Cheers to the FREAKIN' Weekend

 11.11.11 was a rough one.  You would think it would be rough for Tom, since it was his 35^th birthday, but that was not the case.

To say planning his party was a breeze would be a lie.  It all started several months ago when Tom returned from a family wake that was held at a funeral home next to his old favorite watering hole on the Northwest Side of Chicago.  He did what all fine Irishmen do at a wake, he had some beers with his friends and family.  He returned home and said he wanted to have his birthday there.   I wasn’t able to keep a straight face and when it comes to Tom, I cannot tell a lie.  I had to break down and tell him that I was going to capitalize on his birthday falling on 11.11.11 and throw a surprise party for him either at said watering hole or his parents’ house.  After his request, I knew exactly where it needed to be, it just wouldn’t be a surprise anymore.  One of his aunt’s shares a the same birthday, so I coordinated with Tom’s cousins and we decided to throw a combined celebration.

His favorite bar holds great significance, not only to Tom and his drinking buddies, but also to his family and oddly, he and I as well.  Mugshots is located just blocks away from where his mom grew up.  His aunt works there and his uncle’s Harley Davidson can usually be found parked out in front.  His cousin used to bartend there, one of his friend’s met his wife there while she was a bartender. Ten years ago at his aunt’s 50^th and his 25^th party, Tom told me he wanted to be “more than friends” and even when to far as to tell me he was going to “make me his wife.”  Keep in mind, I had arrived to his party at midnight after babysitting my nephew who at the time lived in the house we live in now.  Did you follow all that?

So, for my readers that aren’t local and don’t understand the geography of Chicago, let me give you a brief description of where my husband’s family is from.  This is the Northwest Side of Chicago.  It is very different from some of the other Chicago neighborhoods most people think of and in my opinion is a “real” Chicago neighborhood.  I have to give props to similar South Side neighborhoods, since that is where my family hails from.   However, I’ll probably offend a lot of people, but it is not Wrigleyville, Lakeview or Lincoln Park filled with drunken twenty-something’s and trendy restaurants and bars.  It isn’t Bucktown or Wicker Park with young hipsters with funky glasses, sushi restaurants and retro record shops. No, this is old school Chicago.  This is where a typical block is lined with a hole-in-the-wall-bar, a Polish Delicatessen, another hole-in-the-wall-bar, a funeral home, a shoe repair, another hole-in-the-wall-bar, an Italian sandwich shop, a church, a school, a park, another funeral home, a banquet hall and in-between,  you’ll find 2-flats with Virgin Mary statues on the front lawn. Running parallel are streets lined with bungalows. This is where the city workers, police officers, fire fighters live.  This is where Tom loves to be.

My party planning was jinxed from the get-go.  We wanted to have the party on 11.11.11, but it landed on a Friday and we figured we could suck it up and do Saturday in order to make it more convenient for our guests.  As luck would have it, Mugshots’ back room was already booked for that day.  As luck would NOT have it, I had already sent the Evite.  I never in a million years thought Mugshots would be a hot-bed of entertainment and party planning and would have been booked on the exact day we wanted it.  I put my tail between my legs and resent a revised invite with the new date. 

I wasn’t real concerned with the planning details because I knew that at the end of the day, Tom just wanted to be surrounded by his friends and family, drinking beer, doing shots of Jameson and maybe having some pizza, chips and salsa.  Luckily his cousin works for a restaurant where we ordered food more suitable than just nosh for drunken bar goers.

My biggest concern was more in what we were going to do with the kids the night of the party.  Since we live about an hour from where the party was, I figured it would be best if my mom watched the kids and we all stayed there since she lives 20 minutes from the bar.  Unfortunately, I had to uninvited my mom to the party when I informed her she would be watching the kids and we were going to all crash there. 

OK, sitter secured.  Now on to logistics.  Tom took his birthday off so that gave us a little more room to work with.  After going through a few different scenarios we decided that I would pick up the balloons and cake and then head to the bar to set up while Tom, the kids and his parents would meet me at Tom’s grandma’s house and then when I was done decorating, I would get the kids and take them to my mom’s.  Unfortunately, my mom didn’t get off work until 7:00, so I would have to be a little late to the party.  Originally, I had planned on just driving back to the party, but after all the planning and schlepping, I wanted to be able to partake in the festivities without worrying about driving.  My friend suggested I just take a cab from my mom’s back to the party and then Tom and I would take one back to my mom’s.  It seemed worth the cost in order spend a night out, sans kids, no hour drive, to enjoy the fruits of my labor.  Besides, it might be fun to relive our “glory days.”

Of course, after running to get the cake, balloons and to Meijer because I realized I forgot to pack Pull-ups for Colin I finally got on the road to the city.  I was cruising until I hit O’Hare Airport and proceeded to sit in traffic for the next hour.  I finally got to the bar to set up and from there had enough time to go get the kids.  Tom and his parents hit a ton of traffic and never made it to his grandma’s house, so I met them at a McDonald’s near the bar where they stopped to feed the kids real quick. (A small detail I forgot to account for.)  Of course, there was a major traffic jam on Irving Park Road and I was at a stand-still for another half-hour because I thought they were having a Veteran’s Day parade in the middle of rush hour on a Friday night.  I was cursing and swearing when I realized that it was actually a funeral procession from O’Hare Airport for a fallen solider.  Boy, did I feel like a jerk. As I watched the procession of Police cars, family members with American flags flying, Patriot Guard motorcycle group and various other vehicles with Marine Corps flags, I said a prayer, apologized to God for being a heartless bitch and within 5 minutes, traffic started moving again.

I walked into the McDonald’s and Tom immediately asked if I had a Pullup.  Colin hadn’t been changed since lunchtime since he fell asleep in the car on the way home from lunch and we put him straight down for his nap.  Tom forgot to change him when he woke up and he had 6 hours of 2-year old boy pee in his Pullup that soaked through to his pants.  That may seem like a strange description, but if you have ever had a two-year old boy who still wears diapers, you know what I mean.

Luckily I had a change of clothes with me for our slumber party at my mom’s and was able to change him in the bathroom.  I had been in desperate need of a diet Coke for the last 5 hours and Tom handed me one as I walked out the door to load the kids into the minivan and head to my mom’s.  As I was driving, I decided to call the cab company to make sure there would be one there at 7:45 to take me back to the party.  I pulled up at my mom’s at 7:25 and unloaded the kids, the Aerobed, two backpacks, a suitcase, blankets and sheets.  The kids had their bubbas and then we just had to actually get inside my mom’s condo building.  After two large doors, one of which required that I actually locate my mom’s keys on my keyring, and an elevator to the 5^th floor, we had arrived.  Of course, the kids got off the elevator and as I was literally throwing our belongings out of the elevator, the door closed on me and the kids both started screaming and crying because they thought I was going to fall down the elevator shaft leaving them orphans on the 5^th floor of my mom’s condo building.

I opened the door to find them with crocodile tears rolling down their red cheeks.  Poor babies.  I got them down the hall along with our belongings and was greeted by my mom.  Perfect timing. (sarcasm)  I started to get the kids settled, rattled off necessary information, blew up the Aerobed and threw some makeup on my face.  At that point I was already having a full-blown panic attack. Meanwhile, my mom had to run down to put her parking pass in my van since it would be parked in the parking lot over night.  She informed my cab driver that I would be right down.  As soon as she came back up, I kissed the kids goodbye and ran out the door.  I got down to the cab and told him I just had to run to my van and get my “big girl purse” as opposed to my diaper bag/purse.  He started reprimanding me for coming down 7:55 when I had told dispatch I needed a cab for 7:45. He told me the meter was running. I closed the door (ok, maybe slammed it a bit) to go get my purse and….are you ready for this?  He. Drove. AWAY!  Guess he wouldn’t get paid for those 10 minutes.  Dummy.

Of course, I felt more the fool standing in the middle of the parking lot with my mouth wide open in shock and awe and the feeling I would NEVER get to the party.  I grabbed my purse out of the car and called Tom.  At that point, the last couple of days of running around, planning, schlepping, coordinating, working, yelling at my kids, worrying, and one completely a-hole of a cab driver came down on me and I felt as if I was unhinged.  I started crying to Tom who likely already had 4 Miller Lite’s in him and he could barely understand what I was saying because I sounded like Jesse Spanno, “I’m so excited, I ‘m so excited….I’m so TIRED!” Unfortunately, I hadn’t gotten to take a long over-due nap and hadn’t had some good drugs.  I guess the good news was I didn’t have a test to study for or a dance to perform with Lisa and Kelly.  Most importantly, I wasn’t wearing a leotard and a sweatshirt with one shoulder down and a giant black bow; that would really have been embarrassing.

I finally regained my composure and told Tom to just go enjoy himself while I figured out what my next steps were.  I called the cab company back and told the dispatcher what happened.  She sounded puzzled as to why I was so upset and asked if I wanted the same driver to come back.  I told her if they did, I would call the cops.  “Well, he left because you were ten minutes late, m’am.”  Really?  I know I am out of the loop when it comes to cab etiquette, but the meter was running.  I told her I didn’t want her stinkin’ cab and that their customer service sucked and called a different cab company.  I am pretty sure that the cab company was a small subsidiary of U.S. Airways.

I got a hold of a different cab company and had just enough time to run back up to my mom’s place to reapply my make up that I had cried off.  My mom talked me off my emotional ledge (something she probably hasn’t had to do in about 15 years) and I was off.  I finally arrived at the party at about 8:45. 

I walked in and had several people offer me a drink, which I know I could have used, but didn’t really want.  That was when I realized I hadn’t eaten dinner.  I finally went back to eat so I wouldn’t end up becoming “that girl” who gets sloppy drunk because she at a vanilla wafer before she went out. I finally sat down with a beer and caught up with some friends.  At about 11:00 p.m. a group of people in their 20’s came in and it was clear that they had just begun their evening when all I wanted was my bed.  They were what we used to be.  The girls were all dolled up and kept feeding the jukebox and dancing in a circle as if they were in their own little world without a care in the world.  That was what going out used to be like before it required a flow chart and being a certified party planner.  Sigh.  Those were the days.

I spent the rest of the night hosting, cleaning up and babysitting Tom.  Of course, when all was said in done, I barely drank anything and could have just driven.  Luckily Tom drank enough for both of us and his aunt and uncle drove us back to my mom’s.  Tom kept babbling about how 10 years ago he professed in undying love to me and that was when everything changed and our life began.  Yeah, we aren’t hanging out at bars or dancing with our drinks held in the air, singing Karoake when our poor reaction time made following the words next to impossible.  Yet, when we got home, the kids were asleep on the Aerobed cuddled up together.  They even woke up to greet us with sleepy smiles and snuggles. Cheers to that.

Job Security

For Halloween, I was a Vomit Spewing Mummy.

To be accurate, I was a Mommy with a stomach bug or food poisoning or something possessed my body and created a cross between The Exorcist, Saw and Faces of Death. Had I actually been able to lift my head off the toilet long enough to attend a Halloween Party, I would have won the contest for goriest costume for sure.

Going into the weekend I knew it was going to be a crazy based on the fact that our schedule was jammed pack. Friday night started with an impromptu date night with Tom while the kids went to IHOP with my in-laws to decorate Halloween pancakes. Saturday morning began with the usual breakfast for the kids and I and then I passed the kids off to Tom just before 8 a.m. so I could go take my aggressions out on a spin bike without getting called out of class for Colin biting or filling his diaper. As soon as I finished class and a brief conversation with a friend, I ran home, got everyone including myself showered and ready to go since we had to take Maddie to her Hip-hop/Poms class and then straight to a Christening that was 40 minutes away. We all traipsed into Maddie’s dance class ten minutes late looking like we were part of a funeral procession. Immediately after class ended, I threw a dress and a pair of tights on Maddie, who lucky for us was super crabby and complained, cried and stomped her glittery dress shoe because the tights weren’t on her just right. I gave her tights a good hike up in the crotch and we were off. Poor Maddie is learning at an early age that nylons are for the birds.

On to the Christening. Due to our hectic morning schedule and logistics, we weren’t able to make it to the church to see our friend’s baby Christened, but we did make it to the luncheon. It was held at a banquet hall and they even had a clown for all the kids. Tom and I spent most of the time chasing after Colin who had scored a balloon shaped like a sword and was beating the crap out of a 3-year old boy. They seemed to be having fun, but occasionally Colin would accidentally drop the balloon and unknowingly lunge at the kid with his fist. Not real cool to have your kid throw punches at such a sacred event.

After our lunch, some face painting and more balloon animals, we headed home where we had to change and go across the street for our neighbor’s little boy’s first birthday party. We only caught the tail end of the party, but it was probably better that most of their guest had left to spare me the embarrassment of Colin trying to steal all the newly opened toys from the birthday boy. The kids were on melt-down mode since the only nap Colin got was about 12.5 minutes on the way to Christening and Maddie got about 17 minutes on the way home before she started coughing and threw up in her car seat.

Luckily we had a relatively relaxing Saturday night at home because Sunday was another action-packed day. I went to church with Maddie and my mother-in-law where I had to do a reading. From there Maddie and I had to run to WalMart for a few odds and ends and to find Colin a Halloween costume. I had been searching for weeks because Mr. Picky-pants won’t were anything on his head, which rules out 99.9% of the costumes out there. The rest all cost an arm and a leg and I’d rather keep the arms and legs for decorations on the front lawn. After failing at WalMart, we headed to Party City and despite Maddie trying to finagle some Hello Kitty party favors, we scored a Darth Vader costume on the clearance rack that only had hat and no mask and I figured for $10 I could care less if he wore the hat. I compensated by buying him a light saber to go with it.

From there, I came home and did as much house work as I could before I had to go to a wake for a friend of mine’s father. After that, I headed to my in-laws where Tom had taken the kids for dinner. After warming up some dinner for me and the kids finished decorating Halloween cupcakes with Grandma, we headed home to put together Maddie’s Halloween treats for her Pre School class. It was getting late and after battling with Maddie over who was going to cut out the pumpkins, I decided to put the kids to bed and finish this project on my own…with a glass of wine.

I got up from the table and felt a little woozy. By the time I got the kids upstairs I felt a little nauseous. Once I finally got them both in their beds, stories read and tucked in, I was ready to fall over. I came downstairs to finish the Halloween treats and within 5 minutes was pulling my hair in a pony tail as I raced to the bathroom. I will spare you the gory details, but all I can use to describe the episode is “violent.”

Of course I felt much better after that, but skipped the glass of wine and had tea and toast while I finished my project. Of course, within about a half hour I was right back to where I started and holding on to my toilet for dear life because I felt like my entire chest was going to combust from the force at which the puke was exiting my body. By 5 a.m., I had been up pretty much every two hours and had nothing left in me. Tom decided to stay home from work to get Maddie to school and make sure Colin didn’t burn the house down while I had my head in the toilet.

You know you are beyond sick when you have to have your husband take over. Luckily I was able to make it downstairs to the couch without passing out or blowing chunks so I could make sure Maddie had all of her belongings for her Halloween party at school and that her clothes weren’t on backwards. She had to be an animal since they do a “Noah’s Ark Party” instead of traditional Halloween costumes. I spent the rest of the morning on the couch watching Disney channel with Colin who could care less that I smelled like stomach acid and wanted to cuddle with me regardless. I was also able to get some work done because as luck would have it, I had a project due. When Maddie got home from school, I got to hear all about her party, but was bummed that I missed all the excitement. I did get to see that major bag of loot she brought home that I normally commandeer before she is able to see exactly what is in it and then use it to make my life a living hell while she whines and cries begging for its contents.

Around lunchtime, I got up to make some toast and saw that the kitchen was in utter disarray with four loads of laundry that I had planned on folding on Sunday night piled high outside the laundry room. I decided to take my toast and flat Sprite back to the couch before I passed out. After lunch, I was trying to find the syringe to give the kids their antibiotics that I forgot to give them in the morning. I went upstairs to find it and found by the time I got to the end of the hall I needed to lay down. I finally made it downstairs to look in the kitchen and the sink was now like Mt. Vesuvius. I tried to unload the dishwasher in order to reload it and clear out the sink. Unfortunately, my stomach had other plans and I only got half-way through the process before I had to head to my new spot on the bathroom floor. Luckily I was still just dry-heaving (aren’t you relieved?) but felt like a vice-grip was on my head. Tom was now lying on the couch and I told him to find something, anything that could measure one teaspoon and give the kids their medicine. I immediately went upstairs and took a two-hour nap.

A few things to note: a) I look like hell, but nearly as bad as I thought  I would while Tom was capturing this moment. b) I am in the midst of folding laundry and there's a gourd, miscellaneous toys and shoes and my area rug grippers are showing. c) Colin is NOT happy about Halloween d) At least our dog looks relaxed. 

Luckily when I woke up, I felt much better. Thank God, because as we were trying to get Maddie’s witch costume together, Daddy could not locate her broom. I thought I had hid it in the coat closet one day when the kids were fighting over it, but he couldn’t find it. After searching everywhere, I went back to the coat closet and looked for it like a mom and not like a dad, and there it was wedged between a puffy coat and a fleece jacket. After that I was able take a shower and fold some laundry and realized that the dry cleaning needed to be taken in so Tom would have clean work clothes for his trip on Wednesday. I made Colin (who wanted nothing to do with Trick-or-Treating) a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an orange for dinner, while I had chicken broth. By the time the kids went to bed, I still didn’t feel 100%, but it was definitely a marked improvement and I even made some progress on my project for work to send to my boss.

It takes a lot to knock this mommy flat on her ass, but maybe there is a silver lining in all of this. While my hiatus was short-lived, maybe it my body’s way of forcing me to either lay on the couch or in bed for a few hours (although I wish it had a different way of telling me than how it did). Either way, it made me realize that I am an essential part of making sure this house runs smoothly. I am also fairly certain that Tom will not be quitting his job to raise the kids nor will he be getting rid of me any time soon. I also learned that for as messy as I feel the house gets throughout the day, it could be much, much worse. If nothing else, we are going to Jamaica in 29 days and ain’t nothing like a good stomach virus to get you a head-start on that bikini body.

Oh, Fudge!

Well, it finally happened. One of my kids used a curse word and I know full well where they got it from. First of all, it might surprise you to know that it wasn't Colin, it was Maddie. She didn’t learn it from her dad, she learned it from me. Yeah, I guess based on the name of this blog and my reputation of swearing like a sailor it isn't that big of surprise.

I keep hearing that PSA from the ‘80s where the dad walks into his son’s bedroom with a cigar box of dope and demands to know “who did you learn this from?” And the boy half cries and half yells, “I learned it from watching you!”

Those commercials must have made an indelible mark on me since that is the second “Say No To Drugs” commercial I have referenced in my blog. Granted, my kids are not smoking dope and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t learn it from me, but seems everything I do definitely leaves an impression on them.

So, I am sure you are all dying to find out what word she uttered. Well, it was relatively benign, but was inappropriate and stopped me in my tracks none-the-less. She was innocently sitting at the kitchen table finishing her apple while I was cleaning up after lunch and preparing to get ready to leave the house to run errands. Suddenly the apple slipped out of her hand and landed on the floor. “Awe, DAMMIT!” she yelled. My little “mini-me” could not have sounded more like me at that moment. I had to be careful of how I handled it since in all reality she had no idea what she was saying was wrong. I told her that I know she has probably heard me say that word, but that it is not an appropriate word for her to use.  I also explained that I need to be more careful of "naughty" words that I use.  If I were my own PSA, it would have had me talking to my 4 year old with a giant "hypocrite" sign on my forehead.

In my defense, I do my best to curb my potty mouth around my kids and wait to drop f-bombs until after they go to bed or when I am out with adults. I’ve caught myself unleashing my inner truck driver once I get around adults, especially after a few adult beverages. It is a little embarrassing when even I notice I am swearing too much and feel as if I need to take myself home and wash my own mouth out with soap.

However, “dammit” is one that I end up slipping up on around the kids, especially because I am a super-klutz and end up dropping things, making messes, tripping, ripping things, braking things etc.. The first word out of my mouth is dammit. Then there is my incurable road rage that usually results in an even worse, “God Dammit! Will you please drive your car!!!” Hey, at least I said “please!”

I’ve been lucky up until this point that not only have I been careful not to swear in front of the kids, but that they haven’t picked up on it until now. I have caught myself saying something under my breath when I am really upset and Maddie simply asks, “Mom, are you talking to yourself again?” or I am good at replacing swears with creative alternatives like “Gosh darn it,” “Oh, phooey,” or “Oh, for the love of Pete!” Tonight at dinner I spilled an entire cup of water all over the floor and due to my new attitude, caught myself and said, "Awe, CRUD!" Of course I do push the limits by saying, “Are you f-ing kidding me?” or “Jesus Christ on a cross!” but to me those are inappropriate either way and use them only in case of an emergency.

Unfortunately, I have also noticed that they have picked up another bad habit of mine, yelling. Maddie is the worst offender and I often find myself yelling at the top of my lungs, “MADDIE, STOP YELLING AT YOUR BROTHER!!!” I also have a short fuse and she has inherited my Irish temper. During these moments I know I sound like my grandmother who was infamous for her “screaming like a banshee.”  I also find it difficult when she says, “Mom, aren’t you going to get what I asked for you to get me?” When I am constantly saying, “Madelyn, aren’t you going to do what I asked you to do?”

So, it is time for me to clean up my act and my language. It really is hard work being an adult and expect your kids to behave when you yourself don’t always behave. I guess the upshot is that there are plenty of good things that I have seen my kids do that I know are a direct reflection of Tom and myself. Maddie has a phenomenal memory like I do. I also have been told that she is polite at other people houses since Tom and I drill it into her head since the one time her memory fails is when she is supposed to say “please or thank you” at home. Colin is very witty as I like to think of myself and despite his “aggressive ways” he is a lover boy like his dad.  They eat healthy and like to exercise and Colin even does yoga.

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times, they listen and see EVERYTHING you do, and as my grandfather always said, "you’d better mind your P’s and Q’s.

Check Out "Adventures of Smitty" by Anna Deskins!

I recently came in contact with a talented mother who is publishing a childrens book called, "The Adventures of Smitty."  In the spirit of promoting another aspiring writer, mom and entreprenuer, I wanted to share some information about her and where you can find her book online.  Be sure to check her out!!!

Your children's book, The Adventures of Smitty looks magically. Tell us about it.

It's the story of a magical island of little creatures called Smilies and the mischievous little main character, Smitty. He's such a naughty boy. Haha! All the moms and kids I've shared it with have been giving me such a wonderful reaction. I cannot believe it. I have to tell you how excited I am to finally have a life-long dream come true. Writing The Adventures of Smitty was really about finding a story that I would want to read to my children at night. It has to be exciting but not scary so that my two daughters can go to sleep. Basically, I was looking for that perfect blend to read to my kids at night and decided, "Why not try writing my own?"

We've had a lot of changes in our life recently, so I want to make sure that when I put my daughters to sleep that they feel safe. I have short chapters because I know how busy we moms are but if you can just sacrifice 5 minutes at night reading to your kids, it makes a world of difference. Your kids will never forget it. And although we're running around the whirlwind of life, our kids grow up so fast, and that time that we'd rather finish watching what happened in our favorite soap opera instead of reading to our kids will never come again. I hope that The Adventures of Smitty and books like it help moms do exactly that.

And it's only 99 cents this week. That's what I love about it.

Now, You are recently divorced. How have you been able to continue writing when going through such a change?

Yes, it is by far one of the most challenging points in my life. To see a marriage you thought would last forever to not last forever was difficult for the two of us. I really learned a lot about myself and most importantly, it's brought me closer to my daughters. I think that's what really motivated me to finish this children's book no matter what. When you're going through changes in your life like this, you need something to hold on to. There's a part of you that wants to prove that you can make it, that you will be a success even if it's not with the partner you originally imagined building a life with. I had to keep writing, for my kids. I want to show them that they have to keep strong, no matter what.

We as women, as moms really need to stick together to support each other and our dreams. We're living in an age when I think we're finally realizing, although we want love, the men in our life aren't the answer to everything. We have to stand up on our own two feet and keep going. True love will happen, but until then, we have to keep moving forward. Our children depend on us and we depend on us.

In addition to being a children's book author, you're also a small business owner. How do you juggle taking care of two daughters and at the same time running a business?

Yes, I am a fashion designer and have a retail store. Any type of creativity is what I'm passionate about. That's why writing The Adventures of Smitty was so important to me. Let me tell you, running a small business in today's economy isn't easy especially when raising two girls at the same time. But somehow, it seems someone's watching over me because my dreams are coming true no matter what. To have that many moms glowing about my children's book, means so much to me. And I know my girls are proud.

When do you ever have time to write?

You mean, in between laundry, running a business, chasing my girls around the house, cleaning the house, and flying back and forth fromMiami to New York? Haha? That's one thing I've learned, when you really want to do something, you find a way. Things fall into place if you just go for it and that's what I want to encourage all the moms who are reading this right now. Whatever your goal is, you can do it. Don't let the challenges in your personal life stop you from going for your dreams. Just go for it and it's almost magical how things fall into place.

Where can we get a copy of "The Adventures of Smitty"?

Right now, it's available online by going to: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/94655 You can also visit my website:http://www.AnnaDeskins.com where you can read more about my writing process, my recommendations for other books and my own adventures in Mommyhood.

I'm so grateful for your support and the support I'm getting from so many wonderful moms who dream of writing children's books one day too. Writing The Adventures of Smitty has been such an emotional experience for me, a true journey as I was going through so many changes while writing it. It's truly been a blessing in my life. It, along with my daughters, and that guy upstairs have really pulled me through a challenging time.

No, I Am Not Bozo the Clown

I recently had someone bring to my attention that there is a blog out there with the address http://writethisshitdown.blogspot.com. After this person asked if I was “Bozo the Clown,” I was a little puzzled until they directed me the site.

Just to clarify, my address is http://writethishitdown.blogspot.com (the “s” from this is shared with “s” from shit). If you go to the “other blog” you will see the author’s name is bozotheclown and after reading his entries, I can see why.

I have to admit, I don’t really read a lot of other people’s blogs. I have a hard enough time keeping up with my own. I took the time to read 6 or 7 of this guys entries and I couldn’t understand what the point of his writing was except to swear a lot. I know I am vulgar, but this guy makes me look like a Puritan! I am all for freedom of speech and all, but I am sad that I call myself “a blogger” when I read what other “bloggers” are writing.

I recently saw someone quote, “Blogging is graffiti with punctuation.” I was a little hurt, but I get it. I have done some research through some of the other sites I post my blog to and it gives advice on how to create a successful blog. One of the suggestions was to post at least 3 times a week. I am lucky if I post 3 times a month. I am sure that some of my posts are meaningless to some. Some people don’t find my writing humorous or my kids antics entertaining, but I do aim to post things that are relevant and wait for something “worth” writing rather posting just to post. I know that if I aimed to post several times a week, I would likely discuss the most inane things that I am SURE NOBODY would want to read. Subjects like how my laundry detergent just doesn’t get my kids’ clothes clean, or the amount of dust bunnies has increased because my dog is shedding more than usual, or I have no idea what to make for dinner today, or Hey, guess what I found under my couch today! Riveting, I know, but I will spare you the details.

I also have a lot of opinions I could write about, but I’d rather keep those to myself or argue with my husband about. Keeps things exciting over here. Finally, there are plenty of things I’d love to write about but know that they just involve TMI. I know some of you probably are shocked to hear that I don’t consider some of what I have already written TMI, but I promise you I am holding back…at least a little bit.

OK, so that was my Public Relations degree at work. I have put a message out clarifying who I am (not Bozo the Clown) and what my message is. I have also established that I will likely never be a famous blogger based on my blogging philosophy, but I enjoy writing what I write, when I write and I am comforted knowing that there are at least a few people out there who enjoy it too.

Nap Nazi Part 3:No Nap For Me

What do you get when you cross a control-freak with a four-year old and two-year old who won’t stay in their beds? Surrender.

Well, it is Colin again this time, but Maddie sure isn’t helping the situation. Colin has decided that he wants to play games with us at bedtime as well as naptime, and will do anything to push his limits. We are practically at square one with putting him in his big boy bed. We lay him down and read his books, say our prayers and say “Goodnight.” As I mentioned in previous posts, we have contraption on his door that is supposed to allow him to open the door only 2 inches, but he pushes right through it. We put a door cover on the door knob, but he started to bust it open and then hide it in his drawer, in the garbage or under his bed. I put some Gorilla Tape on it, but when he saw the black tape on there he wigged. He finally gave up and went to sleep, but the next morning he woke up still sore that I would have done such a thing to him. He even brought it up later in the day when I was yelling at him about something else and he asked with tears in his eyes, “Now can you take the tape off my door?” I felt so guilty I removed it and sure enough he ended up in my bed at 3 a.m. We super glued it together and he busted that open and luckily he didn’t glue himself to anything in the process.

Tom finally strategically placed the Gorilla tape on all the seams in smaller, less obvious strips. It looked like something out of the Modern Art Museum and for all intents and purposes, might as well be on display somewhere, because it didn’t work. Colin figured out how to turn the door knob in spite of the cover and in spite of us.

So, now we are left with the cat and mouse game where we shut the door and he cries. He jimmies the door and escapes with a big smile on his face celebrating his achievement. We put him back to bed and say “goodnight.” Before we can make it down the stairs, he is there again laughing at us. This time we yell a little, “Go to BED!” He runs back into his room and hops into bed giggling. I finally sit down on the couch ignoring the sound Click, Click sound of his door latch and then him playing with a truck in the hallway hoping he will finally give up. Then we hear Maddie screaming because Colin is in her room reading books on her floor. We separate the two and put Colin back into his bed with a book and give stern orders to “GO….TO….SLEEP!”

Within two minutes we see him at the top of the stairs. “Mommy, will you sleep with me?”

“No.” I retort.

“Please, come upstairs?”

I walk up the stairs and he jumps into bed, shuts off the light and then puts his arm around my neck and proceeds to tackle me into the bed to lay with him. I am not kidding you when I say that he is stronger than me. I finally give up and lay with him until he falls asleep. If we are lucky he will then sleep through the night, but in several cases he ends up in our bed in the middle of the night. The other night I awoke to an usual figure at the side of my bed. He had taken his hamper that we use for stuffed animals and put it on his head and walked into our room. There were still animals in it and he then unloaded all of them into our bed. I walked him back to his room (glancing at the stairs realizing how lucky we are he didn’t fall down them with that thing on his head!) and lay with him until we both fell asleep. I woke up sweating and really uncomfortable at about 5:30 a.m.

After about 2 weeks of a bedtime routine like the one I just described and miserable sleep, I was running on empty. These are the days I try to take full advantage of nap time and lay down myself. Ah, no such luck. In addition to his nighttime shenanigans, he has decided that he doesn’t need a nap and would rather play with Maddie. After battling him to lay down each afternoon, I finally gave up and had he and Maddie lay in my bed and watch a movie hoping he would zonk out. He did, but not until 3:00…much too late for a nap and pretty much guaranteed that bedtime would be a bitch.

I even took him for a run one day when Tom was home to see if I could get him to doze off. It worked, but he still only got about a 45 minute nap. While the days he doesn’t take a nap make him pretty much pass out at bedtime, he also acts like a total a-hole from 4 to 7:30 p.m. Add on the fact that I’ve started a part-time work-from-home job, I REALLY need him to take a nap. The other day, I set him and Maddie upstairs in my room for a movie while I had a conference call. My hope was that he would fall asleep, but he came trotting downstairs about a half hour in. He played quietly at his train table and I thought he had gone upstairs when Maddie came down and found him sleeping on the floor just out of my sight. (Luckily my call was with another mom who totally understood!) Maddie was nice enough to cover him with a blanket and I put a pillow under his head. Clearly he is tired, but does this mean he is growing out of his nap? I know some kids grow out of them sooner rather than later, but Maddie is four and still takes naps sometimes. How did I get here? How did I go from being a “rule follower” to letting my kids fall asleep watching TV or on the floor in the middle of the family room for Christ sake! Do I force the nap or let him crash? I don't want them falling asleep at dinnertime because then they will never go to bed.  I feel like a "Nightmare on Elmstreet" movie making sure they don't fall asleep.  Either way, my days are like years right now.

The next day, wanting to avoid letting the inmates run they asylum, I tried as hard as I could to be consistent and put him down for his nap. After a half-hour battle, I gave up so I could get some work done. He ended up in Maddie’s room to play with her. Of course at 4 p.m. he found a comfy spot on the family room floor with a blanket and pillow and fell asleep. I woke him up at 5 p.m. for dinner and he screamed and cried for the next 2 hours, including a trip to the grocery store where he refused to sit in the cart and insisted that I carry him…along with a ream of paper, envelopes, milk and eggs. I finally coaxed him to the car where his giant truck that I wouldn’t let him bring into the store was waiting for him.

Once we got home, Tom was forced to take over because I had another call for work. By the time I was finished, it was time for him to go to bed. You would think he would have been exhausted at that point, but he still managed to push his limits for a few last minutes before finally passing out.

It is the next day and supposed to be naptime as I write this. I just battled with him for about an hour and I’m about to head up there right now and make good on my promise to take away his bulldozer. Wish me luck…Ok, I’m back. Guess what I’m holding in my hand? Click, Click…there goes the door latch. I might lose my mind. I just went up there again…he was playing in the bathroom sink. This time I took away Bubba Lion (Colin’s most prized possession). I mean business. Click, Click….there goes the door latch. Here we go again. I am pretty sure by the end of today, he will have nothing left in his room and maybe because I’ve packed him and his belongings up to move in with Grandma and Grandpa. Click, Click…there goes the door latch. This time I am going to ignore him because I am sure a good portion of his tactic is to get my attention. My only concern is that my water bill will be through the roof because he will play in bathroom sink all afternoon if I let him.

Fast forward to bedtime…neither kid took a nap and Tom is out of town, so I am hoping they just crash. Ha, silly me. Colin still got up and roamed around after I put him to bed. After one last stern warning, I went downstairs and thought I heard him escape one last time. I gave it about 10 minutes and went to check on him. Sure enough he was asleep in the hallway with his animals. I stared at him sleeping so peacefully where he finally ran out of gas. What a piece of work. I moved him back to bed without incident. At least I got a few hours to catch up on my DVR’d shows and get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, but that was short lived when Colin showed up in my room at 3 a.m. and Maddie at 3:15 a.m. I finally just gave up and let them both sleep in bed with me. Again, sometimes I just have to surrender.

Here I am…another day and another new adventure of nap vs. no-nap. Gosh, I love my family, but if you don’t hear from me, I have committed myself to a mental institution or fled the country to a deserted island...or an island with internet so I can start a new blog called, “I’m A Runaway Housewife.” My first topic, “Coconut: Food and Fashion.” This is what happens when you don’t sleep.

But Why?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=3np0DMxXKzM

I was watching all the 9/11 remembrance programs today and getting chills up and down my spine every five minutes. I began crying in the middle of commercials and practically broke down at Paul Simon’s “Sound of Silence” performance and all my daughter simply came up to me and asked was, “Why?”

This was the heaviest “why” my daughter who asks “why” 18 million times a day has ever uttered. She sees all the people gathered at Ground Zero crying, holding flowers, and signs with photos of their loved ones. “Why are they crying, Mommy?”

They show the giant fountains where the Twin Towers once stood. “What are those for Mommy? And WOW, those are deep!”

They show people rubbing the names off the monument and she asks, “Why are they doing that, Mommy?”

I am left with an immeasurable lack of words for my four-year old daughter who is old enough to know about death and pain to a certain extent.  She also knows that these images she is seeing are not “fun.” However, she isn’t old enough and I don’t know “how” to explain that day to her.

I turn the channel before she can see any images from that day. Those images are not something you can ever explain to anyone, let alone a four-year old. It is like trying to explain the Internet to a 70 year old or a record player to a child born in the last decade…there is no comprehension.

If you would have explained it to me on September 10, 2001, I personally would have given a puzzled look and wouldn’t be able to wrap my mind around a plane crashing into a building and bursting into flames, followed by another plane crashing into the identical building next to it not long after. Then, the thought that in another part of the country, yet another plane was crashing into the Pentagon and another plane crashed into a field. Then coming to the realization that all of these planes, regardless of where they crashed, had one purpose in mind…to destroy the United States. Regardless of whether they chose buildings with the largest number of people or a building that held great symbolism, the message was clear; Whoever or whatever was responsible was filled with hate for all that our country represents.

To think that all along we felt “safe” here, and to suddenly have that “safety” taken away. To know that we would all walk around looking over our shoulders wondering "What next?" We would now realize that the notion of  "anything is possible" meant something completely different than what we had been taught up until that point. Because being an American always meant that we could do ANYTHING. The American Dream meant if you put your blood, sweat and tears into something, you would succeed. This was the land of opportunity and then they took that away.

There is certainly a pre 9/11 part of our lives and a post 9/11 part of our lives. We could never travel the same; the security measures in place were a constant reminder. We could never go to work the same; we’d have to go through a metal detector just to enter our own office building. We would never look at the most notable skyline the same; part of it would be missing. We’d wonder what else they could have gotten away with that day? Where exactly was that fourth plane headed? What other landscape could have been destroyed? How many other lives could have been taken?

And ten years later, watching the ceremonies commemorating the events of 9/11, why does it seem to hurt more now? While the pain and the fear are still there, from it grows a different kind of “National confidence.” We used to walk tall knowing we lived in the country that afforded us the most freedom, the most opportunity and the most success. Now we’ve been taken down a few notches and humbled. But now we’ve seen our Nation take steps to fight for that again, take back some of what was lost and most importantly realize that we are not defeated, but stronger for knowing we should never take anything for granted…EVER again.

I look at my children and I don’t even want to begin to explain that day to them. I don’t want to think about our family if something like that were ever to impact us directly. I don’t want to explain that kind of evil and the kind of pain it caused. It is certainly one answer I don’t have for my children. It isn’t something I can look up on the internet like why are the moon and sun out at the same time sometimes? No, this is an answer I don’t think any of us can answer. I hope that some day the history books can begin to explain all the events that as a parent not only do I not want to, but that I just can't. I dread the day my kids come home from school seeking answers. 

Here’s a clip of my favorite commercial commemorating 9/11. To me, it encompasses the optimism that comes out of such a hardship on a nation.  After watching this, Maddie simply said she wanted to sing at the Fire Station without know the significance.  I am so jealous of her innocence and if I could bottle it, I would give it to all the people who lost loved ones that day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJzUxVKLgMk