The Tantrum Saga

Okay, so I will admit I am a fan of the Twilight Saga series. I've read the books, I've seen the movies (more than once) and will be a big enough woman to tell you that it takes me back to my teen years... if only for an hour or two. So what? Aren't we all entitled to a little reminiscing of our somewhat carefree days of teenhood?

Well move over Stephenie Meyers, I'm starting a new series. It's called the Tantrum Saga. Instead of starring heart throb Rob Pattinson and semi-weirdo Kristin Stewart, my saga will star my 3 children, all with varying degrees of tantrum-ness. I, ring leader of the pack, will play Kristin Stewart's Dad's role: Charlie. For those of you not in the Twilight loop, he is completely aloof, a few bricks short of a load most days and his favorite past-time is zoning out from reality - and by this I mean he has NO idea that his daughter is part of a vampire-werewolf underworld and almost dies... several times. I'm playing "Charlie" not because I think I am naturally stupid or unaware. I just WANT to be disconnected... it's what gets me through.

Riley, playing role of "Edward": This kid WANTS to be a vampire. Or a superhero. Or anything that would give him some kind of special power. He's handsome in a boyish way and is always pointing out his pointy vampire "fangs" to anyone who will look at his teeth. One moment he's charming, sweet and irresistable to all 5 - 8 year old girls within a 10 mile radius. Two minutes later with a denied request for ice cream or the news that he has to (GOD FORBID) WALK HOME!!!...and he's making strange screechy animal noises at me and flopping his body all over the floor. From Twilight to Tantrum right before my very eyes. He's too big to contain these days, so I just let him flip-flop around for awhile and ignore him... often times acting as if he's not even there until he finishes. Cue: CHARLIE. Oh, and did I mention that he's got the role reversal confusion of thinking that I can read his mind at all times? Yeah, it ain't happening kid.

Olivia, playing role of "Bella": I might be partial but I'm pretty positive my little Livy is much more beautiful than the character she portrays. Of course, I am her Mother so I realize I'm biased. Just as Bella flits from happy to sad to pissed in the span of one measly minute, so does Livy. They are both a little bi-polar. Indecisive and moody, just when you think you are their best friend they turn around have a hissy fit in your face. All you ever want to scream at either one of these chicks is "JUST MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND GIRL!". Naturally I would never scream that at my 2 year old, although I have contemplated screaming that at Bella through my t.v. screen. Especially in Eclipse. Anyway, I'm sorry to say that Bella does not act much older than my toddler when it comes to tantrums. They both look strange when it comes over them, faces twisting and hair flying. Even the punching scene where Bella hits Jacob the werewolf in the face - my Livy has certainly tried that more than once. I have about as much of a chance of calming Olivia down during one of these lashing out moments as Edward ever does of convincing Bella to calm the EFF down so she doesn't almost get herself killed... again.

Natalie, playing the role of one of the vampire "Newborns": If you haven't seen Eclipse yet, you're probably confused. The brief description of a "newborn" is basically a vampire that was just transformed from a human form and is now thirsty for blood and absolutely crazy out of their mind attaking everything in sight. My baby Nats is usually more interested in a nice warm bottle of milk instead of blood, but the craziness can certainly be an accurate description at times. There are episodes of what I call "Nat's ATTACK MODE" where she squeals at an ear-piercing decibel and flaps her arms at you like she's trying to fly away. Open-mouthed, she attempts to attack your face and bite you with her brand new bottom teeth. Razor sharp - they could probably draw blood just like the newborns. I wouldn't classify this as a tantrum, however, because she is usually pretty happy during her episode. She has learned though, to my dismay, that she is also capable of tantrums. Take a toy away from her and watch her 16 pound body unravel faster than Edward's cute vampire ass can run from here to the street and back (again, for those of you out of the loop - he's EXTREMELY fast among other super-human powers). Throwing her head back in the most violent way, she screams at the top of her lungs and stiffens her body. This happened just yesterday and when I tried to sit her down, she refused. Her body was like a board, not bending in any way. Amongst several repetitive body convulsion type movements she is so mad that offering her the toy back or a cookie or a check for one million dollars just pisses her off even more. My hope is that, like the newborns of Twilight, Nats will one day calm her little ass down, stop biting so much and begin to develop some sense of reasoning. Hey, stop laughing.

So that's my Tantrum Saga. It's still a work in progress and can be very overwhelming at times. I'm positive that if I just keep practicing the "Charlie" way of life, I WILL survive this - only I would certainly hope that I'm a tad more aware of my kid's shenanigans. Particularly if they were involved with a pack of blood-suckers. Otherwise my story may end with a closing scene of Edward, Bella and the Newborn waving to me as I'm carted down the street in a straight jacket.

Good morning!

What is it about mornings? It's supposed to be a time of beginning again. A new start to the day. A second leash on life.

Okay, so that's pushing it a little. I'll stop being so melodramatic.

What I can't figure out though is why people always think it's so cutesy (for lack of a better word) to call themselves a "morning person". "Oh, I'm such a morning person!" someone might squeal, a sheepish grin spreading across their face as they do a little eye roll. They think they look endearing and that we are somehow impressed. They don't and we aren't. I just want to take my finger and stick it toward my throat and make a vomit sound. Seriously? I hate mornings. Most of mine start around 6am and they stretch on for at least 8 hours. Or maybe that's just how long it takes me to find the time to get in the shower and start my day. If you are thinking I'm just being bitchy right now, I'll give you my typical morning. You be the judge.

Just falling back asleep from my 14th pacifier treasure hunt in the baby's bed, I hear it. A noise. It's nothing I could definitively describe to you. It's either a squeak from Livy or the "thud, thud, thud" of her jumping up and down in her crib as she yells for me. It could be Riley silently standing next to me as I lay sleeping and then tapping on my forehead and scaring the living shit out of me as he points toward the living room and whispers "COFFEE!". It could be my littlest munchkin, the Natters as I like to call her, making "ba ba ba ba" sounds. Either way, I know that any one of these is my signal that sleep time is over... and will continue this way for many many many many hours.

If I've learned anything, it's that once one child gets up, they all do. I don't know if they have telepathy. I don't know if there is some secret sibling signal they send out. I don't know. But it sucks. If I could take them in waves out to the living room, that'd be great. Of course, if that were possible I wouldn't find the need to log my day in the life of three trials and tribulations, now would I? So once I change the girls diapers and ask Riley to go pee at least 3 times, we venture into the living room where I immediately turn on Nick Jr. Look, I know I shouldn't be sitting them in front of the t.v., but you see, I've got something on my mind. It starts with a "C" and ends with an "E". If you don't know yet, you never will. You obviously don't have quite the addiction that I do. So while I hear loud requests coming from the couch for juice and milk and all sorts of other things, I happily hum the "Best Part of Waking Up" song in my head and wash out the coffee pot. I don't hear anything but the pouring of water, the hushed noise of scooping grinds out of the Folgers container. The aroma overtakes me and I am calm. Once loaded, I hit the "auto" button and wait. Yes, I literally stand in front of the coffee pot at the kitchen counter and wait. My husband gives me crap for pre-pouring creamer into my mug. "How do you know how much you'll need?" he asks with faint curiosity. "Oh, I know" I say in total seriousness. As soon as the beeps start I grab the handle on the pot and whip it over to my mug. My mouth salivates and I fight to keep from drooling as I fill the cup to the top. I don't even stir. I just sip. And sip. And sip. Once I am convinced there is a significant amount of caffeine flowing through my tired body I make my son his own cup of coffee (mostly milk, touch of creamer, spot of coffee) and then I do the same for my daughter. They both think I should make one for the baby, but I'm pretty positive I should hold off on that for at least another year. Giving my 2 year old coffee is bad enough. So now that we've all had our drug of choice, we move on to breakfast. I do my usual run through of every single thing I could ever possibly offer for breakfast, including more complicated things like homemade berry pancakes and french toast. Do I want to make these things? No. Do I think the kids will even say yes to these choices? Nah. I'm just amusing myself by mixing up the menu list a little because I already know what they want. Toast. One with honey. One with cinnamon sugar. Given the fact that this family prefers white bread, this particular request for basically white flour carb boats smothered with butter and sugar just doesn't seem like quality "get up and get movin'" garb if you know what I mean. But, they'll eat it, and so I give in. I promise myself when school starts it will be nothing but eggs and turkey bacon and orange juice with whole wheat toast on the side. No butter. Until then, it's just too damn early to battle with them. Our usual fight of where to eat, the living room floor or the kitchen table, quickly ends with me as the winner. Again. And the kids climb up to the table and dig in to their food. I feed the baby her yogurt and fruit because she can't fight me on it yet, and it seems like everyone has just about gotten their fill. I personally don't even think about breakfast until about 10. It's only around 7:30am. Filing back into the living room for Spongebob or Max and Ruby, I take the opportunity to clean up the kitchen and get a second cup o' joe. After that it's time to get the kids clothes on and another round of diaper changes. Interject this routine with the occassional poop blow out by the baby in her bumbo seat so it goes nicely up her back or Riley building a tower of blocks in the middle of the floor which I promptly trip over while bringing the baby a bottle... and it makes for some interesting commentary. I break up at least 3 sibling fights and make at least 93 threats when they punch and kick or say things like butt head or stupid face or shut up to each other. All this and I am still trampsing around in my mismatched oversized pajama pants and t-shirt, my hair in a knot on the top of my head, my face feeling especially gross from lack of a chance to wash it yet and my glasses slipping off my nose with each toy I reach down to pick up off the floor. God help the person who decides to come visit me before noon. I'll warn you now, I'm not putting on a bra. I'm not putting on make-up. I'm not promising my teeth will be brushed quite yet. Deal with it or call before you come... and make sure you aren't visiting for at least 4 hours. Otherwise, the call is nice but there is nothing I can do timewise about my appearance. The morning usually comes to a close right around the time Livy takes a nap. Most days that would be noon. I put her to bed and peek in on the baby to make sure she is still sleeping. She made an earlier request to slumber as soon as she threw a temper tantrum and slammed her head back into my nose. She looks peaceful so I tiptoe out to the couch. I know I should use this chance to clean myself up or do a load of laundry or some other stupid useful chore. Instead, all I can think about is crawling onto my sofa for a power nap. Just give me 30 refreshing minutes and I'll be Super Mom again. I puff up a pillow and lay it at one end, pulling a soft throw up around my neck. I smile. A HUGE smile. "Ahhhhhhhhh" I sigh. Closing my eyes I think about how great this is going to be. Riley is playing in his room and lining up lord knows what. This means he's occupied for at least an hour. I can be asleep and back up before he even comes out to ask for chocolate milk. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I feel myself slipping into perfect blackness. "Waaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!" I shoot up into a sitting position and pull my glasses back on. "D" - double "A" -double "M" - to the mother EFFIN "N"!!!!! Damn! I trudge off the couch and back toward the baby. It's blatantly obvious that not only am I never going to be a morning person for at least the next 18 years, but I'm also most certainly NEVER going to be a nap person as well. At the rate I'm going, a "night person" isn't looking so hot either.

To be envious or not to be... is it even a question?

I am not too proud to admit it. Some days I am filled with envy. I envy the young girls with their care free attitudes and abundance of time. Their cellulite-free bodies and lack of pregnancy battle wounds. Wearing the latest fashions which usually end up being on the brink of too short or too tight, they throw their bouncy hair up into an adorable knot and toss a pair of oversized sunglasses on (as a statement, NOT to prevent wrinkles) and they look like movie stars. Our husbands can't help themselves but steal glances their way when they think we aren't looking. They are men, I've come to terms with this fact and have actually graduated into a stage of humor about it all. Particularly when my own hubs thinks one is checking him out and then they end up calling him "sir" as they excuse themselves to step around us when they walk by. A little sign of defeat flashes across his face and I actually feel bad for him. Well, for a second anyway. I know the feeling. The confusion of human nature. Wanting to feel attractive, even just for the self satisfaction of knowing you still got "it". Eventually, if I'm given the opportunity to sit and observe this particular type of girl (or even more entertaining, a group of girls) for a bit, my envy usually dwindles down to nothing more than a laugh and shake of my head. With time I see a little deeper into this life and image that I found so appealing just a minute or two ago. I soon see the insecurity, the desire to fit in, to be cool. This girl who seems to have it all is clearly dressed this way to attract attention, to be who she thinks everyone wants her to be. The envy is fleeting. It is my brain's first gut reaction. I remember this stage. Even into my very early twenties I distinctly remember. The days when fashion, staying trim and social status all seemed to dictate your life. Don't get me wrong, I was never the girl with the pricey clothes and flippant moods, flirting with every male I came across. That's not where I'm going with this. I'm just saying that on the days that I throw on something baggy and comfortable, toss my own wet mop up into a knot (which never seems to have the same appeal as that of an 18 year old's) and put my big sunglasses on to keep the crow's feet at bay, I realize that I've hit a new era of my life. I've traded all that for something much more wonderful and rewarding. I can be my true self, no pretending or false pretenses. I know who I am. I am a Mother. I am a Wife. I am a vital member of a beautiful family. Sure, my husband might look at this girl for a second and think of his younger days. Hell, I'm looking at her and am having almost the same nostalgic moment. But then he looks away and back to me in a different way, a respectful and loving look resting in his face. My kids seem to have that same look too (when I'm not asking them to clean their rooms, of course) and I am content. More than content, I feel like those girls should be envious of me.

And so it goes... start with a cry, end with a laugh.

Today started out easily enough. I actually woke fully when my alarm clock went off instead of slamming my phone against the nightstand until the beeping stopped. The baby had fallen back asleep from a very early feeding frenzy and was peacefully lying next to me on a pillow. I slipped into the bathroom to wash my face and pull on some clean clothes, brushing my teeth while simultaneously brushing my uncontrollable mop of hair. Glasses on, I tip-toed to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. The kids were being fed Lucky Charms by their Grandmother and they both seemed a little too thrilled at the idea. It may have had something to do with the handful of marshmallows in each bowl and the sugary goodness that was about to course through their tiny veins. I downed my hot coffee heaven-ness and prepared the kids for their doctor appointments. Well check-ups today. There should be no reason for fear. I, however, knew that the huge reassuring smile across my face was purely for the sake of my children. Shots would be involved. I didn't know how many. We headed out the door in a chipper mood with promises of a big prize for good behavior. Note to self: I really need to stop doing that if for nothing else but financial stability in my bank account. I'm such a sucker for these kids. Oh, and I also like to make things go as smoothly as possible. Nothing like saying "Guess what son? You are getting a shot today... BUT! You are also going to go to Kmart to pick out a FANTASTIC toy afterward!". Yup, does it every time. In any case, we made it to the office with a few minutes to spare and I tucked the kiddos away in a corner of the waiting room while I filled out endless piles of paperwork. Livy attempted several times to yank the pen out of my hand and for once I was thankful for the little chain that attached it to my clipboard. She might be able to snatch it, but only for a second. She would grab it and go running, only to discover a short second or two later that she was still running but empty handed. The pen swinging back and forth in mid air from my lap. It was quite comical, even if it was only comical to me... and no I was not embarassed when I let out a hysterical giggle and everyone stared at me while this stupid pen swung in the breeze. Before I could finish we were called back to the exam room and the kids were asked to remove shoes. Weight and height time. Yippee! Nothing too scary yet. The kids did as they were told and stood on the scale to be measured. Still pretty bland, we then moved back to the exam room. The nurse asked some questions about Riley, who was deemed the "first to go"... which honestly sounded kind of haunting at first. I realized quickly I only felt this way because I knew what was in store for him. I had not prepared him with the news of an impending shot and I was sort of regretting it at this point. I answered all of the usual questions about naps, bedtime, diet, etc. and then she moved on to Livy. I think we were kind of getting a two-for-one deal, although I was positive that wouldn't apply to the co-pay when we checked out. Either way I think I really like the idea of a co-appointment. More questions and then we are told the doctor will see us shortly. I happen to like the guy. The kids seem to as well. He came in just a minute or two later and was his usual cheery self talking about race cars and the like with Riley. Riley pulls two matchbox cars out of his pocket, a silent but incredibly proud look spreading across his face. More questions, two pairs of eyes, ears and mouths checked. Bellys squeezed and legs and feet inspected. The doctor announces that they are both healthy and gets right down to the dreaded subject of vaccines. I am holding my breath now and am watching Riley's face for the first sign of pure fear to take hold of his tiny little features. He hears that he will need a shot but it doesn't seem to phase him too much. The doctor looks at me and mouths "FOUR" and scrunches his nose. Ummmmm... what? I'm sorry, my brain immediately thinks... did you say four??!?! I realize I am talking in my head, not out of my mouth and the doctor is beginning to stare at me - me, wide eyed and not blinking or moving in the slightest. "OH. GOD." I say. Of course, this is NOT the expression that should be coming from my lips. Riley looks over and says with a more anxious tone "WHAT Mom?". Uhhhhhhh... I search for the right words as the doctor steps out. I explain to him that he is getting 4 shots but that they will only feel like a pinch. "Nah, I don't want them" he says non-chalantly like he has a choice. I tell him that these are for school and this is the most important way to make sure that he doesn't get a bad sickness around the other kids. I also finish with telling him that all of the other kids are getting these shots too, so it will be awesome to talk about it with his new friends on his first day of kindergarten. He seems to kind of like that idea. Livy, oblivious to everything, still seems to have some idea of what is transpiring. She has successfully tossed her shoes and socks at me and is yelling "Bye-Byes!! Bye-Byes!!". Little does she know that she's due for routine blood work. So, long story short the nurse we have is as always, completely awesome, and she works her magic injecting my son in his thighs with several needles while I hold his hands. He doesn't fight. He doesn't flinch. He only tears up just a tad in the corner of his eyes and grimaces. I am the most freaking proud damn mother on the entire planet and I let out a "WOOHOO! YOU DID IT!". The nurse looks at me like I'm a slight bit nuts and then smiles. Probably more for my own amusement than hers. Livy is next, seated perfectly still on my lap and the nurse takes her finger and pricks it. I am expecting the worst again and am in shock when Livy doesn't even move. She stares at the nurse collecting her blood and says "WOOK Mommy!" as little droplets are collected in a tube. Does she cry out in pain? No. Does she cry out in fear? Nope. Does she cry out because I'm holding her tightly to my body in case she goes wild? Nuh-uh. She cries because the nurse just put a band-aid over her wound to stop the bleeding and she HATES band-aids. Her temper tantrum ensues until I rip it off of her. Magically the tears stop and she lets out a laugh like she was triumphant. We are soon moving out the door, shot record in hand for Riley's school registration, and on our way to Kmart for a toy. I can feel the excitement in the air already. Oh, and I can smell the stench of Livy's dirty diaper from a mile away. In my rush to get out the door I completely forgot to pack a diaper and wipes for our trip. I make a quick judgment call that Livy will be okay while we go into the store for 10 minutes so they can get their prize. Riley reminds me that everyone will think we stink when we go in, but I quickly remind him that it's either stinky-ness and a prize or we go home. I'm sure you know which option he chose. A quick trip in and we are walking out the door with an alien watch and a barbie doll in tow. I open the car door to load in the kids and look down. DAMN. A flat tire. I thought the car felt lop-sided when I pulled into the parking space. I decide, with my very womanly brain at the moment, that it only appears to be half flat, whatever in the hell that means, and I am going to try to make it home. Thank GOD dear hubby can't read this right now. He'd be more than a little disappointed that I said that. Yes, friends, I know better. So I literally make it across the street before I decide the tire sounds too weird and the car is lurching too much to go any farther. I call AAA and request service. The current time is 10:40 am. They will be here to service my car at 11:23 am. Ummmmm... okay. I start to tell the lady that 11:23 might be a little too late over the phone because my daughter has a dirty diaper and I don't have any back-ups. I stop mid-sentence because I realize that she could give a rats ass if I was sitting in a tub of baby puke at that moment. There is nothing she can do. She sounds confused and I apologize. I tell her I don't know why I said that, I'm just stressed. I thank her for the help and tell her I will keep an eye out for the technician and his truck since I'm sitting in the middle of a parking lot. I'm sure she will discuss me with her other AAA operator pals at lunch. Oh well. What can you do... So I decide I have plenty of time to run in to the store and get some diapers and wipes and milk and a bottle. Livy is screaming by now and I know she's tired. There is no way on God's green Earth that I am going to sit here until 11:23 with her like this and continue to smell that terrible odor through the car. I hit the button for my window to air it out for a moment so that it will hopefully smell a little better in case the tech needs to get in here and the rain and drizzle comes pouring in. I quickly pull up on the auto button for the window but nothing happens. GRRRRRRRR. I swear. I cuss. I tell my car "I HATE YOU CAR" and I hiss at it. You see, if it's not my seatbelts that are broken, it's the rear tail lights. And if it's not the tail lights it's the lights on my dashboard controls that are going out. If it's not that, it's my DAMN WINDOWS. "ARRRRRGHHH!!!" I scream and yank on the button as hard as I can. Magically the window starts going up. And up. Almost there... it stops. There is an inch to go but it won't budge. Thankfully I had enough sense to park under a tree so there is only a minimal amount of rain coming in at this point. I yank Livy out of the car, put her on my hip, release Riley from his buckle and we go running. I toss the kids into a shopping cart and literally run through the grocery store like I'm on one of those shopping spree shows. I completely miss the baby aisle at one point and do a U-turn that would qualify me at the track. Wheels screeching loudly and loud "YAAAAY's!!" from the kids and we are speeding back in the other direction. I toss in a pack of diapers, a pack of wipes, a small carton of milk and a new diaper into the main part of the cart, decking Riley in the head twice. He thinks it's funny. That's only because somehow I managed to not leave a mark. I run toward the check-out line, swipe my card and bag up my groceries. Just as I walk through the exit door with plans to change Olivia's diaper and get her settled into her seat with some milk for the remainder of our wait, my phone rings. It's AAA. He is waiting by my car. Grrrrreat. I just bought all this crap for nothing. NOTHING. I tell him I am the crazy lady running through the pouring down rain in the parking lot toward him. I see him turn and wave at me. The sky is coming down in buckets now. The tech is nice enough and has already started jacking up my car. I can't put the kids in just yet he says. Alright. We huddle under the tree in our cart but it doesn't help much. Livy's blanket is over her head and Riley is squinting at me, barely noticing the water running down his face as he is more and more fascinated by this stranger changing our tire. Large loud tools all around, he says "Coooooool". The tech finishes up and directs me to toss the kids in. We look like drowned rats and my mascara is running down my cheeks. I hand him a tip and we get in. I don't even bother returning the cart. I just don't have it in me. Car started, I attempt to put my window up once again and it finally closes tightly. Off we go to Grammy's house where little Natalie is waiting. Things get uneventful for awhile, we eventually meet up with dear hubby at a restaurant for some food and somehow we manage to feed all 3 kids and ourselves in very little time with Grammy's help. Hubs decides he will take the baby home and Grammy is on her way out too. Myself, on the other hand, has just been talked into a walk around the pond in 97 degree weather at dusk. With mosquitos. To look for frogs. Yay. Both kids are so excited that there is no way I can deny them a quick walk around the pond. One kid in each hand, we exit the back of the restaurant and begin our descent to the walking trail around the pond. As I had guessed earlier, Livy only made it about a quarter of the way before she wanted to be carried, and so I picked her up and did my best to tote her along. Carrying 29lbs in that heat and humidity is no easy task. Especially when I had to stop every 2 minutes while Riley ran to the water's edge to look for another frog or reptile. We finally made the entire loop and there was a request for ice cream. Sweat is now pouring off of my face, my back, running down my arms. Sure, anything to go inside and get out of this heat. Two cups later and we sit at a little table by the indoor fountain to enjoy our tasty treat. I snap a picture of them both eating, they are just too adorable. I also did it for documentation purposes because they are both very rarely at the same table at the same time. And with that, Livy jumps down and runs over to the towers of high chairs not far from where I am sitting. She has this weird obsession with buckles. Any kind of buckles. And by any, I mean ANY. She doesn't care if it's in the baby swing, the car seat, a chair cushion, or presently, the high chair safety strap buckles. People start pointing and commenting on the little girl squatting down and clipping all of the buckles together. I don't think they quite realize just what she's doing. She's not just clipping them together. She's clipping mis-matched buckles together on literally a dozen or more highchairs. All I can picture is some poor schmuck trying to pick up a high chair and realizing it's connected to another one... 5 highchairs down. I begin to stifle my hysterical laughs and Riley stares at me. He doesn't get it. I try to explain and he says "AWWWWW! Livy. You. Are. In. TROUBLE!". I start laughing until the tears are pouring down my cheeks. I just can't stop. The more I picture my cute little girl down there creating some cruel joke for both the restaurant guests and staff alike, the more I laugh. I finally get a hold of myself when an old woman eating by herself gives me a dirty look and round up the troops to go. We make it home and with much coaxing I eventually get the kids stripped of clothes and usher them toward the shower. They are beyong sticky and gross. Livy is a tad testy, she's tired I'm sure, but she goes in with only a minimal fight. Riley, however, is in a silly mood, and is lying buck naked on my bedroom floor singing. I yell at him to get up and get in the shower. No movement. I yell again and threaten an early bed time. No movement. I threaten to take away summer camp next week. He stands up. A curious gleam in his eye, he belly laughs and screams "Mom, watch!". His little naked body starts running in a circle and he screams "See!! I'm chasing my own butt!!". The laughter from earlier in the evening is NOTHING compared to what is coming out of me now. I can't even see. My body in spasms, Riley realizes he's found a way to really get me and so he continues chasing his own butt in circles like a dog chasing his tail. He is screeching out "HEE HEE! HEE HEE!" as he gallops in a full turn over and over again. His four band-aids on his thighs a blue blur as he moves. When I finally catch my breath I tell him that he's a natural born comedian and point to the shower. He happily obeys and slides in. Who knew. I began the day with tears and fears and in just a short 12 hours I am once again with my little funny-man who is happy (and naked) as a lark. I learned that when you are dreading something terrible and are not sure how you'll pull through... the kids will never let you down when it comes to bouncing back. That, I am sure of.

Man vs. Mom

After having 3 kids that are 5 and under, I finally did the math and realized that I've spent 1,825 days of my life repeating the following scenarios. After more calculations, I've also come to realize that I have 6,570 more days of it left... and that's if they move out on the day of their 18th birthdays. Okay. You can stop laughing now.

Oh, and I want to make one more note before we begin. Although the following information below holds true for a lot of people, I do realize that there are also several fathers and husbands out there who DO chip in and help out on a regular basis. I can say for certain that I am happily married to a man who fits that bill most of the time. Of course, that doesn't mean he never has moments where I want to kill him. =)

Morning Routine

Mom: Wake up from a night riddled with at least 3 baby feedings and five lost pacifier episodes, take a 3 minute shower (making sure to shave legs and armpits because after all, you ARE a lady most days aren't you?), brush teeth, get dressed, comb hair, apply some semblance of make-up, greet the munchkins as they wake, change multiple diapers, swap out pjs for play clothes, and somehow manage to get all kids at kitchen table and/or in highchair.

Man: Wake up from restful night's sleep, sit on toilet for 20 minutes while leisurely reading magazine, take long hot shower, get dressed.

Breakfast Time

Mom: Make coffee, make bottles, make pancakes... then cereal when noses are turned up at pancakes, make juice or chocolate milk sippy cups, fight to put on bibs, keep food on table and NOT on floor, squeeze in at least half a cup of coffee... which has sat in cup and is now cold... to make day start off on right foot, eat half a bagel while cleaning up dishes, wiping faces and hands and loading dishwasher and washing pans and other misc. utensils from previous night.

Man: Drink coffee, eat, put empty bowl and spoon on counter by sink.

Work

Mom: Finish dishes, turn on movie to entertain while doing dishes, put baby in exersaucer for 5 minutes, baby screams, put baby in swing, baby screams, breastfeed baby until she falls asleep, carefully put her in bed and pray that she stays asleep for at least 30 minutes, refill sippy cups, respond to multiple snack requests because breakfast was only half eaten, get down crayons and paper, fill up water table out back, get kids shoes on, release them out the door, respond to multiple requests to "Come here!" and "Look at this!" and "I need...", apply sunscreen when sun starts to blare, refill sippy cups again, sweep floor, clean-up scattered toys throughout entire house, clear off debris from office desk and kitchen table and sort out junk mail, make doctors appointments, set up schedules for camps, set up sitters for upcoming events, check e-mail, vacuum living room, clean-up playroom, wipe down highchair and tables covered in breakfast crumbs, straighten up bathroom and clean off pee on toilet seat and floor..and tub??...from 5 year old, change 2 year olds diaper for the second time because she is stinking up the house, scrub tub from previous days mud excursion, pull all laundry together, start washing and drying, fold dry clothes, start another load, and another load... and another. Baby wakes up, feed baby again. Hold her for a few minutes and play, put her in Bumbo seat so she can watch you fold clothes. Kids want to come inside. Get towels to dry them off, clothes are gross so they must be changed. Kids covered in mud so they need to be bathed completely before setting one foot on couch. Put kids in tub, soap them down and rinse. Sit for 10 minutes while they "swim" and then yank them out to be dried again. Chase toddler through house and fight to put diaper and clothes on. Big brother puts clothes on inside out and backwards so you must threaten him to take off and fix as he screams in protest. 5 year old wants another snack. So does 2 year old. Stand in pantry for 3 solid minutes. Nobody wants anything in there. Stand in front of fridge for 3 solid minutes. Nobody wants anything in there. Back to pantry. Kids ask for candy. Offer up graham crackers and raisins instead. Some fussing but kids agree. Put them at snack table to eat, they drop raisins everywhere. You clean up, empty trash, pull out something frozen from freezer to thaw for dinner time. Make warm cup of milk, find pacifier, get 2 year old in bed for nap. Clean up toys AGAIN all while carrying baby around on your hip. Do puzzle with 5 year old. Set him up on computer for a few games on pre-school website. Feed kids lunch. Baby is fussy, feed her again and put to sleep. Drop in crib. Finish up laundry and put away in closets and drawers. Make list for grocery store and prepare another snack. Finally make the chocolate milk that has been requested 15 times in 2 minutes. Not a spec of grown-up conversation is to be had or seen anywhere in the last 9 hours.

Man: Go to office, do some work, pal around with co-workers, eat lunch in peace, put in 8 hours and get back in the car to come home.

Exercise:

Mom: PRAY that you have at least 30 minutes of uninterrupted time to get in some cardio. Jump on exercise bike, put one ear bud from MP3 player in ear and start pedaling. Other ear free in case baby wakes up. Four minutes later 5 year old wants a drink. Jump off, take ear bud out of ear and drape over bike. Get drink. Back on bike, put ear bud back in ear. A moment later 5 year old needs help with computer games, he's stuck and slamming mouse down on desk. Jump off. Forget about ear bud as it yanks you back to the bike where the MP3 player is attached. Cuss silently. Get him on the right track and back to game he was playing. Jump back on bike. Screw MP3 player, you haven't gotten past the first song anyway and toss it on the floor. Start pedaling and just start to sweat. Phone rings. Doctors office calling to confirm appointment next week. Jump off and then back on bike. 6 minutes later 5 year old is having computer issues again. Tell him to get off and watch Spongebob until I'm done. Turn on t.v. and search for Spongebob. Not on. Settle on something else after MUCH protesting. Jump back on bike. 1 minute later, 5 year old wants snack. Tell him to get it himself. He tries. He wants fruit snacks but they are too high to reach. Jump BACK OFF bike... grumbling loudly now... and go get fruitsnacks. Jump back on bike. Two complete circles of the pedals and baby cries over monitor. Swear at bike. Go get baby and feed her. Hope to jump back on and at least get to 30 minutes but realize that 5 year old already jumped on as soon as you stood up and reset your time... which you never looked at before you got up and so now you have no idea how much you've already done. Screw it.

Man: Go to gym. Get in full 30 minute workout completely uninterrupted, catch up with friend in the weight room and then head home for nice long shower.

Dinner Time

Mom: Remember to thaw something in morning so it's ready for afternoon cooking. Plan out something that at least resembles healthy and covers food groups, isn't too expensive, hope the kids will eat, and will stretch far enough to use for lunch again tomorrow or maybe even dinner. Prep and cook and cook and cook all while kids play beside you and you constantly watch them to make sure they aren't touching the stove, getting under your foot so you trip over them while draining hot pasta, and avoiding land mines of matchbox cars and baby dolls. Set table, argue with kids when they peek at what you are making and scream "I HATE THAT!". Try to keep dinner warm because husband is stuck in traffic. Kids are in meltdown because they are hungry. Pull out food for them, cut into tiny pieces on plastic plates making sure no food touches another and "contaminates" it. Get sippy cups filled. Put toddler in highchair as she tries to climb out. 5 year old sits at table and uses fork to repeatedly stab placemat. Yell at him to stop. Toddler yells at him too. They each eat 4 bites and say they are done just as I sit at table and begin feeding baby. Can't get up while baby attached to boob to get toddler out of highchair. Toddler screaming and red-faced now. I stand up and single handedly feed baby while using other arm to lift up 29 pound 2 year old and put her on floor. Pull back muscle in the process. Kids run off to play. Finish feeding baby, put her back in Bumbo seat with several chewy toys, break-up fight between toddler and 5 year old, grab plate and eat half of now freezing cold dinner before baby screams. Pick her up and rock her. Eat rest of dinner that is now so cold it's stuck to the plate.

Man: Walk in front door from work and kick off shoes in middle of hallway. Say hi to kids as he grabs plate and loads it with steaming food. Sit at table, eat.

Leaving the House

Mom: Find diaper bag because you have no idea where you left it when you got home yesterday. Find it in 2 year olds room, contents completely strewn across floor with wipes pulled out of container and stuffed through slats of crib. Clean up mess and begin assembling basics. Diapers for baby. Diapers for 2 year old. Throw wipes in a ziploc now that original container is destroyed. Search for diaper cream, throw that in too. Add an extra outfit in the bag for each child. 3 bibs, 1 burp cloth, baby food, spoon, sippy cups, formula, bottle, water, pacifiers, my wallet, cell phone, chapstick, baby toys, tissues, snacks, plastic bags for dirty diapers, sunscreen (cause you just never know!), 4 matchbox cars, and a blanket. Try to organize as best you can and throw up over your shoulder. Stagger under the weight of it and drop with a loud THUD to the floor by the front door. Make sure all kids have brushed teeth, eaten, have clean clothes on, socks on, shoes on, necessary items like blankies and armfuls of toys they just HAVE to bring, and usher toward front door. Take each child one by one to car and load into car seats while 2 year old escapes through screen door and goes running for the street... or the cat next door... or a squirrel running up a tree. Save her life for the 3rd time in one day and carry her to car to be strapped in. Get in car and begin backing out of driveway. 5 year old has to pee.

Man: Once dressed, grab wallet and keys and walk out door.

Sick Children

Mom: Begin day sick with worry as always... and then multiply that worry by 50 when you realize kids have fever, pink eye or are throwing up. Or any of the other multitude of illnesses they seem to be harboring. Take temperature and decide what meds to dispense. Get child comfortable on couch and engrossed in movie. Continue doing this for days if culprit is a virus, or call doctor if it seems like a professional opinion needed. 3 days later, no improvement. Call doctor, make appointment. Take child(ren) to doctor's office, wait in waiting room for FOREVER all while calming fussy child(ren), fill out a stack of forms, finally see doctor and constantly reassure child that "blood pressure" does NOT mean he is getting a shot and measuring his weight will NOT hurt. Doctor gives you a prescription for child(ren) after you spend more of your life savings on co-pays and you pile kids in car to rush off to pharmacy to get those meds coursing through their tiny bodies as quickly as possible. You both need the relief. Continue to administer meds for 10 days on a schedule and hope that they work. Go back to doctor's office for follow-up appointment. As you sit listening to the doctor give a clean bill of health report you feel a scratch in your throat and a slight flush of feverish warmth come over you. Yep, you know you are done for.

Man: Pats you on the back while you administer amoxicillan for the 15th time in one week which you take to mean he's happy you are playing "Nurse Mommy". He ultimately ends up catching cold from kids too and you end up being "Nurse Wifey" as well. You make chicken soup for hubby while he lays in bed and self-professes that he must be "dying" and you sigh, wipe your own nose, and walk toward the kitchen to clean up... again.

All this brings me to one question: What on Earth would we EVER do without our Mother's? =)

Dirt & Water... a Tomboy's dream

Summer is soon upon us and what would that be without a little outdoor time? Well, apparently my kids have caught on to this idea and are embracing it tenfold. Let me preface by saying my backyard is awesome. And by awesome I mean it ROCKS. It is completely fenced in with mostly grass and one corner of good ol' fashioned dirt. And rocks. Lots of rocks. Although my hubby hates the rocks. It's a lawnmower thing, you get the picture. So anyway, back to the dirt. This dirt, at least to me, seemed to be the driest most stuck to the ground and packed down dirt I've ever seen. My children, on the other hand, were clever enough to not only loosen the dirt but to also wet it down with several buckets of water... from the blow-up kiddie pool. The pool no longer serves as a functional vat of water to cool down in on those 95 degree days. No sir-ee. It is for scooping up buckets of fresh cold water and then used as a hand washing station (or entire body washing station) before coming back inside when the mosquitos start to bite. Hey, I can't complain. Better there than in my kitchen where most of the dirt and mud seems to end up. It's like a human conveyor belt of tiny tots being hosed down, stripped of nasty muddy clothing, wrapped in a towel and carried off (newborn style) to the awaiting tub. Well... almost. Things have gotten so out of hand these days that I can't even fill the tub with water until the kiddos have been placed in it and almost drowned with cup after cup of water and at least 6 shampoo-ings to the head. This always ends with about a quarter inch of grime surrounding their little feet which I must rinse down and THEN fill it up with soapy water.

Just last week I was tickled pink to see that dear hubby had put Olivia in her new dress (sneakers and knee high white socks and all... I can't expect perfection I suppose) and a nice white bow in her hair. When her hair is pulled back with those curls bouncing all around she literally looks like an angel. God I just love her sweet little face! So dress in tow, for no particular reason might I add, she is bouncing around the house like a princess. I know this will not last long so I enjoy it. She walks up to every person in sight and sort of holds her dress pleats out to her sides and does a cute little blinky thing with her eyes. This is her way of saying "Look at me, aren't I cute?". Yes, yes, Livy. You are. So this goes on for a few minutes and then she sees that her big brother is making a break for the outdoors. He's slipping on his blue crocs, which are still filthy from yesterdays excursion outside, and opening the back sliding glass door. Livy goes running. "Outside, too me too!" she says which, loosely translated, means I want to go outside too! Riley releases her through the door and off they go down the hill in our backyard toward the fence. It is here where the fun begins each day. Forget the $100 playhouse I painstakingly looked for on Craigslist (for weeks!) and the $100 play equipment with tunnels, slides, etc. that I also searched for and drove over an hour to go pick up. They were pretty cool for the first few days but now they sit, untouched by human hand. You already know what little allure the blow-up pool has... so this leaves the dirt. The dollar store buckets and shovels are a hit. So there sits my darling Livy and sweet Riley playing in tandem. From the back door all I can see are the tops of their heads moving a little as they dig. I notice that they are close to each other and that makes me happy. I love sibling affection. I also love the time this buys me to go take care of the baby and get the dishes done. I turn around to the sink while the baby babbles away in her Bumbo seat on the kitchen table. I think a full 15 minutes passes. No screaming yet so I know that playtime has not gone south just yet between brother and sister. Another 5 minutes and I walk back to the door to check on things. I still see heads, only this time Livy's hair appears a lot darker than usual. I chalk it up to the sun playing tricks with my eyes and go back to my chores. There is a knock at the sliding glass door. I see Riley mouthing something to me through the glass with a crazy look on his face. No Livy. I look down the hill. I still see her head... and I'm almost positive now that her hair really IS darker. Riley is standing with a bucket full of mud in his hand and staring at his sister. He's a little dirty and somehow always manages to wipe a good smear across his upper lip each and every time he goes down there. We call it his dirt mustache and it's truly pretty gross when he's sneezing and wiping a runny nose. I open the door a crack - certainly don't want to let him in the house like that - and he says Livy is covering herself with mud. I say that's okay, she's done it before. He shakes his head no very emphatically and says "Mom, I'm telling you it's NOT good!". Riley might be a tattle tale sometimes but I tell you this, I am really starting to love that about him. I never fear that something bad will happen and it will go unnoticed. Nope. Riley will be the first one in line to tell you in detail what happened, how it happened and most importantly WHO DID IT. "You HAVE to come see this, Mom!" he shouts. He is smiling which means it's bad, but he's loving every minute of it. Probably because he thinks someone is about to get in trouble. He was even kind enough to translate Livy's toddler back-talk to me the other day when I asked her if she needed a whack to the bum for her temper tantrum. He said he knew exactly what she said back to me: "No, Mom. I do not want my ass whooped." As if I whoop ass on a daily basis. I don't think I've ever whooped one ass... although I've definitely had moments where I wanted to. And besides, where the hell did he learn about asses being whooped in the first place?!? So anyway, I run out into the yard in my barefeet, images of my poor two year old blind from dirt in her eyes or sick from eating handfuls of it, and sprint down the hill. It's not a big hill, it just sucks when you step on the tree roots or rocks. Best to go as quickly and as light-footed as possible. I see the kids do it all the time with no trouble at all. I guess I do weigh about 100 more pounds than they do though... certainly makes for a different journey. I stumble upon Livy who I honestly wouldn't have recognized if she passed me in the street. She is no longer my pale white child. She is speckled. Almost like she were covered in black spray paint, but someone stood back just far enough that she was not completely covered. I see two shiny brown eyes popping out from all of this... this... mess. Her hair is slicked down around her face and neck, no longer bouncy and curly as it was half an hour ago. Glistening in the sun with those gorgeous highlights. Nope, it looks like something took a crap on her head and rubbed it in. Profusely. Her pretty dress is now just an apron of mud and the only thing untouched, which I still can't quite figure out, are her shoes. My guess is that perhaps when she was leaning down her dress created some sort of halo shield around them and her legs and protected them from harm. A big smile crosses her face and she holds up a handful of mashed grass and something else that I can't quite place. "Wook!" she says. This means "Look!". and she starts to trudge up the hill toward me. I do the only thing that my body can instinctively do in those few short seconds before she reaches me. I squeal and run. Riley has managed to find extreme humor in all of this and is now hysterically laughing at this spectacle. I'm pretty sure there are tears running down his face. Here is my two year old daughter chasing me down in the backyard and all I can do is scream louder every time she is within arms length of me. Finally I have to stop the shenanigans I've gotten myself into because I know it will only get worse... and all that running will deem me too tired to clean her up. Thankfully I had filled the pool earlier in the day and so the water, although cool, was not freezing at this point. I pull her dress up over her head as I threaten her. "DO. NOT. TOUCH. MOMMY" I say. She nods her head in agreement. I'm a little worried about the amount of dirt in her hair and am wondering if her skull and brain are getting oxygen at this point because the mud has seemingly clogged up everything. I know, I know, your brain doesn't need oxygen through your skin, but it seemed like a logical and quite panicked idea at the time. I try to rinse Livy off as best as I can with the pool water, but she'll only let me get so far before she's screaming "Cold! Cold!". I pick her up underneath of her arms and drag her as fast as I can, shoes and all, to the bathroom. As I undo her diaper I realize that there are pounds of dirt in there too. Her butt looks like that of a dalmation. Spotty. Water running, I strip her down as best as I can without completely destroying the bathroom and sit her down on the bare tub floor. She tries to put the drain stopper in but I stop her mid reach. This might be the usual routine but this ain't no usual body I'm washing here people. And yes, I said ain't. I wash her hair once. Followed by washing her face and the dirt out of her eyes. Follwed by washing her hair again. Followed by another hair washing. And another. And another. Yes, 5 washings later I am starting to see creamy skin poking through. There are still large chunks of matter in all directions, but I take comfort in knowing that it will come out. Eventually. After the 5th rinse Livy has had enough and wants to play. I scrub her down and then let her swim around for a bit, lining up plastic fish and Riley's superheroes along the tub ledge. When the water starts to chill she stands up and says "Mommy out!" which is my cue to grab a towel. I pull her up and then place her firmly on the bathroom rug to dry a little. As I reach down to pull the plug and let the water out I see a nice film of darkness pooling around the bubbles. It doesn't give me much hope that Olivia is squeaky clean at this point, but she's a definite improvement. The last surge of water goes down the drain and I look into the tub. Oh Lord in Heaven. It's as if we brought the backyard in. Too tired from cleaning up bare butts and backs I do what any other Mother in my situation would do. I yank hard on the shower curtain and pull it completely closed. Cleaning like that is best left to another day... and if a stranger needs to use the potty, they'll never even realize what transpired here tonight. A bit of lotion and a pair of flowered pj's later, I walk into the kitchen. Triumphant that I won the battle. A quick "tap tap tap" at the back door and I look in front of me with horror. I forgot about Riley. Crap. I slip my flip-flops on and go back out the door to tackle number two, the second culprit in the Battle of the Mud games. If I were a smart, uncaring Mother, I would dunk him in the pool. He is bigger now and it doesn't seem like a bright idea. Besides, this would most likely mean that I would also be soaked in the process. Round 2: Bath time... begin! My friends, I will have victory. Oh, and one very dirty tub.

The Runaway

I want to tell you a little story about a cute, sweet, curly haired litle girl named Olivia. Once upon a time this little darling Olivia decided she knew how to run. And run she did. She ran everywhere. She ran to her room for more toys. She ran to the kitchen for a snack. She ran in the backyard chasing baseballs that her older brother Riley tossed to her. She even ran to the laundry room when her Mommy was washing clothes to lend an extra hand. She was the best runner in the whole wide world. Oh, and the worst listener. EVER.

It doesn't matter where we go, she will run. You want to go to the grocery store, plan on running. A trip to the mall? Run. Hey, do you want to just plain ol' go running? Hell, you better plan on running further. I've used the word "run" so many times when describing her to other people that the word has lost all meaning to me. I say it like I'd say "dfljkghdvflnsdgh" because that is just about how much sense it makes to me now.

This past weekend was the big Memorial 3 day mini vacation for most everyone. We took advantage by filling our time with at least 2 events per day and a few errands or smaller trips here and there if we could muster the energy. Between the birthday parties, the regular parties, the BBQ's, going out to dinner, hanging with family and just playing outside in general, I am almost 100% positive that I said "Where is Olivia?" at LEAST 300 times. Nope, I take that back. At least 400 times. I kid you not. My child was like the frickin wind. One minute she's standing beside you holding your leg in a state of pure shyness, the next she is frolicking in the front yard of the neighbors house... 8 houses away. Perhaps it's not the running part that is so bad, but rather where she runs to. The street. Always the street. It's like a magnet for her 29 pound body. It pulls her, she gravitates. Pulls a little more, she is quickly (like almost at lightning speed) hurling her way toward that dangerous blacktop where cars are whizzing by. Forget the whole thing if you yell "Stop!" or "Danger!". She thinks that is hilarious and will, without a doubt, run faster. On Saturday of this past week I hadn't quite realized that yet. By Sunday night I was yelling "Ice cream!" or "Puppy!" and only then did I even have a 50/50 chance of her coming back. Add to that the fact that during most of these events I had the baby strapped onto me in the carrier... yeah, go ahead and laugh as you picture me sprinting down the street with her in tow. I looked like a gazelle... no wait, that would be too much of a compliment. I looked like a penguin. Holding on to the head of my precious infant to keep her from violently shaking back and forth, I was running as quickly as I could in flip-flops. Unfortunately the weight of the carrier in front of me caused me to sort of waddle back and forth and so, most times I would scream at the top of my lungs "RYAN HELP!" and scare the living daylights out of my already fear-stricken baby. Oh the trauma, I hope it's not permanent. Honest, Natalie. I was just trying to save your sister's life. So anyway, my husband found that if left to her own devices, she really will keep going. Like a bloodhound. She catches a scent and off she goes. He watched her run from the porch of my in-law's house at least 6 houses down into their cul-de-sac and not once... NOT ONCE...did she even look back. He finally ran to chase her and had to tackle her on someone's front porch. She was nothing but wild screams and flying crazy hair. Pissed that someone put a crimp in her travel plans.

The sad part is that now I find myself asking where she is even when I've just put her down for a nap, or strapped her in her highchair. It's like some mechanism has been set off in my head to periodically ask where she is to put myself at ease for the next 45 seconds before I start wondering again. Any Mother reading this will agree that there truly is no feeling like the drop of your stomach and stopping of your heart that is brought on by that split second when you don't know where your kid is. Okay, well take that feeling and multiply it by 400. That was me this past weekend. People actually started looking at me like I'd lost my mind. I couldn't enjoy myself anymore. I even had teams of people keeping an eye on her because when it was just one or two of us she'd somehow elude the situation and slip out the door. I'm not kidding! At one point she snuck out of a Little Tikes car and replaced herself with a decoy, some poor kid who'd been waiting patiently to ride in it anyway. You look down, you see a little kid in the car from the corner of your eye and you think "Good, she's still there". Look one minute later and poof! You realize it was never her all along. OH GOD. Wait for it... wait for it.... "Where is Olivia?". Some gentle souls were so used to hearing me say it that they even gave me updates on her whereabouts before I even asked. I love you guys by the way.

So the weekend was great, it truly was. I thank all of you who hosted parties and invited us. We had a great time. I can't remember much but being hysterical over where my daughter was at 90% of the time, but at least the other members of my family seemed to enjoy themselves! Me, on the other hand, I just came to the realization that I need better running shoes. Oh, and flip-flops are a major no-no.