got toothpaste on my knee! (what the....???)
Peach--I am going to wear my crown to school today because I am a princess and I am only going to meow because I am a kitty princess! Meow, meow!
Eventually they all get to the mini-van and somehow we manage to arrive at school on time. But, I kid you not... Every. Single. Morning.
And this, my friends, is why beer should be a breakfast drink.
Cheers!
~Daisy
So, with 6 years of morning routine under their belts, why is it that every morning we have to start all over as if we have never done it before? The very definition of the word routine is "regular, unvarying, habitual, unimaginative, or rote procedure." (thank you, dictionary.com!) Let's break that down, shall we? Regular -- not out of the ordinary. Unvarying--it does not change. Habitual -- something you do all the time that becomes a normal every day occurrance. Unimaginative--we aren't going to wake up one morning and find dragons sitting at the breakfast table or get to fly our broomsticks to school. Rote procedure--you shouldn't even have to think about it, you just do it.
And yet, every single morning it is as if my little Goombas' brains have been reset as they slept. It goes something like this:
6:45-ish: Everybody wake up! Wakey, wakey, eggs and bake-y!
Mario--Why do I have to get up so early?
Luigi--I'm too tired!
Peach--Do I HAVE to go to school today?
Me--Because we have school, you went to bed early so you are fine, and YES. School. Just like last week and the week before and the week before and the week before....
6:59-7:06: Breakfast! Come on everyone! Get breakfast so we can get ready for school!
Mario slumps downstairs and begrudgingly and ever so SLOWLY gets a bowl of cereal.
Luigi tumbles down the stairs with no socks on and goes to play with his Hot Wheels.
Peach bounces down the stairs and begins to regale us with play-by-plays of all her dreams.
Me: Mario, move it along. Luigi, breakfast not cars. Peach, please sit down and eat while you talk. (**repeat no less than 7 times)
7:18-7:26--Brush teeth! Brush hair! Get shoes on! Let's get out the door! (this is in my "happy voice")
Mario--lingers over cereal. Yawns. Stands on the vent to "warm up."
Me--Mario, come on. Brush your teeth. Do what needs to be done.
Mario--I brushed my teeth yesterday. And why do I have to comb my hair? It's not like anyone cares.
Me--I care. I care a lot. And we have to brush our teeth every day. Just like I told you yesterday.
Mario--Fine, whatever, no one cares about any of that.
Me--(getting aggravated) Just. Go. Do. It.
Mario--stomps upstairs. Plays in room. Wanders up and down the hall. Finally brushes teeth. Comes down with hair still in curly afro.
At the same time--
Luigi--running around island. Grabbing toys. Picking on Peach. Crawling on the floor.
Me--Luigi, if you are finished eating, please go brush your teeth.
Luigi--I'm not done.
Me--Then sit down and finish so you can do the rest of your routine. (oh, see, there is that word again--routine!)
Luigi--Ok. Takes one bite. Decides that now is the appropriate time to lay on the couch and burrito up in a blanket.
Me--Luigi. Finish eating.
Luigi--I'm done. Can I play on the DS?
Me--No. It's a school morning. What do you need to do next?
Luigi--*blink, blink* I dunno?
Me--Brush your teeth.
Luigi--Oh yeah. Runs upstairs. Then back down. Then back up. Then back down. Starts to put together a Lego toy.
I won't even go on here, because this is pretty much what happens til we walk out the door.
And at the same time--
Me: Peach, if you are done eating, please go brush your teeth.
Peach--Wait mom. First I want you to smell my breath.
Me--No thank you. You can just go brush.
Peach--But, I want you to smell it NOW so that you can smell it again after I brush.
Me--Again, no thank you. I know what your morning breath smells like. Just go brush.
Peach--breaking down into tears. I juuuuuusssssst want you to smeeeeelllllllll mmmmmmmyyyyyyy bbbbbbrrrrrreeeeaaaatttthhhh, mmmmmmooooooooommmmmmm!!!!
Me--Fine! *sniff, gag* NOW GO BRUSH!
7:28: Ok, everyone get your shoes on and grab your backpacks! It's time to head out! (At this point, I am trying to remain cheerful, although my will to live is slowly diminishing.)
Mario-- I forgot to do my Math last night.
Luigi--throwing socks at Peach and laughing maniacally. Wiggling butt in Mario's face.
Peach--I don't know where my shoes are, but can I bring blankie and ALL of my My Little Ponies with me?
Me--banging head on kitchen counter. Just. Get. Your. Shoes. On.
7:39: GET YOUR SHOES ON AND GET OUT TO THE CAR!!!!!! (Yes, I have lost it by now.)
Mario--Why do I even have to go to school anyway? I just want to play football. **hair still in curly, bed-head, afro.
Luigi--I can tie my shoes! And look, Mom, I got toothpaste on my knee! (what the....???)
Peach--I am going to wear my crown to school today because I am a princess and I am only going to meow because I am a kitty princess! Meow, meow!
Eventually they all get to the mini-van and somehow we manage to arrive at school on time. But, I kid you not... Every. Single. Morning.
And this, my friends, is why beer should be a breakfast drink.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Hello 2014, Goodbye Gall Bladder
At the request of my mother, the Zaz, and her teacher friends, I am writing again. Thanks for the nudge of encouragement. I am, however, having a bit of trouble finding a good story to tell about the Goombas. So, instead, I am going to regale you with the story of how I came to be without my gall bladder. Don't worry, nothing graphic. You ready? I know you are just waiting on the edge of your seat. So, allow me to present...
Hello 2014, Goodbye Gall Bladder
Bowser and I had been planning for quite some time that 2014 was going to be our big weight loss year. Of course, you can't start in the middle of the week, so we decided to start eating better the first Monday of the new year. Which meant that the first SUNDAY of the new year was a free-for-all. Eat whatever you can, because ya ain't gettin' it no more.
My dear friend, FK, and I decided to go to Buffalo Wild Wings to get our grub on. We ordered the works: wings, fries, fried pickles, ranch dressing, and even dessert. About half way through the meal, I started to feel not so good. But, I am not one to be weak when it comes to food, so I powered through like a champion. Fast forward to that evening. I sent Bowser to DQ for some blizzards (pronounced bliz-ZARDS) to have as our last pre-diet meal. (What, you don't consider a blizzard a meal?) I got about 4 bites into my yummy, ice creamy, chocolatey, peanut buttery treat when the pain hit. HARD. I mean like, took the wind out of me hard. I really can't even explain it. I think I would rather be in my last weeks of pregnancy again, than to have that pain again. And that is saying a lot from me.
I figured it had to be gas. What else could it be? So, I took some gas pills, drank a little 7-up and tried to sit down on the couch. That did not work. I went to the bathroom. That did not work. Oddly, the only thing that made it feel better--and better is NOT the right word, because it really didn't feel better, so maybe tolerable--was walking. I probably walked 23 miles around my kitchen island. I was really starting to get worried. I weakly said, "maybe I should go to the emergency room?" and Bowser (my loving hubby) said, "I am not taking you to the ER just so they can tell you that you need to fart!" And, really, I did see his point, so I did not argue.
Now we are at about 10 p.m. I was crying. I couldn't even pay attention to the Jimmy Fallon special that we had tivo'd and were trying to watch. And I LOVE Jimmy. At some point I told Bowser to tell the kids I love them and to call the morgue, for I was surely not going to make it through the night. At this point, I think he realized I was serious. We called a nurse helpline and the nurse said to me, "Honey. You need to stop whatever you are doing and go to the ER right now." Do not pass go, do not collect $200.
At this point, I must say a huge THANK YOU to my FK (the one I had lunch with earlier in the day) who came over at the drop of a hat to stay with the Goombas for us. I barely squeaked into the phone that we needed her and she was here in an instant. (I love you, FK!)
Into the ER we went. Within seconds of walking in the door, the nurse said, "Do you have a gall bladder?" "Yes," I replied, thinking she was crazy. "Not for long!" she chirped. Then she said something strange... "Well, it would have to be your gall bladder because the only thing in that area of your body is your gall bladder and your spleen." Ok, sure. **Let me tell you why this was strange: Bowser and I were curious later what the job of the spleen was, so we looked it up and discovered that the spleen is not, in fact, any where near your gall bladder. It is on the complete opposite side of your body. That did not do well for my confidence in the medical professionals that were overseeing my care.
But, then I was suddenly in a room with an IV and a magical medication was flowing through my veins making the pain go away. It. Was. Awesome. So awesome, that I had a conversation with Bowser about Transformers. I mean, why do the Decepticons get such a COOL name? They are the bad guys! And the good guys just get Autobots? How fair is that? I'm tellin' ya, that medicine was fan-freakin'-tastic.
I'll fast forward now. Check into a room, yadda yadda yadda, more pain meds, blah blah blah, Bowser home at 2:30 a.m. to relieve FK and stay with the kids, surgery scheduled for first thing in the morning. I do feel that I should say here that when Peach bounced into our bedroom in the morning and didn't see me, she got a little worried. Bowser told her that mommy had a bad tummy ache and had to go to the hospital. To which she replied, "MOMMY WENT TO THE HOSPITAL TO HAVE A BABY!!!!" And then proceeded to run into her brothers' rooms to announce the good news.
Grandma Bowser came over to watch the Goombas and Bowser came back to the hospital. Into surgery I went. As the wheeled me into the OR, Bon Jovi's "Bad Medicine" was blasting on the speakers. And that is how I knew everything would be alright. I mean, if my surgeon liked to operate to Bon Jovi, well, I knew I was in good hands.
I was home by that evening. Isn't it so amazing, and weird, that you can go into a hospital and less than 24 hours later leave without a body part? And I only have 4 tiny little scars. Just amazing. (Then the bills started coming in. Not so amazing. But, I digress....)
The Goombas were so good to me when I got home. Poor Luigi was so relieved that he just hugged me and cried. Peach and Mario were so helpful. Bowser even unloaded the dishwasher once or twice. Hmmmm.... maybe next time I need a break I can come up with some kidney stones or something?
And now here I am. Back to my old self, minus a not-so-necessary body part. Thank you to all my wonderful friends who helped with dinners and driving the Goombas!
Cheers!
~Daisy
Hello 2014, Goodbye Gall Bladder
Bowser and I had been planning for quite some time that 2014 was going to be our big weight loss year. Of course, you can't start in the middle of the week, so we decided to start eating better the first Monday of the new year. Which meant that the first SUNDAY of the new year was a free-for-all. Eat whatever you can, because ya ain't gettin' it no more.
My dear friend, FK, and I decided to go to Buffalo Wild Wings to get our grub on. We ordered the works: wings, fries, fried pickles, ranch dressing, and even dessert. About half way through the meal, I started to feel not so good. But, I am not one to be weak when it comes to food, so I powered through like a champion. Fast forward to that evening. I sent Bowser to DQ for some blizzards (pronounced bliz-ZARDS) to have as our last pre-diet meal. (What, you don't consider a blizzard a meal?) I got about 4 bites into my yummy, ice creamy, chocolatey, peanut buttery treat when the pain hit. HARD. I mean like, took the wind out of me hard. I really can't even explain it. I think I would rather be in my last weeks of pregnancy again, than to have that pain again. And that is saying a lot from me.
I figured it had to be gas. What else could it be? So, I took some gas pills, drank a little 7-up and tried to sit down on the couch. That did not work. I went to the bathroom. That did not work. Oddly, the only thing that made it feel better--and better is NOT the right word, because it really didn't feel better, so maybe tolerable--was walking. I probably walked 23 miles around my kitchen island. I was really starting to get worried. I weakly said, "maybe I should go to the emergency room?" and Bowser (my loving hubby) said, "I am not taking you to the ER just so they can tell you that you need to fart!" And, really, I did see his point, so I did not argue.
Now we are at about 10 p.m. I was crying. I couldn't even pay attention to the Jimmy Fallon special that we had tivo'd and were trying to watch. And I LOVE Jimmy. At some point I told Bowser to tell the kids I love them and to call the morgue, for I was surely not going to make it through the night. At this point, I think he realized I was serious. We called a nurse helpline and the nurse said to me, "Honey. You need to stop whatever you are doing and go to the ER right now." Do not pass go, do not collect $200.
At this point, I must say a huge THANK YOU to my FK (the one I had lunch with earlier in the day) who came over at the drop of a hat to stay with the Goombas for us. I barely squeaked into the phone that we needed her and she was here in an instant. (I love you, FK!)
Into the ER we went. Within seconds of walking in the door, the nurse said, "Do you have a gall bladder?" "Yes," I replied, thinking she was crazy. "Not for long!" she chirped. Then she said something strange... "Well, it would have to be your gall bladder because the only thing in that area of your body is your gall bladder and your spleen." Ok, sure. **Let me tell you why this was strange: Bowser and I were curious later what the job of the spleen was, so we looked it up and discovered that the spleen is not, in fact, any where near your gall bladder. It is on the complete opposite side of your body. That did not do well for my confidence in the medical professionals that were overseeing my care.
But, then I was suddenly in a room with an IV and a magical medication was flowing through my veins making the pain go away. It. Was. Awesome. So awesome, that I had a conversation with Bowser about Transformers. I mean, why do the Decepticons get such a COOL name? They are the bad guys! And the good guys just get Autobots? How fair is that? I'm tellin' ya, that medicine was fan-freakin'-tastic.
I'll fast forward now. Check into a room, yadda yadda yadda, more pain meds, blah blah blah, Bowser home at 2:30 a.m. to relieve FK and stay with the kids, surgery scheduled for first thing in the morning. I do feel that I should say here that when Peach bounced into our bedroom in the morning and didn't see me, she got a little worried. Bowser told her that mommy had a bad tummy ache and had to go to the hospital. To which she replied, "MOMMY WENT TO THE HOSPITAL TO HAVE A BABY!!!!" And then proceeded to run into her brothers' rooms to announce the good news.
Grandma Bowser came over to watch the Goombas and Bowser came back to the hospital. Into surgery I went. As the wheeled me into the OR, Bon Jovi's "Bad Medicine" was blasting on the speakers. And that is how I knew everything would be alright. I mean, if my surgeon liked to operate to Bon Jovi, well, I knew I was in good hands.
I was home by that evening. Isn't it so amazing, and weird, that you can go into a hospital and less than 24 hours later leave without a body part? And I only have 4 tiny little scars. Just amazing. (Then the bills started coming in. Not so amazing. But, I digress....)
The Goombas were so good to me when I got home. Poor Luigi was so relieved that he just hugged me and cried. Peach and Mario were so helpful. Bowser even unloaded the dishwasher once or twice. Hmmmm.... maybe next time I need a break I can come up with some kidney stones or something?
And now here I am. Back to my old self, minus a not-so-necessary body part. Thank you to all my wonderful friends who helped with dinners and driving the Goombas!
Cheers!
~Daisy
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Too much?
This morning I went to Target to do my grocery shopping. I do most of my shopping at Target for various reasons. But, mostly because it is my happy place and I like to go there and meander through the aisles and get lost in my Target-y bliss. I like to go on Sunday mornings for our weekly grocery extravaganza. The kids stay home with Bowser and I head out by myself with my coupons and my Cartwheel app ready to go. Sure, I could go on Monday when everyone is in school, but that would be a silly waste of my alone time. So, I go on Sundays. I also usually go on Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Every once in a while I have to run in for something on Tuesday or Thursday. Sometimes, when I forget something from the "big list" on Sunday, I will do a quick run through on Monday morning.
Anyways, today I was doing our big weekly grocery shopping. I did my usual route through the store. There is an art to how to go through a Target. And I never, EVER divert from the path. When I divert from the path, bad things happen and the bulls-eye gods get angry with me. Suddenly none of my coupons work, there are only 30% off and not 70% off sales throughout, and it just generally turns unpleasant. Always stick with the plan. I did my loop past the registers, through the dollar section, in and out of toys and sporting goods, checked out the Halloween stuff, browsed the clothing and shoe sales, headed through housewares and finally ended up in the grocery section.
I was about 3 aisles in when I was confronted. I am still not sure how I feel about what happened. Good? Bad? It is unclear. Here is how it went down...
Me: walking around corner, into chips and snacks aisle, nearly run over Manager Man. (Yes, I know his name, but I feel I should stick with my plan and not use real names here, so as to keep his identity a secret.)
MM: Hi, ma'am. Are you finding everything ok today? (at this point, you might THINK I am upset by the "ma'am," but that is not it. Although, I firmly believe I still look much more like a MISS than a MA'AM.)
Me: Oh yes. Thank you!
MM: Oh. It's you. Of course you can find everything. You probably know this store better than I do!
Me: uuuuuuuuhhhhh, yeah, probably, I guess that's kinda sad..... ha? ha?
MM: Yeah it is! I mean, I see you in here ALL the time.
Me: (at a complete loss for a totally awesome comeback) I like Target. (Good Lord, that sounded LAME.)
MM: Yes, we can see that! *chuckle, chuckle, chuckle*
Me: Well, er, thanks. Uh, have a good day.
MM: You too! I'm sure I'll see you later! Thanks for helping our paychecks!
I am probably being a little overly sensitive, but I think he might have been making fun of me! Or, maybe I just really go to Target, like, A LOT. Too much? ...sigh... I think I am going to need some retail therapy to make me feel better about this. They did have a great looking 70% off rack in women's clothing today.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Anyways, today I was doing our big weekly grocery shopping. I did my usual route through the store. There is an art to how to go through a Target. And I never, EVER divert from the path. When I divert from the path, bad things happen and the bulls-eye gods get angry with me. Suddenly none of my coupons work, there are only 30% off and not 70% off sales throughout, and it just generally turns unpleasant. Always stick with the plan. I did my loop past the registers, through the dollar section, in and out of toys and sporting goods, checked out the Halloween stuff, browsed the clothing and shoe sales, headed through housewares and finally ended up in the grocery section.
I was about 3 aisles in when I was confronted. I am still not sure how I feel about what happened. Good? Bad? It is unclear. Here is how it went down...
Me: walking around corner, into chips and snacks aisle, nearly run over Manager Man. (Yes, I know his name, but I feel I should stick with my plan and not use real names here, so as to keep his identity a secret.)
MM: Hi, ma'am. Are you finding everything ok today? (at this point, you might THINK I am upset by the "ma'am," but that is not it. Although, I firmly believe I still look much more like a MISS than a MA'AM.)
Me: Oh yes. Thank you!
MM: Oh. It's you. Of course you can find everything. You probably know this store better than I do!
Me: uuuuuuuuhhhhh, yeah, probably, I guess that's kinda sad..... ha? ha?
MM: Yeah it is! I mean, I see you in here ALL the time.
Me: (at a complete loss for a totally awesome comeback) I like Target. (Good Lord, that sounded LAME.)
MM: Yes, we can see that! *chuckle, chuckle, chuckle*
Me: Well, er, thanks. Uh, have a good day.
MM: You too! I'm sure I'll see you later! Thanks for helping our paychecks!
I am probably being a little overly sensitive, but I think he might have been making fun of me! Or, maybe I just really go to Target, like, A LOT. Too much? ...sigh... I think I am going to need some retail therapy to make me feel better about this. They did have a great looking 70% off rack in women's clothing today.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Sunday, September 8, 2013
The Case FOR Barbie
I can practically hear the eye-rolling as I type. Yes, I am making a case FOR the Barbie doll. I know, I know... I have a daughter! How can I possibly let my little Peach play with a doll that will make her hate her own body, and teach her that boobs and blonde hair are all that matters? Well, to begin with, I happen to be a former fan of Barbie myself.
I don't exactly remember getting my first Barbie doll, but I DO, very clearly in fact, remember the year that I got Peaches and Cream Barbie and Ken. Oh, how I wanted that beautiful peachy couple!!! And when we went to my Auntie Mets house that Christmas morning, oh so long ago, my wish came true. As I tore through the wrapping paper, I started to see that incredible flowing peach gown, with the orange flower tied around the waist and the stole--the stole!--that could be arranged in so, so many different ways, and I was almost too excited to breathe! Yes, the bodice of the dress was a weird plastic-y, snake pattern with super stiff pointy boobs, but OH, that dress was breathtaking! And then, in the second package, was handsome Ken, with his molded plastic head of hair, and just as dashing as ever, with his tuxedo to match Barbie's dress. I could see my dreams and they were peach polyester perfection.
And now, my daughter is carrying on my love of fashion dolls. She will be five years old tomorrow (I know! OMG! That is a whole other issue in itself!) and basically all she has asked for is Barbie. Oh sure, there are a few ponies and fairies in the mix, but mostly Barbie.
Now let me explain to you why it does not bother me that my little girl is infatuated with Babs.
Barbie has been around for a long time. Has it always been perfect? No, probably not. But it was invented as a PLAY THING. You know, something to inspire IMAGINATION in little girls (and boys, no judging here!). I realize that most toys now give you step by step instructions on how to play with them and which piece goes where and what house they should live in, etc, etc. But, the Barbie doll does not come with instructions. Ever thought about that? No instructions necessary, because the doll inspires girls to act out scenarios with friends, family, pets, and so many other things.
Which leads me right into the fact that Barbie has done pretty much everything and anything. What other doll out there has been a computer programmer, a doctor, an astronaut, a scientist, an architect, a weather girl, a soccer star, a ballerina, a fairy, a mermaid, an actress, a teacher, a big sister, a wife, a friend, and oh so much more? Let's be honest. No other doll has ventured into that many fields. I think it is pretty cool that Barbie knows no limitations. She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it. Someone could say, "Oh Barbie, you KNOW a girl can't run for president," and watch how quickly she proves them wrong. Now, THAT is the kind of confidence I want my daughter to have as she grows up.
Ok, sure, she is a fashionista on top of all that. But, really. Show me a woman that wouldn't love a closet full of designer clothes and shoes and I'll show you.... well, nothing. I will show you nothing because I don't think you will find her.
Since we are talking about how Barbie looks, we might as well get to the heart of the matter. A lot of people dislike Ms. Roberts because of her looks. Oh, what? You didn't think she has a last name? Of course she does! Google it! That is right, Barbara Millicent Roberts is put through the gauntlet nearly every day because of her looks. Here is the deal from my humble perspective... She is a DOLL. Of course her proportions are weird! If she was life-size, she would look like a freak. But she is not life-size, she is a doll. I don't see anyone wigging out over the fact that Tinkerbell has wings. OMG! She has wings! Little girls around the world are going to start hating themselves because they CAN'T HAVE THEIR OWN WINGS!!!! What about Monster High? (don't even get me started on those dolls, but bear with me, I am making a point.) I don't imagine that girls are sitting around saying, "Woe is me! I just want purple skin and stitches all over my body to make me beautiful!!!!" And why is that? I am guessing because they understand that Monster High and Tinkerbell are CHARACTERS, not actual people. Let's give our future female population some credit here. And while we are at it.... Cabbage Patch Kids are like real babies? Sure, if your head is abnormally gigantic, your 3 fingers are sewn together and your feet look more like balloons with nubs on the end than actual feet. See what I mean? Imagination, people.
Now, besides her body, B is usually blonde with blue eyes. As a short, sorta stubby, brown-eyed, brown-(sometimes purple)-haired girl, I can't say it really bothers me. I mean, I am kinda used to it. Saying that only Barbie makes blonde the "beauty standard" would be like saying only McDonald's holds the French Fry standard of the world. Plus, if you go down the Barbie aisle these days, you will find that she has friends of many hair color and ethnicity. Wouldn't it be weird if you went to the store one day and found Asian Dora? Shyeah! Dora is a Latina little girl. Just like Barbie is a blonde American. And Doc McStuffins is an African-American, and Kai-lan is Asian, and Twilight Sparkle is a pony, and Hello Kitty is a cat. They are what they are.
I know someone who once told me she would never buy her daughter a Barbie doll because she didn't like the look or attitude that Barbie portrayed. She didn't like that Barbie made it so "unrealistic" to be a woman. Now, she has a daughter who obsesses over the entire Barbie aisle at the toy store. And, well, I think you can see where this is going...
Barbie, my dear friends, is not the enemy. She is just a doll, with a penchant for fashion, that wants to make her mark on the world. Just like so many other fine women that I know in real life. And yes, I am looking forward to seeing Peach's eyes sparkle tomorrow morning, on her 5th birthday, when she wakes up and opens a long-dreamed-for Barbie doll to add to her collection.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Monday, July 22, 2013
Daisy Goes Bipolar Over Back To School
Do you want to know what I did today? Of course you do. Well, first, I checked my news feed on my phone about every 15 seconds to see when the Duchess of Cambridge had been safely delivered of her child. I love that. Safely delivered of a son. Ha! It makes it sound so... sweet and peaceful. I digress. That was actually not ALL that I did today. Are you ready for it? You may want to sit down.
I registered my baby girl--my BABY--for Kindergarten.
I am talking about my little teeny tiny fairy nugget of a baby. Peach is going to Kindergarten. And I must admit, I am feeling a little bipolar about it.
My thoughts today went something like this:
Out loud: "Yay! Peach! Let's go get you registered for Kindergarten!"
Internal Dialogue: "Wait. Peach. You are still a baby. Silly Mommy, thinking you are ready for Kindergarten!"
Out Loud: "Look at your new school! This place looks like fun!"
Internal Dialogue: "Ew. How old is that playground equipment. Looks like a death trap. No way I'm leaving her here without my supervision."
Out Loud: "Hi! I'm here to register my daughter, Peach, for school!"
Internal Dialogue: "Ummm...hello? I am about to trust you with my baby. My youngest child. And I'm really not sure how I feel about it. So, if you would just give me a damn minute to fill out these papers and stop throwing information at me, that would be fab."
Out Loud: "You are going to learn so many new things and make so many new friends, Peach!"
Internal Dialogue: "And I will be sitting at home all alone, without my little shopping buddy. My little curly-haired sidekick. Just get back in my belly, little baby girl!"
I guess it all just sort of snuck up on me. I mean, I really enjoy my alone time. All of the Goombas were in school last year, the boys full-day, and Peach in 1/2 day preschool. I really enjoyed those 3 hours in the afternoon. So, why am I being all weird about Kindergarten? I guess it's because Peach is my baby. When Mario went to school, it was so exciting and new! When Luigi went to school, I knew he was so ready for the adventures that he was beginning! With Peach, well... I guess I just feel like we are closing a chapter in our lives.
I am looking back over some of my old blogs and it really seems like only yesterday that I was losing my mind over peeled crayons and grapes squished on the floor. Although we have been done with diapers for quite some time, I still had "little ones" at home. Now, little sticky fingers that wanted to hold on tight to my hand walking across the street are turning into bigger hands that let go more and more often. Scribbled coloring pages and drawings of happy stick figures with no necks are being replaced with written reports and fancy art projects. Mommy and Daddy are more often becoming Mom and Dad.
This is natural, I know. I am loving watching my Goombas grow and change and learn. They amaze me every day. I am so excited to see them follow their paths and do all kinds of new things. But, it's like... You know when you are "in" something, and it kind of feels like it will never end, and you will always be stuck "there?" Then, suddenly, one day you realize, you aren't "there" anymore. Now you are "here" and you aren't really sure how you got there. You know you muddled through, but you forget why you felt so stuck and how the days and hours seemed to just drag on sometimes. And then you look at the beautiful beings that you have been teaching, nourishing, and loving and you think, "I am so blessed to have been there for all those moments... the really, really long ones, and the ones that flew by too quickly," and then it kinda takes your breath away for a minute.
Of course, five minutes later, you are all getting into the van, and those "beautiful beings" are screaming at one another over who got their seatbelt on first and you think, "Oh dear, LORD, these kids need to get back to school, like, YESTERDAY!!!"
Cheers and love to all!
~Daisy
I registered my baby girl--my BABY--for Kindergarten.
I am talking about my little teeny tiny fairy nugget of a baby. Peach is going to Kindergarten. And I must admit, I am feeling a little bipolar about it.
My thoughts today went something like this:
Out loud: "Yay! Peach! Let's go get you registered for Kindergarten!"
Internal Dialogue: "Wait. Peach. You are still a baby. Silly Mommy, thinking you are ready for Kindergarten!"
Out Loud: "Look at your new school! This place looks like fun!"
Internal Dialogue: "Ew. How old is that playground equipment. Looks like a death trap. No way I'm leaving her here without my supervision."
Out Loud: "Hi! I'm here to register my daughter, Peach, for school!"
Internal Dialogue: "Ummm...hello? I am about to trust you with my baby. My youngest child. And I'm really not sure how I feel about it. So, if you would just give me a damn minute to fill out these papers and stop throwing information at me, that would be fab."
Out Loud: "You are going to learn so many new things and make so many new friends, Peach!"
Internal Dialogue: "And I will be sitting at home all alone, without my little shopping buddy. My little curly-haired sidekick. Just get back in my belly, little baby girl!"
I guess it all just sort of snuck up on me. I mean, I really enjoy my alone time. All of the Goombas were in school last year, the boys full-day, and Peach in 1/2 day preschool. I really enjoyed those 3 hours in the afternoon. So, why am I being all weird about Kindergarten? I guess it's because Peach is my baby. When Mario went to school, it was so exciting and new! When Luigi went to school, I knew he was so ready for the adventures that he was beginning! With Peach, well... I guess I just feel like we are closing a chapter in our lives.
I am looking back over some of my old blogs and it really seems like only yesterday that I was losing my mind over peeled crayons and grapes squished on the floor. Although we have been done with diapers for quite some time, I still had "little ones" at home. Now, little sticky fingers that wanted to hold on tight to my hand walking across the street are turning into bigger hands that let go more and more often. Scribbled coloring pages and drawings of happy stick figures with no necks are being replaced with written reports and fancy art projects. Mommy and Daddy are more often becoming Mom and Dad.
This is natural, I know. I am loving watching my Goombas grow and change and learn. They amaze me every day. I am so excited to see them follow their paths and do all kinds of new things. But, it's like... You know when you are "in" something, and it kind of feels like it will never end, and you will always be stuck "there?" Then, suddenly, one day you realize, you aren't "there" anymore. Now you are "here" and you aren't really sure how you got there. You know you muddled through, but you forget why you felt so stuck and how the days and hours seemed to just drag on sometimes. And then you look at the beautiful beings that you have been teaching, nourishing, and loving and you think, "I am so blessed to have been there for all those moments... the really, really long ones, and the ones that flew by too quickly," and then it kinda takes your breath away for a minute.
Of course, five minutes later, you are all getting into the van, and those "beautiful beings" are screaming at one another over who got their seatbelt on first and you think, "Oh dear, LORD, these kids need to get back to school, like, YESTERDAY!!!"
Cheers and love to all!
~Daisy
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Drama Aint' Just for Girls...
Another typical night in the Mario house. We are getting ready to eat dinner. Since my oh so graceful injury, my dear Bowser has been doing MUCH of the housework. (By the way, Bowse, my man, thank you and I love you!). Bowser and I had chicken caesar salad wraps, and since the Goombas wouldn't touch lettuce if it were dripping in chocolate (or ketchup in Luigi's case), they were having nuggets and fries.
I was starving. Starving! I needed to eat immediately. So, the wraps were done before the nugs and fries. We all sat down at the table and said grace and I started stuffing my face. Meanwhile, Bowser was still waiting for the fries to come out of the oven. Luigi was getting desperate. He needed some french fries. Not just wanted, but NEEDED some french fries. He started frantically looking around.
"Wait? What? Where are the fries???" he cried.
Bowser said, "What fries? I ate them all already."
Wrong. Answer. Daddy.
As Bowser was trying to get the very hot fries out of the oven, Luigi started crying. But, not just crying. Actual wailing over the "loss" of his beloved potato-y goodness.
"Daaaaaaadddddddyyyyyyyyy," he howled, "wwwwhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyy?????? Why did you eat all the fries????????????????????????"
Bowser replied, "Well, I was hungry." I would just like to state for the record here that I knew this was a bad, bad, bad response. However, as previously stated, I was so hungry that I could have eaten my actual plate. I was not interested in stopping an argument at that particular moment.
Suddenly, Luigi, my dear sweet child, screamed, "Daddy! You have RUINED MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!! RUINED IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Now, I might have expected this from a teenager. Or from Peach, who at 4 years old is on a level of drama I could never even try to understand. I did not expect it from my 6-year-old son.
Fast forward 5 minutes. There are, indeed, french fries at the table. Luigi is happily drowning each one in massive amounts of ketchup.
Bowser says, "Hey, Luigi. I'm sorry I ruined your life."
"Huh?" (as if nothing ever happened.)
"I'm sorry that I said I ate all the french fries and ruined your life," Bowser said.
"Oh," Luigi said nonchalantly. "Well, I THOUGHT you did. But, now I have some fries, so you really didn't."
Well. At least we got that cleared up.
Cheers!
~Daisy
I was starving. Starving! I needed to eat immediately. So, the wraps were done before the nugs and fries. We all sat down at the table and said grace and I started stuffing my face. Meanwhile, Bowser was still waiting for the fries to come out of the oven. Luigi was getting desperate. He needed some french fries. Not just wanted, but NEEDED some french fries. He started frantically looking around.
"Wait? What? Where are the fries???" he cried.
Bowser said, "What fries? I ate them all already."
Wrong. Answer. Daddy.
As Bowser was trying to get the very hot fries out of the oven, Luigi started crying. But, not just crying. Actual wailing over the "loss" of his beloved potato-y goodness.
"Daaaaaaadddddddyyyyyyyyy," he howled, "wwwwhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyy?????? Why did you eat all the fries????????????????????????"
Bowser replied, "Well, I was hungry." I would just like to state for the record here that I knew this was a bad, bad, bad response. However, as previously stated, I was so hungry that I could have eaten my actual plate. I was not interested in stopping an argument at that particular moment.
Suddenly, Luigi, my dear sweet child, screamed, "Daddy! You have RUINED MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!! RUINED IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Now, I might have expected this from a teenager. Or from Peach, who at 4 years old is on a level of drama I could never even try to understand. I did not expect it from my 6-year-old son.
Fast forward 5 minutes. There are, indeed, french fries at the table. Luigi is happily drowning each one in massive amounts of ketchup.
Bowser says, "Hey, Luigi. I'm sorry I ruined your life."
"Huh?" (as if nothing ever happened.)
"I'm sorry that I said I ate all the french fries and ruined your life," Bowser said.
"Oh," Luigi said nonchalantly. "Well, I THOUGHT you did. But, now I have some fries, so you really didn't."
Well. At least we got that cleared up.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Spray Tan
Yes, it has been another long stretch without hearing anything from or about the Goombas. We are in the throes of summer break and.... well, you know how I feel about that.
This is just a quick story for you.
This morning, I was dropping off some handpainted glasses at a local boutique. I love this place. They have bling out the booty, and such super cute stuff. Their newest addition... A spray tanning booth. Awe. Some. When I went in this morning, the owner and some others asked if I would like to volunteer to do the first spray tan so they could practice. A free spray tan? Sure! I'm game! I have never had a spray tan before, and since my injury this summer (loooonnnnggg story, don't ask) I have not had much sun time. Thus my pasty white legs must have alerted these women that I would be the perfect candidate.
Now, I love all these ladies, they are all so sweet. But, I don't know them that well yet, so I left my panties and bra on (straps tucked in) and said, "spray away!" The owner of the sprayer thingy showed everyone how to use the sprayer and how to hold it and spray. It was a little cold and sticky. But, I couldn't believe it! I had a beautiful golden glow within minutes! WOW. I am totally doing this more often!
I should tell you that before I went to the boutique, it was early on Saturday morning. I had not yet showered for the day, and I was still wearing my scrubby, comfy clothes. And underwear. This information will come in handy in a moment.
Did you know that spray tan gets darker as the day goes on? Something about the chemical reacting with your skin and activating. Whatever. I love it. I have not looked this beachy bronze in YEARS. Mostly because the sun and I, we don't get along. It tries to give me sunspots, and wrinkles and cancer, and I frankly don't want any of those things. Some people find this hard to understand. And, that is ok with me. I will be the one wearing the 800 spf when I see you at the park. I digress....
I was so excited over my newly non-ghosty skin, that I was showing off my tan to the family at dinner. And that is when Bowser, my love, my life, my husband, noticed the stripe on my back from between my undies and bra, and said, "It looks great! Next time, though, you probably shouldn't wear your granny panties that go half way up your back."
**Facepalm**
So, I highly recommend a spray tan. I also highly recommend NOT wearing your granny panties.
Cheers!
~Daisy
This is just a quick story for you.
This morning, I was dropping off some handpainted glasses at a local boutique. I love this place. They have bling out the booty, and such super cute stuff. Their newest addition... A spray tanning booth. Awe. Some. When I went in this morning, the owner and some others asked if I would like to volunteer to do the first spray tan so they could practice. A free spray tan? Sure! I'm game! I have never had a spray tan before, and since my injury this summer (loooonnnnggg story, don't ask) I have not had much sun time. Thus my pasty white legs must have alerted these women that I would be the perfect candidate.
Now, I love all these ladies, they are all so sweet. But, I don't know them that well yet, so I left my panties and bra on (straps tucked in) and said, "spray away!" The owner of the sprayer thingy showed everyone how to use the sprayer and how to hold it and spray. It was a little cold and sticky. But, I couldn't believe it! I had a beautiful golden glow within minutes! WOW. I am totally doing this more often!
I should tell you that before I went to the boutique, it was early on Saturday morning. I had not yet showered for the day, and I was still wearing my scrubby, comfy clothes. And underwear. This information will come in handy in a moment.
Did you know that spray tan gets darker as the day goes on? Something about the chemical reacting with your skin and activating. Whatever. I love it. I have not looked this beachy bronze in YEARS. Mostly because the sun and I, we don't get along. It tries to give me sunspots, and wrinkles and cancer, and I frankly don't want any of those things. Some people find this hard to understand. And, that is ok with me. I will be the one wearing the 800 spf when I see you at the park. I digress....
I was so excited over my newly non-ghosty skin, that I was showing off my tan to the family at dinner. And that is when Bowser, my love, my life, my husband, noticed the stripe on my back from between my undies and bra, and said, "It looks great! Next time, though, you probably shouldn't wear your granny panties that go half way up your back."
**Facepalm**
So, I highly recommend a spray tan. I also highly recommend NOT wearing your granny panties.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mother's Day!
I am sitting on my sofa right now, surfing the internet, and enjoying the happiness that comes with my husband and Goombas doting on me. But, as Luigi sits and snuggles in next to me, telling me I am the "best Mommy ever," my heart is with someone else.
So, I am sending out this Mother's Day wish to someone very, very special to me. Luigi's BirthMom. I think sometimes, we forget that these amazing women--who tear their hearts out over a decision to give their child to another--are mothers, too.
BirthMom, when I met you, you were calm and at peace with your decision. You knew what you wanted for your baby. You knew that he could have a better life and that you were not ready to give him what he needed. And yet, I could see the pain in your eyes. As a mother in the unique position to have both biological and adopted children, I know how those first few minutes, hours, and days are after giving birth. There is a sea of hormones drowning you. There is fierce attachment to this tiny little person that has been growing inside your body. There is love that you never, ever knew could exist. When I think about how it must have felt, knowing what needed to be done, it makes my heart break into thousands of pieces.
There were so many OTHER decisions you could have made. You could have chosen abortion. You could have chosen to keep him. You could have chosen to give him to BirthDad. You could have chosen to give him to your parents, who so desperately wanted him. But, you chose us. You chose US! And every day I thank you for that.
The day that you placed him in my arms and walked out the door, I cried. I cried a long, long time. Not because I was so happy for my long awaited child (which I was!), but because I cannot even fathom the strength it took for you to walk out that door. Part of me wanted to rush after you and hold you in my arms and tell you it would be ok. But, that wasn't my job. My job was to take care of the precious angel that you had given me. The other part of me was sick with terror that you would change your mind. That you would come back in at any moment and say "I made a mistake." But, you didn't. And I will never know how difficult that was. But, I can imagine and I can honestly say, I don't think I could have done it.
BirthMom, we saw you again, when Luigi was 6 weeks old. We met at our adoption offices. You looked beautiful. (He has your eyes, you know!) I was once again terrified that you would see how awesome he was and want him back. You held him for a while. You looked at him with the shining light of a mother's love in your eyes. And then, when he cried, you gently gave him back and said, "Go to your Mommy."
Dearest BirthMom, happy Mother's Day to you. I love you more than you will ever know. And thank you, once again, for your amazing gift.
love,
Daisy
ps--And to all the Moms, Mamas, Mothers, Mommys, step-moms, moms-in-law, Godmothers, aunts, single moms, adoptive moms, moms who have given babies in adoption, moms with angel babies, dads who need to be mom, pet moms, angel moms and anyone who has ever taken a child into their heart--HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!!! Cheers!
So, I am sending out this Mother's Day wish to someone very, very special to me. Luigi's BirthMom. I think sometimes, we forget that these amazing women--who tear their hearts out over a decision to give their child to another--are mothers, too.
BirthMom, when I met you, you were calm and at peace with your decision. You knew what you wanted for your baby. You knew that he could have a better life and that you were not ready to give him what he needed. And yet, I could see the pain in your eyes. As a mother in the unique position to have both biological and adopted children, I know how those first few minutes, hours, and days are after giving birth. There is a sea of hormones drowning you. There is fierce attachment to this tiny little person that has been growing inside your body. There is love that you never, ever knew could exist. When I think about how it must have felt, knowing what needed to be done, it makes my heart break into thousands of pieces.
There were so many OTHER decisions you could have made. You could have chosen abortion. You could have chosen to keep him. You could have chosen to give him to BirthDad. You could have chosen to give him to your parents, who so desperately wanted him. But, you chose us. You chose US! And every day I thank you for that.
The day that you placed him in my arms and walked out the door, I cried. I cried a long, long time. Not because I was so happy for my long awaited child (which I was!), but because I cannot even fathom the strength it took for you to walk out that door. Part of me wanted to rush after you and hold you in my arms and tell you it would be ok. But, that wasn't my job. My job was to take care of the precious angel that you had given me. The other part of me was sick with terror that you would change your mind. That you would come back in at any moment and say "I made a mistake." But, you didn't. And I will never know how difficult that was. But, I can imagine and I can honestly say, I don't think I could have done it.
BirthMom, we saw you again, when Luigi was 6 weeks old. We met at our adoption offices. You looked beautiful. (He has your eyes, you know!) I was once again terrified that you would see how awesome he was and want him back. You held him for a while. You looked at him with the shining light of a mother's love in your eyes. And then, when he cried, you gently gave him back and said, "Go to your Mommy."
Dearest BirthMom, happy Mother's Day to you. I love you more than you will ever know. And thank you, once again, for your amazing gift.
love,
Daisy
ps--And to all the Moms, Mamas, Mothers, Mommys, step-moms, moms-in-law, Godmothers, aunts, single moms, adoptive moms, moms who have given babies in adoption, moms with angel babies, dads who need to be mom, pet moms, angel moms and anyone who has ever taken a child into their heart--HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!!! Cheers!
Monday, April 15, 2013
An Advertisement
I have decided that it is time for me to capitalize on my strengths and at the same time, teach my Goombas... something. So, I am starting my very own business and here is my first advertisement.
Daisy's Home Hospice for Dying Plants
Do you have a beloved Fern that has seen better days?
Are you having a difficult time letting go of your splotched-leaf Colea?
Are you ready for your Peace Lily to rest in peace, but aren't sure how to make it happen?
Look no further, Daisy is here to help!
At my Home Hospice for Dying Plants, I use my gentle black thumb to help put your plants out of their misery.
I use my special techniques that allow your plant to let go without pain or agony. These techniques include:
Forgetting to Water
Letting Cats Nibble
Allowing Cats to Use as Litter Box
Children Digging and Playing in Dirt (thus effectively destroying roots)
Leaving in Sun 'til Burned
Drowning in Water
Using Beer instead of Water to Nurture
No plant is too hardy for me to help--even Cactus!
Stop the struggle today. Bring your plants to my Home Hospice and I will help put your loved ones to rest.
Call 1-800-BLACK-THUMB to schedule your free consultation today. Don't live in the area? Ask for my PDF booklet, "How To Kill Your Plant in 10 Days or Less."
Cheers!
~Daisy
Monday, April 8, 2013
Crafty Daisy
I love to craft. I'm sure I have mentioned this before, but in case I haven't, I just thought I would throw it on out there. Crafting makes me happy. It really doesn't even matter what it is. As long as I am making something with my hands, that will beautify something somewhere, I am as happy as a clam. I have done scrapbooking (which I still do!), jewelry making, crocheting, glass painting, wall art, flower arrangements... You name it, I have probably at least tried it. Well, everything except sewing. I mean, I tried once to sew a badge onto Mario's scout uniform, but it really wasn't that pretty, and in the end, the sticky Badge Magic was just an easier choice. Fast forward to this weekend. I cleaned out some stuff in our bedroom and I found probably 15 pillows. Not really new enough or good enough to sleep on anymore, but hey, I'll make some pillow covers and upcycle! Not gonna fill any dumps with my old pillows. I will re-purpose and it will be beautiful. How hard can a few straight seams be, right?
First, I borrowed a sewing machine from a friend. Now, I haven't actually used a sewing machine since I was in 8th grade Home Ec., but I figured it out then, I should be able to figure it out now. Then Peach and I went to the store and looked at some fabric. She picked a lovely Barbie print so that I could make a pillow for her. We decided not to buy any fabric for her brothers until they were there to choose for themselves. Then, I picked a lovely beige canvas-y, burlap-y cotton to make throw pillows for my couches. I also bought a little handheld seam-stitcher thing. You know, so I could sit on the couch and watch tv while I made my covers. I was so excited to get started! Finally! Something that I can post on Pinterest that I actually made! And I will brag about how EASY it was, and how it is something that ANYONE can do. Can you see where this is going?
After Peach was dropped off at preschool, I came in and got to work. I pulled out the machine, turned it on and looked at it for a while. No thread. Ok. No problem. I know there is something about a bobbin... It took a while of me just looking at diagrams on the machine before I finally thought, "oh yeah! Try the instruction book!" Stupid book. That was NO help. Might as well have been written in alien language. I mean, what is a presser foot and who needs a throat plate anyway? But, I was starting to feel a little desperate. I wanted to avoid asking Bowser for any help. This is women's territory, right? But, I knew that if I could just get the damn thing threaded, I would be good to go. Bowser came out, took a look at it and said, "Just YouTube it." Ok. Good idea. So, I finally find a video where the person seems like she actually knows what is up with a sewing machine. I watch it, then go back and pause it at the appropriate times so that I can do what she is doing. I get my bobbin ready, I push in the clutch (seriously, don't these things come in automatics by now?) and--PING!!!! The presser foot comes flying off and there is only half a needle left on the machine. Since this was a borrowed machine, I just quietly put everything back together and back into the box. And don't worry Mrs. T. I will get you a new needle. Just don't ask me to put it in for you.
But, I was not defeated yet! I still had that handle little seam-stitcher thingy. By this time, although not defeated, I was starting to lose some confidence. So, I figured, I'll make Peach's pillow first. The Barbie fabric is very forgiving with all that pattern on it, and she won't care if there are a few little mistakes. I'm not even going to go into detail about what happened next. I'll just say that I practically sewed my head to my elbow and still missed half the stitches around the pillow. As I told the Zaz this evening, "It is the ugliest damn pillow you have ever seen, and NOT because of the neon patterned fabric." There are lumps and strange seams and loose threads everywhere. Why? Because I couldn't even figure out how to tie off the end of a stitch.
So, basically, my fantastic idea, that should have taken (according to the directions on Pinterest) about 30 minutes, turned into a three-hour affair, with lots of swearing and not much to show for it. I guess it is a good thing I didn't buy the pattern for the adorable little dress that I thought would be OH SO EASY to make for Peach. But, I guess we can't all be perfect at everything. Needless to say, I will NOT be asking for that Singer sewing machine this holiday season.
Don't look too closely. The craftsmanship might hurt your eyes.
Cheers!
~Daisy
First, I borrowed a sewing machine from a friend. Now, I haven't actually used a sewing machine since I was in 8th grade Home Ec., but I figured it out then, I should be able to figure it out now. Then Peach and I went to the store and looked at some fabric. She picked a lovely Barbie print so that I could make a pillow for her. We decided not to buy any fabric for her brothers until they were there to choose for themselves. Then, I picked a lovely beige canvas-y, burlap-y cotton to make throw pillows for my couches. I also bought a little handheld seam-stitcher thing. You know, so I could sit on the couch and watch tv while I made my covers. I was so excited to get started! Finally! Something that I can post on Pinterest that I actually made! And I will brag about how EASY it was, and how it is something that ANYONE can do. Can you see where this is going?
After Peach was dropped off at preschool, I came in and got to work. I pulled out the machine, turned it on and looked at it for a while. No thread. Ok. No problem. I know there is something about a bobbin... It took a while of me just looking at diagrams on the machine before I finally thought, "oh yeah! Try the instruction book!" Stupid book. That was NO help. Might as well have been written in alien language. I mean, what is a presser foot and who needs a throat plate anyway? But, I was starting to feel a little desperate. I wanted to avoid asking Bowser for any help. This is women's territory, right? But, I knew that if I could just get the damn thing threaded, I would be good to go. Bowser came out, took a look at it and said, "Just YouTube it." Ok. Good idea. So, I finally find a video where the person seems like she actually knows what is up with a sewing machine. I watch it, then go back and pause it at the appropriate times so that I can do what she is doing. I get my bobbin ready, I push in the clutch (seriously, don't these things come in automatics by now?) and--PING!!!! The presser foot comes flying off and there is only half a needle left on the machine. Since this was a borrowed machine, I just quietly put everything back together and back into the box. And don't worry Mrs. T. I will get you a new needle. Just don't ask me to put it in for you.
But, I was not defeated yet! I still had that handle little seam-stitcher thingy. By this time, although not defeated, I was starting to lose some confidence. So, I figured, I'll make Peach's pillow first. The Barbie fabric is very forgiving with all that pattern on it, and she won't care if there are a few little mistakes. I'm not even going to go into detail about what happened next. I'll just say that I practically sewed my head to my elbow and still missed half the stitches around the pillow. As I told the Zaz this evening, "It is the ugliest damn pillow you have ever seen, and NOT because of the neon patterned fabric." There are lumps and strange seams and loose threads everywhere. Why? Because I couldn't even figure out how to tie off the end of a stitch.
So, basically, my fantastic idea, that should have taken (according to the directions on Pinterest) about 30 minutes, turned into a three-hour affair, with lots of swearing and not much to show for it. I guess it is a good thing I didn't buy the pattern for the adorable little dress that I thought would be OH SO EASY to make for Peach. But, I guess we can't all be perfect at everything. Needless to say, I will NOT be asking for that Singer sewing machine this holiday season.
Don't look too closely. The craftsmanship might hurt your eyes.
Cheers!
~Daisy
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Survival
This Thursday marks a very special day. A day that seemed so distant at one time and is now suddenly right here in front of my face. Mario will be 10 years old. Which means, I have survived 10 years of motherhood. We will talk more about Mario later this week. Right now, I am going to take a moment and reflect on the fact that I have managed to keep three Goombas, one marriage, and a few straggling threads of my sanity alive for 10 years.
I remember, oh so long ago, in the hospital when I was packing my bags to bring our first baby home. I was crying because I was hormonal and, oh yeah... because I had absolutely NO clue what to do with this adorable little creature that was suddenly mine to take care of. The Zaz and the Pop were waiting at home for us with pizza and beer. Bowser was getting the carseat strapped in just right. I was pacing the floor of my hospital room, desperately trying to figure out a way to get the nurses to let me stay forever. Or at least convince one of them to come home and live with us. I actually grabbed the nurse's hand at one point and told her, through many tears and sobs, that I didn't know what to do with a baby and they really probably shouldn't let me take him home because I was sure to ruin his precious little life. She smiled kindly, gave me a small hug and said, "You will know what to do, and you will be a good mom." Then she wheeled me out the doors and closed the car door and left our little family of 3 alone to fend for ourselves.
You will be happy to know that I have come a long way from that terrified new mother in that hospital room. I still have my moments, for sure. But, Mario is still alive, and even thriving, after ten years, so, I mean, I must be doing something right. Right?!?!?!
Here are some major advances/changes I have made in the past decade:
~When Mario was that tiny little bundle of joy, I made everyone, and I mean EVERYONE who came within a 20 yard radius of him douse themselves with hand sanitizer. No germs on my baby! When Luigi came along, if I remembered it, I would ask that they please use a little, just to humor me. By the time Peach was born, I pretty much figured that no one had arsenic on their hands, so meh, whatever. A few germs never hurt anyone. How else are they supposed to build up their immune systems?
~When Mario was old enough to start eating food, I followed what the pediatrician said to a "T." Mix the rice cereal with formula and make it runny first. Then gradually make it thicker. Then veggies first (no fruit or they won't eat anything else!), then meats, then fruits. Cut everything up into microscopic pieces so he can't choke on it. No peanut butter or anything else that might cause any type of allergic reaction. Nothing with sugar, because we all know what that can do to a baby! (I still don't really know, but if it was in a book, it must be true!) Now... Well, let's just say that the day I caught Luigi and Peach snacking on cat food, I didn't freak out too much. I mean, that has to have some nutrition in it, right? Yes, of course I made them stop eating it, but had it been earlier in my mothering career, we probably would have made a trip to the emergency room to get stomachs pumped. Now that is improvement.
~I used to answer every little tiny single "peep" that came out of Mario. I would lie awake in bed at night and listen to the monitor and if he sighed, or squeaked, or chirped, or moaned, I was in his room and on top of him making sure everything was ok. On the flip side, if he was too silent for too long, I was convinced that he was suffocating and I would run in and stare at him for a good 30 minutes to make sure he was breathing regularly. Fast forward to the present. I have been known, on occasion, to tell my Goombas not to bother me unless someone is literally broken, bleeding, or dead. If they aren't broken, bleeding, or dead, I don't need to know about it. Hey, come on. I'm not the only mom that thinks this way. Sometimes ya just gotta nip that whining in the bud.
~When Mario was little, I used to limit the television to 1 hour a day. And not all at once! It had to be broken up throughout the day. Now, well, let's just say Telly V and I have an understanding. She babysits my kids and shows them movies and entertainment, while I get laundry, dishes, or a shower done. Or read my People magazine. Whatever.
So many other things have changed. These are only a few. I am glad that I have learned to relax and let my kids be kids. I am lucky enough to have been a Stay-at-Home-Mom with them since Mario was born. Have I loved every minute of it? No. Not gonna lie. There were times when I thought they would be better off with someone else, or when I thought God must be punishing me for something in a previous life, or when I started drinking at 2 p.m. just to make it through the day. Would I trade any of it for all the money in the world? Absolutely not. I love these Goombas. They make me laugh and cry, they surprise me with something new every day (good or bad!), they keep me on my toes, they make me want to scream and head for the hills, and they make my heart swell with love and pride.
So, yay for me! They say the first 10 years are the hardest. I made it through the diapers, the bottles, the snot, the tears, the vomit, and I came through with flying colors. Of course, I could never have done it without Bowser, Zaz and Pop, Grandma and Grandpa Bowser, and all of my amazing Mommy friends. But the point is, I did it. And now, when I am walking through Target, and I see a new mommy, with her baby and her bottle of hand sanitizer sitting front and center in her cart, I smile to myself and I think, someday she will have made it, too. And I hope she enjoys the ride as much as I have.
Cheers to 10 years!
~Daisy
I remember, oh so long ago, in the hospital when I was packing my bags to bring our first baby home. I was crying because I was hormonal and, oh yeah... because I had absolutely NO clue what to do with this adorable little creature that was suddenly mine to take care of. The Zaz and the Pop were waiting at home for us with pizza and beer. Bowser was getting the carseat strapped in just right. I was pacing the floor of my hospital room, desperately trying to figure out a way to get the nurses to let me stay forever. Or at least convince one of them to come home and live with us. I actually grabbed the nurse's hand at one point and told her, through many tears and sobs, that I didn't know what to do with a baby and they really probably shouldn't let me take him home because I was sure to ruin his precious little life. She smiled kindly, gave me a small hug and said, "You will know what to do, and you will be a good mom." Then she wheeled me out the doors and closed the car door and left our little family of 3 alone to fend for ourselves.
You will be happy to know that I have come a long way from that terrified new mother in that hospital room. I still have my moments, for sure. But, Mario is still alive, and even thriving, after ten years, so, I mean, I must be doing something right. Right?!?!?!
Here are some major advances/changes I have made in the past decade:
~When Mario was that tiny little bundle of joy, I made everyone, and I mean EVERYONE who came within a 20 yard radius of him douse themselves with hand sanitizer. No germs on my baby! When Luigi came along, if I remembered it, I would ask that they please use a little, just to humor me. By the time Peach was born, I pretty much figured that no one had arsenic on their hands, so meh, whatever. A few germs never hurt anyone. How else are they supposed to build up their immune systems?
~When Mario was old enough to start eating food, I followed what the pediatrician said to a "T." Mix the rice cereal with formula and make it runny first. Then gradually make it thicker. Then veggies first (no fruit or they won't eat anything else!), then meats, then fruits. Cut everything up into microscopic pieces so he can't choke on it. No peanut butter or anything else that might cause any type of allergic reaction. Nothing with sugar, because we all know what that can do to a baby! (I still don't really know, but if it was in a book, it must be true!) Now... Well, let's just say that the day I caught Luigi and Peach snacking on cat food, I didn't freak out too much. I mean, that has to have some nutrition in it, right? Yes, of course I made them stop eating it, but had it been earlier in my mothering career, we probably would have made a trip to the emergency room to get stomachs pumped. Now that is improvement.
~I used to answer every little tiny single "peep" that came out of Mario. I would lie awake in bed at night and listen to the monitor and if he sighed, or squeaked, or chirped, or moaned, I was in his room and on top of him making sure everything was ok. On the flip side, if he was too silent for too long, I was convinced that he was suffocating and I would run in and stare at him for a good 30 minutes to make sure he was breathing regularly. Fast forward to the present. I have been known, on occasion, to tell my Goombas not to bother me unless someone is literally broken, bleeding, or dead. If they aren't broken, bleeding, or dead, I don't need to know about it. Hey, come on. I'm not the only mom that thinks this way. Sometimes ya just gotta nip that whining in the bud.
~When Mario was little, I used to limit the television to 1 hour a day. And not all at once! It had to be broken up throughout the day. Now, well, let's just say Telly V and I have an understanding. She babysits my kids and shows them movies and entertainment, while I get laundry, dishes, or a shower done. Or read my People magazine. Whatever.
So many other things have changed. These are only a few. I am glad that I have learned to relax and let my kids be kids. I am lucky enough to have been a Stay-at-Home-Mom with them since Mario was born. Have I loved every minute of it? No. Not gonna lie. There were times when I thought they would be better off with someone else, or when I thought God must be punishing me for something in a previous life, or when I started drinking at 2 p.m. just to make it through the day. Would I trade any of it for all the money in the world? Absolutely not. I love these Goombas. They make me laugh and cry, they surprise me with something new every day (good or bad!), they keep me on my toes, they make me want to scream and head for the hills, and they make my heart swell with love and pride.
So, yay for me! They say the first 10 years are the hardest. I made it through the diapers, the bottles, the snot, the tears, the vomit, and I came through with flying colors. Of course, I could never have done it without Bowser, Zaz and Pop, Grandma and Grandpa Bowser, and all of my amazing Mommy friends. But the point is, I did it. And now, when I am walking through Target, and I see a new mommy, with her baby and her bottle of hand sanitizer sitting front and center in her cart, I smile to myself and I think, someday she will have made it, too. And I hope she enjoys the ride as much as I have.
Cheers to 10 years!
~Daisy
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