Fever = Quiet

Poor Patrick has been sick all week. Now, aside from the nasty runny noses Sean & Charlotte had all winter, my kids are usually {knock on wood} extremely healthy.


It all started Sunday night when Patrick complained of feeling cold while he was wearing two sweaters under his covers. He had a fever of 103. It was that really fun kind of fever that starts creeping back up long before the ibuprofen is due for another dose. His whole demeanor changed. He was very quiet and lethargic all week. Tuesday night, I knew the fever had spiked again (103.4!) because Patrick was talking in his sleep about all kinds of nonsense. So Wednesday afternoon, we made a trip to the doctor and it appeared he had his first (ever!) ear infection. Obviously, after a consistent fever of 103 for three days, antibiotics were prescribed.


Last night, I thought he was completely on the mend because his fever was only going as high as 100.5 (it's all relative, I guess). Today, the whole gang played hooky because I felt badly waking him up in order to bring the girls to school. About an hour after that decision, I regretted it. They were all running around acting like crazy fools. I was silently cursing the "no fever for 24 hours" rule at the school because Patrick had bounced right back and was picking on his sisters. Based on his behavior, he must've had a whole week to make up for. Even through his persistent cough, he was able to chase the girls screaming through the house.


But, all of a sudden, the house got quiet. A sure sign of the return of the fever. As I suspected, Patrick was laying in his bed and back up to 102. So now we play the waiting game. The antibiotics haven't been in his system for 48 hours, yet. Hopefully, sometime tonight, he'll be back to teasing his sisters without needing a dose of medicine. I'll be glad when he's feeling well, again, but I'll miss the peace and quiet!

Digital oral thermometer. Photograph: Eric Van Den Brulle/Getty Images

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Tuesday's Tip (#1)

Here's a tip for you:

Keep a toothbrush in your car.

There's nothing quite like rushing around like a fool getting everyone ready then realizing that your teeth are slimy when you're commuting into work. Not that I ever realized on my way into work that I hadn't brushed my teeth. That would be gross. And it would involve me borrowing a piece of gum from a student. Even though I yell at kids all day for having gum. Basically, a lesson in hypocrisy. 

Have a tip to share? Or maybe a shameful confession about not brushing your teeth? Feel free to leave a comment below...


... & be sure to check back every Tuesday for a new tip!

It's Raining Something (& It's Not Men)

I've posted before about the fact that my kids are weird. That's really nothing new. They often invent crazy games to play when I'm ignoring them busy that I usually only hear in the background. It's one of the perks of having so many children so close in age. It's like Lord of the Flies a cute little preschool.


Anyway, today was one of their inventive days. PJ and Patrick were playing a video game in the living room, so I went to my bedroom to read. Unfortunately, I found Lucy and Sophie in there with Sean and Charlotte laughing hysterically at the "baby channel". (This is some horrible channel on DirectTV that is like watching a Baby Einstein movie 24/7.) The big kids think it's hysterical to watch and the little ones actually like it. Needless to say, I wasn't going to be able to read in my own room. So, I climbed into Sean's bottom bunk to read in peace.


I know. I read that last sentence, too. I should know better than to think I'm going to get a moment's peace in this loony bin. As I was quietly laying on the bottom bunk, I saw Lucy tiptoe past me and climb up the ladder. Sophie followed softly behind with an armload of dirty laundry. At this point, it was still quiet, so I just shrugged them off. I could hear them giggling above me, but I learned from my dad at a young age how to become so engrossed in a book that you legitimately cannot hear what's going on around you. It's a blessing and a curse. All I eventually heard was, "Quick, quick, let's get down and then press the button!" This was followed my mad scrambling down the bunk bed ladder.


And that's when it began to rain dirty laundry.


Based on the laughter, there is nothing - I mean nothing - funnier than dirty laundry rain. Lucy and Sophie had been fastidiously laying articles of clothes over each fan blade from the top bunk of the bed. They'd lay a bathrobe over a fan blade and then push it around and lay some underwear over the next one. After the fan was covered, they raced down the ladder to turn the fan on and dance under the flying clothes. This is what passes for entertainment when they're left to their own devices. 

Watching them laugh hysterically while scooping up dirty laundry for another round really was quite funny. If only there were some way to make this game work in my favor. Some kind of new-fangled laundry sorting game? I'll have to spend some time working on that idea. In the mean time, I'm just going to brace myself for the next storm.

If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one standing under the dirty laundry rainstorm. You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

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Waffles = Rock Star

Today I made homemade waffles for breakfast. You would've thought it was Christmas. Sophie came out to the kitchen and said, "Guys! She's really making them the whole way! Like, with the grill!"


When I posted about it on Facebook, someone told me I'm the "mom of all moms." I wouldn't agree with that sentiment, but I have learned a few things over the years. 


1.) Set the bar low. I'm not a breakfast person. I'm also usually rushing around like an idiot in the morning. These two things combine to make limited breakfast choices. At my house we eat a bowl of cereal, a cold pop-tart, some yogurt, or a frozen waffle when we're feeling really fancy.


2.) Act like everything is intentional. There is a price to pay for not buying groceries. This morning I woke up without any of the kids' breakfast staples. As I figured they wouldn't eat yesterday's stale munchkins that are still on the table, I had to get creative. My only option was to make waffle batter. Or serve them a hot dog. Even though it was out of necessity, I let them think I did it because they are just so lucky to have such an awesome mom.


So, I busted out the waffle iron and mixed up some batter. I even sprinkled a little powdered sugar on top of the waffles. The kids thought they died and went to heaven. What they don't realize is that I'm just too damn lazy to make a hot breakfast - unless it involves pushing down the toaster button for the Eggos - 99% of the time. Believe me, if I had actually had anything in the house to give them, I wouldn't have made the waffles. I'm just bad at breakfast. Because this is our norm, though, my little stint at the waffle iron has turned me into an instant hero. Hopefully they'll still remember it tomorrow when I offer them some hot dogs Raisin Bran.

Hot and fresh!

If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one with the batter splatter on my shirt. You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

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My "Day Off"

I am a teacher. One of the best parts of my job - aside from educating young children, of course - is that I only teach 4 days a week. This means that I have every Friday off. Inevitably, every Thursday, my coworkers comment on the fact that it is the last day of my work week. What they don't realize is, it's not really a day off in the true sense of the phrase. Due to the fact that it is the only week day that I can get things done - and the fact that my life is like a poster for Murphy's Law - Friday is usually** total chaos and not the least bit relaxing. I'm sure some of you remember the day I decided to go into work on my day off. That was a life lesson right there.


Last Friday was a typical day for me. PJ scheduled Sophie's kindergarten readiness test at Patrick & Lucy's school for that day, since I'd be off to take her. So, I already had one task planned. (The bright side was one less drop off and pick up to do since Sophie goes to a different school.) I got up well before the crack of dawn to lay out the clothes and pack the lunches. Then I started waking the kids up in order to shove some breakfast in their faces and rush them through the morning routine. Unfortunately, as Patrick was getting down from his top bunk, he had trouble putting any weight on his left foot. Generally not an alarmist, I assured him he could walk it off while he was eating and getting dressed. Mother of the Year, right? I figured once he was up and moving, he'd feel fine. No such luck.


In the rush to get out of the house by 7:15, Patrick informed me that he definitely couldn't go to school in that much pain. That was when Lucy started crying about the fact that she was not going to be the only one going to school. Which left me with Sophie out of school for her test, Patrick on the disabled list, and Lucy out for pity. Now, the question was how I was going to show up at Patrick and Lucy's school for Sophie's test with Patrick and Lucy in tow. I'm fairly certain playing hooky is frowned upon. That's when a stroke of genius hit me and I called on Annette. In exchange for a cup of coffee, she watched my four darlings while I took Sophie to her test. Annette already has two of her own kids. By the time Sophie and I returned, they had pulled out every toy in the house. I'm sure there were no less than 67,000 cars on the floor and 52 musical instruments. (My kids loved the instruments. Because they don't have any. I have way too many kids to encourage more noise.) 


After all this, I got through to our doctor to set up an appointment for Patrick. They could see us right away. So we ditched poor Annette and her mess and rushed over to the pediatrician's office, which, to no one's surprise, led to a trip to Children's Hospital for X-rays. After the X-rays, we waited in the waiting room for an hour before someone came out to tell me there was nothing broken in Patrick's foot. While I was relieved that he wasn't actually broken, it was kind of a drag to think we had wasted half of the day finding out there was nothing wrong. And I definitely had to control myself from beating him when Patrick found the ability to run down the parking garage ramp to the car. (Granted, he could only run on tiptoe, but he was running nonetheless.) 


At that point, we were all starving, so I took the kids out to lunch at UNO's. The waitress started the meal with, "Wow. You have a lot of kids with you. Are they all yours?" I tried not to roll my eyes. She redeemed herself later when she told me she couldn't believe how calm and polite they were. (Good thing she didn't follow me home and watch them turn into jerks monsters later.)


The lesson of the day is this: Don't be too jealous of my four day work week. I'm fairly certain I do less when I am in school teaching other people's children all day. Just don't tell my boss I said that!

What I am not doing on my day off.

**Footnote: I say usually, because there is an occasional exception. As I am writing this, I am home alone with a napping Charlotte while the other kids are with Nannie and Auntie Juju at the movie theater. The only thing I've done today is walk to the park with Charlotte. It's been heavenly (and completely out of the ordinary)!

If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one rushing around with the all the kids. You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

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Tantrums R Us

Sean has developed an adorable new habit. Tantrums. If anyone had asked, I would've happily told them that Sean was the easiest child I'd ever had. From the time he was born, he was a dream. Terrible twos? Not my Seany! 

And then he turned three. (Cue the foreboding music.)

My perfect little Sean has been able to muster a decent tantrum at a rate of about twice a week for the last month or so. Sean, being Sean, he really likes to excel at everything he does. This means that a proper tantrum involves screaming, yelling, stomping, crying, and turning all shades of red. He actually gets to the point of losing complete control of himself. I'm fairly certain that he's lost all touch with reality when he's in the throes of a monstrous meltdown.

For the most part, the other kids never really threw too many tantrums. That's not to say it didn't happen. Lucy once cried for four hours straight when I refused to buy her a toothbrush at the grocery store. (Don't let her quiet nature fool you - that girl is stubborn as hell.) Granted, I've developed a weird sort of parenting amnesia as each child progresses past certain stages, but I can't recall any of the kids going through this tantrum phase for any length of time.

There is a recent event that inspired this post. Last Friday, after I dropped the three oldest children off for school, I asked Sean if he wanted to go get a snack. We popped into our favorite little convenience store so I could grab a coffee and Sean and Charlotte could get a treat. Normally, this treat is a muffin, donut, or a granola bar. While I poured my coffee, Sean and Charlotte had stumbled upon the Devil Dogs. I almost caved in and said yes to the Devil Dogs when Sean quickly tossed the package back and ran to the ice cream freezer. 

Any other day, I could've told Sean that we don't eat ice cream at 8:30 in the morning and he would've agreed. Not this day. Apparently, being told no ice cream meant it was time to channel his inner Linda Blair.  He turned all shades of red, stomped and shouted about wanting ice cream. While there wasn't any head-spinning, it was still a fabulous show for the entire store. 

I was very proud of myself. I told him sternly that he could choose another treat or get nothing at all. He continued to pitch a fit while I calmly finished preparing my coffee and picked out a snack for a very bewildered Charlotte. I went to check out, trailing a tiny monster behind me. The poor cashier tried to tell Sean that ice cream would give him a tummy ache. At this point he'd lost all touch with reality and just screamed. There were lots of stares. I could have shut him up instantly with an ice cream, but he's got the wrong parent if he thinks that's going to happen.

So... I ignored him. He tried to block me from leaving the store, but, I pushed right past him. The parking lot posed a new problem, however. Sean decided to try to run back into the store for the much-coveted ice cream. Safety-wise, ignoring him was no longer an option. I put Charlotte on one hip (while holding my coffee in that hand) then scooped Sean up around his middle with the other hand. There's nothing like a flailing child to kick off the day. I wrangled the kids (and the all-important coffee) and grew an extra set of hands to fish the car keys out of my pocket. Then I unceremoniously threw Sean (not an exaggeration) into the car.

Once Charlotte was safely buckled, I asked Sean (who was now crying on the floor of the backseat) if he needed a hug. Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was hug the little brat child, but I knew he needed help coming back to reality. He fell into my arms and settled right down. He was then able to agree that ice cream is not a breakfast treat and that he shouldn't have carried on the way he did.

While I still haven't ruled out demonic possession, I'm hoping this is just a normal (and fast-moving) three year-old phase. Anyone out there have any tantrum-stopping tactics? Or the number for a priest who does exorcisms?

P.S.

I was going to add a picture of Linda Blair from The Exorcist, but I scared the crap out of myself when I Googled the images. I'm still way too freaked out by that movie. I blame my parents for making me watch that at such a young age.

If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one with the screaming kid. You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

 

And don't forget to visit my Zazzle store. You know you want some!

St. Paddy's Day

I love St. Patrick's Day. I'm only a bit Irish (thanks to my mom's dad), but being a good Boston girl, I know that everyone is Irish today. Growing up I spent a lot of time in my grandmother's kitchen. Even though she was English, she almost always had her radio tuned to the Irish music station. She knew all the words to those songs and would sing along while she baked something yummy (from scratch). Hearing the music now brings back fond memories of my childhood. Plus, I just love a good fiddle. Throw in some beer, and I have a grand holiday on my hands!


Seeing as we have two Patricks in our house (and my kids are quite a bit more Irish than I), we do like to celebrate the day. Inevitably, we gather up a crowd and head to whichever local establishment has a.) live music b.) corned beef and cabbage (for my mother-in-law & myself) and c.) a table big enough for our whole clan (my kids just haven't learned to elbow for room at the bar, yet).


I'm always proud of myself when I can sift through the piles of laundry and manage to find something green for all seven of us to wear. Trust me, it's a true feat. And off we go to pay homage to our heritage by wearing green, listening to music and eating a boiled dinner...

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Charlotte & Lucy hanging on the dance floor

Cheese!

My boys!

A family tradition: falling asleep 
amidst deafening Irish music!

We couldn't plan it if we tried!

Juju, Patrick & Pop-pop (& a very large hat)

My girls!