It's so Pintrest (un)worthy

Yesterday was the furthest thing from what our society deems "Pintrest Worthy," despite how awesome my ham broccoli braid looked before and after it was baked.

It's like the moment my feet hit the floor the Goob had it out for me. I went to shower and get ready to go to the gym (yeah, I shower prior to getting sweated up) only to come downstairs and smell ... something. Definitely a smell from my primary school years. So familiar I could almost taste it.

Rubber cement. Only not. Vinyl patch glue. More like it.

All over her hands. On the carpet. On the kitchen floor.

I was more mad than anything because I was afraid, at first glance - she had her hands in a prayer pose - that it was super glue and it flashed through my mind that 1) I have no idea the quickest way to the hospital from here and 2) there's no way I would have gotten her safely in the carseat if her hands were glued together.

You've never seen someone have a full on conniption fit until you've witnessed a raving 31-year-old mother dealing with a glue covered child who thinks she's just "washing" her hands with some stinky soap.

Difficult nights, fresh starts

"There are a lot of days I just want to crawl into bed and cry because nothing has gotten done, or I've gotten stressed too easily and scolded too many times, or the TV was a better parent than me ... but we'll only be given what we can handle, even if there are ups, downs and compromises along the way."

I hate when I say something and it comes back at me four-fold. I wrote the words above sometime last week in response to a conversation I was part of with other moms about having a third child and the fear of already being overwhelmed with two.

Last night I was short with the girls. Josie got a spanking. I was close to unplugging the TV and hauling it out to the side of the road. In truth, I wanted to pack a bag, get in the car and leave it all for my husband to deal with until morning. He frequently gets the easy part of parenting. I'm the enforcer, he's the playmate - that's usually how it goes, but more because I'm home with the kids and have to be the seat of discipline.

All I wanted to do last night was have a nice family evening together, make some popcorn and watch "The Little Mermaid" with the girls and I couldn't keep it together long enough to even give that to my kids.

Social experiments: The spiritual cup

After a week of whatever the heck virus kicked my 3-year-old's tush, I think Josie is finally on the way to good health.

Now Charlie has it. We're on day four of vomit, though she might have skipped a day and I just don't remember. Sleeping (if you can call it that) sitting up with a trash can next to your bed for your 2-year-old to puke into tends to blur time and days.

I'm hoping this isn't going to be the beginning of a repeat of Winter 2012-13.

I refuse to panic about this. We're back to popsicles, Pedialyte and watered down juice. Charlie refuses to eat solid food, I think more out of fear of how much it will hurt if she throws up again. At the very least, I need to try every trick in the book to get fluids into her.

But all this trying to get them healthy is exhausting, and I hate to complain about my babies because they can't help what's happening, so on Sunday the kids stayed home with the Boy and off to church I went. I had a pie fundraiser to help button up so we could start baking on Monday. And my spiritual cup needed a refill.

Pies worthy of a crazed baker

Our church is holding its annual Harvest Ham Dinner today. My apologies to anyone who eats the pies I've made and donated to the cause. One top crust is overworked and the other pie is missing apples because Charlotte decided to help herself. 

By the time I was done, I was ready to tear my hair out. It was too early to start drinking

Oh, and headache day No. 6 was well underway. Seriously, I'm now a full week into waking up with a dull headache, which eventually will work itself into a splitting headache by bedtime. If I'm lucky, I'll go to bed with the beginning of a migraine like I did last night.

But let's not think about that. Let's talk about baking ... with our kids.

Desperately seeking wine and a closet

What's the protocol for a kid who attempts to brush her teeth with Softsoap Lavender and Chamomile hand soap?

Please don't say call Poison Control. Please don't say call Poison Control.

Shit. I knew someone would suggest it. Oh well. She hasn't thrown up and she told me she didn't swallow any. Not to mention, I'm fairly certain Charlie learned a valuable lesson here: soap doesn't taste as good as it smells.

The desk has left the building

Trying to stay organized while gradually moving into one house and out of another while also trying to keep the house we're moving out of in some sort of livable fashion and the new house from melting into a puddle of chaos is challenging.

You follow that? We're talking full-on shaking with frustration over everything kind of challenge over here in Naked Baby Land. 

But maybe that frustration is a sign of making headway? Or I'm just an asshole who wants everyone to check my list before they touch/move/breathe on anything in their personal space.