Now here I am, filled with all these ridiculous New Years resolutions that I come up with EVERY year (would have been so easy to just cut, paste & repost last years goals!). One of those resolutions is to make some kind of damn effort do a better job in keeping up with my blog. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not deluded enough to think that I possess some magical information and its my obligation to share my insight with the world. I know that most of what I have to say is shit. What is important is that I have an outlet to purge this shit from my soul. To infect the world, if you will. Because some of the stuff that happens in a girls life is just too twisted and bizarre for her to keep to herself.

So… a quick run-down of my year: went to a very, very dark place (kind of like a quick trip to hell only without the warmth), saw the light & went towards it, trained for and ran a 5k (a different and shorter trip to hell) with The Middle, welcomed two new victims into our extended family (a boy and a girl) who, I’m pretty sure are already checking their contracts for an escape clause, had a squatter stationed in my extra bedroom for a few months before he decided that free room & board isn’t such a great deal when said room seems to be located within a sanctuary for wild rabid monkeys.

After surviving 2011, what could 2012 possibly throw at me? Oh, well, yeah, there’s that whole end of the world theory, but that isn’t until December!

Lets do this….

The Middle was drastically easier. That child sees what his older brother is doing or has accomplished and instinctively sets out to best him. I kid you not, this child potty trained himself!

And now, with The Oldest, I’ve had a completely different experience. You see, I’m older, I tire more easily, and I just don’t have the drive for perfection that I started with. Once The Baby figured out how to pee in the pot (and its been pretty hit-or-miss about how consistently he actually uses it) I kind of took a less compelling route to total potty independence. He has underwear in his drawer, but let’s be honest, the Pull-Ups are so damned convenient and easier to deal with when I forget to make him potty. On top of that, this kid is a little more worldly than the others. When I asked him why he wouldn’t poop in the potty, he explained, very seriously, that “I’m just not ready.”   When I pressed him further, “Well, when are you going to start pooping in the potty?” he lovingly cupped my faced in his tiny little pudgy hands and very patiently said, “when I’m ready.” So, not needing to make any more work for myself, I let it go. When a kids not ready, a kids not ready, right? Why push the matter?

Today, apparently, he was ready. He rushed into the kitchen where I was putting away groceries and said, “Mama, I have to poop!” Now, I know he’s new at this, and it’ll take some time to develop his skill and figure out how everything works, but so far, that one turd, which I’m sure is just a regular sized turd, has required 8 trips to the bathroom, each of which produced a single pellet. Making this one poop an eight part series.

Ten years ago a little creature showed up who rattled my world. Suddenly, I was somebody’s mother, and it actually felt different. I’d been sure that motherhood would never change me, and then I found that the very core of my existence had been flipped on its axis. I found that I could give completely, could think first of another and that I could survive with only 30 minutes of sleep at a time for weeks!

In ten years he has brought me some of my highest moments, as well as my most crushing defeats (why the hell is potty training such a nightmare?). There have been times when I’ve hurt so bad for him. It’s true, he doesn’t fit neatly into many molds and that doesn’t go unnoticed by other kids–and adults–who can be so mean and dismissive. And I want to scream at them, with pride and rage, “Don’t you see that’s what makes him so goddamn unique you single-dimensional fuck!”

He makes me laugh with his witty insight and goofy sense of humor. He challenges me  with his stubborn nature. He warms my heart when he cuddles me. And I love that boy.

The Oldest’s birthday falls near Memorial Day weekend (fittingly!). This year, school was still in session during his birthday for the first time. It was the last day of school, but it still counts!  The fourth grade field trip was also scheduled for the last day of school. I went with his class on a trip to Ouray, CO. The entire fourth grade class went on a tour of an old silver mine, had a picnic lunch, and then went swimming at the Ouray Hot Springs Pool.

Beautiful Ouray, CO…  

At the mine  

The Oldest with his mining hat   

Here is our charming tour guide on the mine tour (proof that some people really should work underground. Deep, deep underground) 

The birthday finished up two days later with an official birthday party, group viewing of Kung Fu Panda 2 with a few friends, and a sleep-over (if you look really close you might be able to see all nine bodies…) I think the thing that he most appreciated was the fact that the entire 4th grade class was able to share in his 10th birthday. “Well, son, I planned it that way just for you!” And if he doesn’t believe that, you can bet that this late post will someday be used against me. Along with all the others!

Now, speaking of lessons–and noses– The Baby learned a very valuable lesson about his recently. That lesson is: Whatever you put into it, your going to have to get out!

Here’s how that went down:

“Mama, help me get the ball out.”

“What?”

“I can’t get the ball out.” (pointing to his nose)

“Did you put something up your nose?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shit. Shit. Damn.” I didn’t have high hopes for my retrieval method but I grabbed a tissue and had him blow. Several times. That kid huffed, and he puffed and he blew out a …

Oh yeah, that’s right, my friends. That is a damn rock!

Now, just to give you an idea of the scale of the rock in comparison to the hole it both went into and then came out of….

It makes me shiver to imagine that thing up my nose, and I have twice the clearance!

The good news is, he has learned a very valuable lesson, and I don’t have to tell his brothers not to put things in their noses.

For as long as I can remember I’ve suffered from an inability to organize. I am a pack rat by nature, always have been. You could say I’m a closet hoarder, technically that’s true because the closets are where I keep all of my treasures. I can’t help it. I get attached to things. My collection has included things that, all these years later, even I can see are ridiculous to hold on to: text books from the 80′s (yeah, I’m THAT old!); a stuffed animal from the crazy aunt who left my uncle & took everything, including the light bulbs; a bandana from some band that played at my junior high school; an envelope with each and every part of the braces that finally brought my teeth together. Every few years I get a little nostalgic, open boxes and sit around stroking things and whispering, “My Precious”. It sounds pathetic, but I come by it honestly. One of the parental units used to bring things home from the dump, before they made that illegal, of course. After that, anything left on the curb on garbage day was fair game.  I did get a good deal on a double jogging stroller that way!

It isn’t that I don’t aspire to be organized. I read magazines, watch organizational shows and do actually try to organize. The problem is that my efforts at organization usually lead to more chaos. And, in chaos, I seem to find comfort. Rather than buying a special box for the batteries and putting that box in a logical location, it is easier for me to just make note of where I’ve seen batteries last.

“You need four AA batteries? I know there were three on the floor, behind the box of art supplies and wrenches in the coat closet. And, check under the couch, the cat was batting one around on Thursday.”

Organization has always seemed to put me a little behind in my work as well. I have honestly spent the past two days doing things that I know would help my work be better organized. After two days, I’ve looked around to find piles of organizational stuff that still needs done, and I’m four days behind in my work. OK, I did spend a few hours keeping up with the Kardashians, which put me a little behind, but a girl has to have some personal time, too.

I wish I knew how much money I’ve spent on organization over the past few years. All has gone to waste, and for that, I blame my family. Each and every storage box has had its life ended at the hand of my children. The boxes, canisters, lids, etc. have been turned into sandboxes, jello molds, grasshopper houses, and “science experiments”. They’ve been stacked up, stood on, slept on, slept in, cooked in, skied in, bathed in, and peed in (no, really!).

I can’t win!

And, so, I admit to the world, that, while I’ve seen the light and attempted many times to reach it, I’ve been relegated to the dark. I will continue living in the comforting arms of chaos.

There are actually very few flying reindeer in the world. Only those that fly would be raised at the North Pole. When the song refers to “all of the other reindeer” it makes it sound as if there are a lot of them, which isn’t true. There was really just one other reindeer Rudolph’s age and that reindeer was Olive. Olive, the other reindeer. And it was Olive that used to laugh and call him names and wouldn’t let him join in any reindeer games.

So, there you have it. From the mouth of the boy who can twist any reality to fit his own.