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"As for me, I'll take one baby marinated in a dish please"

The playground

I have a love/hate relationship with the playground.  But mostly hate.  The girls love it, so I keep taking them there, despite my ever growing irritation with it.  My kids clearly only see the surface of a playground.  The slides, swings, monkey bars, and various other kidtastic entities a playground has to offer.  I on the other hand, see everything else a playground represents.

Exhibit A: It's a place for teenagers to be obnoxious.  


If you can't read this grammar and spelling catastrophe, neither can I.  But I assure you a teenager wrote it to be super awesome.  How do I know?  It has the words "suck", "ass", and "bitch" in it.  And I can tell you that nothing makes want to send my kid down a slide more than stuff like that.  

And FYI, some teens didn't the memo that playgrounds are for kids.  Because who doesn't think it's a parent free place to makeout with your girlfriend while 20 toddlers are screaming around you.  Sounds romantic.....

And my final teen gripe is that they hang out in groups and do things to get attention. Like throw swings over the bar so nobody can reach them.  Or spin so fast on a tire swing that he or she throws up while everybody laughs.  

I don't get it.  So glad I was never a teenager.


Exhibit B: Playgrounds aren't just where kids and annoying teens hang out.
Tweakers like them too.
.

Oh, hey look.  It's cops arresting a meth head behind my kids.  Good thing they are too busy having fun on the swing to notice the firetruck and ambulance driving in next to those police cars....

And that was our first experience at that playground.  Other parks we've visited have allowed us the opportunity to meet all kinds of interesting characters who have scared the bejesus out of me.  And I swear, I take my kids to legit playgrounds.  It doesn't matter.

Exhibit C: And speaking of that...Teens, tweakers and everybody else seems to leave all kinds of "treasures" for kids to find. 

"Hey mom," what is that rubber thing on the ground?" Enough said.


Exhibit D: The reason I'm even writing this post right now. Other parents.

At the park today, a little boy was stuck on top of the money bars.  I was over there with the girls, so I offered to get him down. His mom then decided that we should engage in conversation.  Not that I have a problem with that per say, except for two things.  #1, My kids still don't play by themselves.  I have to be fully engaged.  #2, She initiates her conversation by saying, "My son is staring at the girls.  He loves them. And he loves older women."  To which I reply, "They can't be too far apart, my oldest is 3.5.  How old is your son?" It was a weird and creepy way to start a conversation, but I was trying to be nice.  Until she said this, "He likes way older women, like you.  And he was staring at the girls.  Not your girls."  Insert creepy crawler super grossed out, WTF moment.  Who says that?  Who even thinks that? She then tried to engage in more random conversation as she and her kids followed me around the playground.  We eventually just left.  

Aside from the pure weirdness of that person, I don't really understand other people who are super engaging at the park.  You are there so your kids can run and play.  People who want to talk life story aren't paying attention to their kids.  I've never met anybody who met their best friend at a park while their kids are playing.  Be friendly yes.  But I don't want to know that you are in the middle of a divorce because your husband shows no emotion, have 3 cats, and are about to undergo a cyst removal.  What was your name again?

Rant over.  I already promised the kids we would try a new park tomorrow. Wish me luck.

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Your sister has a poopy diaper?...Hold on, let me set my fantasy lineup

I'm hoping that being white trash is a symptom, like a runny nose or a fever, that goes away with a little TLC.  Because let me tell you, right now, I'm feeling pretty whisky tango.  I can't keep my house clean, my "blond" hair has roots two inches deep, and ever since quitting my job as an event coordinator, my uniform is yoga pants and an oversized tee shirt.  I can't even wear a fitted shirt, because, oh ya, I haven't lost those 8 extra baby pounds that fit snugly around my waist line.  And here's the thing.  I can't really even call them baby pounds anymore because Milan is 15 month old.

I guess it's my karma for snickering at all the mom's in the grocery store that would wear slippers and pjs while shopping for peanut butter and turkey.  Yep, that was me.  One eyebrow raised wondering how under eye bags even got that big.  And how could they let their children eat all that junk.  Who would even buy stuff with MSG? And peanut butter with all those chemicals? Don't those mom's get it?  Insert eye-roll here.

Two kids later, I'll tell you how that shit happens.  It's called the parent beat-down.  It starts slowly and methodically.  Just kidding, no it doesn't.  It starts like a firestorm of kid wakes up 6 times a night and finally gets up at 5:30 a.m. for the day.  So right off the bat they beat you with no sleep.  It's criminal really.  I don't even think they let that happen at Guantanamo Bay.  Next, they trick you by eating organic black beans and avocado.  But it's just a phase to let you believe you know what you are doing.  Quickly, that ends with them refusing to eat anything but hotdogs and marshmallows.  And of course, you give in.  Or should I say that I give in because I'm too tired to fight the iron will of a marshmallow monster.

And then they take over the house.  I vacuum the floor, they spill granola all over it.  And then they dump their water out, "accidentally," like 5 times.

 I fold cloths and then they jump into them like raked up Autumn leaves.  After abandoning the idea of folding altogether, I just put them in drawers.  It seems like the answer until I look over and one of them is pulling them out of the drawer and throwing them on the floor.

Next up? Smearing the couch with leftover yogurt that I couldn't get off their hands quickly enough.  And then after that, emptying every toy in the bins onto the floor.  But let us not forget the building nests with every towel in the house because they are pretending to be baby birds.  Oh wait? Did Milan just take Pirates Booty into her nest?  Yep, now fake cheese flakes are caked all over the bed.  But it's fine because I still need to wash the sheets after  Ellyette had an accident on them the night before.

Time to sit them in front of the TV.  But alas, not even Leo, June, Quincy and Annie from Little Einsteins can entertain them to the point of getting anything accomplished, so we move along.  And I, with the unimaginable under eye bags, unplucked eyebrows, and disaster of a house, am the epitome of desperation.   But all that changes when Ellyette comes to me and says, "mom, Milan has a poopy diaper.  It stinks!!"  And to which I respond with, "hold on, I need to set my fantasy lineup.  Auntie Bree can't beat me this week.  It will just take a few minutes.  She can hold on."
 
And right there I went from desperate to a little whiskey tango.  Hoping it isn't permanent.


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I’ll take another special treat with a side of diabetes

Here is a question for the generations: How can the same small bladder run frantically to the bathroom and not always make it without an accident, yet still have enough control to siphon her pee into 15 different trips if she knows she’s going to get a special treat for each one?

Even I, with full adult bladder control, do not have the focus, willpower, or bladder prowess to do what my child manages to do on a daily basis.  Bathroom, wash hands, special treat.  Repeat. Repeat again. And again.  She would spend the whole day doing that if I let her, simply for the “special treat.” And because of my desperation to get her potty trained, the special treat anti was upped from two M&M’s to full sized marshmallows, mini Snickers (or as Ellyette calls them, “Snoozie bars”), lollipops, fruit snacks and ice cream. 

And now, not only is my kid addicted to candy and urination, she also refuses to wear clothes.  In her world, it just hinders the ability to get on the toilet faster so she can get a special treat.  While normally not a problem, as we spend a great deal of time at home these days, going out in public has proven to be quite a disaster.  It wouldn’t be so bad if I was just trying to get her on the toilet in a sanitary way without her obsessing over the loudness of each public toilet flush.  Or, if my only challenge was to get her to go without ripping all her clothes off and refusing to put them back on.  Or if the only issue was running back and fourth four times in each place so she doesn’t have an accident – I could deal with all those things. The problem is that all these things go together….And I can’t leave Milan hanging out in isle 12, so I deal with all of it one-handed.   Good times!  Not.


The deeper into potty training we get, the more I think I like diapers.  If this keeps up, my kids might be the only ones in kindergarten still wearing huggies.

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Oh ya…Let me introduce you to, what’s her name? Oh right, Milan.


Being the middle child of three girls, I grew up with absolutely zero middle-child complex.  My mom and sisters might argue that point considerably, but since I’m the narrator of this blog, my opinion is the only one that counts here. My mom would also argue that she treated us all the same growing up and still does to this day.  Nice try mom, but no. 












I know she loves us all the same, of that I am sure, but as far as the day-to-day stuff growing up? Let me just say, being the middle child didn’t come with a new car.


My older sister's 16th birthday gift.  Nice ride Nicole!
Maybe I'll get one just like it when I'm 16!!
My 17th birthday gift. At least it runs...Almost.












Ok, those weren't exactly our cars, but my older sister did get a brand new car right after she turned 16, and I did get one from the car auction that was 10-years-old and needed a new transmission.  Not complaining, I did eventually get one, and that CRX was awesome....

Anyway,  I swore up and down that I would treat my kids exactly the same if I ever had them.  And here I am now with two.  And I treat them totally differently.  Try as I might, treating them the same is impossible.  This blog is a perfect example of how the last year has gone with how I am with the girls. Well, not quite.  I don’t actually neglect Milan like I did updating this blog with all of her new skills and silly antics.  But she just requires so much less than her older sister.  While Ellyette still takes up every ounce of everything I’ve got, Milan just goes with the flow.  She walks around like a champion, sits on my hip when she’s tired, giggles  constantly. and can entertain herself for a whole 10 minutes at a time.  She really so awesome and so easy. 

To say we scored with her is an understatement, although, she doesn’t make for many blog worthy stories.  Not like her older sister anyway….

I’m sure it won’t last forever, or really much longer – I’m not that lucky. I  just hope the change isn’t when she realizes that in all her pictures she’s wearing Ellyette’s hand-me-down clothes,  or playing with all her old toys, or dare I say it? Driving her old car.

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This trip to Vegas was not like the others


“I mean, who brings their kids to Vegas…” said the chick with a Coors Light in one hand and a 50oz gold plastic Champagne bottle cocktail in the other. She slurred it to her friend, but loud enough so I could clearly hear it.

“My baby is going to win mama a new Mercedes today,” I replied.  “She loves those progressive slots.”

But what I really wanted to say was, “It’s 10am and you are super drunk and still wearing your club outfit from last night, I hope. But your makeup has worn off, with the exception of smeared eyeliner, and you look like Vegas got the best of you. So take your billion-ounce pimp cup full of cheap booze and sugar and head to the closest hotel for some shut-eye.

All Gold All The Time

But then again, she did have a point. Ellyette did want the free cards people were handing out...errrrrr...

Hey buddy, do you have a PG version in that stack?    
Milan's sticker shock at price they are
charging for M&M's
Ellyette trying to run away from the creepy
antics going on behind her
We immediately went to the  four-story M&M store for some wholesome rated "G" activity and overpriced candy.  And just to make up for my mom guilt for having my kids in Vegas, I spent $6.99 per pound on those candies.  Talk about getting violated in Las Vegas…..





Yes, the four-day trip was not like the Vegas of old.   The good news? No hangovers this trip.  The second best part?  Not getting lost in the hotel lobby and calling my dad crying hysterically to come get me at 4 a.m. because I had also lost my sister, who actually made it to the hotel room.    The third best part? Not losing all my money on slot machines that say one cent, but really mean $2.30 per spin. 
I’m pretty sure those slot machines have single-handedly kept Las Vegas rich,


WTF? How could I lose AGAIN? I bet 10,000 lines.  Wait, what do a Q
and a water buffalo have in common? This makes no sense. AWWWW
And not that I would chose to come to Las Vegas on a family trip, but being here for Ben’s cousins high school graduation, was actually pretty cool.  We got the chance to do things that well, I would never normally do in sin city.  The most memorable being this bad boy


And while Ellyette didn’t win me a new Mercedes, she did perfect her back spin on antique table bowling.  And that was enough for me.



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Twins, two years apart


The odds of having siblings born on the same day are 1/365.  It’s somewhat assuming that with a little planning, you can avoid your kids having the same birthday. Clearly, we didn’t plan hard enough.  So without further ado…Happy 1st birthday Milan and happy 3rd birthday Ellyette.

Allow me to back up, ummm…a year and a half.  The last time I wrote in this blog was before I knew Milan was a girl, before I knew she would arrive on Ellyette’s birthday and before I had any notion that having two kids could put negatives in front of the time I actually had to myself.

I thought many a night that I should really update this bad boy.  So much has transpired the last year.  New baby, new house, new job.  But when your kids don’t nap at the same time and one or the other is up from 5:50 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. and then waking up multiple times a night, it doesn’t allow much time for personal endeavors.  And by the time I even got around to the necessaries, such as showering, brushing teeth, or watching Castle on Monday nights, there was no time left for sharing my personal angst online. 

And while I have gotten grief for not going the cry it out route….Ellyette traumatized me from that one…not being tight enough on the structure…sorry mom…and being an overall sissy when it came to sleep schedule, we have finally arrived.  Yes, indeed it was a happy birthday today.  For the girls yes, but as of one week ago, Milan is finally starting to go to bed at a reasonable hour and yes, sleep through the night. 

I kind of feel like I’m getting back in touch with an old friend right now.  So much to catch up on, but just a little awkward.  The good news is, I have my nights back, and because I have no life anymore, I plan to spend them here. 

Your welcome.

A couple highlights from our zoo packed day.


Some kids ride horses and motorized barbie mobiles when they turn 3.  My kid rides a camel. Not going for glamour awards here....


 If only I could post what I  was actually thinking about this picture.  But it is a cute one of Ben and the girls.




Mom of the year.  Leave one-year-old unattended on a sea horse in order to get pictures to commemorate a birthday that if all works out, does not end with a hospital visit.


Ellyette Dizzle keeping her eyes on  both prizes as she knows what's her is hers and what's Milan's is hers as well

Happy Birthday Girls!!

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