So if you had any effect from post holiday blues, what did you do to shake the funk??

I hate that my husband deals with chronic pain. I would take that burden from him in a heartbeat if I could, and it would STILL be worth every single struggle. I once saw an interview with a young Native American teenager who said he would chose the muddy road over easy street, because only the man who struggled and built his muscles on the muddy road emerges a warrior.

Nothing says “I have too many leftovers, no imagination, and a chunk of ground beef” like meatloaf. What other meal allows you to simultaneously clean out your fridge, hide produce, and feel good about giving your kids a hot meal with just some easy prep and patience. I found that after just a few times, I no longer needed a cook book, or as just meat. I do have a couple shortcuts to share though:

1. Use a good food processor. I like the Euro-Pro Ninja Master Prep Blender and Food Processor, it makes me feel like a real ninja with all the rogue veggies I can puree and hide into what the kids think is a pure hunk of meat.
   The problem with the Ninja though, is it attracts my 6 year old like a moth to a flame, or as I say a cat to an electric can opener. With an audience, you have to be even more of a ninja to toss in the green beans from last night, a couple raw carrots, an onion, a tomato, or whatever you have on hand that is raw or requires a good blending. You may have to threaten your kids with certain death, amputation of fingers, or starvation if they are picky and you don’t want them to see how you make your ‘secret sauce’.
2. Once you have your paste resembling a bowl of baby crap, scrape it into the Kitchenaid mixing bowl. You can also toss in more leftovers, some examples include: rice from when you had Chinese takeout, whatever that was in the Tupperware container that vaguely smells like potatoes, actual mashed potatoes, etc. Get creative here, this is where your leftovers get eaten up and not composted.
3. Toss in a couple eggs, and now raid your condiments. You can add ketchup, or BBQ sauce, mustard if you like, worshesher-whatever sauce, etc. Throw in some random spices that smell good, some milk, and a dry ingredient like crackers, bread crumbs, or oatmeal. Mix all these in your stand mixer, and let it sit for a couple minutes to turn into a gross looking, gelatinous mess.
   I read somewhere that the key factors to the perfect fluffy meatloaf are to let the dry ingredients sit and get soggy. Also, to not molest the meat… err, in other words, you don’t over-mix the ground beef, so pre-mixing the other ingredients well is really important.
4. This is where my love affair with my Kitchenaid mixer was born. Use the dough hook that comes with it, add your meat and then mix. No longer do I have to relish in the joy of cold, raw, ground meat between my fingers, the booger-eating cousin to the much cooler sand between my toes, illegitimate son of the promiscuous between my legs and the ever brilliant between my ears.
   But I digress. Once your meat and mush have gently been mixed together, plop the whole thing into a baking dish on 350 and cook for an hour. You now have time to watch a show on the DVR, play a Facebook game, or kick the kids outside and hide in the bathroom with a book.
5. When you hour of bliss is over, slather more condiments over the top, bake another 5 minutes, then serve. You can serve with a vegetable, or a starch or both. If I include enough veggies, I will let my kids believe they are getting off veggie-free and just serve with potato wedges or something. My boys are pretty good about eating their meatloaf, but my daughter isn’t as wonderful. Then again, for the child who hates vegetables, she would pick a salad and plain white rice for dinner over meatloaf any day of the week.

Tonight the princess thought she would be slick. After all the kids had eaten, including the baby who happily nursed while I dislocated my shoulder to eat cold meatloaf, the ones who ate got fresh chocolate chip cookies. The princess decided she could skip her meal and go right to the cookie. When that didn’t work, and screaming didn’t make me give in, she resorted to climbing onto the counter, grabbing the Tupperware and running as fast as her stubby little legs would take her. She ended up going to bed without finishing her meatloaf, or a cookie, but she did end up going to bed with tons of tears. I think tonight mommy is going to drink a nice glass of wine for dessert, because mommy drinks when you cry.

*This is not a sponsored post, but Kitchenaid or Euro-Pro is welcome to send me a free gift for this post if they would like. I really want the mixing blade with the rubber spatula built in for my mixer or extra bowls for my ninja. *wink wink*

I think as parents we all have irrational fears about our children. With my first baby I remember him sleeping past his normal 3am feeding time and waking up at 4am with engorged breasts and sobbing that my baby must have passed in his sleep. Rationally I knew he would eventually sleep through the night, irrationally I just knew SIDS must have claimed him. My husband was in boot camp and when he called the Sunday after that instant I burst into tears when I told him our boy was sleeping through the night. He also probably got an emotional letter in the mail as well.

Then my oldest son came into our life and I was always scared his birth mom was going to come steal him away. I knew her better than that, and I trusted her, but I was always so scared that I would pick him up from school and they would explain to me that he had already been picked up by the non-custodial parent.

Then my third baby came along, and I found something else to be irrational about. I wish I could remember, but he made it out of infancy unscathed. Our fourth baby, our first and only girl was born, and she scared me so bad that I would not allow my husband to get a vasectomy until she made it safely to her second birthday, ergo the reason we got our fifth and final child.

Today I was researching pediatric pulmonologists, allergists, and pediatric neurologists. EEGs, seizures, and breath holding spells (BHS). Logically, I know this was likely an isolated incident. Irrationally I have myself convinced I need to have him looked over by a room full od specialists. I think of unnecessary poking and prodding, tests, and procedures and I just cannot make myself put my little boy through this for something that happened one time.

When I heard my husband’s voice tonight, I realized I was still wearing my brave mask. I was falling apart and not allowing anyone to see it. I have not taken time to allow myself to process the fear; to deal with the feelings, and to let myself admit how scared I was. I can still close my eyes and see the events of Friday night so clearly in my mind. The moment where I realized something was wrong. I wonder if I was as calm when I called the emergency dispatcher as I remember myself sounding. When I remember back to that night, I am on the outside, looking in. I cannot remember a single moment where I was ever that scared before.

I remember moments when my husband was in Iraq, and I heard about a casualty from his unit on the news. The fear I felt when he explained to me a building he was next to exploded and shrapnel was hitting his vehicle and it sounded like hail. I remember when helicopters I thought he was on went down, and then I did not hear from him for 20 days. I still cry at movies where they talk about the war, military casualties, or when bagpipes play “Taps”. But if I have to put this in perspective, the fear I felt that night is 100x worse. I didn’t let myself feel it though. Now that he is over the hurdle, and all he has is a lingering cough as he continues to work the crud out of my lungs, I find myself going back to that moment, and I find myself wanting to fall apart.

So tonight when Bobby called and asked how the kids were and then asked how I was, I started crying. I am a mess. And I feel SO guilty for feeling this way while so many people have dealt with so much worse. My heart goes out to all the parents who have had to face the loss of a child, or a spouse. For those who have children with chronic illnesses or disabilities. For anyone who has had to hear that they, or a loved one has a terminal illness. So tonight, when I allow myself to cry, and to allow myself to process the events of this last week, I will be thinking of everyone else who has also had to put on a brave face while they were falling apart inside.

Through his tears he created fantastic stories of what could have happened. “Maybe she forgot her cat away, and the cat scared her?” “Maybe she is sick?” I offered. That was rejected. Then as if he was not sufficiently traumatized, wailing part two ensues. I guess he was playing with the tooth on the floor and it fell down the vent. Now he was facing another possibility.. not only did the tooth fairy forget him, but now she was never going to come! He decided that maybe if he wrote a not and put it under his pillow, he could get back into her good graces. The note read “I m srrye, I lost my tooth”. Thankfully his brother helped him dig it out. However I still had to figure out what to do. To buy some time to think up a convincing lie decent plan, I sent him off to the shower. Since he has a bunk bed, I put a dollar under a pillow in his top bunk. Silly mama, how dare I assume he didn’t overturn every pillow. He saw through my deception immediately.

We settled on a story that maybe the tooth fairy was just running late, his brother convinced him that maybe a lot of children in china has lost their teeth. After all that, the little turkey wanted me to put his crisp new dollar I picked out just for him, into his checking account. Love that boy!

Next time he loses a tooth, I am insisting he hangs his sister’s “Welcome Tooth Fairy” pillow on his door knob, as a reminder for her not to fly on by.

My husband teases me for my ADD, I still have a cross stitch I made for my son who is 5 now that just needs cleaned and framed, I started it when I was pregnant with him. A blanket I started knitting for my daughter who is 2 1/2 now is only about half done. I just threw out a baby sweater I started when I was pregnant with her and never finished.

So to be this close to completion is HUGE. My husband asked me point blank today “will this be the first project you finished?” and I sheepishly had to reply that it was. Thankfully while I was cleaning out my craft tote filled with half-finished projects, I found the yarn needles I need, so I have no excuse not to finish today. Hopefully in a couple hours I can post a picture of a completed project!

However, we may have to have Sophia and Matthew sharing a room for a year or so until the little one sleeps through a noisy sister in the room. I can imagine using so many different kinds of cute feminine kids beddingadorning the twin bed if she uses it, instead of transitioning to her toddler bed she inherited from Matthew. Excuse me while I hop up on this soap box, because I am about to sound like my mother.

Nothing grosses me out more than sleeping on a bed without a mattress pad. If you spend money on a mattress, get a quality mattress pad. Mattress pads are an inexpensive way to protect the bed from sweat, drool, and any other body fluids you encounter when you have kids (urine, vomit, etc). I don’t care how good you cleaned after Junior peed the bed, don’t expect that the next person is sleeping on a nasty mattress covered with only a thin layer of fabric, ewww. I will judge you if your beds lack mattress pads. And for kids, have several on hand. Matthew has three for his bunk beds, Sophia has two for her crib… both theirs are waterproof. I have one that I spent a fortune on, because it is waterproof and does not crinkle. We often have kids climbing into our bed at night, and that pad has paid for itself 20x over with how many times it has saved our bed. Austin and Christopher have one each, they were just cheapies, but they will tell you, I will get mad if I see a naked bed.

The back story to this message is simple: I told the two oldest boys, who share a room, that in 3 days the Realtor was coming and I needed them to clean their room to the level of spotless. They cleaned for a while and then told me it was done. So I told 2nd oldest to vacuum, after about 20 minutes I yelled at him to start the vacuum already and he told me that he was cleaning his room so he could vacuum because they messed it up a bit since they finished cleaning. Odd. Ok, whatever. You told me it was clean, twice… I’ll hold you to it.

So this morning I head down to the crawlspace in their room to find a box to put cookies in to mail to my hubby and I exploded. Thankfully they were at school when this happened, and the baby slept through it… So I decided to clean it myself to teach them what “clean” looks like. Just a quick product review. Kirkland brand lawn bags are AMAZING. They are Costco’s generic brand of Hefty bags and they hold well. I grabbed one of those brooms that you see on TV, the “amazing” ones that are a wedge on one side and bristles on the other, four trash bags, and set to work bagging up everything on the floor except big boxes, and laundry. An hour later… I was almost done, but had to leave for a doctor’s appointment, so I loaded up all the laundry into the back of my van and 3 of the 8 laundry bags and head to my appointment.

Afterward, I ran over to my brand new storage unit and unloaded a total of ELEVEN loads of laundry, 3 bags of toys, garbage & books, a huge basket of books, and 3 tote boxes of toys. I headed back home and put the baby in her highchair for lunch and loaded up the rest of the toys (5 bags) 2 globes, 2 boxes of breakables and then proceeded to spread baking soda all over their room while I vacuumed under dressers, windowsills, cobwebs, and under the bed. My poor Dyson vacuum had to go over their carpet TWICE just to get it clean. Mind you, this is the room that they vacuumed just yesterday. I woke up the baby who had fallen asleep in the highchair while I was working and then took another trip to the storage unit. The oldest boy called to tell me he was sick, so I picked him up and banished him to bed. He explained that while waiting for me, he ate his lunch and started feeling better. I *should* have loaded his butt back into the van and taken him back, but I figured laying in an empty room was punishment enough and would be less fun then playing sick and getting attention at school.

In 10 minutes I have to leave to go get the 2nd oldest from school, he is going to FLIP OUT when he sees his room. I predict whining and tears from him. I will explain that I simply took care of all their trash that they left on the floor and maybe they will be able to keep their room clean if it is empty. If they keep their room clean, they will earn one container back at a time. Too bad they have so much dirty laundry, since that is what they will be earning back first… one basket at a time.

I have needs I have not been able to meet lately. Tonight I was just so frustrated I took a long how shower and just let my mind wander. When I was a kid, I was so carefree and no burdened by these reckless desires and longing for time in the bedroom….

…you see, I am tired. I feel like every morning I cannot start the day without a cup of coffee or two. When did I grow up? When did I start craving such adult desires. Yet I am teased by exhaustion, and itch I cannot scratch… because I am one of those who cannot nap! I know, crazy huh? I can have all my kids at school, the baby can be taking a three hour nap and I just lay there, unsatisfied. And right now, it is 12:45am, I know I have to be up in a few hours, but I just cannot settle my mind and instead I am having a quickie in bed, with my MacBook and my blog. I know if I do not get this off my chest I will lay in bed all night and not be able to drift off to dreamland.

I was looking at some pictures today of many years back… the innocent years, when I could get up easily in the morning and spend all day running around outside. Coming home only when the street lights came on. If I was thirsty, I drank from the hose. If I was hungry, I went inside my house, or that of a friend’s and got a snack. Now, I can barely drag my 4 year old upstairs without feeling my muscles tighten in my back. I looked in the mirror today and realized it is time to dye my hair… not red, blue or pink like when I was a teen, but the same color it is now.. just to hide the gray hairs that keep appearing no matter how fast I pluck them out.

I watch my children growing up so fast and I want to yell “slow down, enjoy this, stop being in such a hurry to grow up”, but they don’t get it. I sure didn’t. I never understood the adage “Youth is wasted on the young” until I was no longer young and longed for those times back.

Maybe some day soon I will be able to lay down in bed at 9pm and close my eyes and drift right off to sleep. I will sleep soundly, for 9 or 10 hours. I won’t lay wide awake in bed thinking about everything I need to do in the morning. About an appointment next week that makes me anxious, or a promise that was broken and how much it hurt our feelings, or inconvenienced an already busy week. I will wake up easily, naturally. No need for coffee, no need to feel like I need to shake off the sleep from sleeping too long. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. No kids to carry upstairs at midnight. No babies crying at 1am. No need to wake up and investigate every little creek and groan. And if it is noon, and I have eaten my lunch and I feel sleepy, I want to be able to lay down on my mat with my favorite toy and a blankie and be able to sleep for an hour or two without disturbance.

So yes, I have adult needs. I need to get a good nights sleep. I need a great hairdresser who can do magic with grays. I need a chiropractor and a massage for my aching back. And I need a babysitter, so *I* can be the one playing outside all day long, with no cares in the world… until the street lights come on.

Also, the cats. Christopher’s job is to feed the cats and clean the litter boxes daily. Yet if I don’t nag, it does not get done and then they seek out my towels. So now every time I think I have a “clean” towel, I discover it smells like cat urine. Nice. Also, when I am trying to feed Sophia, I have three cats underfoot circling around my ankles because their food bowl is empty.

Bobby called today and I vented, I vented good. I told him how frustrated I was at their total lack of responsibility, how Austin pulled out a progress report while we were walking out the door and asked me to sign it because it was due today and I refused because we would have been late if I had to stop everything and look it over before I sign it. I am just plain sick of it.

So I told my husband how I was half tempted to load up the three cats and two dogs in the van and take them to a kennel for the weekend and board them. How tempted I am to tell the kids that I got rid of the animals because I found them families that would take better care of them. How tempted I am to tell them that if they did not love the animals enough to feed them, water them, and provide them with a clean place to poop and pee that they will go elsewhere.

BUT that would be mean. I am not about to punish my pets, or my four year old because of something my teen & tween did. I am a mean mom, but at the same time I don’t want to teach them that lying and trickery is OK. I struggle with where the line in the sand is sometimes. I struggle daily with trying to be effective without being too mean or too nice. I struggle with making the punishment fit the crime. I struggle with too many chores vs. too little chores. I have very good kids, and I believe I have good kids because my husband and I have always worked together and tried to be consistent, we have always given them responsibility, and we have never spoiled them with toys or candy because they held their breath or stomped their feet at the store.

I think with our family spread out like it is right now we are all feeling the stress and I feel less effective because I don’t have my partner here to back me up. I think he feels helpless because he wants to help and he wants to put his foot up their butts, but from that many thousands of miles away, what can you say? “Just wait, in four months, you are going to be sorry!”? And I think the kids are struggling too, they miss their dad and it is hard to stay motivated when you are sad, I get that. I just wish they would see how overwhelmed I am carrying their load on top of my own. I need to heal this fracture, or I will crumble under the weight of it all.

I don’t think this weekend is going to be a fun one, I can tell you that! Hmmmm, I wonder if I can figure out how to set up the parental controls on the TV??

I tried to be nice, I waved and said hi, any exchanges were ignored.

In comes the beater… the beater is a big boat of a car on super thin wheels, raised up with HUGE rims. It’s like a granny can on stilts. Drivers side window is nothing more than a plastic bag and the paper tags on it expired sometime last year. The thing leaks oil like an oil tanker in Alaska and when it gets started, it sounds like a dozen Harley’s starting at the same time. I had to get my alarm desensitized because the vibration was so intense it would set my alarm off.

Then the loud parties started, sometimes until 2 or 3 in the morning, at least once or twice a week. On the eve of Thanksgiving, we finally had enough and called in the local authorities to stop it. They turned it down, but I still got to lay awake for another two hours listening to base. Same thing on Christmas eve, but they turned it down before midnight so we let it slide.

Throughout the week, we have other minor annoyances. I put my trash out and they park one of the 4 or 5 cars that frequent the house in front of it, making the garbage men to have to manually dump my trash instead of using the lift. They also have a habit of parking in front of my driveway, leaving just enough room for me to get out as long as I back out at an angle, drive back up, angle out again, drive up again, angle out across my grass & sidewalk. Not cool.

Garbage day comes again, we go to put out our wrapping paper and boxes from Christmas, but our can is full with THEIR garbage! I give them the benefit of the doubt and pay the extra $2 for extra trash pickup. I call the agency who handles the rental, and she defends the tenants making us sound nit picky and like all the problems our our fault for not having a lot of parking between our driveways..?? (We have invited them to park in front of our house to solve the parking issues). Bobby goes next door to be neighborly, not bringing up any of the problems we are having, but just being nice and she seems nice enough… but things just get worse. Now excuse me for not running over to be the welcome lady, but I am not about to go out of my way to be nice to someone who cannot keep her household from being disrespectful.

I start trying to call and email the owner with little or no response about fixing the fence that borders our property. I figure I will get around to it in the springs, but then the NFH bring home a “puppy”, puppy is Cujo on crack and loves to hear his own voice. All day and all night long. Cujo likes to charge the fence barking at my kids, my dogs, me, my guests, anyone walking down the streets, etc. Apparently Cujo’s owners are deaf (explains the loud car & loud parties) and blind, as it does not bother them that Cujo is sticking his head through window screens to bark at the outside while inside. Did I mention Cujo is a freaking PIT BULL???

Tomorrow is garbage day. I take out my trash knowing it will be a tight squeeze because it was half full from when I forgot to take it to the curb last week. However what I don’t expect is that it is full….? Odd thing is, the trash is not my own, it appears to be from a birthday party. I let it slide, take Austin to school, clean house a bit, take more trash out and I notice their two cans are already down on the curb. As usual, it is two full cans, but also a bag and a box all overflowing with trash. Odd, same bags as the bag in my can, same plates & party ribbon, etc. I know I will be stuffed full by the end of the day, and I am not about to pay another $2 for their trash, so I take it out and set it next to their house, in plain sight. 12 hours later, it is still there.

Tonight I am having major concerns about the fence. Yes it needs replaced, now more than ever, but Cujo scared the holy hell out of me. I am thinking of just putting up a second fence right next to it just to have a second layer of protection between us and Cujo, also, I don’t feel like dumping a couple thousand dollars on wood, if Cujo is just going to ram it down. So I emailed the owner again telling him this, but I really don’t expect a response. I have also made a report with the city about the unsightly, unregistered car, but again I am not holding my breath.

I am not about to go over and try to be their BFF, and I am not wanting to waste city resources by placing the police on speed dial (old Bewitched television reference in 3, 2, 1…) and establishing myself as Mrs. Kravitz. So how have you guys dealt with NFHs? Did you make nice nice, strike out, or flood the neighborhood PD station with complains? I am sure this is going to be a regular feature, these guys are clueless!

I still don’t agree with the electoral system, but oh well. The last week I have been talking to my kids about how important it is to vote, no matter what state they reside in. We took 3 of the 4 with us when we went to vote, but Chris had to get to class since the line was about 90 minutes long.

Anyways, I hope my children do as I say and not as we did and take the responsibility of voting more serious than we did.

We have friends whose 10 year old has never ridden a bike out of fear. In my hometown Tag has been prohibited at the school, all because of fear of safety for the kids. Puh-lease! What ever happened to kids learning natural consequences? Why do they need full body armor to go out and play in the back yard (heaven forbid they set foot in the front yard without at least two, armed, secret service agents). Heck, when I was a kid, my parents would not even know if I had been abducted until at least 20 minutes after the street lights went on. And what the hell is up with ‘play dates’?? Are parents now days so over scheduled that they have to pencil in little Johnny’s play time between pee-wee soccer and his gymnastics class? That is what I love about this neighborhood, if a child wants to play with my kids… they knock on the door and ask if they can come out and play…. get this, WITHOUT their parents hovering behind them making sure their 10 year old can walk a block away without being stolen.

Now I am not saying we should air drop our children over a South American jungle with two quarters and a rubber band and expect them to MacGyver their way home, but seriously, don’t you think our kids should get to share memories of skinned knees, chasing the ice cream truck, drinking from the hose, building forts in the woods, walking to the supermarket with a dollar to buy candy or soda, climbing trees, skipping rocks and wading in the creek, and snowball fights?

Now I am not criticizing anyone else, you parent your child the way you see fit, but I found letting go works for us, as long as my child shows they are mature and capable of making reasonable decisions. At the park, I have no problem watching Austin climbing a tree 10 feet in the air, or walking to the convenience store to buy treats for his brothers. When I was in labor with Sophie, I mentioned Christopher broke his arm on his scooter. He was so proud of his injury, just like he is of his appendectomy scar. When Matthew falls down we tell him to “get up and do it again”. We still kiss his owies when he hurts himself, but we don’t act like the world is going to end if he draws blood when he falls down.

Someday, I hope my kids can look back and tell their own kids how much fun they had when they were kids, and all the risks they took and adventures they created.