Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Newborns: A Field Guide


Afternoon Readers,

Oh boy.

I haven't tapped out yet, but finding our new normal has been a little trickier than originally predicted. Maybe it was trying to publish a book right before Little Lady's arrival. Or possibly it's the frenzy of things demanding attention in preparation for holiday hoopla, but whatever the reason, things seem to be a tad out of control.

(As if I ever have anything under control. Seriously, look at the expiration dates in the refrigerator, and you'll see a woman who lives right near the edge.)

One thing is 100% certain. Three years was enough for me to forget everything I've ever learned about newborn babies. Well, not everything. The poop, that stuck. But all the little things which require lifestyle adjustments are steadily jogging my memory.

How can that be?

I don't know flippin' know. What I do know is that I totally forgot new babies sound a little like mewing kittens. It's adorable. But let's keep this emotional tour bus moving along.

For anyone else who needs a memory jog, or moms that need a little solidarity, I'm typing out a field guide I can reference over the next few weeks, instead of taking shots of whiskey out of sippy cups at 9am. Even better, let's do it in a fun Q&A format. Because I'm all about fun. It's how you end up with four kids in the first place.

Newborns: A Field Guide

Q: Will I ever sleep again?

A: No. Well, it seems that way. Babies have no idea what time it is. Which is why you'll spend your days jacked on two full pots of coffee, a few uppers, and one, snorted Pixie Stick. Your nights will be spent watching re-runs of Fixer Upper and aggressively whispering, "Why Can't Joanna come re-paint my cabinets? We're living like peasants."

You're so delusional from sleep loss, you head out to the garage and start rummaging around for primer at 3am.

(Shhh... Don't worry, the baby will, eventually, find a schedule. For the sake of this post, we'll pretend the toddler years don't exist.

Q: How much do newborns eat?

A: Can't. I have to go make a bottle. 

Q: Will my baby be happy when I put her down?

A: Depends. I've had babies who've been content to swing in a swing for hours. In fact, they were so detached from me, they're currently living in their own rent controlled apartment and send me a card once a year. I hear Kindergarten's going well.

On the other hand, some babies refuse to be set down, as has been the case with my last two children. Babies like this tend to view the situation thusly...

"Oh, you're putting me down to go to the bathroom? You shouldn't even call yourself a mother."

Q: Seriously, how much do they eat?

A: Be right back after I make another bottle.

Q: How will I be able to tell if my baby likes to be swaddled?

A: She won't cry.

Q: How can I tell if my baby doesn't like to be swaddled?

A: She will scream. This is made more bearable by the fact your baby now looks like an angry burrito.

Q: After my doctor gives me the ok, will I be able to workout? This baby weight is making it hard to fit into my snow boots.

A: This also depends on the detachment issue. For babies who love to kick around on a blanket, congrats! You're about to look like Jillian Frickin' Michaels. For all you ladies who have a baby like our newest, you may want to

a) learn how power walk your offspring to sleep and/or use them for bicep curls
b) Like the majestic Brown Bear, use your fat to hibernate until spring

Q: This all sounds terrible. Is it worth it?

A: Surprisingly, yes. It's totally worth it. Because, in the free moments between making meals and shushing to sleep, the spare moments are spent showing your new baby off. This is because newborns are so damn cute. They also smell good and look like you. So, while you look like a sleep deprived Navy Seal ninety-nine-percent of the time, you'll also spend a lot of your time in public like this...


Ok, I have to go make a bottle.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here?  
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:










Friday, November 27, 2015

Girls' Shoe Giveaway From BobbiToads!


Morning Readers,

I know, I know. Like me, you're probably nursing pie hangovers and eating whip cream out of the tub, but you know what goes really great with leftovers?

That's right, free stuff.

Y'all know I love giving stuff away. I love it even more when the holidays are right around the corner. So, it goes without saying that I was totally in luck when I met up with the kind people over at BobbiToads. They make THE cutest shoes for girls. What sets them apart is their unique design. Not only are they in colors that are super eye-catching and fun, but they've figured out a way to mold toes into the shoe so that the nails either light up or can be painted with real nail polish.

Sundance got to try out a pair and was sold. She's currently rocking these light-ups, and loving the heck out of the pink sparkles and cute stickers she got to decorate the toes with.

The quality of the shoes is also out of this world. Kellermans need sturdy shoes because we're pretty much human wrecking balls, so I was super impressed with the thick quality of the material and stitching. Totally worth it. Oh, and here's a few more facts about their awesome company...



Because the peeps at BobbiToads are incredibly generous, they've offered to give away a free pair of shoes to one lucky Reader. So, if any of you guys are looking for a fun gift this season for a special little girl in your life, this giveaway is right up your alley. Also, as a special offer for all my Readers, from now through Cyber Monday, BobbiToads is also offering 40% off all purchases with the code PAIGE, at checkout. After Monday, that code can still be used for 30% off the entire site. Pretty sweet.

Now, all you have to do is hit up the handy Rafflecopter below, and you're on your way to adorable shoes. After that, go grab more pie. You deserve it.


a Rafflecopter giveaway


Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here?  
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

What It's Like To Have Four Kids: Life As a Poker Game


Afternoon Readers,

How are you guys?

Good, good. Things are here are... going.

Let me start by saying that Little Miss is doing really great. Super healthy. Super cute. Better eyebrows than me. As far as being a stellar human being, she's got all the boxes checked. But let's have some real talk for a second. Lest everyone here thinks I have everything under control, I'd like to issue this PSA:

I don't. Dear Lord, someone throw me a life raft or a really sturdy pool noodle.

Just like every other time I've had a baby, Nature miraculously comes in to perpetuate the human race, very pointedly erasing any and all memory of the very steep learning curve that comes with adding a new person to the family.  Oh, don't get me wrong, it's totally worth it, but when you're the everyday person with no nanny, butler, private chef, or someone to launder and fold all the yoga pants, and a budget that didn't relax at all while you were in the hospital, yelling, "More pie!".....

Jesus take the wheel.

I don't like using the term "shit show" very often because it always rings a little crass, but if the shoe fits, tighten those laces and go for a run. Admittedly, now that we're almost two weeks in to our new routine, things have settled down a bit, but for the first week, Life and I were playing serious game of poker, and, surprise, I wasn't the winner at the table. For instance, even though I'd just had a new baby, the other kids still needed to go to school.

Me: Ok, I just have to get three kids dressed, lunches packed, and get everyone in the car on time.

Life: I'll raise you one baby who needs to be changed and fed ten minutes before you have to be at school.

Me: You're bluffing. I just fed her an hour ago. I'll see your hungry baby and raise you one mother making sandwiches while she mixes a bottle with the other hand, just in case.

Life: Oh, look. I only need two cards. I'm not going to show you what they are, but I pretty much have this in the bag.

Me: Obviously, you can't show me, but if one of them is a toddler who just had an accident and the other is a little girl who can't put on her shoes because her feet hurt when she looks at them, I may have to fold.

Life: They don't call this high stakes for nothing. It's cute how you're trying to keep a straight face. Are you trying not to laugh or cry?

Me: Ha! Like I'd tell you. Ok, I'm going all in with a Percoset for this incision that's burning like dry kindling, a cup of coffee, and a novena to all the saints in heaven that I don't keel over and die.

Life: You sure you want to do that?

Me: I'm never not sure about coffee.

Life: Ok, but one of the twins just tried to start the car, the other one can't even find his shoes, the toddler is prostrate on the floor, crying hysterically about a juice box you didn't give him yesterday, and the baby just pooped again.Did I mention the furnace is on the fritz?

Me: Way ahead of you. I already called the repairman.

Life: But he won't be here until Tuesday. Good thing you noticed all that left over baby weight in the mirror this morning. You're going to have to hug the children and warm them with your own body heat for the next three days.

Me: There's literally got to be anyone else to play this game with.

Life: Nope.

Me: What?

Life:...

Me: What is it?

Life: The toddler just dropped the clean bottle into the filthy side of the sink.

Me: I fold.

So...

There you have it, folks. Things around Kellerman house are going, but going slowly. I know I'll get the hang of this new gig sooner rather than later, but let's just hope I have enough pain killers and coffee to weather the storm. I may not be winning every day, but there's always a chance someone will buy me a life raft for Christmas.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here?  
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Monday, November 9, 2015

Late To the Party

"Oh, Janice. It's so delightfully plebeian how you buy your Manwhich cans one at a time."

Afternoon Readers,

I haven't checked in for a bit, but I've been waking up for days in a universe where the Royals have won the World Series. My brain's still trying to process the amazingness of the whole thing, but as Husband's been waiting for this moment for pretty much his entire life, we're soaking in the experience and planning on naming the new baby World Series Kellerman.

It's the right thing to do.

Speaking of Kellerbaby, the countdown stands at only one day until she gets here. That's correct, we're finally at the very end, and I'm eager to waddle towards the finish line. Free pudding, people waiting on me, and watching whatever I want on TV for three days? Yes, please. It also means some uninterrupted blogging time. Who wants a live report on just how the cafeteria gets the jello-to-whip-cream ratio just right? Where they store the 100% cotton hospital gowns? I'm on it.

Before I can head to the hospital, however, my brain has been in overdrive, trying to check everything off my to-do list.

Bills paid sort of time? Check.
Toilets cleaned. Kind of.
Shopping for things I don't necessarily need?

The last one needed to be addressed. Luckily, my sister stepped in to remedy the situation. "So, you want to go to Costco with me?"

I nodded. "Sure. I've never shopped there."

Dead silence. "Um, get your shoes on so you can join the rest of civilized society."

Yes, I live under a rock. But, even so, I'd heard of Costco. I just never shopped there for whatever reason. It was the final punch on my suburban mom card I'd yet to earn. Which was sad, because I only needed one more click and I could turn it in for a free infinity scarf.

"Ok, here's your card. You show it to the doorman and remember to give it to them when you check out. Easy."

I pocketed my new piece of white plastic and nodded back at my sister. "Great power. Great responsibility. Holy crap, is that a three-foot-tall case of salmon?"

She motioned toward the giant doors. "You haven't seen anything yet. Try not to hyperventilate when we get to the cheese."

For the three of you who've never set foot in a Costco, I can only describe it as a giant warehouse filled with wonder and super-sized cases of the ethereal. It's not a place where ordinary servings of chips dwell. Oh, you just want one package of bagels? Shut up, and get the hell out. You better have your hand on the 150 count bag or forget about bagels forever. It's cute you even thought you liked bagels before. Show some dedication. The five pound tub of cream cheese is to your left.

At first glance, it's easy to think the huge cases of pretty much everything you've ever had a food dream about are over-kill. But that's only until you see the prices.

"Hey, it says these are 3.99."

My sister nodded ."Yep, you wanna head to the bakery?"

"But there are seventy-five Pigs In a Blanket in here."

"And?"

I shook my head in disbelief. "That's a ridiculous amount of pigs to stuff in a box. Maybe we should tell someone. It has to be a mistake."

"It's not."

"But what if it is? That's enough hot dogs rolled in dough to feed royalty. All for the price of half a car wash. Someone could be tagging all this stuff wrong."

She placed a gallon of cider in the cart. "All of it?"

I looked skeptically at a box of eighty quiche for five dollars. "All of it. This whole operation could just be a front for funding illegal arms trad- Oh my gosh."

"What?"

"That ham's only ten cents a pound."

Now that I'm thirty-one, there are so few things that excite me. Heading to a club at 11pm? Pass. Memory foam bath mats for ten dollars? Treat yo' self.

"It's so soft."

"Paige, it's a bath mat. Why are you rubbing it on your face?"

"Soft."

"Mmm k'. Maybe we aren't ready for the non-food items."

Oh yeah, did I mention Costco sells things like coats? Right next to the five dollar pumpkin pies. I'd say it's completely unnatural, but.... America.

Once you're sucked into the experience, there isn't time to think, only that brief span of time where you're wandering ridiculously wide isles, muttering things at strangers like, "But if I buy the leggings, how will I bring home that 2000 count box of fruit snacks for the children?" That is, if you can even find your way back to any offspring you left at home. By the end of the trip, everything was relative. I stopped an elderly woman perusing  seventy packs of croissants.

"I need your honest opinion."

"Yes?"

"If I traded in all three kids I already have, do you think I'd have enough credit for that new refrigerator and two of these sheet cakes?"

"Honey, I don't know."

"But you have to know. That one comes with cream cheese filling."

"Um."

"It's fine. Go back to your rolls. Don't forget the chicken salad. Aisle ten for four bucks. Wait.... are you having like half of France over for dinner?"

It's imperative you bring a lifeline. If I'd happened to wander into Costco without someone to pull me back to reality, there's a good chance I would still be there, either living under a stack of goat cheese or figuring out how to drag a new fire pit to the parking lot and Tetris-ing it into the van.

My sister patted me knowingly on the shoulder. "Ok, we have to go."

"But..."

"I know it's hard to not want to build a fort out of the thousand-count diaper boxes-"

"You don't know my life or what I need."

"But if you don't move you don't get lunch for a dollar fifty."

"I think I just had a heart attack."

So, I totally get it now.  I get the appeal. The cases of everything. The cheap hot dogs. If this is what my thirties bring, then sign me up and put my face on the id. Because I'll be going back. Probably a lot. After all, if I'm going to cash in my suburban mom punch card, I can't think of any other place that will sell me infinity scarves at three for ten dollars.

Until Next Time, Readers!


Like what you read here?  
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Until Next Time, Readers!

Monday, October 19, 2015

The Beer Is Now On Sale!: And a Big Giveaway!



Morning Readers!

Well, today is the day.

No, still no baby.

But what better way to get my mind off the fact I have three weeks left to waddle around and not fit in my car, than to release a new book and give stuff away? Ok, maybe cookies work too, but I'm leaning heavily on the giveaway option.

If you didn't grab a copy on pre-order, that's totally fine! The Beer's Folded and the Laundry's Cold: Mostly-True Adventures In Housewifery is available today for Kindle, Nook, and Paperback. What's it about, you say?

In “The Beer’s Folded and the Laundry’s Cold: Mostly-True Adventures in Housewifery,” Paige Kellerman follows up her hilarious debut--“At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles”—with the natural next step—taking on budgeting, babies, and trying to keep the day drinking down to a minimum while staying at home.
At the core, it’s a story of a woman who worked in an office and didn’t, instead working on trying to make money stretch like a two dollar pair of panty hose, upping her fashion game to include occasionally wearing pants, and using dull childproof scissors to cut out coupons and wads of gum from her kid’s hair.

This hilarious follow-up is not a “how-to” on being the perfect parent, but rather a tale of one woman running the house like a boss—that is, when she’s not scraping failed Pinterest-inspired experiments out of the Crock-Pot, filling the bird feeder and waiting for rogue squirrels to stop by and steal all the food, or inhaling the smell of a laundry sheet like a Snuggle-scented sedative.

In other words, she’s got this “housewifery” business down—and continuing to crack readers up.

Great question, Bob. No need to bid on a showcase here, Readers. I've got three prize packages ready, and it doesn't require you to bet on what the value of a jet ski is.

3rd Place: I'm giving away FIVE free ebook copies of The Beer is Folded and the Laundry's Cold. (Kindle or Nook, totally your choice)

2nd Place: The runner up gets a signed copy of The Beer's Folded, a signed copy of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles, a signed copy of The Big Book of Parenting Tweets, and a signed copy of The Bigger Book of Parenting Tweets. This giant book package comes with Beer bookmarks for all copies.

1st Place: The Grand Prize Winner gets the whole haul. Which is...
  • A $25 gift card to Amazon, so you can get a jump on the old Christmas shopping
  • Signed copies of all books listed in the second place package
  • A $20 credit to the FABULOUS online jewelry shop, Penny Jules
  • Bookmarks
  • An adorable "Books, Snacks, Crumbs" tote bag to tuck everything inside of
All you have to do is enter the handy, dandy Rafflecopter below, and you've just given yourself multiple chances to win some The Beer is Folded swag. So get to it, and have an awesome week in the meantime. I'll just be over waiting for someone to load me into an over-sized Radio Flyer wagon and drag me to the hospital.

(Please Note: This contest is open to US and Canadian residents only. However, if you live outside those two countries, you're still eligible to win one of the five, free ebooks.)

Until Next Time, Readers!







a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, October 16, 2015

Books, Babies, and A Dollar Store Halloween

The Munsters were great at pumpkin placement and always had everything figured out. Smoky booze included.

Afternoon Readers,

Ok, I'm finally getting organized. My life is in order. Everything is as it should be.

Kidding!

I like to give myself those pep talks in times of high stress, crisis, and when I figure out I forgot to buy coffee the day before. I majored in English, but I also have a minor in false hope. Things happening right now:

1. The Beer's Folded and the Laundry's Cold hits shelves on MONDAY!

(Tune in for a BIG giveaway and so many free pairs of cankles, you won't be able to fit in your shoes.)

2. I can barely walk because I'm carrying a baby that may weight fourteen pounds. Need definitive data, but almost 100% sure of this. Almost thirty-seven weeks and beyond ready to waddle to the nearest hospital. Just give me a gown, a wheelchair, some free pudding, and get out of my way.

3. I decided right now would be a most excellent time to paint the built-ins in the living room. Because nesting has taken the form of Bob Villa, apparently. I have no urge to clean the bathrooms or organize baby clothes. I want to sheet rock something. Or prime it. Or possibly renovate a bathroom. Whatever. Does anyone have a jigsaw I can borrow?

So, when I'm not stressing myself out with self-imposed deadlines and projects, the fact remains I still have three other children who are adamant about celebrating every holiday that is about to be upon us. Halloween is no exception. Leading with, "But I've gained forty pounds and can't drive you." doesn't stop kids from shoving you towards the van and demanding spooky decor, stat.

"We need bats and pumpkins and skeletons and gravestones."

When we were all in the car, I decided on a last ditch effort to waddle back inside. "What if mommy lets you paint some some old Tupperware with scary faces and then we can pop some candles under them?"

"That'll start a fire. Our teacher told us starting fires is dangerous."

"Right. Don't tell her I said that."

Due to the amount of children now in my care and the sheer volume of things they were intent on dragging home, I made the quick decision the dollar store was the only place equipped enough to enable us to buy three hundred paper pumpkins, pay our taxes, and avoid any further involvement from the IRS. I checked the sign before we barged through the door like a small, Viking hoard.

"Ok, everything is, in fact, a dollar. Now, kids, I want everyone on their best be-"

But they were already gone.

I waddled through the swinging, glass doors as fast I could and looked around frantically. I cornered an old lady. "Excuse me, have you seen children who look like they're out for fake blood? One of them may have tried to poke you out of the way with a Styrofoam sword."

There was a flash of movement on my right. I spun around, just as the three-year-old barreled toward me, arms full of plastic cups in the shape of black cats. "Mom, we need these."

"Fifty of them?"

"Yes."

"But they say, Happy Hallowon. The detailing on the whiskers is good though."

Sundance popped up from behind a display of glow-in-the-dark socks. "Ok, do we need one of these rubber bats or twenty?"

"Two. Wait, one. Check for a specimen that has both wings. Hold on, those might actually be two-for-a-dollar squirrels that got stuck to some wrapping paper."

While I waded through a sea of paper pumpkins and garlands of spider webs, the other twin bounded down the isle with trick or treat bags. "Ok, I got one for everyone, and then we filled them with all the stuff we want."

Hesitantly, I peeked inside. "I admire your spirit, but do we really need eight boxes of spider rings and five skulls?"

"WE need to be scary."

"Honey, we're terrifying already. What if, on Halloween, I just open up the van doors and let everyone see what it looks like inside? The neighbors won't be able to sleep for a month."

It was too late. After their bags were full, all three kids charged into the bowels of the store, intent on seeing what else they could drag behind them to the cash register. By the time we made it up to the woman at the front, I'd adopted toothpaste, a new set of measuring cups, candy, two sticks of beef jerky, one plastic basket for socks, a six foot paper mummy, seventeen pumpkins, a bat with both wings, sippy cups shaped like cats, and some taffy that mysteriously tasted like soap.

"That'll be eighteen dollars."

"That's it?" Shocked, I took out my card. We'd picked up a lot of crap, but I'd forgotten it was cheap crap, and that felt good.

The lady smiled and handed me the receipt. "Good luck gettin' that baby out. You look ready."

I nodded. "I'm more ready to have this baby than find places for all these pumpkins. Where does one strategically place seventeen, paper gourds?"

"Happy Halloween."

I waved. "Happy Hallowon."


Later that day, Kellerman house was thoroughly decorated for the holiday. Bring your bags and your costumes, because we're giving away all the candy around here. And, if you're lucky, I may even send you away with some complementary, cardboard gourds.


Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Oh That's Just My Thirty Year Collection of Boots Monthly

"Ya know, Janet,  if we'd just ordered those coffee mugs shaped like pit bulls, we wouldn't have to whittle our own out of this dead tree.

Afternoon Readers,

Obligatory countdown: I'm now thirty four weeks and pretty much ready for the baby to be here yesterday.

Moving on.

I've noticed, lately, that time has a strange quality of speeding up or slowing down at will. For instance, the time it takes to feed the children dinner and get them to bed is, roughly, three thousand hours. But since moving in to the new house last December, the months have pretty much flown by. I blinked, and it's been almost a year.

Things that have changed:

No more wallpaper
Fireplace painted white
Trimmed back trees before we re-created the scene from Poltergeist where all the branches punch through the windows and try to kill everyone

Things that haven't changed:

Vinyl flooring in kitchen is still peeling at the edges, giving us special hiding places for any extra retirement money.
Gutters need to be cleansed of leaves. Per the rain last week, I'm almost sure we have no drainage off the roof, but watching the kitchen window turn into a miniature Niagara Falls was compelling on both an emotional and aesthetic level.
We're still receiving eight hundred magazines a day for the former occupants.

The last item on that list bears addressing, mainly because it's one of the most fascinating phenomena I've ever witnessed. Let's examine.

January 10, 2015

Me:  Wow, did you see this? The mailbox was packed. There must be magazines from twenty different companies here.

Husband: Ehh, I'm sure they'll change their forwarding address pretty soon. And I think that's more like fifty different magazines. Wait ...does that one say it's for train enthusiasts over sixty?

Me: Knock yourself out.

Present Day

Absolutely nothing has changed.  As far as I can tell, the former and only owners of this house spent most of the last three decades subscribing to every magazine, catalog, and glossy insert they could get their hands on. The previous ten months have been a veritable parade of tchotchkes, western wear, mugs, and those of us ready to aggressively pursue a life of leisure, dressed solely in matching wind suits and high rise orthopedics.

Did you know...

There are magazines for cats
Publications for floor mats
A twenty page bi-fold for Christmas hats

Some have shoes
And some only sell socks
I've gotten eighty issues from a place that strictly vends cuckoo clocks

Sweaters for dogs
And decorative fruit
If you buy two, you can get a free hazmat suit

Beach wear for skinny
Beach wear for fat
We know you got the one about Christmas wear, but don't forget about beach wear for cats

Ok, I'll stop there. And I promise no more poetry, ever. I blame my third cup of coffee before 11am. But still, things have gotten pretty ridiculous. Did I say ridiculous? I meant terrifying.

At first, everything headed to the recycle bin. Every day, two pounds of trees would head back into the great circle of life, and I felt like I was doing my part. But, slowly, I'd catch myself sipping coffee and looking over what not buying things on the internet had to offer. This pastime was merely a innocent hobby.

A catalog dedicated entirely to garden gnomes? Yeah, I'll bite.

Oh, so I can buy clogs wholesale and completely cut out the middleman? Interesting.

Hmm, but how does one structure fifty pages of product around sundials shaped like dachshunds? I'll just take a peek.

Without realizing it, I'd fallen down the rabbit hole of ordering by mail and guessing my size based on an attached chart the size of an index card glued to the centerfold.  Of course, that was when I wasn't scanning the quarterly issue of One Size Fits All! Christmas was coming. Mug Life Styles wanted to know if I was ready.

Husband walked in just as a small seed of panic set in. "Hey there."

I threw my copy of Collectible Curiosities at him. "I really need you to decide."

"On what?"

I thumbed back to page five. "If you'd like the floor mat of the cat saying, "Hang in there." or if the coffee pot shaped like bike handlebars is more your speed."

"Neither. Wait, what is all this stuff?"

Shrugging, I flipped to the book lover's section. "You know, the more I look at the selection, it's really quite charming. Did you know I can get my mom a set of twelve Edward Gorey place mats?  For fifty bucks, all of our extended family can have pepper grinders for Christmas."

" I don't thi-"

"I just have to decide whether to order the ones personalized with their last initial or the gold plated kind with Wayne Newton's face embossed on the front."

"Or we could throw this in the recycle and move in the direction of gift cards."

"Help me. Please."

It's a good thing I have Husband to intervene when I get certain ideas in my head. He's a constant voice of reason, especially when I'm ready to petition the Sears catalog for a slipper/robe set that matches the paint job on my van and a new set of plow mules. At any rate, I don't anticipate actually ordering anything from the plethora of publications which continue to bombard our new home ...but, if it does happen, would you guys rather have a plate shaped like a banana leaf or an angora jumpsuit for your cat?


Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Rookie Mom In the Drop-Off Line

I pick up my kids in the family jet, because I'm not a peasant.

Afternoon Readers,

You know what makes life great? Suspense.

Right now, I'm thirty-three weeks along and eagerly waiting to hear if I have gestational diabetes.


I've actually had three tests already, but as my beautiful, chocolate-brownie-loving body can't decide whether it's slowly breaking down, I get to head in for more evaluation and the possible threat I'll be eating celery until I show up at the hospital, crazy-eyed and drooling.

Yay.

Luckily, I've had a plethora of things to distract me from any impending and unwelcome dietary changes. Yes, my nesting instincts are starting to kick into high gear, but even more demanding is the overwhelming need to understand the in's and out's of becoming a fully functioning school mom. How I even became a mom old enough to have kids in school is beyond me, but it's happened, and my urge to blend in is strong.

Please don't read the above as, "My urge to blend in is strong, so I get up, shower, put on makeup, and lovingly distribute bento boxes chock full of sandwiches in the shape of puppy faces."

No, I'm really just trying to figure out what time things start and the proper way to waddle through the cross walk, without losing momentum, sitting down, and waving the cars around me. The principal said she's only allowing one of those and refuses to drag me to safety again. I'm sure there are many, many other things I'll need to get the hang of over the next few months, but, so far, this is what I've observed about the drop-off and pick-up process at school.

The Top Seven Things You Need To Know To Survive When Dropping Off or Picking Up Your School Age Children  

1. Pull Forward 

It's really cute how you thought you'd navigate your Toyota Sienna to literally any place along the curb in front of the school. After all, there are the doors. Your kids need to go through the doors to get to the learnin'. 

Wrong.

Pull forward, damn it. All the way to the end. Nope, keep going until you can't see the school anymore. Follow that yellow line painted on the sidewalk, until your children see you disappear and think they've been abandoned to be raised by school staff.

You're actually nowhere near school anymore. The teacher must now hike to your minivan with the determination of someone who's going to climb Mount Everest in socks and a tank top. Knees to chest. Knees to chest.

2. Never Cut Anyone Off

I haven't done this myself, but there's a careful protocol for merging into the pick-up line after school. Last week, I watched two overzealous moms cut me off, instead of heading to the back of the line, in the attempt to pick up their kids three minutes before me.

It was blatant disregard for the sacred you merge/I merge tango all of us parents had been practicing relentlessly for four weeks, carefully embracing this Strictly Ballroom version of our lives. All of us wanting the trophy.

No sooner had I started sulking into my Cheetos, when a teacher barreled out of nowhere, knocked on the offenders' windows in turn, and gave a speech about common decency, taking turns, and possibly remembering to wash your hands after using the bathroom.

I promised myself I'd never be on the receiving end of that grey bowl cut and iron clad admonishment.

3. Kick Em' Out

The first rule of drop-off: kick your kid out of the car as soon as humanly possible. You may have carried them for nine months, but Susan McRange Rover behind you doesn't know that and needs you to keep it moving. She didn't even slow down as she launched her Timmy and Jimmy from a rocket launcher she keeps under her seat.

She's got yoga at eight. She also just drove over the back of your car and down the hood.

4. Round Em' Up

In the same spirit as sending your kids off for the day, it's also critical you be able to herd all of your offspring into the car as soon as possible. If they're old enough to just jump on the running board and hold on to the antennae, even better.

Is everyone clinging to a headlight? Let's go!

5. Timing is Everything

If you get to pick-up an hour early, you'll be waiting for thirty minutes for your kids.
If you get to pick up thirty minutes early, you'll be waiting thirty minutes for your kids.
If you get there when school lets out, you have the crappiest position in line but, thankfully, it'll only be thirty minutes until you pick up your kids,

6. People Watching

The pick-up line comes with a standard cast of characters. I enjoy every, single one of them and worry when someone is missing:

Mom who had to leave beauty pageant early to go pick up her kids
Dad with really cool car he likes to polish while he's waiting
Mom who ran eight miles with a jogging stroller uphill
Mom who takes picture of kid exiting school, every day (Presumably, this is for an upcoming YouTube documentary, A Batman Back Pack For All Seasons.)
Hot dad who may not be a dad, because you never see him with a kid, but could be peddling Axe body spray to the front office
Pregnant mom who stares too long and can't reach the Cheeto that fell under the glove compartment

7. Relief

Every day, I'm excited to see the twins when they get out of school. They make it through the day, and all is right with the world. As soon as we get home and I detach them from the running board of the van, I make sure to kiss them, tell them I love them, and enjoy the time we get together.

After all, tomorrow I have to tell say goodbye, again, and catapult them to enlightenment before someone drives over the hood of my car.

Until Next Time, Readers!


Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Cover Sneak Peek


Afternoon Readers,

Nope, haven't had the baby yet, but I thought today would be the perfect day to give you a look at the other project I've been working on for nine plus months.

Things are coming together, y'all.

A book will be born.

Mark your calendars for October 2015. New reading material and candy corn in the same month?

I know. I can't believe it either.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Putting Along

"I'm only nine holes ahead of the Kellermans? Ok, let's speed this up."

Morning Readers,

Thirty weeks, you guys. Things are getting serious.

Clothing Status: Now only wearing trash bags and flip flops.

Despite the fact I spend most of the time trying not to tip forward, my present circumstances haven't negated motherly duties to the other children. I'm still required to feed, clothe, and run after the pack, at a slow jog. As of now, I'm pretty sure there are three of them, but, seeing as they've taken advantage of how fat I am, I can only guess at their numbers, while they dodge out from under tables and spring off the tops of doorways.

I'm still determined to maintain some semblance of being a "fun mom," however, which is how I ended up at the golf course last weekend.

Husband made the bid. "Who wants to go putt putt golfing?"

The shouts of children agreeing drowned out my raised hand and concerns that, perhaps, I was big enough to tumble in one of the miniature ponds and not be able to get out.

"Is mommy coming?" Doc asked.

I nodded. "As soon I can find an outfit that makes me look a little less like a golf bag, sweetheart. I wouldn't want anyone trying to drag me around by mistake."

For those of you who've never taken three small children miniature golfing, it really is a once-in-a-life-time experience. It could be something you do twice in a lifetime, but that depends on your level of bravery and tolerance for watching short people swing metal poles around, like tiny, broken cuckoo
clocks. Surprisingly, arming them was the easiest part of the journey:

"Ok, does everyone have a putter?"
"How'd you lose yours already?"
"But where would you have put it? Honey, you're standing on it."
"Ok, what color of ball do you want?"
"They don't have brown. How about a electric green?"
"What do you mean, you don't want to play if the ball isn't 'pink enough'?"
"Well, where did you see it last?"
"Excuse me, sir. Do you have any duct tape? No, everything's fine. I just need to secure all this equipment to my children."

And so we headed out. Luckily, this particular course was built around a "monster" theme, which afforded us many teachable moments, not only in the hand-eye coordination area, but also in the realm of historical mythology.

Husband tried desperately to get our ducklings in a row, his one and only admirable goal revolving around getting the children to each take a turn.  Sundance had other thoughts.

"But, Daddy, if I put the ball right next to the hole, I can just knock it right in."

"That's true, honey. But if you start back here, it's more fun."

She pointed her club accusingly. "That is a huge Frankenstein head. I have to knock it through his neck?"

"Yep."

"But was he real?"

"Who?"

"Frankenstein."

"Um, no."

"So you would say he was more of a legend?"

"Er ...I guess."

Sundance scooped up her ball. "I'm just going to drop it in the hole."

Meanwhile, after shoving his ball into the mouth of a plaster ghost, making it irretrievable, the toddler grabbed his putter and took off across the course. "I'm going home."

"Should we stop him?" I asked.

"Shh, I'm trying to make par through that giant vampire bat." Husband said.

The only child who became highly emotionally involved was Butch. When it comes to anything competitive, he's a five-year-old who consistently has his eye on the prize. Which is why he finished ten holes in front of the rest of the family and condescendingly asked why no one had bought him a bucket of balls so he could head over to the driving range.

"Because we're terrible parents." we answered.

He seemed to take that at face value.

The beautiful weather was enough to balance out any other challenges, even the point where Doc tried to smuggle a sale set of twelve golf balls out of the shop. I ended up being able to putt around my stomach, but I'm looking forward to trying it again, when I'm not trying to swing around a watermelon.

Only nine more weeks and I can try to make par around the giant cobra, without falling in the miniature pond. 


Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Monday, August 17, 2015

The Good Ship Emotional Wreckage

I dug through the internet to make sure I posted the creepiest picture of a one room school house ever. You're welcome.

Morning Readers,

Well, it's happened. The twins are at school.

But how did that happen? Those of you who've been here since the beginning know it was only a few short years ago I was complaining about changing three hundred diapers a day. Now I'm the mom who rolls down her window and shouts at the girl pushing a newborn down the street, "Enjoy it! They grow up so fast!"

Kidding. I'll never be that lady

Monday, August 3, 2015

Making Books and Babies


The circles under my eyes are brought to you today by a toddler who likes to party at 3am and no makeup.

Afternoon Readers,

Last night, right before Husband I launched into season two of Game of Thrones, we had to do a quick check.

"So, how many months do we have before the baby gets here? Four?"

I grunted and heaved myself up from where I'd sunk through the cushions, into the springs, and desperately clawed back up to the surface of the couch. "No, only three months."

He looked shocked. "Wow, this is going by fast. You know, when you really think about it, nine months isn't that long to get ready for a baby."

One of my ribs cracked as I shifted my belly to the left a bit. "Oh, I don't know. By the third trimester I'm pretty much ready to give birth or be hit by a car, so I suppose it's all relative.  Nine months is actually ideal. Anything less, and you have no time to waffle over eight different colors of paint for the nursery. Any more, and the human race would cease to exist."

"I doubt it."

"Really? Women are extremely understanding and resilient creatures, but we'd be a much tougher sell if pregnancy came complete with charming catch phrases like, "Pregnancy: It's only a Year." Or, "It's like the Twelve Days of Christmas except its twelve months and you're fat for all of them." Do you realize, it took me two months to decide if I wanted to sign a year's lease on a Honda when I was twenty-two? And that came with heated seats and an ash tray."

He stretched his flat stomach out on the other end of the couch and bemoaned the heat before he said, "Nope, I think women would still have babies.

"I think I might un-invite you to the birth."

*** 

So here we are in week twenty-six. I'm successfully avoiding the Kansas summer and watching my stream of ill-fitting clothes dwindle to a trickle of just barely fitting shirts and a pair of shorts with a seam that just started to rip, yesterday. What Husband was right about is that this pregnancy is going extremely fast. Mostly because I have two big things to keep me busy.

1. The twins are going to school

I'm sure I'll have a lot more overwhelmed thoughts on this later, complete with a full-on emotional meltdown, after the first day. Anyone who'd like that event live Tweeted, please inbox me.

2. Books

It's a fact that when the blog slows down just a bit, it's usually because I'm in the thick of book production. This time is no different. That's right, guys, The Beer's Folded and the Laundry's Cold: Mostly-True Adventures In Housewifery, is making its debut in October!!!   

It's been two years since Cankles came out, so I'm pretty darn excited to share this new project with you. So stay tuned for more...

Announcements

Cover Sneak Peaks

Giveaways

And me trying to birth a book before I birth a child. I really hope this baby knows I'm on a schedule.


Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Nothing Like A Good Lecture

"You know what I love more than summer? Abandonment! Whee!"

Afternoon Readers,

You know what's great about summer? The refreshment, hands down.

Refreshing drinks, refreshing dips in the pool, refreshing cucumber salad you lovingly peeled and stirred while toddlers hung off your knee caps, all of it delightful.These things culminate in one, giant emotional symphony wrapped in a delicate summer's eve breeze that find you asking to yourself, "Life is truly a gift. Can it get better than this? Did I really just say "summer's eve" without laughing hysterically?"

And then you remember that, yes, it can get better because you have yet to get a nice, refreshing, summer lecture.

Friday, July 10, 2015

Unanticipated Side Effects

"Say what?"

 Afternoon Readers,

Just checking in during what looks to be our fine state's 800th rainy day this season. I'm about to build a sturdy ark, equipped with separate rooms for all the children, and go ahead and call this summer a wash. As my weight is also at a very respectable 800 pounds, it will be a very sturdy ark. Seaworthy.

Cresting week twenty-three in this fourth child journey, I'm most assuredly moving into the part of the program where clothes are no longer my friends, feet sightings are scarce, and the feeling of being a slowly stretched-out beach ball reigns supreme. Some women slip into pregnancy gracefully, shrugging each week on like a delicate, silk suit. Whereas, I tend to stumble into each, successive month like a rhinoceros wrestling itself into a corduroy jacket. That's not to say this pregnancy has been entirely hum drum. On the contrary, besides the usual side effects of being impregnated, some new, surprise bonuses popped up in the last week.

"I'm pregnant, just like you!"

Friday, July 3, 2015

The Top Ten Things I've Learned In Six Years of Marriage

On my wedding day, I learned it's almost impossible to put a garter on under eight feet of tulle.

Afternoon Readers,

I'd like to start today with a public service message. Heading into this weekend, undoubtedly, you've already been briefed about using caution with fireworks, not drinking and driving, and thinking twice about a third helping of Aunt Helen's famous Baked Bean Extravaganza, but there probably hasn't been a warning about cookies.

To the point, if you insist on opening a bargain pack of thirty off-brand Oreos, propping them on your passenger seat for the ride home, and trying to eat them in heavy traffic, the results will be disastrous. It only takes one,good slam on the breaks to avoid a Ford Windstar.

You ever see it rain cookies in a car? I have. And it's terrifying.

Friday, June 26, 2015

The Happy and Sad Club

"If you're happy and you know it, cry for no reason."

Afternoon Readers,

Another week gone, another three billion dishes and loads of laundry done. Along with those, I drank about seven hundred cups of coffee, so everything has pretty much evened itself out before the weekend. What have you guys been up to?

Besides riding the everlasting wave of housework, I'm loathe to admit the rest of my time has been spent lounging in the exclusive area I fondly refer to as the Happy and Sad Club. It happens every time I'm pregnant, each day of each trimester punctuated by huge surges of elation, followed very closely by a crashing surf of sadness. Frankly, it's a roller coaster ride I'd completely forgotten about, but it's back with a fury. Some call it hormones. Others, a variation of prenatal depression. I call it a huge pain in my usually happy ass.

The hardest part is the unpredictability. For example... 

8am: Well, the kitchen's pretty cleaned up. Only two dirty pans left and the counter needs to be wiped up, but, no sweat, I'll tackle that after I eat second breakfast.

10am: Why did we even buy a house? This counter is disgusting. If I can't even keep a counter clean, how can I possibly raise these children to be functioning adults? Who lets someone who can't wield a washcloth have children? Honestly. Hoooooooonestly. *Eats third breakfast in the bathroom and cries for ten minutes.*

11am-2pm: All right, that's two whole emails I've responded to. I'm pretty much the most organized person ever. Ice cream for everyone!

3pm: *This spot reserved for crying for no reason*

3:30pm: Hmm, where'd that drink I poured for myself go? It's gone. Why's it gone? The toddler's running away, a sure sign of guilt. Ugh, and I'm too big to run after him. It's like I can't even have a drink to myself anymore. Then again, if I catch him, what am I going to do, squeeze it back out of him? *Cries while pouring more diet cream soda*

4pm: Ok, the bills are done and we even have money left over to rent a movie on demand. Wow, I should've been an accountant.

5pm: You know what we don't have money for though? Renovating the entire house. Don't most people renovate their whole property a month after they move in? Probably. Then again, maybe that was a Tom Hanks movie I watched.

5:10pm: Holy crap, did I plan anything for dinner? Yes. No. Yes!

6:00pm: What do you mean you don't want casserole? I bet the Pioneer Woman's kids eat her casserole. Then again, she makes blueberry lemonade from scratch and curls her hair before she makes pie. Maybe if I'd broken out the curling iron this morning, my kids would be eating a shit ton of this potato monstrosity too.

6:05: No, wait. This is actually a terrible casserole. That's the next time I take a recipe off a flyer pinned under my windshield wiper.

6:30pm: I think I'll randomly try on this pair of shorts that fit me before I was pregnant. *More crying*

7:00pm: Ok, baths, clean pajamas, prayers, bedtime. Only have to put the kids back in their bed fifty-two more times and Husband and I can have a conversation.

8:00pm: What the heck would we do without TV? Time to bury my emotions deep down while living vicariously through Scrubs and Game of Thrones. I should've been a doctor... or royalty. *Quietly re-examines life choices too closely.*

10:00pm....

Me: Time to go to sleep.

Brain: You know what we didn't think about today?

Me: What?

Brain: All the other stuff that makes you cry.

Me: Great. Let's do this.  *Cries softly about over-priced milk and the hairbrush I forgot to clean out*

It's not the most fun in the world, but I've done it enough times now to know it'll pass. Most days pass pretty well, and the pots in the sink eventually all get washed. Crying about everything will definitely blow over, but I can't say as much for my casserole skills. Those are actually really bad and will be a constant in my life forever. Just like the laundry and my coffee.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Friday, June 19, 2015

The Cost of Friendship Is Seventy-Five Dollars

I'm sorry, toilet. For what we did, and also because the former owners put you in a blue bathroom that looks like a faded pair of Wranglers.

Afternoon Readers,

I speak often of my penchant for hermitude. Part of me really enjoys hanging out in a public setting, while the other, greater, part of me gravitates towards closing the doors, retreating to my bedroom, and making a tent out of my comforter. After which, I crawl under said blanket for three hundred years and read until the one missing person's report filed on behalf is crumbled up and put in the recycle bin.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with being a homebody, but, occasionally, solitude can turn into its own special sort of isolation, and the rogue call from a friend is embraced by my untoned arms.

Last week's message read as thus:

Hey Paige!

I'll be in town next week and want to stop by. Will bring coffee.

Sincerely,

Old College Friend

Noting the coffee pledge, I quickly added this friend I hadn't seen in ten years to my living will, accepted the offer, and made plans to make it look like I cleaned my house more than once a fortnight. Things were slow around Kellerman house, and I needed someone to chat with. Pregnancy had curbed whatever appetite I had for social situations, and there was a very distinct possibility I'd gotten tired of my own voice shouting, "For the love of all that's good and holy, stop opening the refrigerator."

By the time the knock came on the door, I was so cooped up with little people's requests, I simultaneously hugged my friend and tried to give her two or three children to take home. This was a bad plan because she has four of her own and was enjoying her own special brand of escape.

I played the gracious hostess. "Come in! Sit down! Never leave me!"

Making good on her promise, I enjoyed a gifted iced coffee as big as Volkswagen while we waxed nostalgic about when we were single and didn't where pants with panels. The great thing about visiting with mom friends is their inability to register the dumb things your kids are doing while you two carve out adult conversation. Any parent worth their salt who's been left in charge of kids but decides to have a visitor over anyway, knows it goes something like this...

"So, like I was saying, I only shop at ni... Hey, did you hear that noise?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"You sure?"

"Yep. It's probably just the kids doing something extremely destructive in another part of the house. But tell me more about that new app you found that locates the nearest donut shop."

"Right, so it's called Tasty Tracker."

It's the time old cost of social interaction for those of us constantly watching children. You may have friends, but unless you want to fork over money for a babysitter and head out the door, you're going to end up staying home and paying in one or more of your worldly possessions. This is especially true for the parent who stays home. You're habitually the built-in babysitter for the other person's work, errands after work, or last minute social calls because you're already there. That doesn't really ease the blow when they get home though.

Before he got back, Husband hadn't been adequately prepared for the scenario. He walked and and looked unsettled. "Hey there. What's going on?"

I waved and smiled, hours of conversation having wiped the stress lines that inhabit the area between the bridge of my nose and my hairline away. "Hey, honey. This is my friend from college."

He nodded. "Nice to meet you. What are the kids doing?"

Shrugging, I pointed up the stairs. "Plaaaaying... I think."

I felt a small twinge of guilt, but that's the price of friend time, guilt and not knowing what the hell your kids have been doing. Screaming in a way which suggests someone has been stabbed hadn't occurred, so that was good. Although, the baby had brought me my toothbrush, deodorant, and leave-in conditioner, so, upon reflection, that should've been some sort of red flag.

His shoulders tensed and he headed upstairs. I continued my visit while I made dinner, served said dinner, and emotionally saw my guest back out the door. For the first time in weeks, I was happy.

"Um, why is all my stuff missing?"

Shit. Time to pay the piper.

I looked away from the door and innocently back at Husband. "What stuff would that be?"

"My toothbrush, deodorant, shaving cream, toothpaste. Pretty much everything I keep in our bathroom."

"I might have all that stuff down here."

He sighed. "Were you watching them this afternoon?"

"More or less."

As it turns out, it was a little more than I thought. The baby had taken it upon himself to not only sneak in the bathroom, but flush some unknown objects down the toilet. A quick call to the plumber, seventy-five dollars later, and the additional news that water is also leaking into our garage from that same toilet, and we were back in business. (Sort of. More on that as it develops.)

So, would I do it again? Of course. I'll simply be locking my bedroom door next time. Moms have to find sanity somewhere. I just hope the total comes in under seventy-five dollars next time.

Until Next Time, Readers!



Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Evening Out the Numbers

Just a friendly game of "Let's Paint, On the Fireplace."

Afternoon Readers,

I promise I'm not going to turn into a twice-a-year blogger, but the past few weeks have definitely been trending thus:

Be pregnant.
Feel fat.
Gather all energy and throw it heartily at caring for children and excavating last serving of ice cream from freezer. (Possible cause of fat feelings)
Eat Firey Cheetos. (Also probably tied to feelings of fatness.)
Watch marathons of Fixer Upper and hope they accidentally come and renovate our house.
Watch marathon of Scrubs.
Wash, rinse, repeat.

I totally forgot how the first weeks of pregnancy, while worth it, wreak a special sort of havoc on one's motivation for pretty much anything. Until yesterday, I didn't want to conquer the world. I did not want to achieve anything. I didn't even want to put on pants. So I didn't. You what comes between me and my Calvin's? Really cheap underwear I walk around in and hope no one sees when I open the door to drag in whatever the UPS guy threw at our fiberglass porthole. 

I guess what I'm saying is, if you're pregnant right now, it's ok not to get all the things done. This is my third time walking the path, and I still haven't fully grasped that concept. But you know what?

Friday, May 8, 2015

A Letter To My Disenfranchised Fourth Child

Susan extracts her fourth child from the bassinet she made from Sprite bottles.

Afternoon Readers,

Ahh, motherhood. There's something about it that makes you feel dusty and old, but also young and completely strung out. In my case, my right eye tends to twitch a lot, but to each her own.

This weekend's impending holiday doesn't give me an enormous amount of pause. Mostly because Mother's Day is also the twin's fifth birthday, and when birthdays are involved, we all know what My Little Pony/ Spider Man cake takes center stage. Then again, I might break under the weight of some sort of pregnancy-induced mental breakdown and write "Happy Mother's Day!" right across a pony's face. The weekend sits nigh, ripe with possibilities.

Tough to beat, but what I've been reflecting on more this week than cake or presents, is actually the newest Kellerman.   

Sleeping arrangements?
Supplies?
A homing device?

My brain keeps clicking over a potential checklist of things and coming up with... absolutely nothing. So I thought it best to write a letter of explanation to our newest member, in order to minimize bitterness and maximize feelings of apathy towards us as the years go on.


A Letter To My Disenfranchised Fourth Child

Dear Fourth Child,

I hope you're finding the stay accommodating. Don't worry about making yourself comfortable. My ab muscles were dismantled by your brother and sister in 2010, so feel free to do yoga, pilates, or use any spare space to build one of those quaint side cart coffee bars. I won't even feel it.

I'm writing today to apologize. I'm afraid you won't find much waiting for you when you head towards the light. I take that back. There'll be a ton of people there, unlimited pudding, and nurses who wait on you incessantly. I meant more the part where we draw a name out of hat and take you home.

(Totally kidding. We'll have a name ready for you. I think. At the very least, I'll let the drugs wear off before I pick this time. Don't ever let anyone tell you you're not special.)

Here's the deal. You're literally getting nothing new. 

What's "new"?

Simply put, when something's new, it smells like no one's licked it, picked at it, or died in it. Haha.. no, no one's died in any of your stuff. That we know of. At any rate, you'll have plenty of clothes, possibly not gender specific, but clothes nonetheless. Sleepers, t-shirts, onsies that say, "First grandchild!" You name it, we got it.

Your dad and I talked about it, and I'm also pleased to say you're getting the crib that's only fifty-percent covered in teeth marks. Get excited, because it's gonna look fab with the hand-me-down sheets and crib music box that plays "Can You Feel Love Tonight", if you hit it hard enough.

Unfortunately, there was a list of items we had to delete this time around. Call it experience or overconfidence. I'll let you pick when you learn to talk and pick my nursing home:

Diaper Genie
Heated Wipes (Kidding... We never had those. You'll be as cold as everyone else.)
Toys - Hurry to the toy room before everyone else gets there. And may the odds be ever in your favor.
Shoes - Hahahahahahahahahahaha.... eh em.
Changing table - I discovered this thing called "the floor" last year. Life and Style just named it this year's breakfast nook.
Shampoo/baby oil/lotion set - Hold out your hand and I'll give you a dollop of Nivea

What we will have for you is lots of love. By far, we're getting better and better at multiplying it from the bottom of our cold hearts. Oh, and I promise you get a new car seat. Some of the other kids volunteered to hold you while the car was moving, but five-year-olds drop things, so.

Are you excited?! We're excited. So just stretch out and relax. I'm off to figure out if the Baby Bjorn is still holding the back door to the van shut.

Love,

Your Mom




Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on: