Sing... sing a song...

Today I was running around town like a mad woman, attempting to get everything done on my insanely long list: registration for the two older boys, doctor's appts. for their physicals, a "quick" trip to the grocery store (which, if you've got 3 kids- boys- and you ever try to describe something as "quick", you're fooling yourself), and a few other things that seemed to last forever.  Somewhere between the dairy aisle and the baked goods, though, I started to hum a little hum.  It wasn't until I got to the canned vegetable aisle that I realized what it was and I wanted to scream.

"Neeeeew friends put a smile on my face- I'm so very happy that you're visiting MY place..."

It happened.  I was humming the words to a Yo Gabba Gabba song with the same passion that I used to save for, well, songs that ARE NOT from a kids show.

I remember the days before I had kids and I used to make fun of shows like Barney and Sesame Street.  Songs describing the demise of the purple dinosaur creature were sung all around the school, and I sang as loudly as the rest.  Its funny to watch Cameron sing the same songs now, thinking that he's discovered something new.

Yeah, son.  No.  I was a Barney hater LONG before you were born.  Now, though, I've learned a couple of things:

~Barney might be annoying, but he's making a WHOLE lot more money than I am- and no one knows who he is in real life.  THAT is pure genius.

~Barney is only an annoying purple dinosaur creature until that moment your 2 year old lets go of your leg to sing "I love you, you love me".  Then?  Barney is amazing- a God-like creature that monuments should be built for.

And its not just Barney.  I remember the first time I sat down and watched an entire 'Yo Gabba Gabba' episode.  It was about sharing, and while Jacob was rockin' out, I couldn't help muttering,"Oh good golly- they're brain washing children.  Sure, they're full of good moral ideas, but lets call a spade a spade, shall we?  When you repeat 'Sharing is good.  Sharing is fun' 50 times in one song, its a rhythmic scrub brush for the brain."

And, me being me, I couldn't help wondering if I could write a song encompassing all I want my kids to hold near and dear to their hearts:

"Your bladder's full- oh can't you see?  Get out of bed and now go pee!  You know that you are beat, beat, beat, but mom doesn't want to wash your sheets- Go pee!"

"Please don't argue with your mom- don't argue with your dad.  They both know what's best for you and arguing is bad."

"Eating candy night and day leads to lots of tooth decay.  Before you munch on all those sweets, just know the tooth fairy will yank out your teeth."

Ok, so the last one needs work.  You've got to admit its got potential, though.

The question is, though, would I someday be walking down the snack aisle and hear someone humming one of MY songs?  One can only hope.

Until then, I'll leave the brain washing of the masses to the professionals.  I mean, after all, if they've got me singing about how "its not fun to get lost" while hunting down animal crackers, I'm pretty sure they know what they're doing.

Date Night

My husband and I had our “Date Night” last night. We call it “Date Night”, but ever since having had children, “Date Night” has morphed into something completely unrecognizable; so far removed from the idea of the Saturday Night Date Night's of old, that I think we refer to it as such just to make it seem as though we haven't lost that one part of ourselves since becoming parents.

I remember when Date Night used to actually MEAN something- I'd get dressed up fancy (fancy for me is something other than jeans and a t-shirt, of course), fix my hair up nice, do my make up, and then we'd head out to a nice restaurant- you know the ones. They don't have a drive thru option or paper place mats. After dinner, we might have even gone to a movie- one NOT G-rated, thank you very much.

It never ceases to amaze me how kids can change your life.

After Cameron was born, Date Night morphed a little:

~No longer did I get dressed up. Now, I just got dressed. Nothing fancy. Jeans and a t-shirt. But hey- there are some really nice jeans out there. Just because I didn't OWN any of them, that doesn't mean anything. If a super model could walk down a run way with a pair of jeans on, I could pull off my $15 pair I bought off the clearance rack. And who says that you can't wear your maternity shirts after you've given birth?

~I'd fix my hair- usually curl it, but occasionally I'd straighten it. The point was to do something OTHER than the pony tail.

~Minimal make up. Mascara. Lip gloss. Blush. Possibly eye liner. Okay, so it wasn't totally minimal. I didn't want to look DEAD, though- I'm pasty as it is.

~When choosing where to eat, we knew it would have to be somewhere where babies cries would go unnoticed. And going to the movies was laughable; watching TV at home was hard enough- why would we pay money for THAT?

After Jacob was born, Date Night morphed even further:

~Date Night now meant finding something to wear that wasn't stained- for all of us. Clothes without holes was preferable. If it was clean, it was optimal. Clothes that matched, however, was an option.

~I embraced the pony tail. After all, ponies like them, right? What's so bad about that?

~Make up consisted of cover up, and that was it. With the amount of sleep I was getting, cover up helped with the black circles. And the crows feet. And, in all honesty, if I didn't at least put on cover up, I might have missed the post pregnancy acne, and there fore, would have gone around looking like a Clearasil drop out.

~As for where we headed to after we were all finally ready, it was usually a place that wouldn't immediately kick us out once Cameron started acting up, Jacob started crying, the fighting began, or all of the above. More often than not, all of the above.

~And Movie? As I said before, what movie?

Now that Nicholas is here, Date night has officially gone from scant to non-existent:

~Outfit- Pjs. The way I figure it, if it makes him think of the bedroom, that's a good thing. On the other hand, if it doesn't, then I'm just being prepared. Like a Girl Scout. Guys like uniforms, right? Or is that just the Catholic school girl thing?

~Make up- None. I've got 3 kids now- 10, 4 and 2 months. Make up takes up valuable life saving minutes. Like when one of them is hurling a piece of furniture at the other, getting all dolled up is using up minutes it takes to keep that furniture from causing a concussion. I'm saving lives here, people. I'm a hero.

~Hair- I'm lucky if I can wash it now. Styling is a foreign word. Besides, if I'm lucky, all the stress of raising boys will undoubtedly cause me to pull all my hair out, saving me hours of primping and loads of money on hair products. *fingers crossed*

~Restaurant- Che' Home. Home is where the heart is. The way to a man's heart is through the stomach. The kitchen is the heart of the home. These are not coincidences. And, as is the case for many families, our boys have successfully drained us as well as our bank account. We aren't completely unromantic, though- the boys are in bed... most of the time. Dinner is only occasionally punctuated by Nicholas crying to be held... or Jacob getting out of bed for no reason... or, as was the case last night, an unforeseen diaper catastrophe followed by what will forever be known as “The Cheesecake Incident”.

~And Netflix was created for a just a couple such as us.

Look- we finally got our dinner and a movie back. A little unconventional, but I never said we were normal.