Toddler Man Plots his Take-Over

I may look cute and innocent,
but I will rule the world someday.

Toddler Man's vocabulary has been expanding rapidly recently. He's starting to string together sentences. He has named his piggy bank (a pig in a football helmet and jersey) "Tim"... apparently even at two he's a Tebow fan. He can string together a rather remedial sentence telling us we'll stay at home or do this or that... He knows football player's names.... but he has an odd hang up with his own family.

He will not, under any circumstance, call his brother by his name. He also will not call the dog anything other than "dog." I have a theory... albeit a rather disturbing one:

You see, Toddler Man, is quite the feisty 2-year-old. I'm fairly certain he's set upon World Denomination (picture Baby Stewy from Family Guy, minus weapons). The two creatures he tries his evilry out upon most often are his brother and the dog. I think he's willing to name anything else on the planet, but the things he wishes to destroy are required to remain nameless so the guilt doesn't wrack his little toddler conscience.

So, if you run into us and he's perfectly willing to explain to you who his favorite Manning is (Yes, he can differentiate between Peyton, Eli, and even Archie) but he refuses to call you anything other than "dis," I'd suggest you take cover. 

Toddler Child the Tattoo Artist

My house is slowly turning blue. And pink. A little bit of purple.  And any other color Toddler Child can get his little hands on. I keep throwing away markers, but alas the child has already mastered some fierce ninja skills and somehow manages to find more.

It's not just markers. Oh no, my ivory couch has been tatted with black ink as well as a lovely blue swirly marker design. The door to my office has some sort of green chalky substance smattered about on top of his trademark blue.

Even the floors - my lovely hardwood - has not been spared. No, here and there you will find a speckle of color. A dab of whatever he could get his hands on, even some of Oldest Child's lipstick made it's non-facial debut.

So, what's a mother to do? Squelch his artistic ability? Scream and put him in more time outs than his little toddler brain can comprehend? Beat him within an inch of his life? eh hem, calmly explain that we do not have an art room but we'll be happy to accommodate his freedom of expression in other ways?

For now, this mother is stocking up on Resolve Upholstery Cleaner and hoping the phase passes soon. But, be warned: if you see this kid - HIDE ANYTHING THAT CAN LEAVE A MARK!

Future Picasso, or Tattoo Artist in the making? You be the judge.

Christmas and New Year's in Review

Things have finally gotten back to normal from the holiday activities (well, almost normal - the decorations are still up, but will come down this weekend). Christmas itself was fairly uneventful. I cooked "Christmas Dinner" on Christmas Eve, and we opened all our gifts afterwards.



The older two taught baby M
how to open his presents.



Christmas morning was filled with the usual excitement of finding out what Santa brought, as well as the hustle and bustle of us loading up the car for our first Christmas Vacation. The hubs grew up skiing, none of the rest of us have ever attempted any sort of winter activity - other than sledding - so of course, an eight day trip to the mountains was just what we needed, right?

After loading the car full of suitcases, skiing/snowboarding/sledding/skating equipment, the dog, and of course ourselves (and yes, the car looked like it belonged to the Clampets once all of the previously mentioned items were in it) we were off to Winter Park, a ski resort town about an hour's drive from home.

<>

View from the car as we crossed
part of Berthoud Pass.

Most days were full of activity; however, I will confess that cooking at a higher altitude than what we're currently at proved to not always be as easy as it is down here at a mere 6,000 ft. Somehow, I managed to bake cookies (not typically an easy feet at higher elevations), but didn't get soup right - I'm blaming it on the water, no way it could be anything I did wrong!



Day one of our quest put both me and the middle child in "ski school". I use this term loosely because he will fiercly tell you he does NOT ski, he boards/rides/whatever the "cool" term for snowboarding is. All I know is after two lessons he's flying down the mountain fearlessly while I'm still plowing my way at a snails pace on the baby slopes. It was a lot of fun though, and I'm looking forward to many memories being made out there.



Proof that - contrary to any reports
 you might hear -  I can stay upright on skis.



I am happy to report that there were only two falls made by yours truly on the mountain. The first was when I went a little faster than what was in my comfort zone, and subsequently got the tips of my skis stuck together. I know, rookie mistake... Fortunately there was a nice soft snow dune that I drove myself into. I'm sure it was a lovely sight. The second was a classic "Beth Accident". For some reason I have an unrational fear of the chairlift. As the hubs and I approached the end of one of our rides, there was literally a man down. Some guy had fallen not far from the lift's exit ramp. Of course I was afraid of running over him, so got stuck on the chair and instead of exiting when I should have, I instead jumped from the chair as it turned the corner to head back to the bottom. Luckily it had snowed a few inches the previous night and I had a soft landing pad.



Middle Child (in green jacket) gets
ready to head downhill in class.

Middle child, of course, is much more athletic and was zooming down the slopes in no time. Laughing at me as he passed by, and upset the last couple days we were in town because it was too cold and windy to take him out.

One of the highlights of our trip was a jaunt over to Grand Lake. An area known for summer activities, but also a haven for snowshoeing and ice fishing. Originally the plan was to do some ice fishing, but we got a late start and just did some sightseeing and shopping instead.

We did not;  however, venture close
to them. Moose are not known for
being nice if they think you are
invading their space...

We did see three large moose in a meadow on our drive. To me that was one of the highlights of the trip!

Unfortunately, our trip was not without drama. We originally planned to come home on the 2nd. But, as temperatures plummetted (windchills ranged from -50 to -31, with real temps being around -4 for the highs) the hubs and I decided we'd all be a little saner if we went back to our own home, where we each had our own rooms to retreat to instead of the two bedroom duplex we were staying in.

We packed up and decided to leave after lunch. While we cooked, the kids entertained themselves. And that's when middle child decided he would carry baby man around the back bedroom. Somehow, they fell and when they did the baby took a face plant into the metal bedframe, splitting his right nostril open.



What? You mean stury strips aren't
normally part of my handsome physique? 



Nine and a half hours, two emergency rooms and quite a few stitches later - we were home. Thankful that nothing more tragic happened, and wondering if maybe we should have left after breakfast instead of trying to cook lunch.

It was a good trip; however, and these are the things memories are made of, right?

Oldest child refused to pose
for pictures - but that's her on the left, just
in front of the bridge skating
.

Baby Man loving the sled!

***Side note, I have no idea why there are two of the same pics of middle child snowboarding, the first one is not showing up in my edit thread, it appears to be deleted but when I publish it's there. So get over seeing the same pic twice. Also, I apparently lack the skills of making a cool photo montage, so deal with the sloppy way they are there. As you can tell, I did not resolve to be less snarky this year - only to post on a more regular basis. Cheers!***

Me VS. The Weekend

The weekend went by too fast. But, with it's end I'm on the downhill side of the hubs being in Kentucky for work so I'm not going to complain. The weekend was fairly typical in the life of the Copic house. Soccer game, trip to the zoo, plenty of TV time. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Saturday was our hectic day. J had his second soccer game of the season. He's on a pretty good team; however, the hubs is his coach. With Andre in KY until the 24th that meant a sub. Since this is a public forum and I don't know that they can't google and find me I will not go into details of my let down of the game. I will just say that we lost. A huge loss. It wasn't due to a lack of skill or because they were outplayed. It was because his team was not organized. And organization is the coach's responsibility. When the coach doesn't coach/mentor the kids, a breakdown happens. And that's exactly what we experienced Saturday. OH well, we have six more games this season, and not everyone wins 100% of the time. So, we'll pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and go back out there. in Wild Dogs vs. Wolverines, Wild Dogs won. But Wolverines learned how to be good sports even when they don't win. So, I'd say it was a moral victory.

J is a fairly good little goalie. Here he catches the ball before the opposition scores.
Me vs. the Weekend, take 1 - weekend wins.
But I'm claiming moral victory for kids learning how to be good sports when they loose.

We went home, relaxed a bit and decided that we'd take a family outing to the zoo. Sure, that doesn't sound difficult. But have you ever tried doing this alone with a passel of kids? I loaded up the car, stopped at Target for snacks and the four of us took off to the Denver Zoo.

It was a nice outing. The weather was gorgeous and most of the animals we wanted to see were out. J always bugs us for a train ride and we never want to wait in the line, but this time it wasn't too bad so me and the three kids piled on and rode around for a bit. The zoo has had quite a few babies born this year, and we saw the baby orangutan and mountain goats up close. The only complaint to be heard was from J because I don't do the reptile house, so he had to skip it. Oh well, his dad can take him in another time. We did catch the sea lion show and that was entertaining. Baby Man really could care less; however, and took a nap during the second half of our excursion.

Mama Orangutan with baby on her shoulder. I couldn't catch her up close.

J & H outside of the sea lion exhibit. Baby Man was sleeping by this point so he's not pictured.
Me vs. the Weekend, take 2 - I win.

That evening after the Baby went to sleep I escaped with the neighbors to grab a movie down the street. They wanted to see Devil. I don't do scary movies. I especially do not do scary movies when I'm alone. They joked that I would go home and put all three kids in bed with me. They didn't know that was probably true, and I'd sleep with every light in the house on. Instead of doing this we saw The American. Look for a movie review later. Don't be shocked when the review is not good. The plus side of The American is George Clooney is lickable. That's about it.

A brooding well toned George. Best thing about the movie.
Me vs. Weekend, take 3 - me because I didn't get up and leave, and I managed to stay awake.

Sunday was what I like to call a lazy day. We lounged around the house and watched movies. Letters to Juliet is adorable. And the premier of Broadway Empire came on last night. My kids managed to play nice and not kill each other. All and all it was a good day.

So, All told the final score was Beth - 2 (plus a moral victory), Weekend - 1. I'm saying that's a resounding defeat to the weekend!

When Did I Become Old?

Today was registration day for oldest child. Let me tell you.... nothing makes you feel old like having to take your child to register for school. In the back of my mind, I'm still the young cool kid I once was (OK, I'm cooler in my mind than I really was because while not a nerd, I never sat at the popular table. Even though several of my friends did, I was one of those kids that "floated" from clique to clique). Anyway, in my mind I'm not old enough to have a kid that'll be 15 this weekend - and starting her sophomore year in less than two weeks. Walking around campus and looking at some of these rejects err.... youngsters... made me feel older than I really am.

Registration was uneventful. Except for the pictures part. Dear Daughter choose to wear a summer dress she bought herself a few days ago. It's cute. It's a little brighter (hot pink & white) than I'd normally go for, but age appropriate. Her dress has thin straps. Not spaghetti straps, but thin straps. They are about an inch wide. She goes to a public school. I knew this wouldn't fly at her previous school (a strict Catholic primary school) but when I asked and she said it'd pass here I didn't argue. I thought she sees what other kids wear everyday she'll be fine. She's fairly conservative in her tastes so I didn't think I should push the issue.

We get to registration. We are surrounded by girls in daisy dukes, so I'm not terribly worried about the dress anymore (it's an appropriate length). There's one girl a few kids ahead of us with some studs in her face (this is clearly against school policy but who am I to judge). There's several spaghetti strapped females. We go through the lines. Teachers who know H comment on how she's gotten taller over the summer (yep, she stands a whopping 5'1... we're a tall family, what can I say).I spend a small fortune at various lines and complain about how public school is supposed to be cheaper than private - why the heck do I always spend so much at registration, blah blah.

We get to the pictures. There is a lovely school security man standing there "inspecting" the girls before he lets them take their pictures. Mr. Security Man decides that H is in violation of dress code. He hands her a ridiculously hideous very fashionable black bolero sweater to cover up with. H is not amused. A small hissy fit ensues. Not to Mr. Security Man's face, but enough to where other parents were giving me the stink eye. The camera man laughs. He tries to cheer her up by hitting on her telling her what a lovely young lady she is. I give him the stink eye. Needless to say, we didn't order school pictures this year, but her student ID is truly one of the more "interesting" ones I've seen. Yes, a black bolero sweater jacket over a white and hot pink sundress is definitely a fashion statement to be reckoned with.

I have been teasing her about the incident all day. She's complained about how other girls slipped through the line. I tried to cheer her up by saying the girls that slipped through looked like Marla from A League of Their Own and Mr. Security Guard didn't notice them, she told me I was being mean.

I've also caught myself giving her case in point scenarios from my days in college - as referenced in other blogs, I went to a small private college with a very strict rules. I was attending a press event with the journalism group and my advisor banned me from getting on the bus until I changed. I was in a suit. A non-revealing suit. But apparently my skirt was 1/2" to short and I was sent to change. She didn't really care that I lived an hour away. I had to go rummaging through a friend's closet to find something to wear, by that time I missed the bus and had to drive myself to Memphis (2 hours away) to attend the event. My mother was not thrilled when she found out I drove myself to Memphis (she really would have been mad to find out I made the trip in record time - even though I got lost in the ghetto along the way - exactly the reason why dear daughter will NOT have a sports car when she's old enough to drive).

But now dear daughter knows that maybe I'm not crazy when I question what she's wearing. And, she's even shown me her planned first day of school outfit for approval. Each year gets a little more disturbing, and each year I realize that how few school registrations are left before I'm helping pick out decorations for a dorm room. And, that in itself makes me feel aged beyond my years!

Travel Horror Stories

Admit it, you have one... we all do. A friend of mine recently travelled to Europe. Upon her way back she was screened at London's Heathrow Airport. Apparently, answering the questions honestly can get you in a bit of a security snafu. You see, they had packed their bags, but then checked them into their cruiseline's cargo hold. So when asked if her bags had been out of her possession at all, she said yes. Enter the land of security shut down and intense questioning. Add to this that she was traveling with 3 kids under the age of 12 and you can only imagine the chaos that ensued.

Whilst laughing at her Facebook post today, I couldn't help but think back on a few of my travel oddities. You know, that little black cloud that follows me around - it doesn't take vacation, even when I do. Sure none of mine are nearly as entertaining as hers, but I thought I'd share:

*Take for example my honeymoon. Following a lovely wedding the hubs and I were off to beautiful, sunny Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Little did we know we were arriving the first day of monsoon season.  Yes, you read that correctly. Gazing out of the windows of our plane I knew we were off to a lush tropical paradise, complete with sparkly water and sandy beaches. We arrived and it wasn't exactly what I had pictured, but I was still excited to explore around. Down to the dining room we go... we are told we cannot sit on the patio - because those big, grey clouds in the distance were headed our way. Fantastic seafood dinner, everything going great. Then the storm hit. Just as we were leaving. We waded through water waist deep to get to our stairwell. A cactus - yes, an actual cactus - floated by along the way. In the morning when we headed to the beach, we discovered a wasteland. You see, the monsoons wash out all the dried riverbeds right onto the beach. Just a quick dip in the ocean and you were covered with unimaginable filth. Note to self: do not go to the beach in P.V. during the first two weeks of July. We spent about 10 days there... the beaches were finally clean on day 9. Lovely.

*Example two comes a few years later. I am terrified of flying. It usually takes some sort of anxiety meds and/or a couple glasses of wine for me to fly. I had neither when we went to Disney World in 2004. I'd flown to Disney a couple times without incident. But for some reason, this particular trip I didn't fare too well. On the way home, looking out at the Gulf of Mexico between Orlando and New Orleans I freaked. I had a massive panic attack and was convinced I was traveling in the metal death trap. We were not scheduled to get off the plane when we stopped in the Big Easy... but I did. Our short flight home turned into a long drive in an overpriced rental. The hubs will never let me live that one down.

*Then there was the trip to Croatia in 2006. It was relatively uneventful. We flew on frequent flier miles, so our options on flights were limited to whatever they had for points. We had a 10 hour layover at JFK. The kids handled this ok. They surprisingly slept in the airport. But, when we went to check through security we had a lovely surprise. Apparently, middle child was flagged to be randomly searched. Umm... he was 3.5. What, you think the Mickey Mouse backpack he had filled with stuffed animals, books and dinosaurs was suspicious? We were actually accused for a few minutes of changing the information and trying to pass him off as the hubs. Umm... we gave you the birth dates upon booking. We have all the proper documentation. The security guard was baffled. She'd never heard of them having to search a toddler before. But, policy is policy. So before we knew it I was ushered over to a room to the side and my little boy was being asked to hold his arms and legs out while they patted him down. Another guard took every item out of his backpack one at a time, inspected the items, and then returned them. During the process a very solemn J looks at the guard and very seriously says, "I not dangerous. I Jonathan." A quote we will forever tease him with.

So those were the three stories that I could quickly remember. There are plenty of other ridiculous tales I could report, but in the interest of time and space I won't bore you. I would; however, love to hear your most interesting travel story!

The Search for Footed PJ's

J has a love affair with footed pj's. Seriously. He would live in them if he could. Last fall I found a pair at Marshall's for $9. They were green fleece with weird little geikos all over them. That child wears them everytime they are clean... and I actually have to swipe them away when he's not looking to throw them in the wash.

In fact, it's not uncommon for him to have "lazy days" (what I always referred to as days when I wouldn't get dressed growing up, rather lounging in my pj's) when he's not in school. So, needless to say his geiko pj's now have no feet. His toes are sticking out. H laughs at him and calls him a hobo. Chaos ensues (because of course, J does not like to be called a hobo).

So being the wonderful mom that I am, I have been searching the internet far and wide to find replacement pj's. We are in spring. Most of the world is warm. Footed pj's are nowhere to be found. Well, I take that back... I can find them for $50/pair. hmmm.... I love my kids, but $50 for a pair of camo footed pj's seems a little ridiculous.

I guess he'll just continue to go around looking like a hobo until fall comes back around. Please don't report me to the bad mom patrol.

Evil Beth Strikes Again

I am writing this late, and whilst very angry, so I am sure there will be typos. I apologize in advance. :)

My daughter has been asking harassing me for a while now to allow her to get a second hole pierced in her earlobes. She is 14, almost 15, I don't see much harm in it. Most people in her age group (and mine, too for that matter) have two holes in their ears. So, tonight after we finished Easter shopping she starts in on me. We are still on mall  property, so I tell her if the store is still open we will get it done. We walk in 15 minutes before they close and they say no problem they will do it.

It's easy enough. She picks out what she wants put in (thankfully just a simple CZ stud on a white gold post, not some of the ridiculous things they have to choose from). The girl marks her ears and the piercing begins.

Now, let me say this: they go through a whole big schitck about keeping them clean. How they are just so particular about everything being sterile. They have to sterilize their hands in front of me, lay everything out, put gloves on, sterilize all the tools, take out clean studs, etc. All this is shown to us... I have a gazillion places to sign saying everything is sterile, yada yada yada.

The first hole goes great. Then it's time for the second. I admit, I'm squeemish. Anyone who knows me well, knows I get sick easily when it comes to anything related to bodily functions that are not my own. So the thought of watching a stud being punched through my 14 year-old's earlobe was not something I wanted to see. I watched the first one go smoothly, then I started wandering down the aisle looking at some of the jewelry they had.

That's when I hear it... CLICK of the gun... groan of the assistant manager (who was doing the "procedure")... "That's not good," she says. WHAT?! I come back up the aisle very quickly (I'm only about 3 feet away, so I can still see what's going on - I'm just trying not to front and center watching).

Dear Daughter is doing fine, the stud is in her ear, but the back of the stud lays on the floor by the assistant manager's feet. I pick it up. I put it on the counter. I wait to see her next move.

This is where I should probably say that just a couple minutes prior she had marked dear daughter's ears to show me where the studs would be inserted. I touch her lobes to see if they look even. Now, my hands are clean. I'd just washed them. However, I was scolded because nothing "unsanitary" can touch the lobe prior to the piercing. Her ears had to be "re-sanitized" and re-marked.

Back to the earring back picked up from the floor. The girl doing the piercing calls the manager over... "that fell on the floor, what do I do?" Manager: "clean it and put it on her ear."

WHAT????!!!! Enter a person I like to refer to as "Evil Beth." Evil Beth hasn't made an appearance in a while. She's been somewhat tamed over the years. However, she still can pack a pretty nasty growl when necessary. And the thought of that dirty earring back going on my daughter's ear was enough to awaken Evil Beth from hibernation.

I am standing there staring at store manager. In something we'll call a restrained growl a very authoritative voice (it should be noted that I am probably at least a couple years older than the store manager, and the assistant manager can't be more than 20/21 herself) I tell her that in no way is that thing going on my daughter's ear.

"Well, there's nothing we can do. She has to use it, otherwise we have to categorize it as damaged merchandise, then damage another set to get a new one out," the manager informs me. This sets Evil Beth into a rage. I see red. The manager is now a big, glowing bullseye waiting for my daggers to pummel her in the heart.

Again, very restrained, I tell her in no uncertain terms is that thing going on my daughter's ear. I tell her that I will take that waiver I just signed and rip it to pieces, I will take my one ear-pierced daughter out of the store and somewhere else before I let that thing touch her. I ask why there's such an emphasis on sterilization when they are going to put something that just came up from the ground on her head. I ask if they even know what's been on the floor? I mean people are walking out in the street, stepping on cigarette butts, walking in public bathrooms/urinals, etc. and then walking into their store. I myself have on a pair of tennis shoes that have walked countless miles around the neighborhood not just in nice weather but in awful, grimy blackened snow. Sure they look brand new, but Lord knows what's touched the soles of these shoes, I was in a public restroom less than 20 minutes prior (and a department store dressing room with a dried booger on the wall *gag* so no telling what was on the floor, but that's another story all together) and I walked across that very same spot where the earring back lay. No way in hell is that thing going on her ear. Take my business or leave it. I do not care. But if you want me to pay, you'd better put a brand new stud and brand new back into that gun and repierce her ear.

You know what they did? They did exactly what I told them. They apologized profusely, took out another (sterile) stud and repierced the ear (come to find out it didn't go all the way through the ear the first time because the gun jammed, if the idiots girls had been paying attention instead of harassing me, they'd have realized this and the argument would not have occurred).

So, in the end, Evil Beth went back into hibernation. The store gave in and did what she told them to do. My daughter has vowed to tell her friends to go somewhere else, or take a stern bodyguard with them, when they go get their ears pierced. I asked her if I embarassed her. And, for once she said, "No. I'm glad you were there. I probably would't have spoken up and my ear probably would end up rotting off."

I'm gonna have to teach that girl to stick up for herself. She's a sassy thing to me, gotta teach her to give it to people who deserve it.

The truth behind "trophy wives" - or at least those of us with children

The term "trophy wife" is misleading. Yes, we are the wives that have given up careers to stay at home, raise families and have the perfect household. We do clean up nicely and tend to turn a few heads when we walk through the door at events. Therefore, becoming our spouses' "trophies". However, many of you non-stay-at-homers do not realize just what this entails. So, I thought I'd enlighten you a bit.

You see, in reality, it isn't that we are our husband's trophies. It's that we deserve a trophy for all that we do. I mean, really. Who else is going to simultaniously get peed, pooped and puked on and not complain? I love how people say we always have  a free calendar, because we don't really do anything. Really? I don't do anything? Let's take a stroll through my day:

6 a.m. baby begins to cry. Give baby paci and groggily go downstairs. Trip on some random toy, nearly break neck on stairs. Make bottle. Go back upstairs, this time avoiding toy. See oldest child off to bus stop - after having lost several arguments about clothing, hairstyles, and most importantly shoes (she wants to wear nonwater proof shoes on a snowy day).

7 a.m. wake up middle child - this is where the fun begins. Feed middle child. Explain to middle child that toast with syrup on it is not a good choice for breakfast. Lose the argument with child, end up giving him a frozen waffle. Yes, it's still frozen when I hand it to him. He's old enough to toast it himself. Dress middle child. Explain to middle child that no, a short sleeved Transformer's shirt is not appropriate in -5 windchill weather. Lose that battle, too. Tell child to put whatever on, you don't care, but "don't come complaining to me when you freeze to death at recess."

8 a.m. take middle child to school. Return home. Attempt to do some housework. Find self talking to dog about politics. Dog doesn't care. Dog won't go outside because it's cold. Dog insists the backporch be shoveled snow free. Shovel back porch for dog, only to realize that dog will not go to the bathroom OFF the porch unless a path is shoveled for her. More shoveling all the while telling Dog that she's like one of those welfare people - they are entitled to have me do the work for them. What am I entitled to?

12 p.m. Lunch? What's that? Do I get to eat? Did I have breakfast? Oh, I have to feed baby. Where did this mess in the kitchen come from? Who's brilliant idea was it to make a peanut butter, nutella, banana and jelly sandwitch and why didn't they eat it? Ew. Why did I taste that concoction. How long has it been left out?

Oh, I might want to get dressed today. Go upstairs. Damn! Stupid toy is still on the stairs. Gross. Looked in the mirror. When's the last time I brushed my hair? When's the last time I waxed my eyebrows? Who the hell am I becoming?

3 p.m. pick up middle child from school. Yes, you can have an afternoon snack. No, you cannot make it out of hot dogs and chocolate syrup. Who ate your sandwitch? That thing? I threw it in the trash. That was gross! Calm child down from the tantrum of loosing his culinary creation. Oldest child bursts in. "People are Retarded" is yelled as she flies up the stairs. How does she miss the stupid toy I always step on it? Oldest child returns a few minutes later and explains that her "curriculum" at school consists of taking notes and writing a report on "This is It". Wow. So, saying the Pledge of Allegiance is optional - but watching MJ's last dance is required. WTF? What is this world coming to?

5 p.m. start dinner. Kids argue over what they are going to do. Oldest child doesn't want to play with middle child. Middle child wants to carry baby around by the leg. Dog needs to go out. Everyone's yelling and the dog is running in circles. Crap!! Dinner on fire!

6 p.m. the spousal unit arrives home. Spousal unit looks around the house. Asks what's for dinner. Isn't thrilled with the menu. Asks why we're having vegetable X instead of vegetable Y. Asks why ingredient X was added to recipe. Spousal unit stars in disbelief as I storm up the stairs - STEPPING ON STUPID TOY AGAIN!! Stupid toy is now in trash. Middle child is upset about toy being thrown away, and fishes it out of trashcan.

8 p.m. middle child is in room watching tv, oldest child is hiding out somewhere in teenage angst, spousal unit is in basement working out. Baby is cursing me in baby language because he wants to suffocate self with blanket and I won't allow it. Dog is needing to go out, but now it's even colder so she refuses.

10 p.m. youngest children have been asleep for a while. Oldest child suddenly remembers she needs a gazillion dollars the next day to pay for a school activity. Pleading ensues at the thought that I might not provide gazillion dollars to child. Check is written, child skulks off to room.

This cycle continues off and on every day - just with different variations depending on what season of the year it is.

Trophy wives everywhere put up with this situation.We find ourselves rooting for sports that have absolutely no appeal to us what-so-ever, all in support of our little ones. We go from being idolized by our daughters to becoming the wickedest witches ever to live when they hit the teen years. Our babies will look us in the eye, give us the biggest brightest smile imaginable... and then... puke on you and giggle.

Would I give it up? Not willingly. I had a good career outside of the home before Baby came along. I'm not anxious to return to it soon. But, the myth vs. the reality of my day is something too many people take for granted. So, let me ask you - the next time you think your friend down the street "isn't doing anything" consider that she may actually be the ringmaster to one of the craziest circuses on Earth. She just isn't selling tickets to the show.