Monthly Archives: November 2009

Fudge revisited

My daughter made a delicious batch of fudge.  The boys were in a sugar induced heaven as they sliced off carefully partitioned squares of the glorious brown drug this AM.  Well someone, somehow (because nooooo one is fessin’ up to it) left the fudge container a little toooo close to the edge of the counter.  By close I mean, all the way pushed against the back splash.  Yes, in other words, not close to the edge at all – or so they swear.  When we got home from school, the container was on the ground and the fudge was g.o.n.e – gone.

Like junkies needing a fix, the kids were irritably devastated as they glared at the dog, who was looking “sickish.”   The rest of the evening is a blur of black-outs and bouts with insanity.  However, I faintly remember massive pools of fudge vomit flowing all over my cream-colored carpet.  Just as one was scrubbed semi-clean, with heaves and eruptions, another would be deposited by the fudge stealing hog dog.  I vaguely recall buckets, rags and scrub brushes in multiple hands cleaning the horrid puke piles.  I think I was about to swear but then saw several impressionable little eyes watching me.  The little eyes of which were taking in my every facial expression, movement and following my cues.  If I laughed, the people who wore the little eyes laughed.  If I engaged in rage, the little eyes would begin to go off on the hog dog.  When I got the buckets and began to work, they helped.   They may be influenced by society but the biggest influence they receive in right in the home.  They may watch others but they are ALWAYS watching us. 

It’s all still a trauma induced blur but the most crystal clear moment of the entire night was when I scrubbed harder they said “Oh good mom, it looks like you got this…thanks” and walked away.

Right before my psychotic break, if my memory serves me correctly, I believe the dog is somewhere in  the vicinity of the garage.

My first video to make…ever.

My husband is Filipino and I finally was able to visit the Philippines in 2006. It seemed that every time we had planned a trip, I got pregnant!! So when we solidified our plans to visit his “home” county I became nervous.  But any pregnancy was adverted and I actually made it to the Philippines.

I thought he had prepared me for the sights I was about to see. I expected to see poverty and substandard living conditions. However, I did not expect to see homeless, abandoned children fending for themselves on the streets of Manila (the New York of the Philippines). The most haunting of these images were those of the scattered bodies of sleeping children strewn over the sidewalks. After staying up throughout the most vulnerable hours of the night, they would sleep during the day on the warm sidewalks. A seemingly common sight to the inhabitants of the Philippines, they would step over these sleeping children during their morning commute to work. If I shut my eyes I can still see the little toddler girl curled protectively in the fetal position, her once white shorts now tattered and dingy. Her pink top was stained and ripped and her jet black hair was tangled as it lay across her little face shielding her eyes from the sun. As our taxi drove past her a huge lump formed in my throat and warm tears erupted from my eyes and flowed down my cheeks for all to see. Granted, I was missing my own toddler who we left with my parents but these feelings were more than just maternal longing. They were of one human feeling the suffering of another. I vowed at that moment not to forget the images that burned themselves into my eyes…and forget I have not.

The creation of IRM was fueled by these images. It’s all about the people!

I am a night person, hear me…howl?



sigh…still sighing…deep breath…ahh.  Ok, I am really enjoying sitting down in this chair and hearing nothing but silence!  Well, silence for me is the faint sound of the TV downstairs accompanied by my hubby’s roars of laughter, the dog’s snoring and the house making it’s weird creaking noises.  But hey, overall this is quiet compared to the sonic boom of chaotic noises and activity that sound off around here daily.  The shrieks, the screams, the burps and other body noises,  the wails of protest, the barking – occasionally from a child but usually from  the dogs- the laughter, the shouts of excitement over new discoveries, the slamming doors, the sound of feet running or pounding on the floor, car doors opening and closing multiple times throughout the day, homework books being opened followed by a loud “MOM, I have a question….”, utensils clanking against the dinner plates, slurping, chewing, running water, brushing of the teeth, gargling, more laughter, more protest, more little feet walking and finally…snoring!  Beautiful snoring is one of the sounds that welcome me to the silence of the night.

I like the night.  I finally come alive at night.  I am a bonified night person and I have my mother and her lineage to thank for this trait.  I’ve made excuses.  I’ve felt condemned.  I’ve tried to go to bed early to “re-set” my intrinsic clock.  I’ve gotten up before the sun and all living creatures.  But ya’know what?  None of it worked!  It is as if my DNA is set to awaken after dark.  I’m more productive, more creative, and more functional during this time of day, or rather, night.  So I’m here to proudly proclaim….I’m A Night Person and I Like It!!!!

The Smell of Boy

My older son had some friends come home after school this week.  My dad picked up my youngest thereby freeing up a seat in our five seater ride.  As we were leaving the school the boys exited with woots, back packs flying along with punches and tackling.  They were sweaty, covered with mud from recess and generally disgusting.  My daughter looked at the rowdy dudes, then at me, then at our car, then back at the dudes and finally at me replying “This is going to be A LONG ride home!” 

A long ride indeed.  Given that our car is compact (I’m going to repeatedly use this word to drive the point home) it sounded like these young men where right in my ear.  There were roars of laughter, hitting, unidentifiable noises, one of which being sprays from a can of Axe.  After the “kksssss” sound we were enveloped in an Axe cloud.  We (the females – the boys were unaffected) gasped, coughed, sneezed and struggled to breath.  I gripped the steering wheel focusing on keeping the car on the road.  My female counterpart suggested I go to my “Happy place” because she was trying to find hers.

During our journey in our compact vehicle she asked “Did someone fart?”  I replied “No, honey that’s just the smell of boys!”

Whose your Mommy?

I like driving in the car.  I like to unwind and zone out.  Driving on the highway can be therapy, decompressing therapy that is, unless you have kids in  the car with you!  Recently we lost our beloved 10 yr old Honda Odyssey mini-van (thanks to the transmission) and had to down size to a 5 seater gas miracle hatch back.  Not only was I in shock at the downsize but the kids were touching each other!  Skin to skin contact…and this literally threw them over the edge.  All zen was gone and our daily trips are reduced to “Get on your own side…ew you stink, you’re breathing on me, stop moving around, you’re making a mess” and most recently my older son yelled at his younger brother “Shut up, you’re a butt face loser!”  The youngest thought this was hysterical and laughed non-stop for several miles as he repeated “butt face loser” over and over.  I downplayed the adjectives hoping he would forget them.

Enter Wal-mart:  A few days later I had to run some errands at Wal-mart.  My youngest came with me as he usually does.  I was on a mission focused on my task at hand.  I never noticed him eyeing up the shopper in the aisle with us.  I never saw the devious smile spread across his face.  I never witnessed the twinkle in his eye.  I only heard him belt out “You’re a butt face loser!” followed by hysterical giggles.  Hoping his words were incomprehensible I cautiously glanced at the older woman who was the victim of his adjective abuse…I offered a sheepish smile as he continued to roar with laughter attempting to repeat the words but was stopped by his hysterics.  She looked at me fully aware of what was said to her and replied “Nice.”  By this time others had gathered in the aisle and were curious as to what was so funny.

Cashing in on all of the times I was assumed to be the nanny I loudly replied “C’mon let’s go find your Mommy!!”  I saw the hint of confusion on his face but zoomed the cart out of the aisle before he could catch his breath and call me “Mommy” or ask any questions.

Desperate times call for desperate measures…whose your Mommy??