Mothering Mayhem: Life with the Wild Boys

I was wandering through the Denver airport earlier this week, flying home from a flyspeck town in Wyoming with a three hour layover.  In front of me was a little girl, about Gavin's age, holding her grandmother's hand and clinging desperately to her doll with the other hand.  The doll was clearly well loved and looked like it never parted from this girl, ever. For a fleeting moment I looked at that little girl all in pink with beautifully braided hair and color coordinated shoes with her precious baby doll and had a moment of longing.  That realization that I will never, ever, have a child I can dress in an outfit I bought to specially coordinate with her doll. I was almost sad. Almost. But not quite.  Because then I flashed back on my oldest two children, the girls, when they were teenagers.  And just recalling it I got goosebumps and felt my pupils constrict in panic. I shook free of the terror and couldn't contain a deep, evil belly laugh for the little gir...

March brings St. Patrick's Day to the Casa de Testosterone.  It's a joyous time, filled with numerous celebrations for the Irish woman and her little temper prone wild boys.  One of our family traditions in this wonderful month is a semi-local Celtic Fair. Part of you have now officially declared me nerdy beyond repair.  That's ok, I've long since accepted that. In fact, when I got my first Star Trek related t-shirt and was so giddy I called people to tell them about it I accepted my status.  But for those of you judging keep in mind this is not just a fair full of people in costume (although it is that, which makes for fantastic people watching), it is also full of highland games, jousting, awesome music and whiskey tasting.  So you want to judge? Tell it to the ripped guy in the kilt tossing a caber.  The one who just came from the whiskey tasting. Go ahead, call us weirdos. I dare you. So me and the wild boys go to the fair every year with my folks, ...

Hola long lost blog buddies! So here I sit, having snuck away from bed rest healing from the most recent plague.  I apologize for the delay, but this past week was Gabriel's birthday.  This means several things. First, it means the birthday party coordination. True, it was just a small family gathering.  However I feel obligated to make every birthday party an obscene celebration of me surviving pregnancy of the child in question.  Therefore my house still looks a little like the Avengers may have had an after-party here.  There are helium balloons hidden around every corner.  Iron Man confetti is sprinkled willy-nilly throughout the carpet. And my children are covered with full sleeve Avenger tattoos.  It's wicked, really.  Another birthday obligation, however, is the yearly scrapbook.  Each year I make a scrapbook for each boy highlighting all the wonderful things we've done through the year.  I give myself a deadline of their birth...

A brief note to the loyal few.  Late January and the weather has taken an unseasonable change into the low 60's after several weeks where we barely made it out of the 20's, and this is one happy Momma.  My reasons are numerous.  First, the previously mentioned glorious weather.  Seriously, it is beautiful outside and I am grinning like an idiot as a result of a little vitamin D type lovin'.  Second, I'm on vacation.  That's right folks, a real honest to goodness week off of work.  I convinced the cop to also take a week by getting him (yes, him, honestly....I mean sure, I also benefit, but really, it was for him) a few nights away in a gorgeous ocean side hotel in Monterey (we leave another day, I'm not so bad that I would be blogging on a romantic getaway) as a Christmas gift.  And lastly, it is a getaway sans children! Now loyal readers, you were just automatically divided into two camps.  The first is the super jealous, wishing...

Here I sit, returning after the holidays almost (yes, almost) recovered from the adrenaline overload that accompanies two children under the age of six at Christmas. And how was our low key holiday, you ask? Well, we all survived and I feel like that's a plus. Care for a glimpse into the insanity, loyal readers? Lets start the week before Christmas, shall we? Christmas shopping complete but nothing wrapped, a full week of work ahead before a lovely five day break for me and nine day break for the cop. We really felt on top of things at this point. After all, it was just work and wrapping presents. We could do that... But then, in the true fashion of working law enforcement, something came up. I went to work on Tuesday and found out that on Wednesday I'd be flying to Wyoming for an overnight trip. Ok, not really a panic situation... I made my travel arrangements, arranged for the loving grandparents to pick up the hooligans the next night until the cop got off, and s...

A month. Seriously, a month has gone by without me writing anything, and I feel horribly guilty.  I really do, see, I was raised in an Irish Catholic family.  The guilt I feel over my mother raising an eyebrow is almost crippling.  It drives me to drink (that's more the Irish part than the Catholic, I suppose), which is tragic because I'm also very Cherokee.  You thought the Irish were piss poor drinkers? Combine that with my native heritage, it's no good at all. But I can explain in one word. Holidays.  You all know exactly what I'm talking about.  There is no rest for the weary on any given day of the year, and yet for some reason when the holidays come we take it upon ourselves to cram a bajillion festivities in that we haven't the time, money, or really desire to do because it's what is expected.  But not this family.  Not this year.  Right before Thanksgiving the cop and I agreed not to accept any extra invitations this year.  Sur...

For everyone who thought the title implied pregnancy, you are sick individuals who are officially off the Christmas card list. Seriously, have you read ANY of the previous blogs? I employ about six different kinds of birth control just to prevent that kind of thing from happening, and your bad juju just thinking it and giggling is not appreciated. Rather, the familia was recently expanded with the addition of pets.  For about six months now Gabe has been telling random strangers everywhere we go that "we don't have any pets, just our friend dog Ruby."  And this is true.  Our lovely neighbor, Shirley, has a boxer named Ruby.  Shirley is a retired grandma of about a million grandkids, none of whom live within a several hour radius, and enjoys time with my boys.  This may be a sign of the onset of dementia.  Whenever she says they can come over I check to see if she's wearing her underwear on the outside, or has been styling her hair with glue or someth...