Protesting

I will never again bring my children to the store. Can't do it, won't do it. Not until they're in college and even then I reserve the right to change my mind.

I needed to go to Target for three things, that is all. Three little things that should have taken me 15 minutes tops. But no. They're called the Terrors for a reason.

All was well until I walked through the doors with kids in tow. Monkey somehow managed to bite her lip causing her face and hands to be covered in blood. Ok, rough but we can handle that. Water, paper towels and we're good to go. Stopped off to get my Starbucks fix because today was day one of Pumpkin Spice Latte's return. **swoon** Off to first item on the list, potato. Head over for item number 2, chicken breast. One package left of the brand I like but not quite what I'm looking for. So while I'm debating on this, I hear Monkey shriek. Turn to find she has dumped my entire coffee in her lap and on the Cub's feet. Lucky for all, coffee is not hot despite being made only five minutes ago. Yay, Unsocial Starbucks Girl. Took me forever to get someone that could provide me with towels to clean the Small Ones even though there were two employees within 10 feet. **Sigh**

The Kid is determined to self injure because she spends the rest of the trip trying to fall out of the cart, crying all the while. Through this Munchkin has been dancing around the store, talking to everyone, climbing on my cart, climbing on stranger's carts.

After the meltdown she had at the store that morning and everything that happened this trip, I have come to the conclusion I am raising hooligans despite my best effort and that we will all have to remain hermits until they graduate high school. College even.

Baking My First Chicken

Or How I Found Myself Stuffing Lemons Up a Chicken's Rear

I don't usually cook any meat that has a bone in it. Especially a whole chicken. But it was free so I figure what the hey. I was going to make Hubby do all the raw chicken touching anyhow.

So this morning Hubby got out the chicken, seasoned it, and took the icky parts out. He followed a recipe. I was informed that all I had to do was stuff a lemon and some garlic inside and put it in the oven. Not a whole lemon, it was clarified that I needed to cut the lemon up first. Uh huh.

"It said it needed thyme but we didn't have any so I used the cocoa chili seasoning."

Chocolate, on chicken.

Fast forward to a trip to the store for lemons, garlic, and potatoes because apparently the chicken needs to be on a bed of potatoes. Ingredients purchased and on home to work on the chicken.

Said chicken looked as though it had been dipped in chocolate. As I was scraping this off I noticed that there was in fact something still inside the chicken. I'm pretty sure I removed a heart and half a kidney. Who knows. I ended up having to give the chicken a bath in the sink to wash the rest of the seasoning off.

Munchkin decided to join me as I was stuffing lemons and garlic cloves into the chicken.

"Does that feel good?" Munchkin asks.

"Yeah probably not but it'll taste good."

I finished seasoning the bird only to be told by Munchkin that it needs something else.

"It's fine."

"No, it said it needs something. Listen"

A high pitch voice says, "I need something else."

Oh, the chicken talks. Well then, I threw on a little extra seasoning.

I cut up some veggies, tossed in oil and seasoning, and dumped it on the chicken.

So somehow, just stuff a lemon in there and put it in the oven turned into a lot of work.

Formula

Oh I hate the stuff. I hate the smell, I hate having to use it, and mostly, I hate having to mix it. Who on earth thought to create a product marketed for tired parents and make it impossible to mix without giant lumps. Here you are trying to make a bottle at 3am on no sleep (negative actually, you can in fact have a negative- less than zero- amount of sleep) trying to mix a bottle while bouncing your tiny, screaming bundle of cranky in one arm and praying there aren't too many lumps.

I now understand the appeal of a formula mixer. That specialty parent product mixes the lumps out of your bottle, no shaking needed.

I am not usually a fan of specialty products. Like paci-wipes. I am not spending money to clean off a paci to give to a child that only moments before was licking the shopping cart. But I could get on board with this mixer.

Changlings

Facts and Information on the Care of Your Changling:

Changling children appear as normal children with subtle differences such as eyes of an unnatural shade that are far to big for the rest of them, tiny statures, and apparently a head of hair that refuses to be tamed by any product on earth.

Changling children have random outbursts of wobbly, incoherent babbling, emphasized by the waving of objects. Think drunk, crazy, hobo.

Do not let a changling child near your computer or other electronics. They will change passwords, forward calls, change all wallpapers to images of them, convert websites to text, and record their favorite shows on your DVR. Sometimes if you really aren't paying attention, they'll try to order something from pay-per-view.

Changling children will not cross piles of flower petals. Instead, they will stand there holding your hand and look at you like you should know they won't cross there.

Working Out

Two posts in one day, can you tell I'm hiding from my kids? It's really just a side note from the previous.

I now have a gym membership, fully intending on going several times a week to get into shape. That has happened once because, well, I live in a circus.

How does my day to day not count as a workout?

Sit, immediately stand and run across room to fuss at three year old for climbing table.

Return to couch and repeat when the Almost Two bites sister and you have to remove her from area.

This exercise is repeated throughout the day allowing yourself to only sit for 5 to 30 seconds until you pass out some time around midnight, a mere hour before getting back up to feed the baby.

Lifting and carrying around 12 pounds of baby that you swear was a pound lighter yesterday.

Add 25 pounds to that when Almost Two insists on being carried as well.

*Bonus challenge- Carrying the weight up and down the stairs because diapers and wipes as a rule can not be on the same floor.

Oh and watching your three year old attempt to launch herself off the landing, past the coffee table, and onto the doll pillow on the other side of the room is great for getting the heart rate up.

Try to get as much as this in before 11 am on two hours sleep.

So I ask myself why do I even need to go to the gym to workout. I think I may just use that time to nap without interruption.

Supermom I am Not

This week the Hubs is working a backward schedule. Instead of his usual 2 to 11 at night, he has to be at work at 730 in the morning. Yeah, great thing for a night owl.

Hubs is always great about getting up with the kids in the morning and letting me sleep in. It's wonderful because I do not function before 10am. So with him gone by 7, I have to be up and going when all three small ones are ready to be up. Yay.... not really.

Day One went so well. All three kids slept in until after 10, amazing. I got them all dressed, fed, even managed to do my hair and clean the kitchen. The girls played quietly, Cub snuggled, and things were going so well that I thought I'd brave the grocery store. They were wonderful! Monkey held my list for me, didn't cry or try to escape the cart. Munchkin walked with me, no running, and helped put groceries in the cart and keep the Cub entertained. When we got home, they went right to their room for quiet time. I so rocked my first day time alone with them!

Imagine my surprise this morning when I was ever so gently woken up to the sounds of not one, but two babes screaming, along with the sounds of Munchkin launching herself repeatedly from the top bunk. Oh yeah, today is going to go well. So far, all three have taken turns screaming. My house is already destroyed. Given the fact that the girls only ate the marshmallows from their cereal, I'm in for sugar fueled mayhem today.

Oh and my coffee is burnt.

Jumping On

I'm starting a blog because everyone else has one so I should have one too. Plus I have tons of interesting things to say. Well not really. OK, some times I say things that are funny. Every once in a while it is intentional. Plus I have these three crazy little people that follow me around saying and doing all kinds of crazy, funny, and occasionally unbelievable things.

So about me. I spend my days wrangling the crazies. Munchkin, my 3.5 year old self proclaimed pirate daredevil, the smaller female version of her daddy. The Monkey, the almost two temperamental princess/ wrestler. And the newest addition to the madhouse, Cub, the lone boy. I married a librarian and I bake for a living, so just to mix up that quiet life, sometimes I shimmy it onstage as a burlesque dancer in an awesome local troop.