Change the Station, Please.

I’m tired.

I accept full responsibility, but I’m tired.

I’ve broken the #1 rule you should never break when you are a working mom:

Do not over booketh thyself.

Between back to back parties (apparently we are quite the jet setters now, two parties in a row and all,) immunization sticker shock, and back to school hoopla, I also have a harrowing work schedule this week.

Today’s working mom load involved a 2 hour each way drive to College Station.

I purposely set my alarm 15 minutes late, just to get some extra sleep.

Big mistake.

I am compulsively on time to a fault (thanks, dad!) and when I walked out the door, it was without coffee, which we all know is not good, and without breakfast, which is even worse-I never skip breakfast.

I was slightly frazzled, it’s fair to say, trying to get out on time.

When I finally left, I could have easily had an entire roll of toilet paper hanging out the back of my pants and would have never known.

I was carrying my work bag, Cheeze Its for breakfast in one hand (sorry, mom, I know, not the breakfast of champions,) a Diet Coke in the other hand, a spare diet coke in my bag, and a change of clothes.

I have a morning ritual when I get in my car. The first song on my I-pod sort of sets my mood for the day. (Don’t laugh, I know some of you reading this are far more superstitious than me, and won’t stop a gas pump if it doesn’t end on an even number, you know you’re out there.)

Since 90% of my I-pod music is contemporary Christian, 9% is country, and 1% is what I allow the kids to add in case they are trapped in the car with me, I’m usually fine.

Not today.

What’s the first thing I hear? Amy Winehouse barking out ‘they tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no.’

BLARING, of course, at a level 27 on my car, since Junior was the last one to drive it.

Uh, no. There’s no way I can listen to Amy Winehouse at 8 am, decaffeinated.

Next? Britney Spears singing ‘Circus’ (which was kinda funny and a lot more fitting for my life than Rehab. I hope.)

At that point though, I thought both my I-pod, and my day been hijacked, and I should just get out of the car, call in sick, and go back to bed.

Of course being the type AAAA person I am, I did no such thing and headed to College Station.

Who needs those stupid rituals anyhow.

Rehab. PUHLLEASE!

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Temporary Insanity. Or not.

I may have lost my mind. I’ll let everyone know in a few weeks, give or take.

I just signed up to be a sales advisor for Lia Sophia Jewelry.

Now, if you know me well enough, and even if you don’t know me but you’ve read more than 1 blog from this website, this should make about as much sense as, oh, let’s say Rosie O’Donnell and Bill O’Reilly announcing they’ve been having a secret affair.

I won’t even start on the my cup, plate and salad dish over-floweth already with way too much to do. I fully expect to hear that from the IST next week as the root cause of all of my problems, in addition to my national forest family tree.

No, the reason this is so unlikely is because, well, with all the many, many things I’ve ventured into in my 39.9999999999999 years, I’ve never, ever done anything like this.

I have an MBA.

Got a 4.0 GPA in grad school.

Was #1 in my class in grad school.

Owned a business for 7 years.

Was interviewed by the Oprah show to be a guest (didn’t make the cut darn it, they wanted ‘million dollar’ moms. Ha. Not quite.)

Actually, now that I think about it, forget Bill O’Reilly, this is about as likely for me to do, as Rosie having an affair with Anne Coulter.

I found out about Lia Sophia from a friend at work who lives in Chicago and has been very successful, even with many other people in that area selling.

Texas is, I guess, slow on the fashion scene. There are now like 3 of us in the whole Lone Star State I think selling.

Opportunity knocking maybe?

When I mentioned it to another friend who lives here in town, she quickly rattled off that she had been considering it also, and dropped all kinds of strange words like ‘party’ and ‘booking’ and free this and free that said it would be a piece of cake and I would make lots of extra money.

Huh?

The only parties I attend are either the kinds next door with mixed drinks, or the kinds with 16 boxes of Pizza and lots of kids running around, both of which end up giving me a headache one way or the other, and neither of which gives me extra money or free stuff.

Booking? I won’t even go there. Let’s hope that’s a word I never hear except in relation to my new jewelry adventure.

And, on top of all of that…you have to know me…I am about as far from a fashionista as you could get.

For the first 10 years of my life, I told my mom I was getting married in blue jeans! And I wasn’t joking!

I didn’t even wear mascara until I was like 19!

Me? Sell JEWELRY? I dunnoo……if it involves people coming to my house, it might not be a good idea….

Well, I talked to my husband about it, mentioned the extra income, he said give it a shot (as he was engrossed in Mafia Wars on Facebook.)

So, I’ve just started, it’s official, I’m now moonlighting.

I’m now a working mom with two jobs.

And I have no idea what in the world I am doing.

BUT, when I signed up, I got this huge box full of jewelry. I mean there must have been like 30 things in there. It was like the jewelry jackpot.

I called my mom, she came over and quickly scooped up a few things she liked and we oohed and ahhed over it all.

When my husband got home and saw all that jewelry laid out on the bed and a hundred little jewelry boxes scattered all over the floor, I think he thought for a second he’d been taken and this was no business, it was more like a ploy for me to jack up my jewelry collection.

Like I would do that? ;)

Well, it’s now official. I have an actual website (if you click that link, try not to laugh at my photo. It’s from the fall. Notice the lack of jewelry? See, I’ve surely lost my mind…I’ll get a new photo) and all and I am trying to do bookings that don’t involve my teenagers going to jail, and have parties that don’t involve screaming children and sugar overload.

I hope to get rich, retire early, and do it all very fashionably and preferably before I lose my mind trying to get there.

So, stay tuned. If I suddenly stop blogging, you’ll know that either I got rich very quickly and no longer have time to amuse the world with my life stories, or the IST has committed me. (Which is just fine, cause at least if she did, I would be committed in very fashionable accessories!)

In the meantime. Anyone wanna book a host?

I mean host a party?

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The Big Red Truck

I have an announcement to make to all of my friends and family and even the strangers who have for whatever reason decided to follow this blog:

Yes, I know I'm stressed.

(picture that with a giant floodlight beaming down...)

I get it. I know. I'm working on it. It's become apparent to me that managing stress is a learned skill for some of us.

To me, it's almost like learning to ride a unicycle. I see people doing it every now and then and think wow, how did they learn how to do that, that looks kinda cool?

But I can never master it, no matter how hard I try or how easy other people make it look.

And sometimes, I think they look foolish even trying!

It's hard to ignore the signs in between the fact that my jaw nearly clamped shut on me yesterday out of nowhere due to the TMJ and (yeah, yeah I know some of you might not mind if my jaw clamped shut, ha, ha, I'm ignoring you...) the fact that I've made more appointments this week with people who have an 'ist' in their job title than I care to admit.

AcupuncturIST. TheraPIST. Oral Surgeon.IST? Close enough.

Where is my massagIST and my pedicurIST?

I had a friend today tell me the jaw issue was a big red flag.

Ha! I laughed.

I said that I am way past the red flag stage.

I'm way over into the being run over by a big red truck stage on some days.

Come on, red flags were so last year!

I just cannot figure out how working moms are supposed to 'manage' stress in between working full time and then some, kids, a spouse, and sleeping, LIFE IN GENERAL.

I decided to do some research. I have an MBA. What does the research say?

There are a million studies that show exercise helps with stress which I know that is true. As I mentioned the other day: do I exercise at 6 am or 10 pm? There isn't much time in between unless I can somehow do foot pushups while sitting in Houston traffic.

There are also many studies that show that getting 8 to 10 hours of sleep a night helps you manage weight and has long term health benefits.

I guess whomever did those studies was some male who couldn't add up the fact that it's hard to exercise AND get 8 to 10 hours of sleep a night, AND work, AND have babies or teach teenagers to drive?

I've decided to ignore both of those studies.

Instead I've chosen to follow this study, that I know a working mom somewhere has authored:

'Drinking at least 3 glasses of red wine a night makes you sleep 8 to 10 hours and walking back and forth to your neighbors to share the wine counts as exercise.'

There ya go! Exercise, sleep AND RED WINE, all in one night.

Now THAT'S a study!

I better go get my wine and head to bed. I need my beauty sleep and it's already past my bedtime which is making me stressed thinking about it. See, there I go again!

Just kidding. :)


(How's that face for stress relief?)

If you are a working mom (well, all moms work. I mean working like you've gotta report to someone other than your kids each day) I would love to hear your tips on managing stress. Who knows, other moms might learn a thing or two as well. And you might save me a ton of money in therapy and the IST people!

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Reconnected Mom

What's the worst thing after being totally disconnected from the work world for two days?

Getting reconnected.

I was really hesitant to turn my Blackberry on last night, fearful of the onslaught of e-mails that were sure to arrive, the issues I was certain I had managed to miss.

I stared at the phone off and on for a few hours.

Do I REALLY want to turn that thing on?

I knew I did not, but knew it would eventually become necessary.

Eventually, I turned it on, left the volume off, and left it upside down so I couldn't see or hear it, but knew it was there, quietly downloading away.

Blinking like my own little night light, just in case I needed it.

For two more hours it blinked.

I periodically watched it blinking. Sort of like a beacon calling me.....

'Turn me over....come on, you know you wanna do it....'

The, I did what all smart working moms do. I called my mom.

'Should I flip it over and answer the e-mails?'

'No! Don't you dare! Those e-mails will be there tomorrow!'

Moms are great, aren't they? At least she didn't threaten to come flush it down the commode this time.

But she was right.

Okay, so I sort of peeked a little and scanned it before I went to bed, to be sure there was truly no crisis (there were none) and answered emails today, a valid work day.

And then I went to bed.

I'm officially reconnected today. It's sort of a love hate thing.

Too many people are without jobs for me to hate having a job, of any kind, period.

But by about 10 am I was not loving the barrage of calls and e-mails that came in.

I guess it's nice to be needed?

Perhaps it just depends on who needs me more and never losing perspective of who those people are.

Here's a clue: the people who need me most have stinky feet, crunchy-I-haven't-bathed-in-three-days-hair, a tan I would die for, and a laugh I love.

By the way, did anyone see Michael Jackson's ghost?

Yep, I am back and re-connected in full form.

Take your vacation days if you have them. They are there for a reason.

And turn your Blackberry off. You will be connected in all the right ways.

The work world will keep on spinning, just fine, more than likely.

(And, if you get really desperate, find the nearest 13 year old and hijack their I-phone.)

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Disconnected Confessions

Well, I made it through my disconnected day just fine.

For the most part. But, I learned a few lessons.

I had a nice lunch with my mom and took the kid's cell phone with me, just in case there was any crisis like my house burning down.

I also took their phone because no one knows the number or how to find me on that phone.

What I didn't think about was that I don't know how to find anyone either.

Seems I'm so used to speed dial, the only numbers I know by heart are my mom, the house, my husband, and Pizza Hut.

I arrived for lunch early and thought I would call a friend to chat.

Ha. I had no idea how to call her!

Friend #2? Same problem!

I don't know anyone's phone number.

So, if you ever decide to disconnect, which I highly recommend, write down the important numbers before you leave or you will find yourself like me-wanting to reach out and touch someone and unable to do so.

I took 5 boys bowling, had a great time.

I think I spent more on the food than I did on the bowling. There is a poor soul at the bowling alley who appears to serve you food when you push the green button on your panel. Very popular gadget. Bowling has come a long way.

As we sat at the bowling alley, and the kids inhaled pizza and cheese fries, I noticed that one of the little urchins had an Iphone. Hmm.....

I said, so politely, ahem, 'Is that an Iphone?'(as in, I am shelling out the dough for bowling and food, fork that phone over kid...)

'Uh, yeah.' (Pause, he's wondering if he will get that back. He knows me.)

'You have a connection in here?' (my blood pressure is going up I am sure...)

'Uhhhhh, sort of?' (longer pause, now he's worried.)

'Can I see it? Please?' (Don't make me beg. But I will.)

He hands me the phone. I'm connected. Feeling a little guilty. But who cares, I was connected.

Really, I did good. I only kept it about 3 minutes.

Mostly because he was staring at me like, 'I'm not taking my eyes off you 'till I get that phone back, food or not.'

I realized I was on a 13 year old's time limit, I checked yahoo mail (not work mail), handed it back, and saw him start to breathe again.

It was good to be disconnected. Well, mostly. How badly do I need to check my e-mail at stop lights?

Next time though, maybe I will figure out a way to be like sort of semi-half-way disconnected?

Does that count?

And at least my mom did not flush the Blackberry down the commode!

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Disconnected Mom. Sort Of.

Well, today is the my day off of work so I'm trying to be disconnected from the online world.

As disconnected as someone who has been known to use the Blackberry in a bathtub can be.

I wasn't sure if I would actually TURN OFF my phone today, you never know?

Then, I recieved an email from my mom (see, there is a good thing to being connected) which to most people would have kindly appeared to say something like:

"Why are you on the Blackberry tonight?"

It was Sunday night...I guess she forgets that I use that thing to stay in touch with the kids.

When they are out at Sonic. Or upstairs.

Doesn't matter, that's my lifeline to the kids. Or at least that's what I tell myself.

HOWEVER, to those of us with Mom-o-vision goggles who can read through the not so lost in translation mom hieroglyphics, it really said something more like:

"If you don't get off tht Blackberry, I'm going to drive over to your house and drop that *&$%^#$ phone in the commode."

Well, mother knows best, right?

I've turned the phone off today. (Of course she will be the first one trying to reach me.)

I'm fairly well disconnected I would say, other than this one blog and then I'm done.

Waiting for the kids to arise so we can go bowling I think.

I wonder if anyone has called me?

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Manic Monday

Monday morning, I was very sluggishly trying to get ready for work.

In the process though, I learned a magic trick that would make David Copperfield jealous:

How to make teenage boys disappear in 3 easy steps:

1.) Ask them to take a shower. Especially during the summer.

2.) Ask them to help clean up. Anything. Any time.

3.) When the first two do not get done, take away beloved electronics.

POOF! They will vanish to a friends house right before your very eyes!

I was trying, really trying.

It was a Monday morning. I was doing good to remember to put the coffee pot on, but I managed.

I am still debating which patch of grass is greener, if there is such a thing:

Lawn #1: Trying to get ready for work during the summer, with teenagers, some of whom are not my own, sprawled around my house, when I walk out into the living room.

Some day, I am not going to forget to put the coffee pot on the machine, post-brewing.

No, instead I am going to forget there are other people's children sleeping in my living room and I am going to walk out into the living room, probably to get to the coffee pot, and I will be half dressed.

And right there will be a bunch of traumatized teenagers at my house, and CPS at my door.

Lawn #2: Trying to get ready for work when school is in. There are no strangers sleeping at my house during the school year.

That's always a good thing.

I can make a mad dash to the dryer and not worry about child abuse charges later that day.

But, during the school year, there are endless requests for lunch money, black socks, pants and shoes for band for a concert that same night that no one has informed me of, 'lost' report cards that must be signed, missing gym clothes and 'I'm outta underwear, do you know where it is?'

All before 7 am.

We were all tired from the swim meet yesterday.

They wanted to sleep in. It's summer.

I wanted them to brush their teeth and bathe. At least once before school starts.

Somehow my younger two children have seemed to confused swimming with bathing.

I wanted them to work less at becoming one with the couch cushions.

They, on the other hand, can eat, sleep, breathe, talk on the phone and do nearly everything else needed right from those same couch cushions.

Were it not for trips to the bathroom, which I don't want to know about, I don't think they would get up from that couch from June through August.

I don't think there is any green grass when it comes to getting ready for work with children around, it's all brownish.

Sort of like my lawn right now.

A little green here. A little brown there. Depends on where you stand.

Back to that magic trick: I haven't found the formula yet to make them re-appear.

Guess how hard I'm looking?

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Rejected and Redeemed

Back in May, we let our housekeeper go. It was a weird set of circumstances that led us to that decision. But at the moment, it seemed so sensible.

Save money.

Let the kids help out more during the summer.

Save money.

Wrong on all accounts. Within 3 days I had turned into the demon mom from hell when I arrived home from work each day and quickly found things growing in my sink and commodes.

I put out the word among my mom friends:

Housekeeper needed.

911.

Within a few days, a friend had scheduled me an appointment for her housekeeper to come over and look at our house to see if she could 'fit us into her schedule.'

Ahhh, little did I know how his works. I was so naive.

She showed up and I allowed her into our house, as is, things growing in the sink and all.

Within about 15 seconds, I realized something very interesting:

This was like a job interview. And we were quickly failing.

And I was not interviewing her-she was interviewing us!

In Spanish, no less, with her sister who had come along with her.

I am sure in her mind, she was thinking something to the effect of, "oh, hell no," because her face spoke volumes.

At the end of the reverse 'interview,' I asked her if she could start and she said to me in broken Spanish: "give me your number, I'll call you."

There ya go. She had basically just said to me, "don't call me, I'll call you."

I was stunned.

Speechless.

Stayed in a dark room for days. Well, not really, but it sure seemed like that.

The sink and toilets continued to grow at about the same rate as the horns sprouting from my head each day as the house got messier and messier.

I tried, I really tried.

The kids picked up fairly well. Well enough to keep me from giving them up for adoption.

But I knew we were in trouble. And I think they did, too.

I again put out the word that I needed help.

Only this time, I didn't say 911.

I said, if someone doesn't send me their housekeeper quick, you will all be visiting me at a location that has 'Oaks' or 'Valley' or in name, because I will be checking into rehab.

Elizabeth to the rescue. I love Elizabeth. She knows a crisis when she sees one and is closer to God than the Pope I think.

I am sure Elizabeth had her church group laying hands on a photo of my house on Wednesday night.

And it worked!

Sure enough, she found a wonderful, marvelous saint of a lady from her church who agreed to come over and see if she could 'fit us into her schedule.'

Ha. This time I was prepared. I knew the routine and knew we had to be prepared.

I had Chase cover the whole house in Fabuloso. (For those of you not familiar with Fabuloso, it's a house keeping product that makes your house smell, well, fabulous, and is used by many housekeepers in our area.)

I'm thinking...if she smells that Fabuloso, she'll think the house is cleaned periodically instead of quarterly.

I went on the warpath before she arrived. I had Chase and Jordan (Tyler was smart enough to bail out on this one...) picking up everything that was not nailed down and put it in a closet.

And then I prayed she didn't ask to see the closets.

And then we poured more Fabuloso.

She showed up for our interview.

Within seconds, I loved her.

We connected immediately.

She didn't ask to see the closets (Elizabeth, if you read this, please thank God for me next Wednesday for that one!)

Within 15 minutes, we had composed a supply list, created a schedule and agreed upon a price (little did she know, I would have offered up one of my Ninos she kept calling cute as she walked around, if that's what it would have taken to get her to come back!)

She even agreed to start the next day (which also happened to be the day of the horrible swim meet and Jordan defaming Donald Duck.)

We arrived home from the swim meet to a house that smelled like Fabuloso that someone else had poured, and was oh, so clean and sparkly.

The horns in my head have diminished almost entirely.

And I owe Elizabeth big time.

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The First Family. Or Family First.

Last night, Sunday, all I could think about for was how little I had accomplished over the weekend.

Actually, let me back up a little. The reason for me feeling that way is the direct result of a decison I made sometime in the spring of 1999. We had just moved back to the area, after living 4 years away from the family. The boys were little. So small, they followed me around like I was a mama duck. They must have been 5, 2 and 1 that spring. At the front of my subdivison was a sign that said something like "Swim Team sign ups!!! Join now, summer fun!!!" It wasn't a big sign, but it caught my attention. The kids didn't know how to swim yet. I had a friend with kids on a swim team. And as a child, I spent a brief period swimming at the University of Texas on their youth team. Swim team sounded like a fun sport.

At the very least, the kids would learn to swim?

I was born and raised in Texas, I should have known better.

Did I ever ask about swim team schedule or how practices work?

Nope.

Had no clue what a swim meet was so I didn't ask about that, either.

All I could think about was my cute babies, finally in a sport for the first time, learning to swim like Olympians, and wearing cute little Speedos at some point (I still have all of their original Speedos, by the way. They are about as big as my hand.)


After 6 weeks of practice (Tyler was the only one old enough the first season, Jordan wasn't even walking....poor Chase just had to sit and sweat....) the time came for our first meet. We had our parent meeting the Friday before the Saturday meet. Coach Mark, who eventually taught all of my kids to swim, said, "we'll meet here at 5 tomorrow to follow each other to the other team's pool." For a split second, I thought, wow, swim meets start late, 5pm? Then the light bulb went off.

He meant 5 am.

The competing pool was an hour away.

5 am he meant, not 5 pm.

Me, with 3 babies, 1 in diapers, at 5 am? To swim? Had he been drinking?

I thought surely I had lost my mind. Or else someone had lost theirs.

Talk about false advertising! I distinctly recall that sign up poster saying something about summer fun! It certainly did not say, "Join swim team, we meet every Saturday at 5 or 6 am, for about 6 weeks straight, and it's going to be 105 degrees by mid-June, and the swim meets will end by 1 pm if you are lucky."

(one of Chase's first swim meets, summer of 2000, lined up with Austin and Tyler.)

Nope, I don't recall seeing that anywhere on the banners plastered around our neighborhood. Summer Fun? REALLY? I wanted to track down who wrote the sign and ask them, what else do you consider fun?

Root canals?

Bamboo under the finger nails?

Have you ever had 3 small kids ANYWHERE at 5 am?

Flash forward, June 2009.

This is our 11th season I think now, I've lost count. As it turns out, the kids are pretty decent swimmers. This is the only sport we do (we've tried nearly every team sport, swimming won out because they could all do it and there are 3 kids, 1 mom, throw in Robert when he could be here...something had to give.) I can count on one hand the number of meets I've missed in 11 years.

There are no perfect attendance awards for swim team parents. Just lots of used sun screen and a nice tan through the end of June.

The last couple of years, the kids have been big enough to walk to our pool on Saturday mornings for home meets so I could sleep late, sort of. They love swimming enough that my 3 tween boys would get themselves up on Saturday morning by 6 am or so, as I BEG to sleep for just an hour later, feed themselves something (I don't ask what), and actually walk to the pool on their own. At 6:45 am. They love swimming enough to get up that early on the weekend, who am I to argue with that?

This Saturday, Tyler drove them across our town to the meet, in his car, alone. Two big intersections. No air conditioning, still.

I did not sleep late. I did not sleep at all, actually, once I heard the door slam shut.

I laid in bed once I heard the door close as they left, and waited for the obligatory text letting me know they made it. It seemed like a long time waiting for that text to come through, but it finally arrived:

"We made it in one piece."

Not exactly the best wording but they did make it in one piece, which is what counts.

The swim meet we had this weekend was brutal. I think it was over 100 degrees and the humidity was probably equal. The competing pool we were swimming had 4 lanes (we normally have at least 6), was very shallow, and the whole poor area was a muddy, sloppy mess. The heat was brutal.

Keep in mind: kids swim, parents do not.

We sweat.

And cheer.

And volunteer. And sweat some more.

But parents aren't in that water. We are standing there, next to the water, getting sun burned, some of us ready to collapse, and we watch while the kids swim. At one point, I considered offering a random child money to push me in that water by mistake.

I stood in the heat with the other parents as we tried to get through this meet. Many of these parents I have seen and volunteered with for many years now. Some of the kids on the other team have known Tyler since he was in 1st grade. And, a few of Tyler's teammates this year are graduating and this was their last meet. With all the mud and slop and heat, there was a reason to be there and I knew it.

We lost the meet, but it was a good battle.

To say we were tired when we got home would be an understatement.

I had all sorts of grand plans for getting 'something accomplished' when I got home. I didn't have a huge amount of work to do, but I wanted to feel 'caught up' for Monday. The meet took it's toll, I was too tired to work and instead chose to have dinner with a friend I have not seen in a long time. We had a really nice time catching up. I made it home at 11 pm or so. The word 'work' was not even in my vocabulary at that point. Only words like 'bed', 'sleep', and 'late' were on my mind.

Sunday rolled around, I did manage to sleep until 9 am or so but as I mentioned earlier, we are a committed swim team family.

Two of the kids had an invitational meet Sunday at 12:30.

Robert got home from work after being gone for four straight days, packed two of the the kids back in the car and drove to the next meet, which was fortunately indoors.

I met him later at the meet, laptop in tow, sure that I could 'get something accomplished' and get 'caught up' in between events.

Didn't happen. Instead I talked to other swim moms (who at some also apparently saw a sign about 'summer fun' at some point, and got sucked into swim life like us.)

I watched Chase do an awesome Butterfly stroke.

Tyler swam great. Okay. We heard he swam great. I was talking to the moms and missed Tyler. Twice. My brain was getting really tired by then.

The laptop stayed in the bag.

I left the swim meet at about 4 pm for one last weekend event-Sunday bbq with my mom and her husband and friends. By this point, the last thing I wanted to see was a pool or water or chicken.

I wanted cold air, indoors, lots of a/c...the mall would have sufficied if had not been so tired.

But, my brother and his family, whom we dont see often, were going to be there and I did not want to miss them.

So, I put Jordan in the car and we went over to my moms to GO SWIMMING.

Jordan was looking at me at this point like I had grown an extra eye.

'We are going to Nanas for WHAT?'

'Do I HAVE to go?'

Off we went to my moms, laptop in tow.

And we swam. I didn't even bring a suit, borrowed one of my moms suits(kinda weird, I know...but it fit?).

I played with the my nieces and nephew in the water. Watched 2 year old Catherine fall flat off the pool ladder and landed backwards to our horror on the wooden pool deck, cry for a split second, then get right back up. And, I watched her jump in the water to me off the same ladder 15 times saying "AGAIN" each time. I listened as 5 year old Caroline informed she is a "Power Puff girl, there to fight crime!"

The laptop never made it out of the bag.

Jordan and I stayed a good two hours, brought home a plate of chicken for Robert and got home about 7pm.

Sunday night and I didn't get anything accomplished. It was nearly time for bed and I was exhausted. In fact it's Monday and I still am exhausted from Saturday and Sunday.

But, as I thought about the weekend, I realized I did get something accomplished.

None of it was work related.

I let my son drive the farthest he's driven since he got his license last week. I watched my kids swim some awesome races, several of them in fact. I let Tyler drive to go pick up donuts Sunday morning. I caught my niece every time she jumped into that pool (it was Nana's fault she fell off that ladder, I swear!) and promised to fight crime with the other one as a Power Puff girl. I held baby Alexander as his mom tried to keep Catherine from going over the ladder again. I picked two banana peppers out of our first ever garden (although I am still waiting on tomatoes to appear.)

As a working mom, I need to be reminded often about what I consider an accomplishment. Getting work done over the weekend is sometimes necessary, it can be a fact of life.

But, the fact that I didn't 'work' over the weekend and instead spent the weekend taking children to swim meets and sitting in pool chairs with many requests for cash to use at the concession stand doesn't mean I didn't accomplish anything.

In fact, I think it means just the opposite. I accomplished everything important, which is all that counts.

Work will be here in 6 years.

Swim meets, Sunday donuts and requests for money to buy a Frito Pie will not.

I think I accomplished plenty.

(But, to be totally honest, I sure will be happy when mid-July rolls around and we can have our Saturdays back.)

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Help Wanted

We've made it through a week of summer.

I think it's been a week.

It's been a fuzzy week.

We had to let our housekeeper go, long story, not blog appropriate.

I had wondered if it made sense to keep her throughout the summer because of the entourage of boys coming in and out and the fact that within seconds, I mean literal seconds, of her cleaning a room, it would be destroyed.

Why pay for that all summer?

So my house can smell like Fabuloso for $80 a week?

It seemed like a waste of money.

I thought of all the money we could save this summer. My husband even offered to pay the kids $20 per week to cover for the housekeeper (I quickly brought him back down to earth as to how likely that was to happen.)

Fate solved the issue for me and we found ourselves housekeeper-less about 3 weeks ago.

I was obviously not in my right mind at the moment I planned this all out.

I hate it.

I want her back.

Or someone who has the time and energy and wherewithal to wipe off counter tops after sandwiches, and not put bowls of half eaten Wolf chili in the sink and leave it there.

On Monday.

Today is Thursday.

It stinks.

I will give the kids credit.

They've made a semi decent, sort of, we know mom is gonna blow her top if we don't do this effort.

I want my house keeper back.

Or anyone who wants to volunteer.

I am sure I sound like an elitist as someone I know once commented on the fact that I have a house keeper at all. I work full time, my husband works full time away from home, and we have 3 teen age sons.

I will gladly wear that badge proudly now if someone will scrub the 4 day old chili and whatever it is in there that smells like sour milk out of my sink.

I am afraid of what the upstairs commodes will look like by August.

Scratch that.

I am afraid of what they will look like by next weekend.

There is no photo with this post for a reason...I might end up on one of those Oprah shows about messy houses.

I wonder if they clean your house for you if they make you show it on TV first?

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