Regarding Kindergarten.

With just over 3 weeks of Kindergarten under our belts, I've taken the time and energy to come out from hiding underneath my kitchen table clutching a bottle of Don Julio to discuss how our world has changed. Kindergarten is a wonderful, magical place. But there's also a shitload of crap that nobody really wants to talk to you about. But me? Oh you know I want to talk about it.

First, we'll discuss the restroom. Oh yes. Kindergartners still go poop, did you know that? And did you also know that because of the relatively sick and twisted world we live in, they're pretty much left to their own devices to do this? Alex knows how to wipe himself, make no mistake about that. But if the kid who sits next to him doesn't know how? Dear Lord. A situation.

Next, let's discuss lunch. Alex attends before (and after) school latchkey, so in addition to hot lunch, he's also offered a hot breakfast. Nice, right? I've noted before that he has a hollow leg and will eat anything that's not nailed down, so getting him to eat the school food is not the problem. Getting him to not eat ALL the school food is the problem. You see, he has an online account that I place funds in, and every time he visits his girlfriends (aka the lunch ladies) they deduct money from his account. Either he's eating very, very well, or I'm funding the head chef's 2015 family trip to Greece.

Recess is a whole 'nother situation. They play outside, sure. But where? When? I have no idea. And if he forgets to bring home one more jacket I'll probably lose my mind.

I cannot even discuss the PTO at this moment in time. Don Julio and I will be back for another sesh on that in a week or so. At the end of the day, it's very nice people doing very nice things. But the efficiency-obsessed Type A in me just doesn't have the patience.

In summary, Alex is loving everything about Kindergarten. He's certain he's going to marry his teacher someday and is really thriving. I'm so proud of him. As for me? I also love his teacher, but will stop short of a marriage proposal. I also have control issues that I'm working through and wishing for the easy, scheduled days with Aunt Jane.

I try to be a very "go with the flow" kind of person, and I swear I'm not a helicopter Mom...but I really just miss him. I miss knowing the names and faces of all his friends and getting all of his silly inside jokes. This is why I'd like to just strap a Go Pro to his head and call it a day. Do you think the public school system would be into that?

Life, death and woodchucks.

Lately, Alex has been VERY into questions and learning all about everything. It sounds super weird and morbid, but his latest fascination is death. Not particularly HOW people die (i.e. I'm not talking to my 5 year old about murder and guns and blood and gore), but what happens after you die "because you're old" ..and what it means to go to Heaven and to have your body die and be buried here on earth, but your spirit and soul in Heaven with Jesus. We covered a lot of that last week, talking specifically about his GG (which he can relate to and where most of the questions stem from because he knew his GG before he died--of old age--and understands his death and that GG is in Heaven but his body is buried on Earth in a cemetery).

Last night on the way home from daycare, he was very quiet. This is unusual, so I asked him, "Whatcha thinking about, bud?"

Right away, he responds with, "If GG's body is in the ground, but his Spirit is in Heaven with Jesus, how did it get there? How did they separate?"

Oh boy.

I know. He's five. FIVE. Being his Mom is hard sometimes because he thinks everything through. Thoroughly. Most kids would have been totally satisfied with the standard "body goes in the ground and spirit goes to Heaven" answer, but he has to know HOW that happens.

We spent the next few miles talking about that--him asking more questions and me giving the most honest, sensible answers that I could for his mind to grasp. I'm into reality as a parenting style. Judge away. He seemed completely satisfied with my answers, so I asked him one last time, "Bud, do you have any more questions for Mommy? I'll answer anything you want."

Giggling from the backseat, he asks...

"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

And that, my friends, is how we do in the VeeDub household. Deep, meaningful conversations about the afterlife straight into silly, unanswerable tongue twisters.

But if you were curious, the answer is: about 700 pounds on a good day, with the wind at his back.

Selfie Saturday.

Yesterday felt like a split family kind of day, as Joey lost his damn mind and went ice fishing from about 6am-4pm. As soon as he walked in the door, I flew past him like a Category 5 Hurricane in what was my first glimpse of the sun in about 3 days. Must. Breathe. Fresh. Air.

I spent my two hours of freedom at Target (which should surprise 0% of you) and in a somewhat shocking surprise, Home Depot and Lowes. Warning: I got crafty with my kitchen chandelier as inspired by my dear friend Sarah. It may or may not involve a can of red spray paint, vintage canning jars and Edison bulbs. But more on that later.

To share snippets of our days with one another, Joey and I sent selfies throughout the day. And what's a blog for than for sharing pictures of myself and my family?

They were in the basement, which is Alex's new self-claimed man cave. 

One might also call it Train Central. I think we're up to five different sets. It's fine. I think.

Teaching an old dog.

With baby #2 (and I can only assume all babies thereafter), you find your stride much earlier. There's no panicked "How do I do this?" or "What should I do when...?" moments. For the most part, you're more confident in your actions and if you're not sure or don't remember, you just fake it with confidence because, hey, you've been there, done that and at the end of the day the child is being fed, loved and changed...so chalk one up to the winning at motherhood column.

However, I have had my fair share of "What the hell do you mean?!?" moments in the last month or so. In just the short 4 years since Alex has been born, it seems like SO much has changed. Items I used (and SWORE by) with Alex have since been recalled, carseat laws have changed and immunization schedules have been altered. I simply have not kept up with the times.

Therefore, there are a few things I'd like to bestow upon you all...hopefully, to save some of you the trouble of learning it (or re-learning it) all over again.

1. Breast pumps are 100% covered under ALL insurances. It doesn't matter what kind of insurance you have, a breast pump will be covered. It was a law passed in 2012 under the Affordable Care Act. Even if you have one from a previous child, you can (and should!) get a new one. Just have your OB write you a prescription and fill it at a medical supply store (all hospitals have these, too!).
2. Speaking of breast pumps, these now exist. Your nurses can get you a stash before you leave the hospital (ask them to be generous...you're paying for it, anyway!). Your nipples can thank me later.
3. When in the hospital, ask for a binder. It's kind of the same concept as the Belly Bandit, but, you know, FREE. And wow...they are FAB. Mine was ordered in the hospital by one of the nurse assistants (without my asking for it), and I actually wrote her a thank you card and sent her a Starbucks gift card as a small demonstration of my eternal gratitude. It has helped so much with support from the C-Section and I honestly believe it's even helped in getting my figure back quicker. 

I'm quite sure there's more, but I've already forgotten more than I know. 

Hormones are a bitch, yo.

Yesterday was one of those days when Alex got a delightfully early bedtime (which he earned, let's be clear) and I retreated to the dark of my bedroom to decompress from the day and remove myself from all humankind. See also: DO NOT DISTURB. Unless you have wine. Then, please, disturb.

Alex has been especially...spirited...lately, and my energy and patience to deal with his 4 year old drama is all dried up come 6 p.m. The icing on this overcooked and dry parenting cake is that his sister has been a reeeeaaaaal dick lately herself. Pretty sure last night she had me by the ribs with her 25 week ninja deathstar grip and isn't going to let go anytime soon.

What I'm saying is I really just wanted to complain today so just keep reading along and I promise eventually I'll be back to my standard rainbows and unicorns shooting glitter out their bottom parts. Because I've got about 14 weeks left of these shenanigans and it's either I write my drama here and you suffer through it with me or I hop a plane to Cabo with nothing packed but a gross maternity swimsuit and some SPF 50 and I'll see you 'round later.

Big brother.

After yesterday's announcement, we got a lot of love via the social medias. (Thanks, btw!) What most people asked after the OMG! OMG! Congratulations! was how Alex is taking the news, which I LOVE because that means you people all love him as much as we do and can pretty much assume that his reaction will be Oscar-worthy.

The funny thing is, we haven't actually told him yet. Sure, we've talked about being a big brother and babies and he asks all sorts of questions about family and what that means, but we haven't really said the words, "Mommy is having a baby!"

You see, he's wicked smart. He's like a 17 year old pursuing a Ph.D. in that little mind. So when we DO tell him, he will get it. He will totally understand and want a baby, like, ASAP. He's already told us that he would like to be a big brother to "teach the baby to sing and color," and that he will "help feed the baby tiny bottles and change diapers...even if they are poopy, Mom."

So, heaven forbid we travel down that same road we've been down before and we have to UNtell him. How do you do that? I don't know that I could.

So we're going to wait awhile--maybe until I'm showing a little more--to really explain it to him. But in the meantime, thank you for all the heartfelt congratulations and wishes of health and happiness. I sure do love the internets.

Zzzzzz.

Alex has recently become very self aware of conversations he doesn't want to be a part of for various reasons: boredom, confusion, angst, avoidance, etc.

For example, whenever he has to go in time out, he always has to apologize, tell me WHY he had to go in time out, and then give me a hug and kiss. The other day, he didn't really want to tell me why he went into time out...partially because he probably felt justice was not being served and also he didn't want to admit what he did was wrong. Here's how that went:

Me: Alex, time out is done. Come over and tell Mommy why you were in time out and we'll hug it out.
Alex: Ok, Mommy. ::walks over to me::
Me: Your turn, kiddo. Why did you have to go in time out?
Alex ::no answer::
Me: Buddy? Why did you have to have a time out?
Alex: ::drops his head, pretends to snore and sleep::

As you run this scenario through your noggin, please also imagine how extremely difficult it was for me to keep a straight face and be the "good mom" in this scenario. Now, throw that out the window because let's be real: I laughed until it hurt. And then, in turn, HE had a captive audience and knew his behavior was funny.

So now it's a thing in our house. Joey starts droning on about fishing and I drop my head and start to snore. I start talking about the latest news from TMZ and both boys do the same.

For the record? I tried it at work today and it was not met with the same level of humor.

Hump Day.

Blah. I find that even Starbuckies is unmotivating today. If it helps, I typed "globber dot com" in the address bar about ten seconds ago...so just trying to get into globber blogger to type this post has been a trainwreck. Happy Hump Day, indeed. Pffft.

And to be fair, I don't really have all that much to talk about. We did experience a "first" this morning -- when asked to brush his teeth (a task typically completed with shining success due in part to the help of Thomas the Toothbrush Train), Sassypants Alex put both hands on his lips and boldly proclaimed, "NO. I will NOT brush my teeth, Mommy!"

It probably didn't help matters that I busted out in laughter instead of remaining calm, cool and collected. Parenting fail.

The good news is his teeth are brushed and we all survived. Perhaps the terrible twos are just a little late knocking on our door.

Dear insurance company: please kindly suck it.

Today I spent wasted 40 minutes on the phone with my insurance company, who, for the most part, is good. We have great coverage and I rarely have problems. But when I do have problems, they go balls out and make it the worst experience of my life.

Take when Alex was born, for example. I don't remember blogging about it in detail, but as a synopsis--we continued to get bills from the hospital over a year after he was born. I fought every single one tooth and nail, because what they were asking me to pay for was fully covered in my plan. I won.

Take when Joey got his shoulder surgery. Same story, though the timing was a little closer to the actual event. I won that one, too.

Or take when Alex went for his 2 year checkup and insurance billed me for his immunizations--which, SHOCKER--are covered 100%. I was victorious in this scenario, as well, obviously.

And then, today, when I got my FIFTH bill for my annual girly bits appointment--a fully covered visit--and I completely lost my beans and went bananas on the incompetent customer service representative. And her supervisor. And her supervisor. No one should have to call FIVE times over the course of three months to have something so simple resolved. I'm a one and done kind of girl. For the record, I won this one, too.

The moral of the story is to know your insurance plan like the crack of your baby's behind. It's your money - be smart about it! Know what's covered, what's not. What your deductible is. What your max out of pocket is. Otherwise, you're going to get screwed...and it's not if, it's when. If I just shrugged my shoulders and stupidly paid every bill that came my way we'd probably be out $10,000+ over the course of the last 4 years...and I'm not kidding. That's like a super nice vacation.

Speaking of which...Joey? I would like to go on vacation. I think I've earned it.

How'd you spend your Sunday?

Was it at the ER with a severely dehydrated 2 year old? No? Than it was sure as hell better than mine.

Long story short: Alex woke up on Sunday morning limp as a noodle, unresponsive to any questions and demonstrating some signs of labored breathing. I don't really remember driving to the hospital, but somehow we ended up at the Children's ER at Beaumont.

He had no signs of fever or infection, which was the most troubling. The doctors ran blood tests and x-rays of his chest and stomach to learn more. During the x-ray, the tech told Alex she was going to "take a picture of his bellybutton" so he pointed to it and said, "cheeeeese!" I die.

Anyway, his labs showed CO₂ levels of 17. The "normal" range is 22-26, so the kid was dehydrated. Severely. We had a barrage of questions for the docs--because he had been drinking and peeing healthy amounts all week--and even had a wet diaper that very morning. It's assumed that his body was just fighting off some sort of bug earlier in the week and was using all the "extra" fluids to do that.

So, he got hooked up to an IV for the  better part of 3 hours and got all juiced back up. And, miracle of miracles, after about 30 minutes into the drip, he was his normal, happy, silly self.

He was so brave when they put his IV in.
Also, doesn't he look BIG here? Sigh.

Feeling better...can you tell? :)

The last picture is proof that we were ready to be discharged and head home. And also that he has Poppi and Papa John wrapped around his chubby fingers. Papa John was on wagon duty and Poppi pushed the IV cart behind them. This was all just too much for me, truly.

So, in summary, that's not how I planned to spend my Sunday. But everyone is happy, healthy and hydrated back at home. Also? I like alliteration.

Potty talk.

Methinks it's that time...

Alex has been repeatedly asking to go "poo poo on the potty." And the one time I actually buckled down and took him seriously, he had already gone in his diaper. (Bad Mom.)

I figure since he's asking, I should take advantage and do something about it. But I'm completely out of my element, here. Bottles, cereal, diapers, baths, swimming, bugs...all of these things I can do. But bodily fluids of the pee and poo form and me aren'tsomuch bffs. (Remind me to tell you the one about Alex vomming down my shirt at a local Chili's.)

I digress. I need to make a potty purchase, and I need some guidance. What works best? Those little mini-seat rings that you put over the real toilet? The little mini-potties? A hole in the backyard?

And also, where do I buy a hazmat suit?

I could be writing to you from jail.

Because last night, I almost killed someone. For real.

Allow me to set the stage...

The VeeDubs were shopping at our local Meijer store, filling our carts with various items needed for the week ahead. We had just entered the laundry soap aisle and Alex was squealing with delight because we had just given him a Dum Dum sucker to occupy his time and energy.

A spinster in her late 30s rounded the corner and due to a large structure pole of the building and the exact placement of our cart ('buggy' for my East Coast readers) she couldn't get down the aisle.

Joe moved our cart, and just as she passed us Alex squealed again - a cheerful (and loud, I will admit) cry of delight because HE was special enough to get strawberry sugar on a stick from his Momma.

The woman (henceforth referred to as GB=giant bitch) rolled her eyes so far back into her head and threw her hands in the air while audibly scowling with disgust, "I am SO glad I don't have kids."

Oh, GB. You now have Momma Bear's full attention. GAME ON.

My quick-as-a-mousetrap husband beat me to the punch and retorted, "Well, that's probably a good thing because it sounds like you wouldn't be very good at it."

She scooted past us as I responded to Joey (loud enough so she could hear), "Well, she is a delightfully cherry old maid, isn't she?"

After about an 8 second pregnant pause, GB offered another nugget of brilliance, "It looks like you two aren't very good at it either."

I SWEAR TO CHEEZ-ITS, if Joey had not literally pysically restrained me by my arm at that moment, I would have lunged at her jugular and knocked her out cold with a value size bottle of Tide.

I have never, ever, ever been so livid in all my days. How DARE she judge me or my husband and our parenting skills? Alex was not bothering anyone. He was not hitting, punching, cursing, screaming with anger or even running around wildly. He was sitting like a superstar in the front of the cart, nomming on a sucker with the excitement of a two year old little boy. And it's not like we were in the friggin' library. It was a motherflipping supermarket--full of energy, noises, people & families. If you want a sound-proof and uninterrupted shopping experience, get on Alice.com or hire it done. Or wear your headphones like my weird normal sister used to do. Whatever works. But don't get your panties in a bunch when my child is being all kinds of adorable and fun and not disturbing ANYONE but himself.

Even as I type this, my blood pressure is rising...

GB should count her lucky stars we didn't run into her again. I would have either kicked her in the face after I went to the shoe department and put on some spiky cleats or kindly asked her to have a hysterectomy and go home to her cats to live the rest of her days in misery. Or maybe both. I just can't be sure.

Advice for Moms, albeit unsolicited.

This blog is not a political forum. In fact, I'm quite sure that if you go back and read every single one of my posts from start to finish, you will find nothing even remotely political in nature. I roll my eyes at Joey when he posts his rants and raves all over Facebook, because for me, it's a private matter. You have your opinions, and I have mine. This blog isn't for red vs. blue. It's for wedge vs. heel, pacifier vs. thumb, margarita vs. wine ...and the like.

HOWEVER, when I read this post from Clemsongirl today, I was moved to tears. Literally. Since Alex is so small, I never really thought about the impact recent events have had on parents that have to explain these things to their children. I'm of the parenting 'world of truth,' and when Alex is old enough to comprehend such matters of the world, I will be open, honest and age-appropriate with him, just as Clemsongirl was with her cutie patooties, Jack (8) and Ryan (10).

I think as a network of Moms, it's important to lean on one another and get advice from those who have lived it, talked the talk and walked the walk. I'm willing and eager to learn from those who have been in the trenches of Motherhood and earned those badges of honor. Some of the best tricks I know were nuggets of wisdom from other Mommies...and in some way, I like to think that's part of the circle of life. You give. You get. And everybody's better because of it.

So thanks, Clemsongirl, for being open and honest with your kids. I couldn't agree with you more - God bless America and God bless our children.

Boys are weird.

Maybe it's because Kelli and I forced Kyle to play too many "girl" games growing up - like Barbie Mania extraordinaire - but I really do not understand "boy" games and how to "play" them.

Take, for instance, Legos. Joey is obsessed with them. And when I say obsessed I do mean that just as I cannot go to DSW without perusing the size 7.5 clearance section 17 times, we cannot go to ANY store that sells Legos without at least taking a saunter down the aisle to "oooh" and "aaah" over the newest collections.

But back to Legos. You open the box. You follow the directions (creativity much?). And then what? You look at it?

And what about trucks? Alex LOVES anything on wheels, and every night we make at least 12 laps around the house with Hot Wheels, monster trucks, and a random Mr. Potato Head. Don't ask. But when I try to make it a "game" or into something more interactive (like crashing, races, ramps, etc.) he'll have none of it. He just wants to crawl around the house making "vrrrrrrrrroooom" noises.

Now...dolls I get. You can feed them, clothe them, take them places. Dress up? I totally get it. Beauty Salon? Bring it on. Girl games get me.

The irony of all this is that if we have another baby, I would love to have another boy. My life surrounded by trucks and Legos and other smelly/dirty boy things delights me. I find them oddly lovable.

In summary, Boys > Girls. Except when it comes to shoes.

Ice breaker.

So I have this "friend"...let's call her Misty.

Anyway, Misty has a toddler, and he was recently playing in the baptismal font at his Great-Grandmother's funeral and accidentally bumped into the casket, causing a photo that was propped up on the lid to fall over onto the deceased.

Cue loud GASPS from the crowd.

In a heat of panic, Misty scooped up the toddler and took him over near his Great-Grandmother and they both said, "Sorry, Grandma."

Cue "Awwwws" and laughter from the crowd.

Disaster averted.

NIEPHEW WATCH: DAY 4.

Stiiiilllll no baby. In fact, Kelli had a Dr. appointment yesterday and was told "no bueno" on any progress whatsoever. Well, I'm sure they used more appropriate medical terms, but you get it.

Actually, I think Niephew is already wise beyond his/her months. You see, Momma has a bit of the yuck right now, so I think (s)he's waiting until Kelli is 100% to make the grand entrance.

And only because it rains when it pours when my family is involved, my Grandfather (Mom's Dad) has taken one step forward and 432,678 steps back in terms of his health. I'm actually taking tomorrow off work to go home to see/be with him. As a general rule, I don't "do" hospitals (unless for the happy occasion of births) mostly because I find them to be smelly, cold, dark and quite frankly, the biggest Debbie Downer of all time. So, please give a little shout out in your prayers today that 1) Gramps will start to make progress and begin to heal; 2) I don't vomit whilst in the hospital visiting him; 3) Baby Niephew continues to wait patiently for both Mommy and Great Gramps to get better; 4) Alex doesn't try to eat the hand sanitizer at the hospital. I'm sure at some point he will also attempt to use the urine tray as a toy, but we'll burn that bridge when we get there.

Thanks, peeps.

Why Laundry Can Be Fun.

The other night as I was buzzing around at warp speed doing various household chores (go ahead, let that mental image of me in 4" heels, a pink apron and feather duster in hand burn into your brain), Alex expressed extreme interest in moving the clothes from the washer to the dryer.

"Heh-wulp," he said as he reached his little hands over his head.

And so, I handed him each piece of wet laundry (one by one) and he delicately placed each one in the dryer. When it was all said and done, he helped me close the door and I lifted him up to hit the start button. He squealed with delight when it beeped back at him and started tumbling.

Life lesson: I go too fast, and when attempting to maximize every waking minute I also run the risk of missing out on making sweet little memories like this one. And who cares if it takes me 10 minutes to switch the clothes? I had fun doing it...and so did Alex.

Mouthbreathing, Party Of 2?

As you might have guessed, both of the men in my life are sick. Like, coughing-up-a-lung, mouthbreathing-until-it-hurts, can't-sleep-to-save-my-life sick. Needless to say, it was a verrrrry pleasant (laden with sarcasm) weekend at the VeeDub household.

I have, however, learned a few new Mommy tricks during this most recent ride on the sickness train. Allow me to impart my knowledge to you:

1) The plug-in Vicks vapor thingies RULE. The day I bought one was the first time Alex slept through the night. I used the regular chest rub stuff for Joe, and that worked wonders for him, too. Amen, Vicks. Amen.
2) When buying Mucinex, just get the regular strength. The extra strength could clear the mucus (too much?) from that slobbery guy in Ghostbusters. Nobody needs to see that.
3) I maintain that Airborne tablets are the only thing keeping the germies away from me. I take one a day. And right now the monster tubes are $5 off at Coscto!
4) Speaking of Costco, and totally unrelated to sickness, I discovered sweet potato chips this weekend. ZOMG. They are yumalicious. And also available at your friendly neighborhood Costco.

I'll leave some of the other sickness details to your imagination. I think we're all finally on the mend and will be able to enjoy some pumpkin patch goodness this weekend. Happy Monday!

Playing Santa.

It dawned on me over the weekend that Joey and I get to be Mr. & Mrs. Claus this year. And because I have a small (read: ginormous) obsession with Christmas, my gift shopping is typically done (and wrapped, thankyouverymuch) by November.

...which means it's time to get moving.

Alex's latest obsession is with balls. Hello, 12-year-old boys that got here on a Google dare. I had a not-so-glamorous parent moment last night over a set of pool cue balls that he deviously got his little paws on. Let's just say I tried to make it a teaching moment and failed. Miserably.

So in an effort to give the child some non-porcelain balls to throw at my face, I've ordered a set of pit balls for Santa to bring down our chimney.

We can bring his inflatable pool in the basement and use it as the "pit." Brills, no? Thanks for the inspiration, Blair.

It Happened.

For the first time on Tuesday, I was that mom with that kid.

"What?!" You exclaim. "Alex is an Angel!"

Eh. Notsomuch.

Don't get me wrong, I still maintain that Alex on his worst day is still better than the worst kid on his best day, but Tuesday was the day it happened. He threw a public tantrum and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

The worst of it? He was getting his hair cut.

This is his third haircut. You might remember that the first two were hugely successful. He was such a good boy and sat still and even got a sucker when it was all said and done. Not this time.

Basically, he screamed and screamed and wouldn't sit still. I'm not into bribing a kid to be good, but he wasn't even having the cookie or sucker I offered. Obvi, I was flying solo, so Joe wasn't there to help with reinforcements and I pretty much just wanted to disappear into the floor and never return.

That said, we survived. But even survival at its best still resulted in my kid looking like he joined the Marines:

The few. The proud. The Alex monster.