Is 41 Too Old To Throw A Tantrum?

I'm miffed. I want to go to BlogHer '08 (stamping feet). I live on the east coast (banging fists on the desk). The conference is in San Francisco (throwing myself on the floor). That's in CALIFORNIA (flailing back and forth on the rug)!

Is anyone else going? Can I hide in your suitcase? Pretty pleeeeeaaaaaase?

I've been only blogging for a little over a year now. I've never been to a Blogher conference. The thought of meeting some of the people behind the blogs I read daily, well, that just would be so awesome! For real, dude!

If the event wasn't so very far away from me, I seriously would want to be there. I might soil myself on the way, as I would be nervous as hell, but I wouldn't be the only one, right? I mean, I can't be the only blogger who would be wondering if anyone would talk to me. I just hate being the nerd in the corner. Would anyone even KNOW me or my blog? And if they did, would that be a good thing? Or would it just be confirmed to me that I should be walking around with my finger and thumb in the shape of an L on my forehead?

Definitely scary.

I keep reading some of my favorite blogger's posts and I can see how much fun BlogHer will be. I envy them and their confidence. They do not seem afraid to set forth and venture into the great crowd of bloginistas.

But then it hits me. I know their secret. Their elixir of strength and courage!

ALCOHOL! The kind that keeps on pouring until someone sets something on fire! Hallelujah! There may be hope for me yet! I can do that! I could be the queen of the prom! Just give me some booze and I'll just ooze self-assurance. Just don't give me any of that Southern Comfort stuff, otherwise I'll be oozing more than you all bargained for.

Now if I could just afford a plane ticket. Maybe I'll take her advice.

In Touch With Their Feminine Sides

The Schmitty Kids love to play dress up. Most of the dress up clothes in our house happen to be Disney Princess gowns. I've gotten a lot of hand-me downs from friends so there is a good variety of sizes. Sizes that fit my boys, much to Mr. Schmitty's chagrin.

My boys have NO PROBLEM dressing up in frilly frocks to antagonize their father. The more Mr. Schmitty sweats the more they find it amusing. He rolls his eyes, they curtsy. He moans, they twirl like ballerinas.

Today Gertrude (W.) and Matilda (T.) were dressed to the nines. I told them that as long as they were dressed like that, I would refer to them as Gertrude and Matilda only. They giggled and ran off to find their little sister, who I refer to as Dororella because she was wearing Cinderella's gown and Dorothy's ruby red slippers.

Matilda ran back into the kitchen and told me that he had caught his hem on a basket. I took a look and saw that the ribbon had pulled all around the bottom of the skirt. I took out a big pair of scissors to cut off the torn fabric before clumsy fell over it. Graceful, he is not.

As I was reaching up under the tulle he said, "Careful mom, you don't want to cut something else off by accident!"

I responded, "From the get-ups you two are wearing, I seem to think they've already fallen off!"

I'm Starting To Feel Like Charlie Brown

We don't go on a lot of vacations. The last BIG vacation was two years ago, this September, when we went to Disneyworld.

W. is on spring break this week. We decided to take the kids to the Philadelphia Zoo. I booked a room for two nights. The room wasn't cheap, but the hotel had a pool and as I said we don't go away a lot. So we sprang for the extra expense. Just being away for two nights was going to be worth it.

We arrived Tuesday at around 5:00 pm and checked in. The kids were so excited! We went up to the 10th floor and had dinner at the hotel's grill. The food was okay, a little too "fancy" and very expensive. I say fancy because the mac and cheese was ziti noodles with the restaurants own cheese sauce.

Mr. Schmitty has celiac sprue. He has to be careful what he eats and it's risky when you order out. We can tell them not to put bread on the plate and no croutons in the salad but sometimes there can still be issues. He ordered grilled chicken which was covered in spinach and asagio cheese. You can't get more gluten free than that.

We took the kids to the pool. They had a blast and we wore them out just enough to make them sleepy for bed. We wanted to get them tucked in early so they were rested for the zoo the next morning.

I jumped in bed with Miss R. and Mr. Schmitty grabbed his sneakers and ipod and headed to the gym.

I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I hear is a horrible noise coming from the bathroom. I glance at the clock, it's 10:30 pm. I know that noise. It's Mr. Schmitty vomiting. When he gets ill it is the most scary sounding thing you'll ever hear.

He came out of the bathroom. I said, "WTF?" He told me he had been great all night and all of a sudden, "WHAM!"

He got food poisoning, we believe. He's had it before and said this was exactly the same. We think it was either the spinach or the cheese.

The poor guy puked all night long. As soon as he felt well enough yesterday, we checked out a day early and headed home.

Needless to say we spend a fortune for the room, $200 on season tickets to the zoo (which we never got to) and all that gas money to swim in a pool for a few hours.

All I can say is, "GOOD GRIEF!"

Oh The Drama

Last night when Mr. Schmitty got home from work, I suggested we go to the local mall. It was my birthday and I was NOT cooking. I had been with kids all day; mine and 4 other neighborhood children. I needed to get out of this house.

The Schmitty clan got to the mall and W. immediately began showing signs of an attitude brewing. He didn't want to be there and when W. doesn't want to be somewhere, he makes it quite clear to all around him, that.he.doesn't.want.to.be.there.

I thought maybe he was hungry. Hunger always makes him ornery. I told everyone to follow me. The mall had opened a new Johnny Rockets. Hot dogs, Burgers, and Fries. I couldn't go wrong with that, could I?

Yea, apparently I could.

W. was whining that he didn't want to eat hot dogs or anything else on the menu. He then refused to order anything when the waiter wrote down our drinks.

I told him to suit himself, he could eat when we got home. That's how you get to W. You don't react, you just go about your business. He ordered.

Well, at least he's going to eat. He wasn't going to smile though. Nobody was going to make him smile, laugh, or enjoy himself. No matter how hard we tried.

Suddenly, all of the staff in the restaurant began to dance to Y.M.C.A. He practically fell under the table. You have no idea how much restraint it took me not to jump up and join them. Just to annoy him. But I behaved. I think that would have sent him over the edge and I didn't want to cause a scene.

After the song was over, he finally emerged from hiding.

"Listen Spongebob Moodypants, it's my birthday and I would like you to try and at least pretend you are having a good time."

All I got was an eye roll.


The waiter brought the french fries to our table. The little cardboard bowls he brought for the ketchup had some writing on the sides. I hear W. moan and groan, "UGHHHHH....I don't want to smile!"

He proceeded to scribble over the writing with a crayon.

Did he seriously think that message was just for him? I had to stifle my laugh.

He then went to take a drink from his paper cup. "OH MY GOD, would they just leave me alone!"

"Now, what?" I ask.

"LOOK! It says SWEETHEART!" he practically screams at me.

"That's the name of the company that makes the lid, knucklehead."

I swear if he were a girl, he'd be getting his period any day now.

Some Abuse For My Birthday

"Mom, who was the first person born on earth?" asked my inquisitive T.

"Well, Adam and Eve were the first humans created by God...." I began to reply.

T., cutting me off in mid-sentence asks, "Was it you?"

Once you turn 41, it's all downhill.

Little stinker.

I Told You So

W. has completely outgrown his bicycle. When I say outgrown, I mean outgrown! It's bad. His knees practically hit the steering wheel. Mr. Schmitty and I have been casually looking at different ones for the past few months but have put it off because, well, it's been winter.

The weather has changed. It's been gorgeous. It was time to buy the poor kid a bike before he jammed a knee cap.

Mr. Schmitty and I were at Target on Friday. While I was looking at the clearance racks he walked up and said that he found a great bike. He wanted me to take a look.

It was a cool looking one, however, I had one problem. It was a 24 inch bike. I told him it was too tall for W.

He told me, that a guy at a bicycle shop, told him, that an almost 10 year old should be riding a 24 inch.

I asked how he could say that without even seeing W. get on a bike. He's not short, but he's not tall either. I think 24 inches is too high.

Mr. Schmitty disagreed, I guess because he's a MAN and because another MAN said that his SON should be riding a 24 inch bike...well dammit...he SHOULD be riding a 24 inch bike!

His son is almost 10. He has yet to understand his son. He has yet to know what reactions his son can have. He.is.fricking.clueless.

I kept that thought to myself. I gave my objections another shot. "It's twice the size he is used to. It also has hand breaks, which he's not used to. He's going to be scared and freak."

"He'll be fine."

"Fine.Whatever."

W. was thrilled to see his new bike sitting in the living room when he got home from school. He buckled on his helmet and had Mr. Schmitty bring it outside right away.

He could barely swing his leg over the seat. The bike tipped. Mr. Schmitty had to hold it up.

I stood, arms crossed, shaking my head.

He straddled the bike. He was on tip-toe. I was thinking one false move, and I won't be a grandma some day.

W. jumped up on the seat and tried to peddle. He jumped down, swung his leg back over the seat and threw his helmet across the driveway.

"THE.BIKE.IS.TOO.BIG!!!" He begins to cry and scream.

Mr. Schmitty looks at me with a total look of defeat.

There is only one thing left for me to say, "Need the receipt, dear?"

My Hard Work Paid Off

My son's school had their annual PTA Installation Dinner and Chance Auction last Friday night. PHEW! It's finally O-V-E-R!

I am on the committee that runs the auction. I am a complete lunatic every year as there is SO much work to be done for this event. It's our biggest fundraiser. I am in charge of designing and sending out about 500 invitations and response cards, the table seating cards, and various theme related items. I also solicit donations for the gift baskets. To top that all off, I was the chairperson this year for the Ad Journal. That meant soliciting for monetary donations from local businesses and having them place an ad in our program book. I also had to put the book together with the night's schedule, the gift basket list, various thank you notes, and the ads. It was sheer craziness.

Yesterday I finished all of my thank yous to the generous contributors. I am officially done with this year's event!

The night was a big success. We raised a lot of money and I totally kicked butt in the prize department!! I think they may just ban me from going next year.

My loot included: A golf bag and golfing accessories. A basket with various gift cards (i.e. Dunkin Donuts, Panera Bread, Borders Books, etc.). A gymnastics birthday party for 12 at a local gymnastics place and an ice cream cake. 2 Tickets to see Pat Benetar in concert this Friday night! A gift basket from Montessori Academy with play-doh sets, Montessori t-shirts, and $250.00 off tuition (Miss R. may be going there next year. BTW, I won this same basket last year for T. to attend!). And I won the American Girl Doll of the Year, Mia.

How is that for luck?!

I am taking next week off from everything. My son is on spring break. Mr. Schmitty is on vacation. We need some serious family fun. I won't work, I may not blog. It's going to be fun, fun, FUN! We are planning a few day trips. We are going to go to Philly for two days where we will spend some time in the hotel pool, get room service, visit the zoo. The kids are SO excited. We haven't told them yet, but I think we are going to Six Flags Great Adventure one day as well. My neighbor and friend may meet us there with her kids. They are 9, 7, and 3, which will be perfect for pairing up for rides. It's going to be a great surprise!

Now....off to book that hotel room!

A Day In The Life

Today is kindergarten registration for T. He seems a little apprehensive, but that's my T. He's the most shy of the Schmitty children, though he probably is the most "popular". People just take to him. Kids, I've noticed, seem to flock to him. He's just got that natural attraction. You know, there's just something about him.

I reminded him yesterday that we would be going to the school to sign him up. I informed him and his sister that we'd have some errands to run. The registration to start, then to the school's administration building, which is across town. There I will be turning in R.'s registration papers for Preschool.

Our elementary school has a Preschool for children that have special needs, ranging from severe to minor, such as speech therapy. The Preschool also accepts applications for other resident children with no special needs. There is a limited space for other resident children and they are chosen by lottery. I'm hoping R. gets chosen. It will be great to have her and her brother begin the same school together. It will be a lot easier for me. The kids will be in two schools, not three. It will also elevate some of the financial burden as this is free compared to the Montessori Academy she will attend if not picked.

After we drop off her papers, we will need to go grocery shopping. R. said we needed milk. Of course we do. We go through at least two gallons every three days, we ALWAYS need milk. I told R. that we should buy our own cow instead. She then told me that cow's "pee" milk. Oh YUM!

I told them if we had time, we would then go to borough hall to get Ruby's dog license. T.'s eyes bugged out and he exclaimed, "Then she'll be able to drive a car?!"

Ahhhh....the stories he'll tell in kindergarten!

Kids, please dial 911

The kids had me hopping yesterday. My 9 year old niece, C., was staying with us for the day and she was also spending the night. Mr. Schmitty was working, so I was in charge of my brood, C., and a neighbor's kid.

It was a gorgeous day. It was sunny and warm. The kids were really good and we had a fun time.

I just wish I faced facts that I'm not 20 anymore!

I.AM.A.FORTY.ALMOST.FORTY.ONE.YEAR.OLD.WOMAN! I am also twice the woman I was when I was 20, literally!

I played basketball against W. I did pretty good, I must say. I was always an athletic girl, back in the day, so I held my own against my 9 year old. I guess I was feeling pretty spry because then I took to racing the kids.

We were to race down the sidewalk to the neighbor's driveway and back. I started running, and well, any of you that have pushed babies out, might understand this, I almost peed myself. I had to stop before I completely left a puddle on the cement. Plus the ankles weren't feeling too great with the force of my weight bearing down on them like that.

I stuck to being the, "on your mark, get set, go" person.

After the racing was over, I spied my son's skateboard. Fool, I know you are thinking, and ye shall be correct! I told myself, "I'll just take it slow, it will be fine. No fancy stuff, I'll just step on it with one foot and push a little."

HOLY CRAP!

Need I tell you that my completely stupid attempt could have ended with very tragic results!

Thank goodness I have enough junk in my trunk to cushion that fall! I just hope the neighbors didn't see, I'm afraid I'm going to wind up on YouTube.

Pint Sized Troublemaker

My daughter, R., is hell on two petite legs. She's a tiny thing that still wears 3T clothing, though she is 4 and a half.

Don't let her size, her sweet face, her big eyes that are green with a hint of brown flecks, and her darling smile fool you. She'll rip your face off!

Most times she loves to cuddle and tell you that she loves you, "With all my heart, mama!"

Other times, if you cross her, she's like Damien. I swear I've searched and searched for that 666 beneath all of her beautiful hair but I just can't seem to find it. She'll come at you punching and kicking. She's not one to take crap from anyone, not even her older brothers, or me for that matter.

I've seen that munchkin take down each of her brothers in one fell swoop! And when I say take down, I mean like a pro wrestler slamming their opponent to the mat. She's that tough.

One day she and T. were coloring with markers. Of course when they were done with their masterpieces, they had more marker on their hands than on the paper.

I pushed a chair to the kitchen sink for T. to wash his hands. I, the smart mom I am, only buy washable markers.

As T. was climbing up, Miss Thing rams her way between him and the chair. She's desperately trying to get at the sink first. That's a normal occurrence in the Schmitty household. Every one of my children must be first in line, must have the first choice, must have the color cup they want, must have the bigger cookie, and so on. They are highly competitive with one another.

"R., no!" I said firmly, as she tried taking a swing at her brothers nose.

I picked her up and placed her on the floor. "R. you need to wait your turn, T. was here first."

She glared up at me with that look of hers that tells you she is about to explode. "NO! I'm first!"

"No, he is. When you go to school next year you will have to wait in line behind the other children. When you have to take turns what are you going to do? Hit everyone?"

She looked up at me, crossed her arms, and as she stuck her nose in the air, she flat out said, "YES!"

I'll be getting lots of phone calls home, I'm thinking.