One day

One day I’ll go to the bathroom without Sophie running to say she has to pee too, or hearing fighting from the other room the moment I sit down, or having someone sit on the floor to ‘wait’ for me, or someone wanting to ‘help’ me with toilet paper and then have a tantrum if I don’t let them help the right way, or even…and this one is RADICAL…with the door CLOSED.

Mom bathroom

One day I’ll walk out the door at the time I absolutely have to leave with just my purse and keys and I’ll drive away without a fifteen minute process to get out the door and into the van.

One day I won’t have to do the mom math on when the last feed was, when the last pee was, when the last meal was, when the last snack was, when we gave Sophie, the puker, Gravol, how long it’s been since they had naps.

One day I won’t be well-versed in the delicate negotiation tactics required for getting shoes on feet (never mind the right feet), pants on bottoms, and appropriate wear on little bodies who will complain if they are too hot or too cold, but will make sure it’s the end of the world to get them to wear the correct number of layers for the current weather.

One day it will be quiet in our house, with no one screaming for food, or crying because they pooped themselves, or singing at the top of their lungs, or growling incessantly for NO DAMN GOOD REASON, or squealing because they can, or squabbling.

One day I’ll wear my hair in a style other than Messy-Mom-Bun.

One day I’ll stay clean for longer than five seconds because people who are eating with me won’t demand to cuddle, be on my lap, ask to go pee five times, or suck on my knee while eating a banana.

One day I won’t be asked to put shoes back on, look behind me, or retrieve various items from the van floor WHILE I’M DRIVING.

One day I’ll be the sole backseat driver in our family and I’ll treat the position with the respect it deserves, unlike the five-year old who asks, “Mom, are you sure this is the place?” every time we go somewhere new.

One day I’ll sleep in.

One day I’ll be able to drink my coffee hot, from first sip to last drop, in one go, no microwaving.

One day I’ll be able to watch whatever I want whenever I want on TV (apparently Orange is the New Black is not suitable for children, go figure).

OITNB

Pornstache is completely G-rated

One day songs from incredibly awful children’s shows won’t be playing on a loop in my head…at 3 a.m.

One day I won’t have to worry about my necklace or my earrings or my bracelets or my watch getting stolen/broken/tugged at/yanked off/eaten.

One day I won’t have to calculate the mess-factor of foods before we take them on a picnic or eat them in the van or eat them in the living room vs. the kitchen table.

One day I won’t get yelled at for stopping someone from running into the street, or for making someone poop in the toilet instead of their pants, or asking them not to rock in their chair, or for stealing their boogers, or for telling someone that we have no plans for the day, or for reminding someone that no, Grammie or Nana or Daddy or any of the Aunts can’t come play because they have to work.

One day my shirt/pants/arms/legs/neck/face won’t be used as a booger catcher.

One day “This is disgusting. I’m not eating this. I hate this family.” won’t be the first reaction to the dinner I made.

One day carrying a baby on my hip while hauling a giant basket of laundry up the stairs won’t be the norm.

One day I won’t get bitten or pinched or head-butted or collar-bone slammed or smacked or have my hair pulled WHILE HOLDING SOMEONE WHO WANTED TO BE HELD.

One day my hands won’t go to sleep because I’ve been carrying a baby around the house.

One day the quietest moment in my day won’t be the time I spend walking around the van to my seat while all the babies are locked inside.

One day I’ll never have to potty train again…EVER.

One day I won’t be asked to push people on the swing only to have them yell at me, THEY CAN DO IT.

stuart

One day I won’t have to be super stealthy at night, dodging creaking floorboards, refusing to flush toilets that share a wall with a bedroom, and not breathing while checking on sleeping babies.

One day I won’t wonder where the day went because nothing has been accomplished and I’ve failed at housekeeping again.

One day I won’t wonder when the day will end because nothing has been accomplished and I’ve failed at housekeeping again.

One day I will miss little hands grabbing my pant legs to pull themselves up while I stand still as a statue and make dinner.

One day I won’t be the first line of defense against the owies or the bad days or the bullies or the crappiness that is life for my babies.

One day I won’t feel the tightest hugs, the biggest love, the most hero-worship of my babies every day.

One day I’ll have to call them or text them or email them or Facebook them to find out how their day was, how they are, if they’re eating vegetables, if they’re sharing nicely, if they’re okay, if they’re happy.

One day the trip to bed won’t include retucking and reblanketing and kissing and listening for breathing of my babies.

One day I won’t be given dandelions on every walk, pictures made just for me after every craft time, and birthday cakes made out of Lego and random toys just because.

One day our morning won’t begin with everyone snuggled in our bed until it becomes too chaotic and we’re forced to get up.

One day I’ll miss all of these days and wonder where the time went.

One day.

~ Julia

Makes my brain bleed

I love television. Much like Jacqui, I love nothing more than to turn on something silly, something insanesomething yummy, something interesting, something crazy, something nostalgic, something intriguing and stop moving for a little while. Because my day is a little nutty. And sometimes, you just want to sit.

What they don’t tell you, is when you have children you lose control over the screens in your house. You lose the ability to watch whatever you want whenever you want. Apparently, there are certain things that are inappropriate for children to watch. WHO KNEW?

This of course means that you get to watch awesome children’s programming…and by awesome, I mean “awesome”.

Now don’t get me wrong. There are some absolute wonders, like the Pixar movies, or my childhood favourite that is still running today, Sesame Street, but there are others that MAKE MY BRAIN BLEED. No, seriously.

Here are some of my least favourites that my girls LOVE (so far Isaac doesn’t have an opinion…THANK GOODNESS):

Caillou

MAKE IT STOP.

MAKE IT STOP.

I don’t know which is worse – Caillou’s whiny voice, or his parents’ ridiculousness. Sure, Caillou is four and sure, he’s got a rough time of it with parents who never change their clothes and are creepily nice and sweet all the time, and sure, his sister Rosie can be a bit of a pain, but please. For the love of goodness. PLEASE. Stop whining. Just…stop. I seriously think a voice actor change would make all the difference in the world.

Mike the Knight

Save the people!

Save the people!

This show is nonsense. Not to say that other shows are grounded in solid reality (Oh, hi Octonauts, weird sea creatures that aren’t to scale!), but this show kind of takes the cake. There’s this royal family, with an absent dad (he’s on a crusade…you know, the super kid-friendly kind?), a neglectful mother (she’s NEVER paying attention to her kids…EVER), a boy-knight who terrorizes the town with his dragons and arrogance, and a sister-witch-in-training who is mega smart and deserves her own show. If it weren’t annoying, it would still drive me batty. Poor people of Glendragon.

Bratz

'Nuf said.

‘Nuf said.

If we can get past the ridiculous bodies and make up and name, it might not be such a bad idea to have a strong girl group hanging out together…except, they aren’t. They’re catty and vapid and rude and ignorant and…dumb. And the whole show is a big fight between themselves and another group of girls. It’s girl-on-girl crime, which is just awful. There’s enough female-competition in the world. We don’t need to teach it to our daughters at a young age. This show is actually not allowed in my house anymore. It’s pretty much the only one I really put my foot down about.

Max and Ruby

Mom? Dad?

Mom? Dad?

It’s easy to hate on this show. There is the nagging, Type-A older sister Ruby who won’t let her little brother have any fun. There is the weirdly one-word-at-a-time 3-year old Max, who just keeps repeating the same word over and over and over and over (get a sentence!). And there is the famous mystery: where the heck are their parents? Max and Ruby are a favourite for Lillian…but for me, I wish they’d go back to the bunny hole. Pronto.

And my absolute least favourite of ALL TIME:

Toopy and Binoo

*sob*

*sob*

Toopy is a dimwitted mouse who is full of himself. Binoo is a mute sidekick that is inevitably smarter than Toopy. Patchy-Patch is Binoo’s lovie. And that’s it. That’s the show. Then there’s annoying friends, like the wailing dragon princess whose cries sound like fingernails on a chalkboard, the unending adulation Toopy has for himself, and Binoo’s lack of backbone (at this point, I’m grateful for lack of voice). But…

…the girls love them. LOVE them. I don’t know why. The songs are ridiculous. The premise is ridiculous. The education value is nil at best. The annoyance level is high. And yet…they love it.

So this weekend when we were invited to a birthday party where THE voice of Toopy and Binoo, Frank Meschkuleit, would perform a Toopy and Binoo puppet show LIVE…we knew the girls would explode with happiness. And we were right. Frank was awesome, the show was brilliant (he called out every child’s name and made jokes for the adults in the audience, including a fart joke about Ben…no, seriously…), and Sophie and Lillian LOVED it. Sophie thought it was hilarious and awesome and Lillian kept looking back at us to make sure we were seeing what she was seeing. I’m fairly sure her brain exploded a few times.

Lillian and Sophie getting their photo taken with Toopy and Binoo!

Lillian and Sophie getting their photo taken with Toopy and Binoo!

I’m just grateful that Isaac was more excited about the diaper bag strap than Toopy and Binoo. I can still get away with watching The Social while he’s cruising around the floor.

Just hanging out...oblivious to his fangirling sisters.

Just hanging out…oblivious to his fangirling sisters.

~ Julia