Making a Mess

Since we are moving next week, we have eaten out much more than normal that last week or so. That seems to happen every time we move. I pack up a few dishes that I think I don't need, I do a final shopping of only necessities, then I feel like I have nothing to cook and no dishes to cook in anyway. So, we go out to eat.

Last week we had one (or more) such days.

I had had a very long day. We had been trying to find renters to finish out the lease on our rental home, and I had shown the house multiple times that day. The kids have been on edge all week. I'm sure they can sense my stress. I had been cleaning and packing and hadn't even thought about dinner.

Michael came home and suggested that we go to the Chinese buffet in town. It is cheap. My kids can get what they want. And my kids actually eat their food since they picked it. It is a great compromise for all.

We load up and go!

At one point during the meal, I went back to get a bowl of soup and to help S get something. After helping S, I send her back to the table, fill a soup cup, and set it on my plate.

I look up and see a little blond boy running with his dirty plate and cottage cheese fingers right at me.

"I want another sugar roll!"

Okay.

I got Z a roll, and immediately he starts whipping his slimy plate around. I can just see the roll sliding right off his plate.

Pause a moment.

Rewind.

When I filled Z's first plate, I told him multiple times to hold it with two hands and be careful. Of course he is 4 years old and not very patient while I help get food for 4 children, so his plate of food ended up on the floor.

Fast forward.

I can see that he is about to lose his roll. This time I don't have 2 other kids in tow, so lunging to stop him from dropping it seems like a good option.

Wrong. It was just a roll. I should have let it go.

Unfortunately for me, my plate was placed more precariously on the counter than I thought. I save Z's plate, but I lose my own.

My cup of steaming hot soup spills all down the front of me and burns my hand.

Great!

"What happened?" comes an innocent chirp.

"I made a mess! Go sit down by Dad."

Z runs back to the table while yelling, "Mom made a mess!"

I go in to the bathroom where there are, of course, no paper towels. I use the 1-ply toilet paper as best I can to clean off my clothes. But at this point I may look like I peed my pants.

Oh, the joys of children.

I go back out, inform someone they need to mop up some soup, get a new bowl, and sit with my family.

Michael doesn't quite know what to say.

I'm fuming.

Z is cheerfully eating his "sugar roll."

After a little while I cool off.

We finish dinner and head to the car.

Once in the car, Michael finishes the story he was afraid to tell me while I was mad.

Z came running over to the table yelling, "Mom made a mess. But I didn't. I beed careful."

Orange Nail Polish

A couple of weeks ago, I was going through boxes of stuff, purging for our upcoming yard sale. I was "in the zone" you might say. I wasn't paying much attention to my boys while Baby B slept and S was at school. They are pretty good at entertaining themselves, plus they had control of the remote. Good parenting. Right?!?

While I was working, I got a whiff of nail polish. I had just taken a few bottles out of one of the boxes and put it aside to pack with bathroom stuff. I didn't think a thing of it.

A few minutes later I got another whiff and suddenly realized, if you can smell the nail polish, it is probably open.

Brilliant deduction. I know.

I turn around.

A foot away from me is W, painting one of his legs a vibrant shade of orange.

All I had to do was say his name, and he burst into tears.

I figured I'd clean it off him later when I had time to search for nail polish remover. It was going to be a chore, but he didn't get it on the carpet and we got some of it wiped up for now. The rest was dry.

Here's a picture of my cute little guy with his leg covered in orange nail polish.

Yes, I posted the right picture.

Yes, I said orange nail polish.

And yes, I did say one leg was covered.

You just can't see the orange nail polish because he decided to cover it up with a bottle of green paint.

Let's continue this story....

A few hours after the nail polish incident, I was in another room working on something else. I suddenly realize that W is nowhere to be found.  I wander into the room of boxes, and there on the far side is a cute, little, green monster.

Of course I was completely calm (if you believe that, I have a bridge I'd like to sell you).

Again, I say his name, and he bursts into tears.

He starts to walk towards me, which I realize immediately is a horrible idea unless I want green paint all over the house. I pick him up and carry him upstairs to the bathroom.

As soon as I set him down, I realize I saved the house but a ruined one of my favorite pairs of jeans! Of course they are the pair that make me feel skinny. Now they make me feel green.

I am ragging  mad, but before I put him in the shower (a bath would do no good with this much paint, much to his dismay) I think, "You may be angry now, but you will want to blog about this later."

Oh how right I was.

After a good scrubbing, I got the green monster mostly back to his normal color. Though one leg was still a bit orange.

Turbulence

It has been way too long since my last post, and I recently had an experience that is just too funny not to share.

If you have ever flown on an airplane before, then you know there are two kinds of passengers: Those with a kid and those without.

It isn't unusual to be sitting quietly at the gate when a mom with her baby approaches and sits down. One of two thoughts probably goes through your head, "Great a baby!" (thought with all enthusiasm because you just LOVE babies or are a parent yourself). Or "Great, a baby" (thought with all terror because you might end up sitting next to said baby while it screams because her ears just won't pop during take off, landing, nor any moment in between).

If you are a parent that has ever been on an airplane with your child, you know the facial expressions that go with these thoughts. The "don't-look-at-them-and-maybe-they'll-walk-to-the-next-gate" face. Sometimes it's the "I've-been-there-too,-good-luck!" face.

Well, when my posse arrived, I'm sure there was a "holy-cow-they-actually-leave-the-house-with-that-many-kids" face. I'm not actually certain because I was too busy yelling at Z to stop running away, telling W to stop putting his foot on the wheel of the stroller, keeping track of whatever shoe or sock B may have thrown, and making sure S didn't get too far behind.

We had two flights out and two flights back with a four hour drive on each end (8 hours total going out and 8 hours coming back). Needless to say, my kids got fidgety, tired, etc...

But, I was prepared! Snacks, Leadpads, toys, headphones, etc... Each kid would have enough to do that they wouldn't get too bored. Plus we woke up so dang early they should just sleep for at least one leg of the trip.

And they did.

Things went great out, and even back.

When I saw looks of terror as we sat by people, I assured them my kids are great travelers.

They've done this a lot.

Don't worry.

I almost believed it myself!

Then, as we started to descend on our first flight towards home, it happened.

I knew this trip couldn't be incident free.

That would be too good to be true.

The captain had warned us of turbulence when we first set out. It had been reported in the Denver area, where we had our layover. So we knew it was coming. We just didn't realize how bad it would be.

The flight attendants picked up all the trash for the last time, in preparation for the turbulence we would get. They had just finished up and were putting the bag in the can when it happened.

The plane moved left, right, up, and down all at the same time.

This was not just your run of the mill turbulence. It felt like the plane was picked up and shaken.

In the back of the plane, we hear the flight attendant fly across the little room in back.

Screams.

Gasps.

Maybe a little swearing (it wasn't me, promise)!

I look at the couple across the aisle. They have a little baby and the dad is wrapped around baby and mom.

This was the worst turbulence I'd ever experienced.

For the first time, I understand seat belts in air planes.

I keep telling myself, "Turbulence doesn't take planes down."

I'm not sure if I believe it at that moment.

BANG!!!

The plane shakes again.

My nerves are heightened, so I'm sure there is someone else completely freaking out on this plane.

There are multiple babies on this flight. I can't be the only mom stressed.

At that moment Z yells, "WE'RE GOING DOWN!!!"

Now, you would think that this would stress me out even more. Quite the contrary.

I started laughing so hard, I had a difficult time shushing my blunt little 4 year old while reassuring him we were not, in fact, going down.

Of course, we landed and everything was fine.

Now, I'm not sure if anyone heard Z's cry or not. But if you were on that plane, and you heard him scream, I hope you took it as I did and laughed like crazy. And next time you see a family with a ton of little kids, instead of putting on your "I-think-I'm-allergic-to-kids" face, pray you get to sit near enough to hear what will probably come out of at least one of their mouths during the trip. Because nothing can change your mind set in a stressful situation like a 4-year-old yelling, "We're going down!!!"