When they grow up . . .

Ronin is 6 and has declared that he will live in this house forever. He will never learn to drive, ride a bicycle, or have children and we are never allowed to move. He does want his own chameleon and scorpion farm.

Tanith is 3 and has already decided that she will take 15 other people's kids. Some will be babies and some will be children. They will never grow up. I'm genuinely worried about that one.

Kaiya is 9 and will travel to Australia to assist them in ridding themselves of the feral cat population, armed with a rifle and bow and arrow. She is very passionate about Australia's indigenous species being hunted to extinction and believes that an army of ALF clones could also do the job. I think we may have a more militant Bindi Irwin on our hands with this one.

Breaking up is Hard to Do. . .

I've had unexplained issues with my health on and off for my whole life.  When I finally got insurance a few months back, I went to a doctor and practically begged for allergy testing.  He pretty much just laughed in my face and went on about his business.  What a waste of an hour.

I got into a very minor accident and had some pain a couple of months ago and I went to a regular follow up about nagging back pain. I had a new PA who asked about my health history and suggested a blood test for gluten allergy and a referral to a specialist.  I seriously doubted there would be any result since going gluten free a few years back did little to help me.

I was wrong.  I received the phone call on a Tuesday afternoon with results showing I had a definite gluten allergy.  I have celiac disease.  I'm still new at this and unfamiliar with the terms, but a nurse who glimpsed my chart yesterday said my antibody levels were alarmingly high.

How can I have celiac disease?  How can I be allergic to wheat?  I live to eat.  I love to bake.  I've finally perfected my bread recipe!  My cinnamon rolls are out of this world.  Food is my best friend and this is the worst breakup I've ever experienced.  Everywhere I turn, there are foods I can't eat.

I was so angry at first.  How could I have gone 31 years without knowing this?  Why didn't anyone listen 12 years ago when my health took a nosedive?

My next thought was my children.  Celiac disease is genetic.  What if they're like me?  They have each shown some of my various symptoms on occasion.  I took my terrified three to the pediatrician on Monday and found out the news yesterday.

All three have different degrees of dairy allergy (Huh? I wasn't even worried about dairy!) and my three year old has a gluten allergy.

It's hard to find out you have an autoimmune disorder as an adult, but do you know what's harder?  Finding out your toddler has it too.  For now, I'm banning all dairy and wheat-containing products from our home.  I've got to go through the whole house now and scrub it everything down before researching or getting rid of all personal care items.  Toothpaste!  Lipstick! Medications! Vitamins!  Toss all the things!  What if someone ate a sandwich and then touched this?  Could it trigger a reaction?  I don't want to find out.

Our newest addition

It's been a while since I've updated, hasn't it?  I've been busy with our newest addition.  We recently added to our family and adopted a bouncing little 375-month old, 170 pound, 72 inch bundle of joy in a dirty NOFX shirt.  No, really, my best friend in the universe moved into my office.  I thought it would be great that a third adult was moving in, but it's become pretty evident that he's just as much of a playmate for the kids as a spare adult for Robby and me. What?  An adult to read comics to the kids and be the bad guy in their Nerf battles?  Mike can reach the candy box AND name all the characters from Star Wars!  He can operate the dishwasher AND handle Transformer directions!  This is awesome.

I know that there are some naysayers out there.  Screw you guys.  I spend several hours a day giggling about old jokes and quoting Labyrinth, so I'm loving this living situation.

What else has changed in the last two months?  Not much.  It's really freaking cold outside.  I tried a new mayonnaise at Whole Foods and it was life-changing.  Sir Kensington, you certainly earned that title.  The latest episode of Walking Dead was the most boring episode they've aired.  We're planning a trip to Atlanta for the Dixie Reptile Show.  Coffee is still gross.

Tanith's New 'Do: Part One

I have long hair.  The husband has long hair.  My daughters have long, beautiful red hair. The boy has a mullety floppy mohawk.  We've never had any real issues with the kids cutting their own hair, other than a tiny snip with each child.  Until today.

I was working on supper and Kaiya put a nice wooden turtle hairbow in Tanith's hair.  Tanith and I both agreed that she looked pretty, but she wanted to look extra pretty.  She walked into the dining room where her siblings played and exclaimed, "I'm even prettier!  My hair is prettier!"

I guess this means she's taller than I thought.  She somehow managed to reach the scissors over 4 feet in the air without help and did this:

I must say that I'm proud of the way I held my temper.  I didn't yell.  I didn't scream.  I didn't cry.  I explained very calmly that I was a little disappointed and that we were going to have to cut off her long beautiful hair.

Now I have to choose what haircut we'll give her.  I could do a little pixie cut or the dreadful short pageboy bob I always hated to give little girls.  Maybe a bob with a Padawan rattail?  A few of us have agreed that a good punishment would be a mullet.  Kaiya and her dad are both in on that one.  It'll be perfect for our Christmas pictures.  Suggestions?  I'm giving myself until tomorrow to cool down on this one since all three kids need haircuts.

Caffeine

I don't drink coffee.  I still find myself thinking that it's for grown ups.  It tastes like dirt, even when you mix in other stuff.  Coffee with caramel just tastes like dirty candy. I don't need any of that mochafroufroulattegranderalphmachhiato crap.  I drink tea.  How can you mess up tea? It's been around since at least the third century AD without needing fancy names.  Sure, it tastes better out of a fancy cup, but that's beside the point.

What annoys me most about coffee is that every time I have a house guest, they ask if I have coffee.  I'm always nice enough to have at least instant coffee in my tea cabinet, but I don't own a coffee maker. Most of my guests then sigh and give me a disgusted look. What the crap? I inflated my best air mattress for you, fed you, AND I kept my kids and/or pets off of you long enough for you to sleep. I see no point in bringing yet another small appliance into my house that I have no intention of using. Expecting me to own a coffee maker is like if I went to your house and got pissed because you don't own a KitchenAid mixer for me to make cookies.  "Gah, I can't go a day without cookies.  How can you live without cookies?"

I want my caffeine fix and I want it without having to pay five dollars and sound out a bunch of words someone picked out of a hat to make us look dumb.  This is probably why I've never consumed anything from Starbucks.  Even my fancy expensive Amazonian Runa tea (have you had that stuff?  It's amazeballs, by the by) costs less than five dollars for 16 cups.

Maybe I'm just cheap, half awake, and babbling until my tea takes effect.  I'll probably read though this after I'm fully awake and realize that it makes no sense.  If that happens, I'll delete this and no one will read it, so I may as well stop typing.

Almonds have nipples?

I'm allergic to dairy.  I suddenly developed an allergy when I was 19 and my doctor at the time couldn't figure out what was going on with me.  We did a few thousand dollars worth of tests until I ran out of money, but it never crossed anyone's mind to do an allergy test.  I figured it out through an elimination diet a couple of years ago and things have been a bit easier for me ever since.  Some consider this a simple intolerance, but it's not just lactose.  Even Lactaid caused issues with me.  We'll find out for sure in a few weeks when my insurance kicks in and I can go to a doctor for the first time in years.

When I say it's made my life a bit easier, I mean I have to scrutinize every morsel of food before devouring it.  Eating home-cooked meals made by someone else can be quite hellish.  I'm not being snobby; I'm trying to be polite by not allowing my bowels to explode all over your guest bathroom.

I have found a lot of dairy alternatives.  I don't particularly like soy milk.  Almond milk is a little bitter and coconut milk is a bit too sweet.  Dream Blend's Cashew Almond Hazelnut is my favorite.  Of all the things made with bovine bodily fluids, I miss cheese the most.  Some fake cheeses are like powdered salty cardboard, but I've found Daiya has a few tasty alternatives.  I like ordering a slice of the vegan pizza at Whole Foods (when they have it) and asking them to add some bacon or pepperoni.

Coconut milk yogurt is fabulous.  It's ridiculously expensive, but it's tasty as hell.  Oh, and some of those non-dairy frozen desserts that closely resemble ice cream are scrumdiddlyumptious.

I still haven't found a decent boxed mac and cheese mix that's edible without mixing in other foods to disguise the flavor.  Throw some suggestions at me, folks.  I'm at the point where I'd club a baby seal to get that cheesy goodness.

And now for one about the oldest child. . .

So it turns out that my blog has found a few new readers, even my husband.  He brought it to my attention that I haven't blogged about our oldest child, Kaiya, lately.  It's not that I don't love her as much or pay her as much attention.  She just doesn't do as many off-the-wall things as the other two.  There's enough weird in her to match them, though.

Kaiya is a very logical kid.  She puts a lot of thought into everything and often over-thinks the small stuff. She's always been this way.

One of our favorite movies is Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  No, not Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with Johnny Depp.  The original, well as original as you can get when you base something on a book.  The one with the one and only Gene Wilder. That dude is a genius, but as you can see, I'm drifting off topic.  She saw the Oompa Loompas for what had to be the hundredth time and she heard Willy Wonka explaining the tragedies of Loompaland, with the horrible Hornswogglers and Vermicious Knids.  As this scene played out I noticed that Kaiya's gears were turning.  She needed to know if the Oompa Loompas were a real tribe.  We've learned a lot about gene mutations, such as the blue people of Kentucky and even our favorite genetic mutation, red hair, so she had to know if there really was a race of orange-skinned, green-haired people.  She brought up the fact that some people fake-tan their skin until it takes on an orange hue and wondered if they were trying to imitate Mr. Wonka's favorite employees.  I assured her that no, Loompaland was not a real place on Earth.

She asked if I was sure.  Since then, she has googled Loompaland.

Ronin also inquired about those mysterious inhabitants of the candy factory, but that's another blog post.

Businesses and discrimination

I know that most people think that businesses shouldn't be allowed to discriminate based on gender, sexuality, race, religion (or lack thereof), but wouldn't it be kind of fun to find all the closeted bigots?  You know, it would be nice to see a large sign above the local corner shop, boldly stating, "No ________ allowed" so I could take my business elsewhere, to someone more deserving of my hard-earned money.  If I'm spending my money with a business, I'd like to know if they're going to spend their profits on klan robes or markers and poster board to protest the next gay pride parade so that I can be sure to avoid making donations.  I'm not saying they should beat people with the big racist stick, just a sign in the window will be enough.

Oh, you don't like a specific ethnic group, Mister Hateful McRacistpants?  Fine, enjoy your going out of business sale.

I avoid Bank of America because they support the Humane Society of the United States, a so-called charity that wants to end ownership of exotic species.  I don't shop at or donate to the Salvation Army.  Let me see your hate so I can avoid supporting your cause.

Just saying.

Phone calls

What is it about a call to customer service that brings out the worst in my children?  I made sure all of their needs were met before dialing, yet the minute I got an agent on the phone, my kids all felt the need to find danger in different corners of the house.  It's happened twice today.  During that last call, I'm pretty sure the agent didn't need to hear why putting random objects in the microwave, poking people with thumbtacks, and climbing closet shelves are bad ideas.  I'm hoping that she's already figured these things out on her own.

Tanith sometimes grabs her play phone during these calls and (loudly) makes her own calls to customer service.  You should hear her pretend to use an automated system.  It's almost as hilarious as using an actual automated system.  Hearing a three year old repeat the word agent is worth every second I spend on hold with Charter Cable.

Migraines suck.

I'm on day two of a migraine here and it stinks.  Remember how I was complaining about how I couldn't sleep a couple of days ago?  I slept until a blissful 7:18 am yesterday and woke up feeling like the sugarplum fairies were dancing on my brain.  The headache and nausea have teamed up to make me miserable.

It's a wonderful day outside.  My mom took the kids after we finished today's lessons.  I could be sanding down the new cage or hanging Christmas lights, maybe even scooping the mountains of dog poop.  Nope.  I'm sitting around and watching a documentary on Pompeii.  I really hope the movie doesn't suck, by the way, because the real thing is pretty fascinating.

I could be sewing, knitting, cleaning, reading, or a great number of other child-free and creative things.  Nope.  I'm watching documentaries while my pet robot terrorizes my pet mammals.  Oh, how I'd love to put Pugsley Poodle back in his little coconut helmet and teach him to ride on the robot.  He could be the keeper of clean, defending us from all things dirty.  If he wasn't terrified of it.

And this concludes the most boring blog post in all of history.

About that robot vacuum cleaner

Yeah, about that robot vacuum. . .

It is (high pitched voice) awesome! It might not get everything spotless, but I really don't care.  I'm not a spotless person.  My house is lived-in and I'm on day two of a vicious migraine.

I turned it on and it went two feet before picking up a rainbow loom hook.  I extracted it and explained how these things work.  My kids have now named it Floory/Wally/Zoomy/Botbot/Rosie and have decided that it eats dog hair.  They don't want their new robot pet to choke on small things, so they're rushing around to pick up all their toys before it gets to them.  They've decided that he or she is a desert robot and can't get wet so that Tanith doesn't try to water it.

My kids are cleaning their rooms without being bribed, begged, or told to clean.  It's a freaking Christmas miracle.

I'm just sitting here drinking tea and typing with my pinkies up like a lady while the electronic servant does my bidding.  Living like Jane Jetson.

A vacuum for my birthday?

My birthday is Friday and my dear darling husband got me a vacuum.  But not just any vacuum.  A robot vacuum cleaner.  It's like I've suddenly moved to the freaking space age and I have Rosie the freaking robot living in my house  I can see people on my phone and it's not even a booth like the Visaphone.  I'm living like Jane Jetson over here.  This is awesome!

I know most wives would be disappointed to receive a vacuum as a gift, but I think it's great.  Not only did I get a gift, I got something I want, something I will use on a regular basis, and something that will make my life easier.  I don't worry that I'm thought of as a household appliance because I value myself more than that.  I run this house, raise three awesome kids, own a business, and occasionally work a side job.  A new appliance that will lessen the workload thrills me.

Robby, if you're reading this, for Christmas, I would like The Jetsons' Foodarackacycle.

Gymnastics

My oldest two children have been in gymnastics for a few years and Tanith has always wanted to join in on the fun.  She's a headstrong little bugger, so I wanted to wait until she was 3 or 4 before putting her in a class.  That, and the fact that gymnastics is expensive.  My dear darling husband insisted that she was old enough shortly after her third birthday, and I obliged.

Tanith had her first class recently, and I guess I could say it went about as well as I could have expected. When her teachers tried to coach her on the trampoline, she stopped what she was doing, stared them in the face, and hissed like an angry python.  She then went on about her business while the teachers stood there, dumbfounded.  When a teacher spoke to her later, Tanith threw out her hand and tried to cast a freezing spell on her.  I guess we could say it was a success, since she didn't place any other imaginary hexes on students or teachers.

The Education of Ronin

Me: See all the shapes in this picture, Ronin?
Ronin: Yes.
Me: What shapes do you see?
Ronin: All of them.  This one and that one and that one.
Me: Can you name them?
Ronin: Yes. . . . George.  Arthur. Koopa Stomp.

Facepalm. This is a typical day in the life.

Me: Can you identify these shapes?
Ronin: Of course.  Why didn't you just say so?  Circle, semi-circle, square, rectangle, triangle, and a saltwater crocodile in the sea of life.

Let's Talk Christmas.

Those of you with kids, what do you buy them?  We haven't ever really been able to go all out, but I've noticed that my younglings don't pay a lot of attention to the smaller stuff, so we're doing away with stocking stuffers, other than a big bag of fruit and Trader Joe's candy.

We tend to follow the WNWR format: something they want, something they need, something to wear, and something to read.  This year, we're following it a little more closely. They receive so many small things from family members that I don't want to flood them with more toys.  In addition to the WNWR,they're also getting a microscope as a family gift and I'm pretty excited about it.

Today is Cyber Monday, and I'm only lacking a few books, a toy for Tanith, and the edible goodies I'll get later. I still have to buy for a few extended family members, but I want to keep Christmas affordable and less stressful this year.

Pets are not equal to children

Have you ever heard anyone say that having a dog is just like having a kid?  This really gets on my nerves.  You may love your pet(s) as much as I love my children, but it's not the same.  It never has been the same and never will be the same.

• If you leave your dog at home alone, you're normal as long as you leave a bowl of food and water.  If I leave my toddler at home alone, it's neglect. Even if I leave a bowl of food on the floor.
• If you leave your dog in the car outside of Walmart, you might get a little shame.  If I leave my kid in the car at Walmart, I get criminal charges.
• Walking your dog on a leash is considered normal.  Walking your kid down the street with a rope around his neck is generally frowned upon.
• If your kid craps on the floor, rubbing her nose in it is pretty much the worst thing you can do.
• Punishing your dog for tearing up your stuff by locking it outside in a safe place is usually okay.  Doing that to your toddler is bad.
• Toddlers shouldn't hide under the porch.
• It's (somewhat) normal for people to carry their dogs around in their purses, but if you keep a kid in your purse, you're completely insane.
• Feeding a dog usually consists of throwing kibble into a bowl on the floor a couple times per day.  While your kids may think this is hilarious, throwing kibble onto the floor isn't the best idea if you want to raise well-mannered children.

Can you think of any more?  I can always think of these when I'm nowhere near a computer.

More haikus

My dear old body,
Stop making me wake early
Five AM not cool.

Thirty first birthday
Will be here in a few days
Getting pet robot.

The Daily (and nightly) Battle

Ever since daylight saving time ended, my body has thought 5-6 am is an excellent time to be awake and 9 pm is the perfect time to fall asleep.  Every night, my brain argues that I should at least stay awake long enough to put the kids to bed, but my eyes often decide it's time to close up shop as soon as I can find a seat.  Every morning, my body can't find a comfortable position, and although my brain says that the sun is nowhere near the horizon, the body wins.  I soon find myself shivering in a cold kitchen, fumbling with a kettle and deciding which chores I can quietly complete next.

Last night was Saturday, and although many of my peers found an excuse for a post-Thanksgiving party, I was asleep halfway through an episode of Horrible Histories with my kids.  I attempted to stay awake long enough to find out if Boudica would be making an appearance, but once again my eyes preferred their own lids over anything else.

Teen angst, 11 years later.

Tonight is another one of those nights where I really, really, really should be working on eBay listings, but instead I'm watching late nineties music videos on youtube.  Something about them is mesmerizing.  I don't know if I would call it nostalgia, for there are few memories from my school years I wish to revisit.  The late nineties were horrible for me.  I was the weird kid that everybody had to remind that she was weird just in case she didn't already notice.  A few classmates followed me around and threw rocks at me.  Others waited at the top of the stairs when they saw me at the bottom just so they could spit in the hopes that it would hit me.

I hated my life. Any time I ever complained to an adult, I was met with the cliche that I should enjoy it because these were the best years of my life. I felt that if those would be the best years, that the rest would be horrible and unlivable. It really would have been nice if someone, anyone, would have told me that it would get better.  Angry adolescent Xombea would have hugged the time traveler who told her that there would be a magic place in futureland called Facebook where she could see how pathetic some of her tormentors had become.

At one point, I fantasized about a school shooting.  I never wanted to kill my classmates.  I just wanted to shoot them in a nonessential body part so they could suffer too. My teenage fantasies included shooting off their baby toes while asking, "Oh, does that hurt? Remember me with every step you take."  I wished I could make them feel the way they made me feel every day.  I wanted them to feel it the rest of their lives.

Thanks to my magical interweb box, I can now see that some of the girls who teased me about being pale are now wrinkly with tits like old leather purses, bodies sprinkled with age spots in their early thirties.  Speaking of tits, you may have teased me about my small ones, but they came in useful and now they're not brushing against my navel.  The boys who teased me for being ugly have now lost those looks on which they depended and a few of them have even messaged me to apologize and tell me they secretly wanted to date me way back when but didn't want their friends to know.  Their dreams of professional sports have long since been squashed and they're toiling away at miserable, minimum wage jobs they had deemed themselves too good to work.  Oh, you made fun of me for working at the dollar store in high school?  Have fun working at the gas station, mister superstar.  They may have secretly been miserable back then, too.

I might not be living my dream life, but at least I stayed true to myself.  I'm still the same weird kid with crazy ideas, yet a little less angry.  I no longer want to shoot off anyone's baby toes.  I have a husband, kids, animals, two businesses.  And my paint can.  I'll always have my paint can.  

If my kids go through the same "phase" I went through, I'll be sure to remind them that these aren't the best years of their lives and it should get much, much better.

Parenting is a mosh pit

A lot of people who know me know that I spent a lot of time at metal shows in my younger years. Most of these shows included a mosh pit of some form or another. A lot of us know there are (usually unspoken) rules for a mosh pit and it's not just a bunch of chaos, although to an outsider it probably appears to be a terrifying display of humanity.  Raising children can also appear like a terrifying display of humanity to an outsider of the parenting world.  This article contains the ten general rules of mosh pit etiquette. We're going to compare parenting with a mosh pit today, since I have found there are many similarities between the two.

1. Pick up the fallen.  At many of the shows I attended, the musicians on stage would say, "If someone falls down, you help them back up!"  I often use the same sentence when speaking to my children, especially when they're roughhousing.  We're not here to trample each other.  
2. Hold lost items above your head.   Kids are notorious about losing stuff.  They're also notorious for finding things.  If you find something interesting, please try to bring Mama's attention to it before claiming it as your own and stuffing it into your pocket.  I'm looking at you, Ronin.
3. Playing the sideline comes with responsibility.  Kids, if your brother or sister is doing something potentially dangerous and you're sitting on the sidelines observing and not saying anything about it, you're still partially responsible.
4. Learn your basics. As Jack Spencer so eloquently puts it, "Any sense of format to moshing can easily be tossed out the window depending on the size of the crowd, so often trying to adhere to a style is futile."  Any of the parenting stuff you learned before having kids might not fit your kids.  Things you learned with your first child may not apply to your second.  
5. Know when the pit begins and ends.  Just as you never know exactly when a pit is going to start up, you also never know when a child may start up.  Small children are every bit as unpredictable as a mosh pit.  
6. Throwing things is generally frowned upon.  This should go without saying, right?  
7. Respect that not everyone is there for the pit.  Not everyone is cut out for parenting, so don't encourage your friends to join you in having children.  Also, not everyone in your life will be there for your children.  You can't force them into your child's life and it's really the adult's loss if they're missing out on your awesome kid(s).
8. Try to keep tempo and pace with those around you.  Sometimes you can watch a child for clues that they're going to flip out and work to diffuse the situation.  Sometimes it's a sudden thing and they're set off without warning.  Either way, they should have some occasional lulls where you can catch your breath.
9. Don't make it or take it personal.  With kids, words will often fly (and sometimes body parts) without being meant for anyone in particular.  Sometimes they'll hit you, sometimes they won't.  If your toddler says they hate you, it's not personal.  If your toddler headbutts you in the face while going in for a hug and breaks your glasses, it's still not personal.  They're known for being out of control.  If you take everything personally, you'll be quite a miserable parent.
10. Respect the venue staff.  When you're at home, your child can be as destructive as you want.  When you're in public and your tiny terror is doing his or her thing, please respect those around you and their property.  If your little love is running through a restaurant, disturbing other patrons and tripping the staff, please do your best to diffuse this situation.  Remove the child, distract the child, do your best to calm the child before someone gets hurt.  

Remember, we're all trying to do what's best for our kids.  Why not have a sense of humor about it?