Normalcy has been achieved

This morning I dumped my kids back off at school. You'd think I'd be doing cartwheels naked in a field of poppies.

I'm not.

I know that next week I will be singing a very different tune indeed, but I kinda like having them home. Not in the 'I could homeschool them way', because seriously? That is a special breed of person, and I am not of that breed. My kids don't listen when I tell them how to brush their teeth let alone when I help them with multiplication.

Anyway, I have rules about school-days. Horrible rules. Bad, evil, naughty mommy rules. NO TV on school days rules. No computer on school days, and no Wii on school days. Yes, I am that mean.

After our little tour of North America last year, living with any number of people who do not share my penchant for child-torture, that rule has flown straight out the window. Having a tv the size of Detroit does not help. Today, this very morning, that rule went back into action. There is no tv from Sunday night until Friday night.

That's not exactly true. I have softened a bit in my old age. They are each getting 30 minutes of the media of their choosing every day after homework and chores. They are really nervous about this.

This morning we all got up on time, thanks to a lovely little pill momma had to pop to get her to sleep before 3 am. Momma's having some insomnia issues these days. We all got up on time, 1of3 got himself in the shower before 7:15, and there were eggs scrambled and danishes sliced and jeans thrown in the dryer to warm them up. There was also the discovery of ravioli lunch left in the back-up lunch box 2 weeks ago, and let me tell you, that'll wake you up better than a gallon of coffee.

This morning? Gorgeous. No YuGiOh yelling at us, no kids zombied out. No whimpering, no running late, no nothing. And then 3of3 turned the tv on, and it all came to a crashing halt. Already they are so deprived of essential daily stimulation that they were instantly transfixed by the freaking Magic School Bus.

Ugh.

And now they are back in the saddle again, and the PTA crap will ensue, and so will hockey lessons and gymnastics class and tennis (I hope) and Cub Scouts and Destination Imagination and science projects and track and oh my god I am already exhausted and it hasn't even started yet.

Yes, I like vacation. I like it a lot. Viva la Spring Break!

Wait....Do I have to actually write? Something meaningful?

Stay tuned for something profound....

Ok, here goes....

I think the theme of this is Post Partum Depression. I could be wrong, but I'm running with it. I, like most of North America, dabble in the depression. I have a good dose of the PTSD, and whewey does it ever mess with me. I talked to a doctor once about it and let's just say that I didn't much agree with the end result of that conversation. I have never really discussed it with anyone since. I take the very stupid 'tough it out' approach, and someday it's going to bite me square in the ass, I know.

Needless to say, when the parasites moved out I crashed hard. The birth of each child, in some way, coincided with a truly horrible turn of events in my life. It was tough; I, but for the grace of some very good friends, barely got through all of it.

I'm no doctor, and certainly no expert, but I'd be willing to wager that most women (and men, too) experience some degree of PPD after the kid comes home, whether or not you gave birth to the child or adopted it. Is is the one common link between most moms, and the one we least discuss. Almost a decade after I had my first child, here's the prescription that I have come up with for it:

• Exercise. Not necessarily gym exercise, because, well, fuck that. I didn't have time to do laundry, let alone hit a gym. But walking is exercise, too. Buy yourself a jogger stroller and get outside. Walk anywhere. Just walk. Forget the dishes and the phone calls and the groceries and go stroll around the neighborhood. Shoot for 2 hours. Why? Because A) babies LOVE it and won't cry if you're walking them and B) it helps. No matter how sleep deprived you are, you will feel better after a walk. Mr. Lady promises, you will.
• Buy yourself something pretty. Often. On my walks with 3of3, I passed a shop on the corner called Wild Flowers. It was chocked full of exquisite little pretties. At least once a week I went in after my walk and picked up a little something for me. Why? Because I was a hotel for 9 months and then I was a full-service restaurant, and I thought someone ought to do something for me occasionally. It helped.
• Do it. I know, I know, yuckyuckyuck. The last thing on Earth you want to do after what just happened to your hoo-haa is the sex. Do it anyway. Why? Two reasons: 1. Your husband is freaking the fuck out. His whole world just fell apart, too. He is the person you're going to see the most of for a while, and you want him to be in a good mood. 2. It's funny. Pregnant sex is funny enough, but now your boobies have a new trick they want to show off. There is not one thing on the planet funnier than trying to be all serious and sexy and then suddenly squirting your husband in the face with milk. Nike was right, Just DO it. (Helpful note: unless you have a laundry service or a maid or a fetish for Tide, do it in the shower. Trust me.)
• Do not read parenting books. DO NOT READ PARENTING BOOKS. Read mommy blogs if you must, but read the funny ones where the moms can laugh at themselves. No one can tell you how to raise that kid but you. You have a pediatrician; he will tell you everything you need to know about birth and growth and development. Call him 15 times a night if you must....DO NOT READ PARENTING BOOKS. That includes websites, you cheaters. Why? Nothing will make you feel more inadequate. Nothing will make you worry more. Oh, and that chick at the mall/church/your playgroup/the bar who is always going on and on about how advanced her kid is and how smart and pretty her kid is? Yeah, don't be friends with her anymore. She's just bringing you down. (Personal admission: I have never read one stinking parenting book, and I manged to keep all 3 of mine alive, and actually grow them a little. Many of my friends did read them, though, and I stopped being friends with every single one of them really fast.)
• If your mother-in-law comes over to play with the baby...LEAVE. That's right, leave her there with your kid. I don't care if that kid is 3 days old and still a bit damp; this is your golden opportunity. They stop coming over once the kid learns how to curse. Take full advantage while you can. Why? Because you need to get out already. You're starting to look pale. And do you really want to listen to your mother in law tell you about how she gave her babies evaporated milk and used cloth diapers and how she didn't have the internet or plumbing or language or oil or fire? No, you don't. If you are lucky enough to know she's coming before she gets there, leave your dirty laundry out, too. She'll do it. She's secretly cool like that. Don't worry about leaving the baby with her; she's done this a few times already, and she will do the most amazing job ever caring for your child, if no no other reason than to show your ass up.
• Watch TV. Find a show, get hooked. Like, crack hooked. The catch is; the show has to air only between 2-5 am. Why? Because you will be up between 2-5 am and if you don't have something to look forward to, you will go batshit crazy and start singing inappropriate songs to your baby and wander all the way to the grocery store in a nightgown and one slipper because you are too delirious to remember what clothes are. I personally went with Law and Order re-runs. Law and Order (back then there was just the one) has 9,241 3/4 episodes. Every channel this side of Ursa Minor airs them in syndication. I saw every single one, in order. I loved the 1:30 am feeding because I got to see my show. And every time 1of3 heard that DaDum Da Da DadaDum, he'd try to nurse. It was gorgeous.
• Drink. Yes, drink. Red wine and Guinness are totally good for you and if anyone tells you otherwise they are not your friend. Drink a glass of wine or a Guinness about an hour and a half before you'd theoretically, in a perfect world, like your kid to go down so you can do it/watch Law and Order/take a nap/shop. You'll see. Nurse that baby after the 1 1/2 hours and someone will go ni-night. And maybe a taller someone will, too.

And that's all I've got. Oh, except call your freaking doctor already. Don't be embarrased or ashamed and certainly don't convince yourself that there's nothing at all wrong with you that a good nap won't cure. Call your doctor. That's what they're there for. Or call me. I'll totally walk you through it.

It's time to play Ruin My Kids' Life!

(First things first: Popcorn? Big fat Zero. They hated it. It gave them The Pukes.)

Being a housewife and a stay-at-home-mom gets lonely. Eventually it starts to wear at you, and you find yourself doing things, private things, things you are ashamed of, things you don't want anyone to know you've done.

Like watching SuperNanny. Please don't tell anyone.

So, I'm watching SuperNanny last night, and though I don't agree with a lot of things on that show, I always find something that makes me say "Huh?". Like last night, and something about chores. I had a whole post written about how I am struggling in the chores department and how maybe I needed some advice. And then SuperNanny came to the rescue.

She set up this system for the family in question with a fishbowl full of felt fish with magnets on them. Each one had a chore written on it. The kids took a homemade fishing pole (stick+magnet+string) and went fishing for chores. They each got 2, and then they did them.

It's brilliant.

My struggle is in assigning them chores and keeping it balanced. It's tempting to give 2of3 the easy ones, because, well, he's short. He's always going to be short. And 1of3 is really, oddly tall. They get a little pissy with me for picking chores that they don't think are fair. But this way, oh this way, this way it's off of me and onto fate. *clouds part, angels sing* I am SAVED!

So here's my question: What kinds of chores are good for a 9 and a 7 year old? It's not that I didn't have chores as a kid, it's just that my brother and I did EVERYTHING. We did all the cooking and all the cleaning and I don't think that my worldview on chores is realistic for normal children. And here's where you come in. I need to put, oh, 6-10 chores in this fishbowl and I would like to offer you the chance of a lifetime! The chance to make my poor, abused children suffer with HOUSEWORK. What chores did you do at that age? What did you wish your mom made you do when you became an adult and suddenly realized you had no clue how to do it?

Rules: I am never going to let them cook more than tacos. I will not let them use strong cleaners, like bleach or lye or anything. I can barely change the baby's diaper, so that one's out for the kids. Aside from that, it's open season on the boys' Wii time. Have at it.

Houdini Stikes Again!

2of3 disappeared again. He's done it a few times since the last biggy, but I'm learning how to handle it. There are a series of kids he like to play with, and usually by just peeking in the carports of those kids, I can find a skateboard or a bike that looks familiar and hence find my errant son. I've figured out all the "cool" spots in the woods, and now I know where best to shout.

The difference is that today, his dad was home to see it. It's not such a big difference to him, but it does give me some credence with daddio.

Today, the boys were going to run errands with their dad. 2of3 was out skateboarding and dad told him he had 10 minutes. 10 minutes came and went and when dad and 1of3 went out to find 2of3, well, he was no where. They looked in all the carports, they checked all the hiding spots. No kid. Dad got that look in his eye, the oh shit maybe we should call the cops look. We checked our carport and the skateboard was back, but the bike was gone. And that's when I had him.

The kid 3 doors down is 14 and my boys adore him. He takes them (with my permission) on bikes rides outside of our little neighborhood. They love it. Mr. 14 is soon to start babysitting for us; he's a really good boy and unbelievably nice to my kids. Anyway, missing 2of3 + missing bike = excursion with Mr. 14. And just like that, I found him. Across the big street, in the neighborhood over there, out of earshot, having a grand old time.

This has happened too many times. I do not ever want to be the parent who is used to the idea of not knowing where her kids are. Part of me says that I know he's going to do this and that maybe I should just work around it. You know, plop a cell phone in his pocket or something when he goes out to play. (I have actually done that a few times, withmy cell phone, and it does have its advantages). And then the other part of me says that I have this one little tiny rule for him, this don't leave the neighborhood without asking me rule, and there is no reason on Earth he can't follow it.

I have tried everything. I grounded his ass for a week solid, I have taken away allowance, tv, the precious Wii. I have reasoned with him. We had the stranger danger talk. I have cried. I have hollered. None of it is sinking in.

It appears to me I have only a few options:

• Buy the kid a god damn cell phone
• Ground him until he's 17
• Give him a screwdriver and make him take the bike apart, piece by piece, and hand it to the trash collector in a bag on Tuesday
• Spank his butt.

Ok, I'm not buying him a cell phone. I'm just not. He's SEVEN, for Christ's sake, and dad's saving up for 3of3's pony.

Grounding him sounds great, on the surface, but he will make sure my life is a living hell until I throw him outside by the collar of his shirt. And the last thing I want is a little 7 year old inside glued to a damn tv all day.

Taking the bike apart would be devilishly fun, but it's his dinky old bike and he's got the world's best bike in Denver which will be here shortly. Wasted effort is all that would be.

Spanking his butt is what I'm down to. The problem is that I don't want to spank his butt. I don't believe in spankings. Sure, they've both had them before, but I hate hate hate them. I think they should only be used in emergency situations, like skinning the neighbors cat or playing doctor with the girl all the boys have kissed. But what else can I do? Nothing, nothing is getting through to him. Something has to sink in or he's going to disappear for good one of these days and I will die a thousand horrible deaths because I was too chicken shit to spank my kid.

He's going to be home in an hour or so; I have until then to decide. Sometimes I hate being the parent.