Rocky, the flying rooster

In 2000, the movie Chicken Run came out: an animation about chickens trying to escape the coop. It is quite funny, (if you are 3 or 4...or 30...), and it is hard not to laugh at the "cockiness" of Rocky, the rooster (the voice of Mel Gibson), whom the chickens mistakenly think can fly because they didn't see the missing corner of a flyer that shows the cannon he blasts out of. He plays it up until he realizes he is going to fail them miserably and he runs away. The funny thing is, if it was so easy for him to get away, how come there was an entire movie based on the chickens trying to escape?

Today is one of those cliche days that just makes you feel sunny. The sun is shining, the air is clear, it's warm but not ridiculously so and well, it's hard for the average human not to feel utter happiness on days like today. I have to give it to CA, we do get a lot of these days here. They are great days for feeding ants with melting popsicles (Madeline) and chasing large black "stinkbug" beetles while singing "Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I love you, Tomorrow" before taking a foot to it (Lily). They are great for sleeping contentedly in front of breezy windows (Liam) and even for setting booby traps and then calling for your innocent sisters to come set them off (Aidan). And they are especially great for hosting a mom's party, just because you feel like it (me).

At the brunch, one of the moms asked me about how I stay calm with so many kids.

"What kids?" I asked realizing I had no idea where any of mine were, outside of Liam being fed by a friend (with a bottle of course!) But seriously, I am like Rocky, the flying rooster. I sometimes look like I can fly; I appear to have flown in; but things aren't always what they seem.

Take yesterday for example. It is apparent to me that the world is coming to an end. First there was Burma and the tragic cyclone. Then there was China and that devastating earthquake. You can find fires in FL and I am certain more will start up right here in CA if you give it a few weeks. But what really made me realize the world was in trouble was when Madeline came screaming in:

"MOMMMMMMMY! Get her, get her, GEEEEEET HER! She spilled them on the floor, she spilled them on the floooooooor AND SHE'S GOING TO EEEEEEEEEEEAT THEM! HELLLLP!"

Like most flying roosters, the rate of my heart actually did go up a notch or two, but I calmly said, "Madeline, what are you talking about? Please tell me in your quiet voice."

I'm surprised she didn't shout: "THIS IS MY QUIET VOICE LADY!" but she did manage a few calm words, "Lily is GOING TO EAT MY GOLDFISH! STOP HER! HURRRY, QUICK...LOOOOOK!" She frantically pointed under the table where Madeline's beloved goldfish were swimming on the ground, just hopping into Lily's mouth by the dozens. It wouldn't have been so funny if this hadn't been the THIRD type of Goldfish they were munching on yesterday. They had decided to enjoy some Whole Wheat Goldfish for breakfast and since it was one of those mornings, (you know the holy-crap-what-was-I-thinking-when-I-decided-to-have-another-kid-who-thinks-sleep-is-for-the-birds mornings) I looked the other way (hey, they have whole wheat somewhere on that ingredients list...). Then, at snack they wanted the Rainbow Colored Goldfish. And of course, a run to Target sent us snacking on Cheddar Blasted Goldfish in order to balance out our diet. I would have thought by this point in the day, Madeline would have been pouring them under the table and begging Lily to finish them off for her. I know I was sick of them and I don't even eat Goldfish.

So, when Madeline came out from quiet time today and said, "Mom, am I hun-gary?"

I said, "I don't know. Are you and what would you like if you are?" I did NOT expect my small central European country to want more Goldfish.

"Goldfish, and granola bars and pancakes," she says. "Get off your bum bum mommy," she continues as she tries to push me off my chair in the direction of the snack cabinets. All I could do was chuckle.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOGCAST FOR THIS BREAKING NEWS:

Ms. Montoya has died. (In case you are one of those people who has better things to do than to keep up with this blog on a regular basis, Ms. Montoya was the black widow spider living in our house.) After narrowly escaping the suction of a high powered vacuum, having her home completely destroyed and then, like the people in flood planes, hurricane zones, earthquake and tornado territory, rebuilt the web in the EXACT same spot, she was taken by surprise today by a flying piece of toilet paper. Having survived the initial attack, she made one last ditch effort to escape by jumping toward the arm attached to the paper. The last thing she heard was a man's yelp of surprise and then a loud flush as she was swept away in a downward spiral. 

We're still checking the toilet upon every use just to be sure she didn't somehow find a way out...ok, so maybe that's just me...but seriously, spiders are pretty clever creatures...you just never know...

That puts us at 8, plus two unknown. 

Where was I...oh yes, Madeline. Madeline has become quite the bug person actually. She walks around petting all the "good" spiders. (Thank you Kurt for showing her how you can touch the cellar spiders in the garage because they won't hurt you..one of them in particular got so annoyed recently that when she went looking for it to pet for the dozenth time before going inside, it had left a "Dear John" note telling her she was becoming a little too clingy...and then vacated the premises. Perhaps that's how we ought to get rid of the ravenous rabbits...just leave Madeline out to pet them.)

Actually, we (as a family) have become so spider obsessed that even Lily calls any little creature that moves "spider." Today, we were outside when Lily started squealing: "Spider mommy, spider!" and jumping up and down while pointing in the flowers. Upon inspection, I told her, "No Lily, that is called a lizard."

"Oh, lilard," she repeated. "Liiiiiiilard." But when the 'lilard' ran off, she started chasing it, yelling, "Come ear spider! Come ear!" 

Close enough. 

And when my friends realize that, like Lily's lilard, I have taken off from wherever we are without saying goodbye, (again) they will also realize that just like them, I can't fly. And just like them, I, too, have a breaking point...that point where "calm" just doesn't make sense any longer. I just try to keep that corner of the flyer tucked away as much as possible. 

Mother's Day is NOT for the birds

For the birds-a saying that suggests something is meaningless or trivial

To all the mothers out there: Happy Mother's Day! 

Today, I enjoyed a full day with my children. We watched cartoons and cleaned the house. We went to church and played outside. We dug our hands in the dirt of our garden and replanted the pea plants so that they could climb along the fence rather than knot themselves together on the ground. We marveled over the little pods already growing on the vine (ok, truth be told, I did the marveling while Madeline and Lily collected snails and Aidan tried tying them up with dental floss) and I thought, "Wow, we grew those peas from seeds and look at them now!" And then I skipped inside with the tune of Smurfs la-la-ing in my head, wildly waving a pea pod in the air to show Hubbie Smurf and his brothers because I was THAT excited about our teensy weensy success, (knowing that when they are finally ready to eat, it will be all of ONE meal's worth of peas, minus the one I already pulled off, of course) and Brainy, after giving me a smurfy high-five, says, "You shouldn't pick them because they aren't ready yet." ...and just then I heard a little fizzle as the joy started to slowly deflate from my soul...

But then, on my way back out, it hit me that, wow, I grew these four beautiful children, far more impressive then at least a dozen green peas (that I am guessing the kids will spit out anyway), and look at THEM now! And then Hubbie Smurf redeemed himself by pointing out Lily: on her tip-toes, diaper hanging low from the weight of the sand in it, swinging a broom 3 times her body length at our make-shift bird feeder (a.k.a. Tupperware hanging from the tree) as if it were a pinata. I then noticed Aidan, squatting in his underwear to dig up dirt that would later find its way into Lily's mouth causing her to upchuck all over the yard and Madeline prancing around in her pretty, pink, velvety princess nightgown, holding a snail, and I smiled inside and out. Why would I want to spend Mother's Day in any other way?

To me, the greatest thing about being a mom is knowing that your life has meaning...sometimes you just have to dig a little deeper to find it.

Score

Bed: 1

Lily: 0

Flying the Coop

to fly the coop-to leave somewhere

They make Infant Tylenol. They make Children's Motrin. You'd think a little Baby Ambien would be in high demand. At least then, I may have come home from my once-a-year-better-make-it-count "Mom's Night Out" to soundly sleeping kids, complete with flying little z's streaming from their heads, instead of the wall-bouncing, bed-jumping monkeys I found hanging from the ceiling looking like they had just been in a boxing match...actually, that was just Lily who, not wanting to be shown up by her sister, decided a good head banging was on Daddy's Babysitting menu for the night. (I mean, it has only been what, all of a month since her last incident? It was high time...) Although I wasn't there, I think it went something like this:

3 little kiddies jumping on the bed
Lily fell forward and hit her head
Daddy called the doctor (thankfully in the next room)
and the doctor said: No more kiddies jumping on the bed!

As luck may have it, good ol' Doctor Zizi Owl was on Liam-duty and able to treat the damaged left eye to half a band-aid and a shot of "nulk." And just for the record, my maternal instincts kicked in only long enough to chase it with a teaspoon of Infant Tylenol, which in some cases does act a little like a sleep aide...thankfully, this was one such case. A little Tylenol makes a swollen little eye feel a little better...apparently that helps a little person get a little sleep. And then, after completing the evening with the magical powers of a mommy hug and kiss, I was overcome by a huge sense of relief because the little incident DIDN'T HAPPEN ON MY WATCH! YES! Finally...

And in case my sweet, dear hubbie thinks this will make me less-likely to go out in the future, think again. As much as I love watching Lily perfect the breaststroke in the sand, or help Madeline sort through her bucket of carefully collected LIVE SNAILS, or argue with Aidan over whether or not he can see a smell, every mom needs to fly the coop ever so often, to pave the path for the kids to do the same later (or is it just for a shot of sanity and a dose of adult conversation?) The only difference is, unlike my children in their future "adulthood, here I come" days, I'll always find my way back home. I mean, someone has to remember to dispense the meds!

And the next morning...I found Lily, singing a little something like this:

"In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains."

Casualty Count

Our current Black Widow Hunting count is: 1 HUGE mama widow, 1 medium sized, 2 fairly young ones, 3 for sure widow spiderlings and 2 "unknown-but-possibly-venomous-so-had-to-smash-them-just-in-case" spiderlings. We also have 1 spotted in a rusted out hole in our front gate but have been unable to make the kill due to location and we are still on the lookout for the widow in the baby's room....Oh, and I also found a suspicious looking spider in my half-awake state in the bathroom last night so I will try to get that one tonight when she comes back out to hang upside down on her web. (I am pretty sure I saw a light hourglass on her belly but it was hard to tell through my drowsy eyes at 2 a.m. Apparently, my vision was boycotting the whole event.)

More on this later...

Kind of Like an Egg Hunt

Scenario: It's 6:30 a.m. and already the kids toilet is backed up.

"Who wants to help me fix the toilet?" I say with a hint of excitement in my voice. Three hands shoot up as the kids simultaneously shout, "Me! Me!"

It's too bad I can't seem to get the same reaction when it is time to eat green vegetables or pick up a Mt. Everest of toys in the middle of the room. But, taking advantage of the moment, I let each child try to plunge the toilet once before I finish the job and then enthusiastically announce, "Ok, let's clean the bathroom, too."

"Yay!" the kids shout. Seriously. They are still like that. They all take turns spraying the Clorox Clean-Up (yeah, yeah, we're all gonna die a terrible, "un-green" death) and then they all attempt to scrub down the toilet. Have I mentioned how much I love my kids? Who else would so eagerly clean the scum (and other stuff) in the bathroom WITHOUT GETTING PAID? Aidan even went as far as to make MY bed for me one day. Rock on! I just knew there would be perks to this kid thing...

So, later today I thought maybe I oughta give the cleaning thing another go while we're on a roll. I pull out a huge trash bag, find the girls playing on the patio and announce we are going on a trash hunt, which is kind of like an egg hunt but not really. "Yippee!" the girls cheer. I look down and Madeline is holding a huge black caterpillar that she is making "play" with her Fisher Price Little People.

"Is it dead?" I ask.

"Oh no mommy. It's not dead," Madeline answers. "It just doesn't walk anymore." And she took great care to secure her highly crippled, not-breathing friend in her fist so as not to lose him while we are searching for things to get rid of.

Fortunately, our neighbor was out, (same guy who buried the rabbit) and Madeline wanted to introduce him to her furry, still and slightly stiff friend. Afterwards, I ask her if maybe we should bury the little guy.

"Yeah!" she screeches. "He needs to be buried! Mr. Richard, do you know how to bury things?"

So, he buried her caterpillar right then and there. And I heard a sweet little song in the back of my head: "Oh caterpillar, dear caterpillar. You are dead. You won't turn into a butterfly. La la la..."

We continued our trash pick-up and pretty soon we arrived at our pathetic little garden. We had tried our hand this year at planting edible items in a little 5 ft by 3 ft patch of dirt. Having noticed that the rabbits and snails were not interested in waiting until harvest time to munch, I had sprayed all our plants with a mixture of water, dish soap, baking powder and garlic. I couldn't help but snicker as I now saw the naked stems of our zucchini plants poking out of the ground. My neighbor asked what was funny and I told him to be on the lookout for bubble burping bunnies because I had mistakenly sprayed down my garden with Mr. Rabbit's favorite dressing. So much for going "organic"...Maybe I ought to have tried spraying the plants down with the Clorox instead....it seems to keep things from eating our toilets anyway. :)

Chicken Squawk

"Making a chicken squawk and bob like a quail might seem like the ultimate stupid pet trick, but by accomplishing this task by cross-species brain cell transplantation, brain researchers truly have something to crow about."

"My brain is telling me I need a popsicle Mommy!" Madeline said. I gave up a little prayer of thanks that there was no whine to the tone in her voice, nor any screeching or drama of any kind actually. (I also turned to make sure it was in fact my child and not some alien taking over the body that she usually occupies.)

We were leaving the grocery store and against my better judgement, I handed her a popsicle in order to reward the calm way in which she had just made her wishes known. Meanwhile I was thinking how nice it was that her brain wasn't telling her to pinch Liam's nose to awake him like it had this morning, or, like a few days ago when her brain apparently told her she could have her way if she were only to yank out a chunk of Lily's hair, leaving the back of Lily's head in a frizzy ball as if someone had taken a zippo lighter to it...without the smell of course. (When I had walked into the room to see why Lily was in hysterics, Madeline was standing there with an innocent expression of concern and said theatrically: "Look mom! Some of Lily's hair is falling out!" ...as if she had NO idea how she was holding enough blond hair to have strung a nice little violin bow...)

Of course, I later regretted the popsicle decision because as luck may have it, they were oversized pops and it was 90 some-odd-degrees outside and we were in the car going to pick up Aidan and oh yeah, she DROPPED the darn thing, which of course led to the drama and the screeching and the whining and I am certain had she been at home, or anywhere else that didn't include a 5-point harness, she'd have been rolling on the floor, arms and legs flailing and perhaps smoke coming out her ears and nose. Oh yes, I thought, it is my child.

And thus, we learn why moms have judgement in the first place. Perhaps the scientists would like to transplant some quail brain cells into the human child next. Some squawking and bobbing might be a welcome addition!