Why you should NEVER do the whole, "Elf on a Shelf" tradition

Hi there. It's been awhile. Years, actually. I'm sorry... a lot of stuff happened, too. I had yet another child (Baby 4, Rebecca, aka Becks or Cheeks). We moved into a bigger home. I lost some friends, but I gained new ones (and I can say the same about inches on my body). Life highs, life lows, and events plentiful enough to fill volumes. But we're not talking about that today. Have patience.

I'm going to say this up front: My family participates in the Santa tradition. I don't care if you don't. I don't mean that in a negative way- I mean that in the, "You do whatever the fuck you want with your family, because I don't care" way. Yes. I'm lying to my kids, yada yada yada. I'm okay with that. I WANT my kids to believe. Sure, it's "magical," but I also enjoy having a scapegoat that they can't contact directly. Let's make a deal. You don't tell my kids the truth about Santa, and I won't tell yours that they're "missing out" on anything. Okay? okay.
 Back to the topic at hand.

The Elf.

 I used to be a fan. I'm not a fan anymore. "What?! Marilyn?? She was ALLLLL about the Elf 10 years ago!!" Yes, Dear Reader, I was. I loved coming up with zany antics for "Henry" to get into. I loved seeing the kids look for him each morning, and I loved that all I had to do to get my kids to stop acting like absolute shits was to say, "Henry! Do you see what _____ is doing? TELL SANTA FOR ME." HOWEVER, that was 10 years ago, when I only had two kids, more energy, and reasons to put a bra on every day. Times have changed.

Younger, more fun me did not consider the long term "investment." Remember those 4 kids? Yeah, at the time I was having them, I thought I was smart. "There's several years in between each one," said I. "That means only one in diapers at a time! If daycare is involved, only one monthly bill at a time! I'm so economically smart!!"

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

Do you know what I did to myself? Starting next year, I will have a child in high school. And will continue to have one child at a time, with ZERO breaks, in high school, for SIXTEEN STRAIGHT YEARS. Every time one graduates, the next one enters as a freshman the following fall. I'm facing a long, desolate road of teenage years. Compared to the Elf curse, I'll take it.

You see, here's what they don't tell you about those snitch elves; once you start, you're locked in. I went through a divorce and custody battle that took three years, and honestly, it was probably still an easier commitment to break. We started the snitch elf tradition about 10 years ago. Now, my oldest is 14 (well, next week anyway, HOLY SHIT), and knows it's the parents. My youngest is a little under 2, and has no idea who Santa is, or why the hell there's a huge, brightly lit tree the in house that she's not allowed to touch.  In the middle, I have a 9 year old that's most likely caught on and won't admit it, and a 6 year old that is fully entrenched in the mindset that Santa is basically a genie about to grant her every wish. I pretty much have the whole spectrum of Santa belief under my roof right now.
 Remember me pointing out that I have sixteen straight years of high school coming up? Yeah, that applies to the snitch, too. Every time one of my kids outgrows the tradition, the next one really starts to understand, and gets into it, and it is RUINING MY LIIIIIIFE. I ran out of ideas for this damn elf two kids ago. I finally set an alarm, so it at least gets moved, but I KNOW Evie's wheels are spinning.... Her friends' elves all have great adventures, after all. Why isn't Henry silly?

Now Hannah.... Yes, HANNAH. You remember her. She once split her head open on a coffee table, and with a straight face, told the responding paramedics that I pushed her. THAT ONE. Let me tell you a delightful story from Tuesday morning, after she was finished getting dressed for school. Backstory... Henry is "out of town" at the moment. I'm a terrible person, and "Henry" wrote the kids a note basically telling them to get their shit together, and stop driving their mother up a wall. You know, the typical, "do your chores, you lazy ingrates" message from a snitch elf. He signed off by saying Santa would send him back when they started acting better, because I'm not above holding Christmas presents as a bargaining tool. I'm outnumbered.

Well, Tuesday morning, Hannah was sitting, playing on an iPad while she waited for it to be time to go catch the bus. Very casually, she said, "You know, Mom... I was thinking about that letter Henry left us. It sure sounds a lot like the things YOU say to us." Cue me, frozen in place, with my hot coffee partway to my lips. "Oh," I say. "I guess we think alike. Or, he probably saw me getting after y'all, and just went based off that."
"Maybe," says Hannah.
But Hannah's eyes don't say that. You know that Diddy gif from, "The Four?"  You know, where he stares blankly at Elijah Conner, and EC stares back? We reenacted that gif on the couch that morning. And now.... we're at an impasse. She's not ready to ask me the truth about our family's snitch, and just in case she DOES still believe, I'm not ready to bring it up myself.

It gets worse, y'all.

Hannah has been keeping herself up late. I'm pretty sure she's on a recon mission. Henry was going to "come back" last night, and there was a moment that nearly became a disaster. I was literally walking over to the hiding place, and behind me, Hannah's voice.
"Mom."
I about jumped out of my skin. "WHAT?! WHY ARE YOU IN HERE WITHOUT KNOCKING? WHY ARE YOU AWAKE??" She said she just couldn't sleep, so I walked her back to bed. The damage for the night was done though. I had to postpone his return again, and now we're both in terrible moods, because we're both tired, and we're both clearly watching each other like hawks.
To make matters EVEN WORSE, Hannah made a Christmas list that involves, "lots of tape, for secret things." She states this SEVERAL times in her letter to Santa; TAPE is the priority. Not fancy toys or electronics. NOOOOOOOO. My kid wants the favorite temporary restraint of kidnappers in the plot of every kidnapping movie, and she wants, in her words, "LOTS AND LOTS OF TAPE. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT."

My heart rate will probably stay elevated until Christmas is over. I'm watching my back, and loud noises are making me jump. Remember... I still have to wait Evie's belief out. And by then, I have Becca's. I can't think of a good cover story that both rids me of the responsibility of moving the snitch, and fulfill the requirement of being believed by my kids.

If I go missing, along with "LOTS AND LOTS OF TAPE,' you'll know why.

Also, don't get a snitch elf. Ever.

I don't want to give away the ending, but... This post is about poop.

Ok. So, there's all kinds of classifications of parenting. Weird, right? I guess I fall into the "crunchy" category. I don't know. Maybe like, gritty? Yeah, let's say gritty.
 Anyways, I use cloth diapers. On my baby, that is. (They actually make cloth diapers for adults, but I HIGHLY recommend that you DO NOT, at ANY COST, Google that.) Cloth diapers have evolved a LOT in the last few years. Look it up, it's pretty neat. No pins, plastic pants, or the like. Fun stuff. I'm saving money, yada yada yada. It's gone so well, I decided to even use cloth swim diapers. To save money even further, I got the ones at Target, I think the brand is 'I Play,' or something like that. At $9.00 a pair, they were totally economical. Guess what? Saving money isn't everything, it turns out.
 So, these diapers don't have side tabs. Not a big deal, I typically can see when Evie is about to get down to business, so I didn't think much of it. WRONG.
 Ok, so every morning, from about 8:30-10, I take all the kids (mine plus all that I watch) out in the backyard to play in the sprinkler and run around before the South Texas sun rays of death come out. When we come inside, we have a routine. The kids stand on a towel inside the door, and I remove their wet clothes, and wrap them in a towel, and send them to the living room where dry clothes and diapers await. The older ones can do this all unassisted, but obviously, the younger ones need help.
 Evie's turn to take her wet swim diaper comes up. She faces me, grabs my legs to hold on to, and I bend down, and proceed to pull the diaper down.




POOP. Not just regular poop, either, This is poop that has run through the sprinkler, so it's half liquefied. It came SHOOTING out of the back of this diaper. A shit fountain. A geyser of goo. It shoots out onto the wall behind her, the towel below her, and all over my forearms. Horrifying. I couldn't help but let out a shriek of disgust, which in turn scared her, so she was trying to get away from me, with the diaper halfway down her legs, with poop going EVERYWHERE. I managed to get her into the tub, and get it cleaned up before the other small ones got into it (um, yuck?), so I will, this time, chalk it up as a win..?


I will say, until removal, the diaper did it's job, and held in 100% of her offerings. However, I'm gonna have to go with the doubly expensive swim diaper that comes with snap openings. Also, bleach. Lots and lots of bleach.

Been awhile...

Forgive me, Readers, for I have sinned. It's been a loooong time since I last blogged. I've had a helluva case of writer's block, coupled with lack of sleep (Evie's still into night time parties), and a bad habit of having kick-ass ideas at night, but not writing them down. What can I say? The Tempurpedic sings the song of my people.
  A lot has changed. I have two new babies I watch. They're both some pretty awesome girls! Well, crap. I guess that's really the only thing that's changed. Whatevs.
I'm still having some writer's block, so, I'm just gonna list some things I've noticed when watching more than two babies in diapers.



1. Like women synching menstrual cycles, babies sync bowel movements. Not kidding. I noticed it back when I worked in daycare, and my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm 98.76% sure that this is a real thing, guys. (I'm also 99.74% sure that I like making up statistics.) It never fails. Every day, I give them lunch, then wait 10 or so minutes, and BOOM. Paint starts peeling. Pretty sure trash guys hated me until they got the automated claw-thingy.


2. Little girls are dramatic, and territorial. Nick and Jojo were NEVER like this. But, bust out some Bunny Grahams with these girls? The claws come OUT. Doesn't matter that everyone is having the SAME THING. They will kill each other to take the other's Bunnies.


3. The more you discourage eating the sand in the sand box, the more they do it. Now, we avoid eye contact, they do their thing, and decide for themselves that Bunny Grahams > sand.


4. Sand poops are rough. Literally.


5. I need to stop trying to reason with toddlers. You'd think I would already know that.


6. Weenie dogs make awesome dustbusters. I thought I wanted a lab, but Lily can fit under the table.


Feel free to add your own!




M

My end of conversations with kids

I haven't blogged in awhile, sorry. I've been trying to do some "recon." I've been paying close attention to the conversations I have with Hannah, and the little boy I sit for (name withheld, because hey, it's the interwebz.) Could you imagine if these things were being said to other adults?

"Can you guys just go away, and let me wipe my bottom ALONE?"
"Don't pull on those knobs! Those are Lily's (the dog) nipples!"
"I understand that you have a booboo, but, I'm not kissing one THERE."
"If you would just stop touching it, you wouldn't have to worry about it feeling funny." (Little Guy is going through a touching himself phase.)
 "Yes, you and Daddy have the same boobies."
 "No cars in your underwear."
 "What did you just do with that booger?"
 "Because it's magic, that's why."
 "I know this soda has ice, but really, it's super spicy."
 "You can't just ask random neighbors for snacks when we go for a walk. We only do that on Halloween."
 "Does the backyard LOOK like a toilet?"
 "I asked the dolphins. They said they are super excited you're coming."
 "Do we put that in the toilet? No. Only poop, pee, and toilet paper."
 "Please leave him alone. I promise, he is NOT one of Santa's helpers."
 "I know YOU know why you were in time out. And, yes, part of it IS because I told you to go there. But, I want to make sure you actually know why you went, so tell me something besides, 'Because you told me to.' "
 "Yes, it does look like a piñata, and piñatas ARE super fun to hit, but, it is NOT a piñata, and if you see one outside, without a party going on, DON'T hit it."
 "WHY is there a toothbrush in your hair?"
 "Don't let this water get in your mouth. Do you have any idea how much pee is probably in this pool??"
 "Have I ever NOT fed you?? Then stop telling people that!"

There's a ton more, I just forget to write them down sometimes.

Kids...aka "Nature's Alcoholism"

So, Dan and I were having a beer tonight while cooking dinner, and, it hit me. Kids are another form of addiction. Only, without the oozing sores and dead teeth.
 Don't believe me?? THINK ABOUT IT.

Let's review some common symptoms of addiction. I watch, "Intervention," on A&E, so, I'm pretty sure I'm just an online diploma away from being an expert.

Extreme mood changes – happy, sad, excited, anxious, etc (Hmm. Sounds like pregnancy to me.)

Sleeping a lot more or less than usual, or at different times of day or night (Oh, look! Clearly, this person has a newborn!)

Changes in energy – unexpectedly and extremely tired or energetic (again, sounds like a new baby is around!)

Weight loss or weight gain (Pregnancy)

Unexpected and persistent coughs or sniffles (Kids are germ factories, and, it's well known that germs are the only thing they willingly share.)

Seeming unwell at certain times, and better at other times (Baby blues)

Pupils of the eyes seeming smaller or larger than usual (I attribute this to never leaving the house, because with a new baby, often, you don't even know what day it is.)

Secretiveness (I hide to eat candy and other goodies alone.)

Lying ("Mommy is going to bed too, Hannah! I promise!")

Stealing (I steal my kids' Halloween candy. And Easter. And Christmas.....)

Financially unpredictable, perhaps having large amounts of cash at times but no money at all at other times (goes without saying when kids are involved.)

Changes in social groups, new and unusual friends, odd cell-phone conversations (I went from the party crowd to the mini-van crowd. I also may, at times, discuss my kids' pooping habits over the phone.)

Repeated unexplained outings, often with a sense of urgency (NO, HONEY!!! LET ME GO GET MILK!! I DON'T MIND AT ALL!!! It may take an hour or so, though.)

Drug paraphernalia such as unusual pipes, cigarette papers, small weighing scales, etc (I have baby wipes, cloth diapers, and coconut oil scattered throughout my house. Also, breast pump attachments.)

 Lack of good hygiene (New parents are known to go for days without showering.*)

 Loss of focus (I try to go on date nights with Dan sometimes, swearing I need a break. We end up talking about the kids.)

See? You start out with just one. Then, you're pretty sure you can handle another. It just goes from there. The next thing you know, you're spending all your extra money on the latest kids' fashion item on Etsy, while you're not even changing out of sweatpants before you go to the grocery store. You'd lie, cheat, and steal for them, and the whole time, you'll deny you have a problem. "They're my kids!!I don't have a problem!"
See? That's what all addicts say.

I should know. I'm one of them. Hell, I even do in-home daycare, because I NEED to be surrounded by children. Hmm. That came out creepy. Ya'll know what I mean.

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*Please don't chime in about how you had quintuplets, and not only showered daily, but also kept up on laundry, and cooked a full dinner every night. Or, if you do, don't leave your real name, because I hate you, and you're lying. Unless you live with Grandma. Then, it doesn't even count.
 

Personal flaws in marriage

 I love my husband. He's thoughtful, helpful, smart, caring, and all around fantastic. I've got it good, and I know it. He cooks, cleans, bathes kids, NAME IT. That being said, NO marriage is perfect. We both have our flaws (well, I don't. I think we all know how awesome I am. Just do me a favor, and don't actually ASK Dan. Let's save time, and assume I'm always right). The key is OVERLOOKING those flaws. Which, I think I'm pretty awesome at.
 This past weekend, my awesome stepmom and little brother came for a visit. For one of the first times since Evie was born, Dan and I had to sleep in the same bed. Yes, I usually sleep on the couch. Now, before all my awesomely feminist friends cry out, "Oh, HELL NO, make that terrible MAN sleep on the couch," calm down. I LIKE it. Our couch is super comfy. It is angled just right that it supports my back while I lay on my side, all snuggled up, nursing Evie. I sleep out there willingly, because she doesn't sleep through the night, and since she is breastfed, why make him get up, and be sleep deprived, too? Clearly, flawless wife-stuff right there, huh? ;)
 Whoa, I'm off topic.
 Anyways, we had to sleep in the same bed. I forgot what that's like. You're probably picturing us all curled up together, clearly in marital bliss.Come on, ya'll. HAVE YOU BEEN READING THIS BLOG?
 It was hell. I forgot that Dan snores like... Well, a person who snores really loudly. He also has this annoying habit of ending up laying diagonally across the bed. There's something even worse, though. Teeth grinding? Nope. Sleepwalking? Nope. Talking?? Nope.
 SLEEP FARTS.
 Holy shit. <--- See what I did there?
 Yes, sleep farts. My wonderful husband has, straight up, without question, the worst gas problem while he sleeps. Some silent, some loud, ALL toxic. He's the Master of the Dutch Oven. King of Stink. There's no other way to describe it. His gas has woken me from sound sleep. It's the stuff of nightmares. Do you watch, "Doctor Who?" Remember the episode with the creepy gas mask people? I wasn't creeped out. I was jealous of their gas masks, permanently attached to their faces. Such bliss!!!
 I'm not forgiving. Crap. A flaw. I'm here to confess publicly. To bare my soul to you all.
 Sometimes, when he lets a bad one rip, I'll kick him. "Whoops, sorry! Must have been dreaming!" Sometimes, I'll elbow him, "MY BAD!!" I've even been known to do the roll-over-and-smack-him-in-the-face-and-pretend-I'm-sleeping move. Before you all condemn me, IT'S TOTALLY OKAY. He doesn't mind!
 He doesn't even remember!!!!

 I'm a terrible wife. I try to make up for it, by letting him sleep. I can honestly say, even with new babies, we've never had the "who got more sleep" argument. I let him have his weekly poker nights with the guys, I try not to whine when he is watching ESPN, while checking his ESPN app on his iPhone and iPad ( WHO DOES THAT??).
 But sleep farts? I turn into Joan Crawford, bitching about damn wire hangers.
 Whoopsies.
 Sorry, Dan. Just go back to sleep, and forget you ever read this.
  LOVE YOUUUUU!!!!

Naps

Moms love naps. Most of us live for the moments when our children are unconscious, and we can finish that coffee that has long gone cold, or read, or even shower... Just kidding. If you're like me, that magical time of day is spent hurredly scheduling doctor appointments, returning phone calls without children screaming in your ear,* or just trying to at least keep the family in clean underwear.
 Besides loving our children's naps, moms WANT to nap. But it never happens.

 Dads always get the naps.

Let me preface this by saying that I have a very helpful husband. He honestly does do his fair share of household stuff. He will bathe kids, cook meals, and cart the littles to their extracirriculars. He's very caring, and encourages me to nap on the weekends. Encourages, but doesn't facilitate.
 All week, I have a pretty set schedule with my kids, and the extra two I watch. After lunch, is nap. Always.  And, I try to extend that schedule over to the weekend, in the hopes that I'll get some sleep.
 Sometimes, it just doesn't work. We'll get sidetracked, and before we realize it, it's too late for H to lay down. Then, the chaos ensues.
 I say I'm tired. D encourages me to go take a nap. He'll watch the kids. HE'S GOT THIS. So, I go lay down. I get comfortable, start to even drift off, and IT HAPPENS.

 Knock knock knock.

The sound of a child's hand hitting my door. I ignore it. Surely, D will stop the intruder. The bedroom is right off the living room, HE CAN FREAKING SEE THEM.

Knock knock knock... "Moooommmmmmmmyyyyyyyyy!"

Dan, "Leave Mommy alone! She's sleeping."

"MOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!" KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

"Hannah. I said leave Mommy alone."

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

 "HANNAH!" -- This shout of the name is followed by the sound of little feet, running away. Oh, cool. D must have stood up, which is the universal code for "Parent means business." TIME FOR SLEEP.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaa."
Crap. The shout woke Evie up. Surely, she'll settle back down. I just nursed her, right before I came in to lay down.

"WAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!" Nope. Definitely not settling down. I sigh, and call for Dan to bring her to me, so I can give her a dose of baby knock-out juice.** Once it's been administered, and she is clearly asleep, I text Dan to come get her (text, because NO WAY am I about to do anything louder than breathing), and he does. SUCCESS!! Time for sleep.

I start to drift off.

BOOM CRASH.

"HANNAH, GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" Shit. She's infiltrated Nick's room.

"HANNAH, GET OUT OF NICK'S ROOM," Dan shouts.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! I hear Dan curse. He forgot Evie was passed out on his chest, I guess (?!), and naturally, the sultry sound of his booming baritone has woken her up.

 I sigh, and gaze up at my ceiling, waiting for a minute to see how it all plays out. More thuds from Nick's room. Evie's crying has picked up a notch.

A nap isn't happening.

I go out, and take Evie while Dan stops the other two from killing each other. He puts on a movie for them, or sends them to play outside. I feed the baby, while sipping another cup of coffee, and glance over to where Dan has layed on the couch.

He's passed out. SNORING, even.

Dads always get the naps.

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* Sometimes, waiting for naptime to take care of calls doesn't help. No matter what, if I'm on the phone, someone needs something, RIGHTTHISMINUTE.

** Relax people. Baby knock-out juice is breastmilk. I don't drug my kids. Often.