A Little Random Blather For Your Monday

So...the dead bird.  It's gone.  Hubby cleaned out the gutters on Saturday and was thus on the back porch a fair amount.  I can only assume it skeeved him out and he removed it.  I TOTALLY WIN!

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I pulled the mother of all white-trash moves on Sunday.  You see, I was feeling a little barfy pukey hungover under the weather and my system needed some grease.  Hubby was at the Pats game.  Eldest was playing at a friend's house.  Middle, Baby and I were all still in our pj's.  At noon.  So I loaded the kids into the car, still clad in their footie pajamas.  I, braless, makeupless and wearing slippers on my feet, drove through the McD's drive-thru.  Yeah I did.

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Black Friday.  The countdown is on.  Will you be heading out?  I will!  I don't know why, but ever since I heard that Old Navy was going to be opening at 3am, I feel an irrational need to BE THERE.  Hi.  My name is Sarah and I'm a shopaholic.  (You:  Hi Sarah!)

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Have you seen this hair product?  My friend (and hairdresser) Michelle recommended it to me.  It's a little uh, phallic-looking, don't you think?  That's not even the best/worst part:  that rounded plastic top comes off, and then you push down on the pump to ejaculate release a little bit of white goo.  I'm so not kidding.

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Every Thanksgiving, it is a tradition in our (and probably most everyone's) Trenches to go around the table and say what we are thankful for.  We prep the boyz a few days in advance, to remind them that they need to start thinking about what they want to say.  (Middle already told me, "I would be thankful for my dog...if I had a dog.")  But this year, I'm going to switch it up.  I bought some white posterboard and titled it "Thanksgiving 2009:  We Are So Grateful" and am going to have everyone write down their thoughts and then sign their name.  I plan on making this a NEW tradition in the Trenches, and I know it will be a great keepsake to cherish over the years while the boyz are still at home.

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Lady Gaga.  Your thoughts?  And how did I not even know that there was a rumor that she is a hermaphrodite?  (Not that there's anything wrong with it...)  My BFF texted me after I tweeted last night about Gaga's odd dinosaur-bone/nude unitard outfit on the AMA's to break the news to me...My response to her was, "Is this common knowledge and something that I am old and out of the loop on?"  Her:  "Yes, mom".  Oh.

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I'm running a 5-mile road race on Thanksgiving morning because I'm a dumbass.  I have actually run the race route 3 times now in preparation and feel pretty good about it, even though I'm not nearly in as good of shape as I was in 2007 when I was running all those road races.  My previous 5-mile race times have clocked in at about a 9 minute mile pace; on Thursday, I'm shooting to run it in 50 minutes, which would be 10 minute miles.  So we'll see. 

Death by Sliding Glass Door

I was totally skeeved out. 

A bird.  A big bird.  A big DEAD bird.  On my back porch.

(I'm guessing it just crashed into the glass and died?  Which is odd, because the windows in my sunroom are certainly NOT streak, smudge or grime-free, by any means.  Stupid bird.)

There it lay.  For days on end.  While Hubby and I played that passive-aggressive couples game.

Hello?  I certainly wasn't about to remove the thing.  That obviously falls into his realm of home maintenance.

Except Hubby was being lazy/squeamish/annoying (you choose).

Poor Mr. Bird needed a proper resting place.  So one day I got PMS totally aggravated and decided to move the thing myself. 

I grabbed a shovel from the shed and scooped up the bird corpse and threw it into the woods.

And then left the shovel on the back deck.  On purpose.  Heh.

That was a few weeks ago. 

And now look what I found out there this morning:

Another dead bird.  What the heck is going on?!

And more importantly:  When is Bird Corpse #2 going to be removed from the back deck (by Hubby)?  And how long will it take (him)?

Stay tuned.

Apparently They Take After Their Father

The other day, I was reading some Brain Quest questions to all 3 of the boyz.  (After I had them conjugate some verbs and memorize the Declaration of Independence, that is...)

One of the questions was:

"If a man has a wife, then what does a woman have?"

Without skipping a beat, 5-year old Middle piped up,

"BOOBS!"

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Another Brain Quest question was:

"What major organ pumps blood throughout your entire body?"

Eldest's answers were coming fast and furious, but all were wrong.

"Your brain!"  "The liver?" 

Middle and Baby were just being silly:  "Your eyes!"  "Blood!"

Finally, I interrupted them and matter-of-factly pointed to my heart. 

"You guys - it's this!  What's this?"

From 4-year old Baby:  "Your boob?"

And then the snickering and giggling ensued.

I'm so doomed.

Praise With Purpose

I mentioned in a previous post that Baby learned to ride a two-wheeler! 

What I didn't mention is that Middle, who is 5 and a full year older than Baby, still can't.

As any parent knows, it is absolutely mindblowing that your children can all be SO DIFFERENT.  With different abilities, different skills, and different physical and mental strengths, I often am amazed that all 3 of my boyz actually came out of the SAME WOMB.

That day, Baby first took the initiative and asked me to help him practice riding his bike.  I obliged.  Once Middle saw Baby having success, he, of course, wanted to try too.  (A classic case of sibling rivalry at its finest, right?)

But Middle had trouble balancing.  And subsequently kept falling each time I let go. 

Both boyz began to get frustrated and impatient because they had to wait 5 WHOLE MINUTES (which apparently is like AN HOUR in kid-time) to take turns.  So I got the grand idea to remove the training wheels from another bike. Problem solved.

Yet as Baby continued to get more and more successful, Middle became increasingly whiny and obstinate.  Soon the "I can'ts" let loose.

And there I was, alternately trying to empower Baby with praise for his mastery of a new skill; yet at the same time trying to be sensitive to Middle and his feelings.  (With Baby yelling as he zoomed by on the bike, "I'm 4!  I can ride a bike!  You're 5 and youuuuuuu can't!)

Gah.

Needless to say, that was a day where my Mad Parenting Skillz were put to the test and one in which I was extremely grateful to be involved with the Fishful Thinking program.  Please check it out - I promise you will learn something new!

From the website: 
With Fishful Thinking, parents can:

*talk with kids about how to deal with the ups and downs of life
*teach effective problem-solving techniques to help kids grow with a feeling of competence
*help kids develop an optimistic attitude that allows them to move past setbacks and obstacles
*help kids to develop their confidence and reach their full potential
*empower themselves to develop positive communication with their children and practice the skills with their kids using fun, easy activities
*connect with other parents to find solutions that help develop happier, healthier, more resilient children.

Why Am I Such a Moron?

The cafeteria here at my new place of employment?  IS AWESOME.  Boars Head deli meat, Finagle a Bagel, a full salad bar, a full FRUIT bar, a full ICE CREAM bar, a daily Weight Watchers special, a daily pasta special, a daily pizza special...can you HEAR me getting fat(ter)?

So I gave myself 2 weeks.  2 weeks to enjoy the bounty of the cafeteria.  (Did I mention the prices are cheap?  About $5 for a meal.) 

And then this week, the beginning of Week 3, I was determined to get back on the workout wagon.  So I brought my sneakers (and my diet lunch) to work.  There is a back staircase that goes up 7 flights and hardly ever gets used.  I had the great idea that I would WALK THE STAIRS for 30 minutes during my lunch.  And I could continue to do this all winter long!  Brilliant, right???? 

Oh.  My.  God.

Needless to say, I only lasted 20 minutes, not 30.  I was huffing and puffing and sweating like a Biggest Loser contestant after a Last Chance Workout with Jillian.

But I felt proud.  Accomplished.  I had figured out a way to (1) get exercise while (2) avoiding the cafeteria.  Yay me.

Then came Tuesday morning.  I tried to get out of bed.  OUCH!  You guys, my legs hurt all the way from my hips to my ankles.  So Tuesday, during lunchtime, I walked for 30 minutes, hoping to stretch out those muscles.

Yesterday (Wednesday) was EVEN WORSE!  But more my lower legs than my thighs.  Again, I walked for 30 minutes at lunch.

This morning, I figured I would try a new tactic to try to ease the soreness, so I got on the bike for 30 minutes before work, thinking maybe THAT would bring me some relief.

Ummm...notsomuch.

So here I am at work, the New Girl, walking around like I have a corncob up my butt because my calf muscles feel like knotted rope.  Way to make an impression, huh?

From now on?  I'm taking the goddamn elevator.

An Open Letter to PR People

To Whom It May Concern:

Thank you for visiting my Trenches!  As you will see in my header, my blog name is "In the Trenches of Mommyhood".  Also, please note my proper name is Sarah.  With an "h".  Not Sarahviz (despite my blog address), not Trenches, Trenches of Mommyhood, Trenches of Motherhood, Trenches Mom or any variation thereof.

But don't NOT address me in your greeting.  Neglecting to call me by (any sort of ) name just indicates to me that you sent out the same generic e-mail blast to 499 other "mommybloggers." 

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I feel it's important that you know that I am a full-time working mom with 3 boyz ages 8, 5, and 4.  Again, they are boys.  Males.  Testosterone-laden.  Therefore, I am not interested in reviewing products, websites or books geared towards preschool, school-age, pre-teen or teenage girls, thankyouverymuch.

And nor am I interested in discussing my current choice of diapers, formula, infant gear or baby furniture.  Although I refer to him as Baby on this blog (which I admit may be misleading if you only spend 2.6 seconds scanning my posts), my youngest is 4 and those infant and toddler days are thankfully well in the past.

Additionally, I utterly abhor typographical errors and the misuse of punctuation.  Consider it a (totally judgmental) quirk of mine.  So please proofread your e-mail to me before you send it.  Spellcheck is your friend.

Furthermore, please don't think that I am an easy target because I am a mommy Parenting Blogger.  This blog is not a billboard, nor do I want to be considered your conduit for free advertising.

The bottom line is that I am a busy gal trying to juggle family, career and Life.  I blog to keep (what remains of) my sanity, to share my thoughts and feelings, and to connect with other bloggers worldwide.  That is basically what In the Trenches of Mommyhood is about.

So if you have a product, pitch or idea that you think would be, key word here....RELEVANT to the theme of this blog, then pitch away!   

Otherwise?

Please save your, and more importantly, my time and don't bother.

Thank you,
Sarah at In the Trenches of Mommyhood

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Well, readers of mine, what do you think?  What bothers you about PR pitches that clutter up your inbox?  I know I'm definitely missing some more annoyances here, so I want to keep revising this letter (based on your comments) until I'm satisfied and then post it on my sidebar.  So vent away!

My Sunday Joy

Joy is...having 60 degree weather in November.

Joy is...telling the boyz that it's an "outdoor day" and keeping my word and staying outdoors with them ALLLLL DAY.

Joy is...a peanut butter and jelly picnic lunch in the driveway.

Joy is...trampoline-jumping (except when it makes me pee a little).

Joy is...watching my 3 boyz play football in the yard while I sit in a lawn chair in the sun and read the Sunday paper.

Joy is...teaching my 4-year old how to ride a two-wheeler today. (Seriously, he's not even 4-1/2 yet!  Within 15 minutes, he was whizzing around like Evil Knievel.) 

Joy is...realizing that the housework can indeed wait.

Joy is...having an afternoon playdate that extends into evening.

Joy is...watching each of my 3 boyz interact so tenderly with a 14-month old baby girl. It makes me scarily, utterly wistful for the little girl I will never birth (her name was to be Lydia).

Joy is...2 mothers enjoying each other's company over a glass of wine.  On a Sunday.  Outdoors.  In 60-degree weather.  In November.

Joy is...the same 2 mothers cooking breakfast for dinner (Topsy Turvy night!) for 6 children.  Bacon, eggs, sausage, pancakes and toast.

Joy is...solidarity in motherhood.

Joy is...bedraggled, sleepy little boyz.

Joy is...bedtime stories and snuggles and promises that Daddy will be home in "3 more sleeps".

Joy is...knowing that I can, indeed, manage the Trenches alone.  But also realizing that it can actually be fun.

(Hubby is away at his annual work conference.  I may be all giddy now, but the next few days will be the true test as I have to get all 3 of them, plus myself, ready for school/work.  Oh, and Middle was up last night with a wickedly croupy cough.  The steam from the bathroom shower seemed to help, but he slept with me for the rest of the night.  Here's hoping Momma can sleep alone tonight...)