The Mad Mommy Diaries

You're Going Where?

2010-09-04T16:44:00.000-07:00

Unlike our parents' generation, when Hubby and I plan the family vacation we actually involve the family, so we posed the open-ended question to the kids "where do you want to go this year on vacation?" As you can imagine with the variance in ages, the kids all indicated something different. Adam requested touring the Mayan or Incan ruins. Emily immediately said "Beach!" Will said "I don't care, I just want to go on an airplane" and Lizzie's stipulations were the easiest to meet....she only required food. I believe the direct quote was "Is there food on vacation?" "Yes, Lizzie, of course there's food on vacation." "OK then, I'll go" - as if she's ever missed a meal.

We start reviewing destinations and eventually decided on Mexico. After a good bit of research and chatting with a local, we reserved a condo on Half-Moon Cay in Akumal, Mexico, which is about an hour and a half south of Cancun. Here, we realize we can meet every one's requests. We are far enough south to tour the Mayan ruins, Adam's request - check! We are on the beach, Emily's request - check! We take an airplane to Cancun, Will's request -check! And as for the food, well, Lizzie is in luck that her mommy loves to eat so that's never an issue.

About two weeks out, I really start intently thinking about packing for the vacations. Moms, you know what I mean....if you don't have a plan for packing when traveling with children, something or someone will get left behind....shades of "Home Alone". First order of business...find the passports. Ok, found those, better put them somewhere important. The problem with relocating anything to "somewhere you won't lose it" is that eventually you forget where that "somewhere" is.

Next, I make "the call". Daughters with Mothers - you know the call - can I get a witness? It is the one where you tell your mother you are taking her precious grand-babies somewhere on vacation that doesn't involve her house. "Hi Mom, thought I'd call and let you know we're going to be leaving on vacation in a couple of weeks." "Where are you going" she politely asks. "Mexico!" I respond. "Won't that be fun?!" "Mexico? Why on earth are you going there?" Funny thing is, she has traveled to Mexico herself and had quite a good time if memory serves. Now I love my mother more than just about anyone in the whole wide world, but she worries way too much.

"Why can't you ever travel somewhere in the U.S.?" Seriously, how many stamps does she think I have in my passport? Every year we talk about going somewhere "different" for vacation and every year we end up somewhere in the Caribbean, mainly because we all love it. But I don't necessarily think of the Caribbean as international travel. If fact, it's probably more Americanized than Miami for Pete's sake. It's not that I am opposed to traveling somewhere across the globe, we've even talked about it. Ireland, Canada, Greece, Israel....I'd love to go those places but I have a very strict traveling policy. I do not go anywhere that I have to get immunizations to go and I do not go where there is known as-Queda. That pretty much knocks out a lot of destinations.

Mexico it is. My mom is still not pleased. She reminds me to call her every day so she knows no drug cartel has kidnapped her granddaughters. I reassure her that I will email during the week for a safety check. Eight days in Mexico on a remote beach! Gotta practice my Espanol. I make sure I know the three most important phrases: (1) Donde esta el bano? where is the bathroom? (2) helio es bueno? is the ice good? (3) yo necessito dos cervesas I need two beers. After all a girl has got to take care of business.

About five days prior to departure, I refuse to go to the grocery store so that I avoid wasting money on food that will sit in my refrigerator or on the kitchen counter and spoil. About three days before departure, we run out of milk. For most people, not a big deal. Apparently in my house, it signals the dawn of the apocalypse. The little one refuses to go to bed without chocolate milk. Note to self, no vacation for her next year and she goes to grandma's house a week before I depart. Drug cartel concerns be banished.

Travel day arrives, the kids are very excited. We have shopped. We have packed. We have planned and now we are getting on a plane, only after the customary flight delay. We have a great flight into Cancun, but then hit this really long line backed up waiting to get into the country. Me, Hubby and all four kids stand in line with all of our luggage, passports out, it's all a little too much to keep track of and still be happy and patient for the two hour wait. At one point, I lose Lizzie in the line and while I know I should be terrified that I cannot see my child amid this sea of people, I immediately know my mother will be validated in her fear of foreign lands. I find Lizzie and make her promise to stand right next to me until she's 21.

I look up to see what is taking so long in this line and realize there are only three workers for all of these tourists. You have got to be kidding me! I have now about another hour in line to work on some process improvement suggestions for them. As it turns out, the Mexican government is less excited than the American government to hear suggestions from "the people".

Finally, we're through and off to paradise. We get checked in to our condo and the view is just amazing. From our balcony we see turtle nests up and down the beach. Over the next eight days we experience unbelievable snorkeling, complete with sea turtles, a turtle walk where we got to watch two turtles dig nests and lay their eggs, experience local Mexican and Mayan culture, and see ancient ruins that are awesome in scope and size. Adam and Emily went zip lining through the Mayan jungle and we went cave swimming. Sand castle building on the beach and searching for unique shells along the shoreline; all in all the trip was fantastic. As day would ebb into evening, the sea turtles would swim up to the shoreline and pop their heads up like little gophers. Having been raised in the Florida panhandle, salt water is in my blood and I never feel more at home or at peace than when there is salt air in my lungs and sand under my feet. The power and immenseness of the oceans have the ability to humble even the mightiest of egos, but in the same moment it connects an individual the the rest of the world in the most simple of ways. Certainly many memories were made and some were truly once in a lifetime experiences.

As the days went on, my Spanish got a little better. Hubby even seemed a little impressed, he actually considers me bilingual. Those of you who know me, can chuckle at that thought. Some memories were not as spectacular as the turtles. For example, one day we were out and Lizzie needed to use the restroom. We find a public restroom, but Pedro wants to charge me 2 pesos to use a toilet with no lid. He must be huffing paint! As beautiful as the country was, I could not get used to seeing policemen carrying AK-47's and having an assault rifle strapped to their back. We were in Soriano's (Mexico's version of a Walmart) and my kids were a little freaked out with all the firearms. Officer Friendly at school never looks like that.

About Day 7 of vacation, I was standing in the condo and looking out over the balcony at the waves crashing on the beach, contemplating packing for the return trip. I was thinking of everything I had to do when I arrived home and all I still had to do in preparation for the start of the school year which was inching closer by the day. I found myself looking forward to sleeping in my own bed and cooking on my own stove. I realized that even as magical as vacations are, after a while, I get antsy. I crave the normalcy of my chaotic, but chosen, life. Twenty-four hours later, we were on the flight back home, tired beyond belief, sunkissed more than the dermatologist would approve, but ready to face the unknown amount of time before our next big adventure.

In the Blink of an Eye

2010-06-26T06:03:00.000-07:00

"In the blink of an eye" is a phrase that we use often to describe how quickly things happen in life. When I was a child, nothing and I mean NOTHING happened "in the blink of an eye", but now that I am an adult, it seems that EVERYTHING happens "in the blink of an eye".

At the kids' middle school, both Adam and Emily participate in Mathletes, which is a Math Club. Hubby is the "coach" of the Mathletes. As school was coming to a close, there was a big Mathletes competition inviting most schools in the district. The competition was fierce! In the end, our team not only won several individual and team awards, but came home with the "Best Overall" trophy as well.

I had scooted out of work a little early to make it to the competition in time to witness the awards ceremony. First of all, to see a huge room full of middle schoolers excited about Math of all things, was inspiring within itself. But then, to watch my husband's team (including two of our own children) win award after award was truly incredible.

After the competition had come to a close, the team gathered to take a group photo. All the kids held up their medals and smiled big for the camera. I looked through the camera lens to snap the photo. Not necessarily "in the blink of an eye", but more "in the flash of a camera", Adam was seven years old again holding a little league medal. It was the same squinty eyes, the same toothy grin, the same cheesy smile that has held my heart captive for the last fourteen years. It seemed that the only thing time had changed was he was seventeen feet taller.

Over the past year, three wonderful young ladies, with whom I have had the pleasure of working, all graduated high school. I have gotten to watch them apply to college and witness the roller coaster of emotion that comes with the life changing event of getting accepted to college. As they make their final preparations to embark on their journey into the future, I wonder if their parents feel their daughters grew up "in the blink of an eye".

Well, my oldest begins a new chapter in his life this Fall as he heads to high school. I think that at one time I foolishly thought if I kept having children, I would always stay young. (For the record, that's not the case.) Subsequently, next year, I will have one in high school, one in middle school, one starting kindergarten (how is THAT possible??) and one in pre-school. Anyone know a good chauffeur?

I find myself being caught in the moment of the Mathletes picture where for just one fraction of a second, I was transported back to a time where I still had many more years of Adam at home. I think that as I took that picture, it was the first time I really felt that scary feeling of "holy crap, he's really growing up and will be leaving soon." In the blink of an eye, he's now headed to high school. Probably "in the blink of an eye" he, too, will make those final preparations and fly from the nest. When that time comes, he will be infinitely more prepared than me!

In the blink of an eye, that is when, I'll be closer to You than I've ever been
Time will fly, but until then, I'll embrace every moment that I'm given
There's a reason I'm alive - in the blink of an eye

Thanks Mercy-Me for putting it all in words and in perspective!

Living on the Edge

2010-01-01T12:44:00.000-08:00

A little over a year ago, I was driving Will and Lizzie to daycare. Our commute is usually about forty minutes from our door to the pre-school. Like many active families on the go, the most important meal of the day, a.k.a. breakfast, usually gets consumed in the car while we are sitting in traffic. Sometimes, the kids just want a drink and plan to eat once they arrive at school. Such was this particular day - drinks only. It was sippy cups of course, lest the beverage become a river in the back of my car.

So we are in the car cruising on along when Lizzie asks for her drink, which by the laws of sibling-hood, meant that Will immediately asked for a drink also. After I had handed the closest cup to Lizzie, I realized I was in big trouble! I quickly found that I was one drink short of being a stellar mommy for that very moment.

In typical Will response, he started to whine. Those that know me, know if there is one thing that grates my nerves, it's a whining child. Will has mastered this and unfortunately for me, uses it to his benefit often. I glanced up in the rear view mirror. God is Good - Lizzie has two drinks! The little stinker had tucked one in her car seat that morning unbeknownst to me. As she happily sucked on one cup, I asked her to please share with her brother. "NO" was the response. Being early in the morning when I'm not at my sharpest mentally, I try the unsuccessful task of trying to reason with a toddler. "Lizzie, you have two drinks and Will doesn't have any. Wouldn't it be nice if you share with him?" A shake of the head and a resounding "NO" was what I got for my efforts.

Watching her from the rear view mirror, I think "hmmm, I wonder if the vacation bible school approach will work?" "Lizzie, what would Jesus have to say about sharing?" The look I got quickly let me know that she didn't give a rat's patoottee about what Jesus would recommend regarding her beverages. OK, that didn't work, I better try something else. We were only a couple of weeks away from Christmas so I went for the ultimate trump card. "Lizzie! What would Santa think?" Now I'm not too proud of the fact that around December, Santa carries a little more weight than Jesus with the pre-school crowd in my house; but I bet if everyone were real honest, I'd be in good company, cause I know ya'lls kids do the same thing.

Anyway, the threat of Santa got her young attention. She looks at Will, grabs the other cup out of her car seat, stares me down in the rear view mirror and extends her arm across the van seat to offer him the drink. It was like Chariot's of Fire. Just as his little pudgy fingers could barely touch the cup, that ratty Lizzie opens her fingers and releases the cup and it falls straight on the floor. All the while, she was staring me down in the mirror.

Will, although whiney, doesn't have a malicious bone in his little body, so he starts trying to reassure her - "Lizzie don't cry. It was an accident. Mommy will get it." Meanwhile, the furtherest thing from Lizzie's mind, much less her eye, is a tear. I watch her from the rear view mirror (thank God there is traffic and I am able to keep an eye on her) and shoot her one of those "mother looks" saying I know what you just did! That little pre-school Madonna looks me dead in the eye of the mirror and proudly states "Don't push me...cuz I'm...close..to..the..edge!" Shut the Front Door! My first thought was "Sister, I'm about to drag your little narrow behind right over the edge!", but I didn't.

I wondered where she had heard that, then remember Happy Feet. The phrase is quoted in Happy Feet in a rather funny part of the movie. Well, lots has changed since that chilly December morning. With all the chaos of 2009 which doesn't look like it will shake out anytime soon, maybe Lizzie knew something we couldn't have - We would all be on the edge.

Yes, 2009 saw many Americans on the edge. On the edge of unemployment, on the edge of foreclosure, on the edge of sanity many days. I would guess I was not alone in my joy to bid a fond farewell to 2009 in the hopes that 2010 will be better. Is it thus far? We have witnessed the worst of Mother Nature and perhaps the best in humanity, all within the same event. And while many of us may be cutting back on our budgets, we give praise that we still have a dollar in our pocket to share with another in a far away land that we will never know. Will we be "on the edge" this year? I sure hope so! The edge of enlightenment, the edge of possibility, the edge of an era that focuses on God and each other, not ourselves. So, "livin' on the edge"? You betcha, I can't wait!

Turning Forty

2009-07-05T16:52:00.000-07:00

Last week, I turned forty - the big four oh. Yep! We all get there....including me. I was talking with a friend who asked "What do you have planned? You going out?" At first I thought, "Yeah, going out sounds fun!" Quickly followed by "where would I go? What would I do?" It really is sad to think that many moons ago, I could go out and hoop it up all week, I'm talking five, six days in a row, living on a few hours sleep here and there, and be just fine and dandy. Now days, I go out one night and need five, six days to recover. Where's the justice in that, I ask you?

I could go dancing, I love dancing! But, the reality is that when Shawty gets "Low" on the dance floor, the old knees now pop. That's a little embarassing. Best to steer clear of any of that nonsense.

This becoming forty thing was a little thought provoking for me. Several months ago, I called another friend and was generally bitching about the everyday blahs. Mid complaint she burst out laughing. "Are you turning forty this year?" she not so tenderly asked. I stopped and thought for a minute. "Yes. Yes, I am. Why?" Amidst her hysterics, she informed me that I was having a mid-life crisis. A mid-life crisis! What the...?! She shared that the only reason she knows this is because she has experienced her own, then watched her husband experience his.

Apparently, forty may be a difficult number for overachievers. It's the magical number that causes one to re-evaluate her lives and you realize that time is only marching forward. Since my friend is three years older than I am, I revere her word as the Gospel. By now, she surmises, I thought I would have been President or something. Well, I may agree with the "or something", not the the President, as I had a little too much fun in college to actually run for President. This news sent me into deep reflection, at least until Hubby and the kids came back from the rest area bathrooms. I neglected to mention that I was given this revelation as we were driving down some major interstate. Perhaps that is what pushed me over the edge. No good can come from putting me in the car with Hubby and the four kids for more than ten minutes. So the car starts moving again and I tell Hubby it's time for some changes!

Changes we have made. I am writing this year, if for nothing else, but my own personal amusement. I bought my own company, so I guess I am President after all - President of "The Bestest Revelation, Inc." - a company name that only Hubby and I understand. I am operating a paint your own pottery studio, learning more than I ever thought I could about art and business ownership. And Hubby and I have completed classes which will allow us to foster or adopt. Brad and Angie - look out - you have nothing on the Giger's!

So back to my actual birthday. Party? Well, I suppose it depends on your definition. I met up with Hubby, the mermaid and two little guppies at the YMCA for swim practice where I realized that not only does Emily completely rock the competitive swimming pool, but those little two guppies swim the 25 meters required to join the swim team, and they are only 3 and 4 years old. That's a pretty cool birthday present. Then we left and picked up our divine dinner cuisine at Wendy's. Exciting stuff...usually Wendy's is only allowed on "Wendy Wednesdays" in the Giger House. Finally, we headed home for a big splashy party. I hoovered over my taco salad before enjoying a beautifully decorated cake baked by a few of my favorite people on the planet. It was delicious!

Although this may not be your idea of a spectacular way to welcome in forty, for me, it was just about perfect. I think many of us spend the first forty years of our lives doing, achieving and generally trying to get the whole world to know our name. We then spend the next forty trying to detatch from the rest of the world and focus on what's really important in life, in my humble opinion - faith, family, and friends.

I remember many years ago watching "Scarface". I'm sure you have seen the movie. Remember the fountain in the foyer (if memory serves)? The twirling centerpiece looked like a globe and reads "The World is Yours". Back when I was much more of an idealist, I desparately wanted that fountain. I imagined that by the time I was thirty I would have acquired one. But more than the fountain, I loved the message "The World is Yours". It was a symbol of power, money, arrogance and even prestige. With age and experience you realize those things fade and lose their luster. Therefore, I no longer have the desire to own that fountain, or the sentiment behind it. After all, with the state of the world these days, what would I do with it, if I had it? And, as for the fountain the foyer...it would just be another place for the guppies to swim.

I Don't Feel Good

2009-05-26T17:57:00.001-07:00

Last Wednesday started like every other Wednesday in our house. Before Thing 3's eyes were ever opened, the whining started. "I don't want to go to school!" I swanee, I have the only four year old on the planet who has mastered the part of perpetual playboy. I really think he has a bright future as a rockstar or a poolboy...not sure exactly which one yet.

"I don't want to go to schoooolllll!" How does the child even know it's a school day, I ask myself as I walk right past the wailing pre-schooler on my way to the closet to get clothes for him and his sister. "Mommy, I really think I'm sick." I stop, only briefly, to see if he looks sick. You know, Moms have this amazingly clairvoyant talent to eyeball a kid at twenty paces and tell if they are fibbing about feeling ill.

The morning wore on and reluctantly Thing 3 made his way to the mini-van, the staple mode of transportation for all urban moms. As I am buckling the car seat, the whines became a little more desperate, "Mommy I really think I need to go to Granny and Pop's today because I don't feel good". At this moment, I'm wondering if he'll get the humor if I reach over and give him a friendly squeeze followed by a "you feel pretty good to me" response - like my Dad used to do.

The van begins its morning commute to work. As we approach the traffic light where one could turn and proceed to my in-laws house, Thing 3 states "Mommy, you need to turn here. I really can't go to school today, because I'm sick". Now my child is a GPS system. Maybe there will eventually be a man that knows where to turn.

I am practicing my parenting methods recently acquired at parenting classes - ignoring "junk behavior". Hubby and I are in the process of fostering/adopting another child or two because our house has not reached full chaos capacity. The fact that the parents of four had to sit through thirty plus hours of parenting skills is a little entertaining in itself. By halfway through the first class, Hubby and I looked at each other and agreed, "yep, we sure screwed up kids 1 and 2; but maybe there's still hope for 3 and 4".

The car ride continues and I ignore the junk behavior. "Mommy, my head hurts" taunts the backseat driver. Again, a flashback of my own childhood is encouraging me to refrain from the response that "a head like that ought to hurt". "Mommy my head realllly hurts. Feel it. It's hot. I have a fever." Um-huh, I nod unapologetically.

"Mommy, this ear hurts". Rats, the child has picked up on the one complaint that typically does give me cause for concern. Any parent worth their weight can tell you that kids can go from perfectly healthy to a raging ear infection in 2.6 seconds. However, I did not overreact. I did not cave in. My skepticism was confirmed when about two minutes later the cry became "Mommy, both ears hurt". I quickly realize the child has the traveling disease - in that the disease tends to travel down the body, starting at the head and working it's way south until we find a ailment that Mom considers concerning.

We pull into the daycare. I get out of the van and open his sliding door. "Mommy, my knees are hot" Are you serious? Hot knees! "Well Will, it looks like you've got a case of the hot knees" I say. "Mommy, my leg hurts. I think it's broken. Feel it." I drag the pre-school protester out of the van and direct him towards his class.

It's only 8am and I am already exhausted. We open the door to the class and he sees Miss Heidi. Miraculously he is healed! Thing three bounds off to play with his friends as if life were grand. Once again, I offer him up for sale to Miss Heidi, who just laughs.

As I make my way to work, doing LOTS of deep breathing, I have to give thanks. I give thanks that he attends a school that is attentive to his needs. I give thanks that I have a job to which I go. But most importantly, I give thanks that I have a healthy child. A whiny, yet creative, healthy child....and at the end of the day, isn't that really all that matters.

For the Record, I Am NOT Pregnant!

2009-04-25T17:29:00.000-07:00

A dear friend called today. She was quite upset and disturbed that for approximately the 57th time in the past six months, someone has asked her when her baby is due. For the record, she is not pregnant. Not everyone bluntly asked “when is your baby due”, some used the new celebrity term “baby bump” in their inquiry. As she railed in disgust of the implication, my first thought was “Good Grief! She doesn’t look pregnant” followed quickly by “Note to self- do not stand too close to her or I will be considered pure bovine – oops, this isn’t about me…”

I listened and tried to soothe her as best I could. I can totally empathize with her. I am an apple. Ladies, you know the deal – the world divides women into two fruits – apples and pears. I am an apple; she is a pear, which completely threw me off with the whole “she looks pregger” thing.

At any rate, like all apples, I have always carried my weight in my mid-section. No hips, no boobs, just belly – talk about attractive! Rueben’s would have never asked me to model as the Madonna. Subsequently, due to my rotundness around my middle, people have always asked me “when are you due”, “is your baby a boy or girl”…Do you know how hard it is to smile through that type of humiliation? Skinny women do not!

By the way, I have not mentioned the fact that my friend is a good bit younger than I am and she looks even more youthful than her tender age. Sometimes when we are out together, mean people with poor vision assume she is my eldest daughter. I am not sure what is the worst…either I am so fat that I am mistaken for being pregnant, or I am wrinkled enough to look as if I could have a daughter who is twenty-six years old. I’ll let you be the judge of the ‘biggest insult’ in that one.

Back to her problem…What I realized was, this is one of those teachable moments, a rare opportunity for me to share my experiences from which I have learned over the years, with an up and coming budding Southern magnolia sister. When I am asked this ridiculous question about my perceived impeding delivery, I simply look the offender in the eye and respond sweetly “Why I’m not pregnant, just fat, but thanks for pointing it out.” I know that some of you think that is just downright rude of me, but I believe the social faux pas goes to the fool that inquired about my uterus.

The more I thought about my poor young friend being subjected to the same question that has plagued me for years, the more I thought, I must stop the madness! Of course I know that none of my readers would be so ill mannered to make that inquiry of an acquaintance, much less a total stranger, but I knew you all would be the vessel of grace to squelch this insidious behavior.
May my swan song be that the ONLY acceptable time to ask a lady “when is your baby due?” is when you are seated next to her in the obstetrician’s office and she is visibly 10 months pregnant – and even then, realize you are taking your chances.

What's a Girl Like Me Doing Watching WWE??

2009-04-06T15:13:00.001-07:00

I have a secret. It's a little odd. To know me, you would never really guess this about me...but I LOVE the WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment). I hold two college degrees and I am the mother of four kids ranging from toddlers to teenagers - which sometimes feels like its one and the same. I work for a fairly conservative company, married to a Math teacher for crying out loud, and vote Republican. I can tell you how to solve the Pythagorean theorem, what makes thunder, and the difference between chardonnay and pinot grigio (and why you should drink both). I practice yoga, try to make sure my kids eat a vegetable and I recycle. And...I LOVE wrestling!

As I sit around today recovering from last night's pay-per-view event, which by the way, wasn't just any event, it was THE event - Wrestlemania - I wondered how shocked people would be to know that I LOVE the WWE? Then I started pondering all the reasons I enjoy the WWE. I think I have it narrowed down to eight main reasons.

Reason 8 - I have huge respect and admiration for the empire Vince McMahon has built. What a marketing genius to take a "sport" that we all know is really "entertainment" and make a squillion dollars off of it every year. The WWE Universe is truly world wide. Last month the Smackdown franshise accomplished its 500th show within 10 years making it the fastest weekly show to do this. The Raw and ECW franchises continue to thrive as well. Each week, Raw has more viewers than any other show on TV. In 2008, WWE made it to the Forbes 200 Best Small Companies. The retail side of this business alone is staggering. Clothes, accessories, key chains...you name, they sell with a logo. Even if you don't like the product, you have to respect the vision, ambition and execution.

Reason 7 - It's a male soap opera. Seriously, ladies, don't grumble when your man wants to watch his childhood superstars...it makes him feel young again. WWE has drama, mystery, romance and backstabbing. Throw in high fashion and an ocassional cat fight and you have all the right ingredients for a soap opera. There are many Superstars that would give Susan Lucci a run for her money (and her Emmy). Right now there's a twisted love triangle between the General Manager of Smackdown, the Ultimate Opportunist, and the World's Largest Athlete. Can anyone say "Quid Pro Quo"? There's the feuding brothers, complete with burning houses and hit and run car accidents. Finally, we just solved the mystery of the illegitimate Irish midget. Come on, how much more drama can you find on "Grey's Anatomy"?

Reason 6 - They're do-gooders, even the bad ones. WWE works with several charitable organizations. They have a 20 year history and relationship with the Make-A-Wish Foundation that grants wishes to terminally ill children. WWE Superstars and Divas are some of the most requested and most devoted celebrities. The WWE Road to Wrestlemania Reading Challenge inspired kids to make a trip to the public library and won the WWE it's first Beacon Award for community service. WWE assisted the city of Houston after Hurricane Ike performed it's own "Twist of Fate". Additionally the WWE supports American troops in ways that no other organization does or can. Annually the WWE Superstars and Divas make a pilgrimage to the Middle East and entertain the troops at various military bases. Any US military personnel gets free admission to WWE events in the US. And, John Morrison and Mr. Kennedy encouraged us all to "Smack Down our vote" this year during the presidential campaign.

Reason 5- The high flying, gravity defying moves. These guys and girls must be made of durable rubber. How else can they fly through the air. From Rey Mysterio's 619 to Jeff Hardy's Swanton Bomb, the acrobatic moves are unbelievable. I'm sore from just watching them.

Reason 4 - Wrestlemania! It's the "pinnacle of Sports Entertainment". This event is the Superbowl of the World, since more countries tune into the WWE than tune into the NFL. The pageantry, the legends, the buildup...it's another example of McMahon's marketing masterpiece. Having attended a Wrestlemania in person, I can tell you, there's nothing like it. The electricity in the air is almost palatable. As the jets fly over the stadium and the ladders are positioned to hang the "Money in the Bank" briefcase, the anticipation is just incredible. By the time the Undertaker Tombstone's his latest victim, you know you need to sleep, but you just don't want to end the party.

Reason 3 - Wrestling reminds me of being a kid. I can remember hanging out with my Dad as he watch Dusty Rhodes "The American Dream" and hearing my Mom talk about "Ravishing Rick Rude". Good times, when life was much more simple and the most important thing I had to do was homework. Boy, do I miss those days sometimes!

Reason 2 - The bevy of HOT MEN. Girlfriends, did you really think I would close this note without mentioning the Greek God-like sculpted bodies of Randy Orton and Dave Batista, the boy next door appeal of John Cena, or the perfectly designed for delectable kissing lips of Jeff Hardy? Yummy yum yum. About the only thing my 11 year old daughter and I agree on these days is John Cena - "He's Hot!" Hey, I may be married and maternal...but I'm not dead.

Reason 1 - The number one reason I love the WWE is that Friday night in our house is "Pizza and Smackdown" night. Our four year old looks forward to Friday all week long. It's the only day of the week he bounces out of bed and doesn't put up a fight about going to daycare. He knows when I pick him up, it's pizza and wrestling. We usually cook pizza, but sometimes order out. Any diet started for the week (and that's all the time for me) is forfeited on Friday night as we binge on pizza. The kids drink their fill of soda and Hubby and I may even pop a beer. It's the one time of the week that we are all together in the same room eating together and watching the same TV. Which by the way, it's the only time I watch TV. I hope that as our kids grow older they will remember these times with much fondness.

There you have it...all the reasons why I'm addicted to WWE. Feel free to join me on my addiction by tuning in. I'm sure Vince will thank you!

10 Things New Parents Should Know

2009-03-23T18:31:00.001-07:00

Recently, I seem to be surrounded by pregnant people everywhere. Actually, it's mostly expectant fathers that I continue to see. My workplace is full of them right now, all glowing and running off to accompany their wives on the doctor's visits. Yep, trading beer bottles for baby bottles is truly a life changing event in anyone's life. Being the proud Mommy of four, I feel that I may have a little life experience to share. As I began reflecting on how your parenting style changes with each subsequent child, I thought I share what I have learned with you.

Number 10 - Breastfeeding hurts! Yes, LeLeche, I know it's supposed to be the most natural thing in the world, but it's not. It is difficult and painful. Girls, listen to me, save all of your pain medicines for feeding time. Boys, it's ok for the new mommy to have a glass of wine before nursing (just not in conjunction with the pills - probably not a good thing). It will help her relax. There is always the added benefit that the baby sleeps a little more soundly.

Number 9 - Sniff their necks often. Nothing on earth quite smells like the fuzzy head and tender, soft downy neck of a newborn. I believe this is the closest a living human will ever get to Heaven.

Number 8 - A clean house is not necessarily good for a child's mental health. Our house has the DFCS rule, Dept of Family and Children Services. As long as the State is not going to remove the children from the house, it is still liveable. I remember as a child visiting a friend and the children were not even allowed in certain areas of the house because it was the "formal" room. That's just nonsense! After child number 4 was born, I got this strange urge one night to clean my kitchen floor. As I was literally on the floor scrubbing it, I had a revelation - my floor wasn't spotted after all. All these years, I thought the flooring had spots. Who knew it was just dirt? But, none of my kids know or care. A "lived-in" house allows them to maintain their dignity when the plate of spaghetti falls off the table, the grape soda is knocked over, or the dog the pees. One day, you will wish you could find those little peanut butter and jelly fingerprints anywhere.

Number 7 - Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches make a fabulous dinner. Life is so stressful and crazy. We end up running fourteen different directions. Dinner time is so important. But the thing about it is that the meal itself is the least important piece of the experience. You do not need lessons from Rachel Ray or Paula Dean to make a wonderful dinner. Scrambled eggs will do. And occasionally, Ho-Ho's can even be dinner :-)

Number 6 - They WILL lose the retainer. After spending a squillion dollars ensuring that your pre-teen can enter the "dating season" of their lives with a perfectly aligned set of teeth, you will find that you spend the next two years replacing retainers. I really don't know why the orthodontist just don't start you with two...well, I do know, they need another sports car..but inevitably the child throws the retainer out with the lunch tray in the cafeteria. I think we have the all time record in my house. Eight days...yep, eight days after getting the braces off and new retainer in before he threw it away.

Number 5 - Always make their friends feel welcome - whether you like them or not. When your kids are young, you control who is a part of their lives. Whether it's daycare, neighborhood kids, our your cousin Freddy, you are in the driver's seat. There comes a time, when you move to the backseat and they begin to form their own relationships. With younger kids, it is pretty easy. You bake cookies once, or hand out popsicles in the summer, and you're golden. With older kids you have to balance that talent of embarrassing them with meeting their needs. Strive to be the house at which everyone hangs out. Keep lots of snacks, sodas, and frozen pizza around. If you feed them, they will come.

Number 4 - They stop crying at daycare or the sitter's house two minutes after you leave. One daycare I used had the monitoring cameras, so I could leave her in the room bawling her eyes out and wouldn't you know, by the time I had walked backup to the office to sign her in, I could clearly see that she was no longer crying but happily playing as if nothing had ever happened.

Number 3 - Let them sleep with you and don't feel guilty about it. I admit it! My children are always crawling in bed with me, even at 13 and 11. In fact I have been known to say to the 13 year old that I will be glad when he gets a girlfried, because then he'll spend his energy into trying to sleep with her, not me. My bed is not sacred ground. Some of the best family times are when we are all six crawled up snuggling in the "big bed". Time will fly and before you know it, these sleepy eyed, velvet skin darlings will be sleeping ...somewhere you may not even want to know. Enjoy it while it lasts!

Number 2 - Mommy Math! Every parent that is expecting a second child always wonders "can I love this child as much as my first?" The rules of Mommy Math theorizes that when you ADD children to your family, and your time DIVIDES, love MULTIPLES, not SUBTRACTS.

And Number 1 - God has entrusted you with the care of a soul. This child is not yours, as difficult as that is for us to comprehend. This is a child of God. You should always treat your child as a gift from God, to be held in the highest regard. Care for, provide, guide, mentor, teach, preach and love. Your reward will be priceless.

House of a Hundred Hamsters

2009-03-05T20:12:00.000-08:00

Marshmellow died! That was really the apex of the hamster saga. You see, Marshmellow had been Emily's hamster for years. He got the name Marshmellow because that's kinda what he looked like - a marshmellow that had been toasted - a little brown here and there, but mostly white, and very puffy.

I blame Mrs. T., Emily's kindergarten teacher for the hamster trilogy that occurred in the casa de Giger. Mrs.T. had classroom pets - the worst of which was the smelly ferret. When the kids were "extra good" they earned the privilege of bringing home said animal for the weekend. It has been the only time in my life that I have considered paying a child to behave badly in class. But the hamster was a different story. Once we "fostered" a hamster we had to get one of our very own. Marshmellow was the first. Hamsters only have a life span of 2-3 years. Meanwhile, Marshie got the "life of Riley" for hamsters. He had a master who adored him above all and played with him constantly. Fresh fruits and veggies made their way into his cage, instead of her dinner plate.

He earned the nick-name of Houdini the Hamster when he learned quickly to be an escape artist from his cage. One night, only days after the birth of child #4, I arose for an hourly feeding of the nursing newborn. I heard this God-awful scratching in the master bathroom. It sounded like little tiny nails on a little an even more tiny chalkboard. Freaking out from lack of sleep, estrogen overload, and the fear that a rat was in my house, I yelled at hubby to wake up and "fix" this noise. As he sauntered to the bathroom, I went to Emily's room to check the cage. Lo and behold, it was empty. This was a good news bad news situation. Good News - there was no rat in my house...Bad News - Emily's beloved Marshmellow was trapped behind the baseboard in the small vanity of the master bath.

"Ignore it, go back to bed" my husband said. "Are you high?" I asked. "I cannot simply allow that animal to die of dehydration in the wall of out bathroom and listen to it feverishly scratch away awaiting rescue. Do you realize what kind of stench that will be? And furthermore, I WILL NOT explain to our daughter that her treasured animal is dying a slow and painful death because her father wanted to get a little sleep! Find a way to fix this NOW!!" His well thought out and sympathetic response was, "It's 2am, can't this wait until morning?" "No it CANNOT! At least right now we know where the dumb thing is!"

Hubby disappears and finally returns with power tools in tow. Then at 2 in the morning, he began cutting a hole in the baseboard of the master bath. Talking, coaxing, bribing....and hour later, Marshie finally emerges. Sometimes God answers prayers in the form of saved hamsters.

As I mentioned, Marshmellow went on to live a long and prosperous life with Emily, but the sad day came when life had run its course and left Marshie pushing up daisies. Next came Butterscotch, who was a nice golden buttery color. Sweet and soft, we believe Butterscotch may have been ill when we bought her. Tragically he passed away about three weeks after we purchased him. Emily was devastated. So, in an effort to minize the tragedy, we ran out and immediately purchased another hamster.

Along came Oreo. Now Oreo is named Oreo, can you imagine why? You guessed it, he looks like an oreo cookie, black on both ends and white in the middle. We are very creative in naming pets. I am relatively liberal when it comes to pets. Being an animal lover myself, when Emily asks for a pet, I'm the first to give in. My one request is that the hamsters are boy hamsters, because I really do not need to raise baby hamsters.

After the untimely demise of Butterscotch, Hubby takes Emily to the pet store where she picks this cute little boy hamster, out of the boy-side of the boy pet store. Guess What? It wasn't a boy! It was a girl, who had been mistakenly put in the boy side of the hamster corral. About a week after bringing Oreo home, Emily said "Mommy, I don't think Oreo is a boy. It doesn't have the little pouch on the bottom". Sure enough, I looked, and no "pouch"!

Two weeks later, Oreo delivers 9, yes 9, bald, hairless, blind minuscule blobs that within three more weeks grow into the cutest little hamsters on the planet. Leave it to me, to get the slutty, knocked up hamster from the pet store. We go to bed one night with only one hamster in the cage. We wake up the next morning to 10 hamsters in a cage.

Hamsters are known for eating their young. Yes, I know, that's the grossest thing ever. But it's true. Apparently it is some kind of maternal instinct thing. If the mother does not believe she can provide enough food for her young, then she will kill them instead of watching them starve to death.

Not in my house, though. I had the June Cleaver of hamsters. Oreo was such a great little mama. And I must admit, I am very proud of Emily. She actively prepared extra food, special fruits and veggies, a fried egg daily (to make sure mama hamster was getting her protein) and lots of water. From the very first morning, she immediately went online to get as much information as possible about caring for mama and the babies. One disturbing bit of news was that at the tender age of three weeks, these things could potentially procreate. Yikes!

As we headed into the end of week two, I foolishly inquired at the pet store as to how I "sex a hamster". For all of you perverts, that means how to tell if it's male or female. Literally as I was in middle of asking the question, at the very same pet store that sold my daughter an impregnated female hamster when I thought she was getting another boy varmint, and realized how stupid it was. For crying out loud, if they didn't know when what sex the rodent was when we bought it, could they really help me sort the boys from the girls now. Plan B...call the vet. Picture it, I dial my vet's office, where we typically had taken the dog, to ask "how do I sex a hamster?" To their credit, they were quite professional and dished out the intel.

Once the hamsters were divided, I launched an all out blitz in an effort to find good homes for Oreo's brood. Within a couple of weeks, all nine were given away to good homes. My favorite success story, was my friend who told me she would "think about" getting a hamster for her girls. We all know what that means. "Think about" means, I'm saying that just to get you to shut up about the stupid hamsters! Interestingly enough, she never seemed to have time to bring the girls over to check out the hamsters. So, I loaded up the two final hamster (one blond and one brunette) and took them to my girlfriend's home. You know what happened next...the girls couldn't agree on which on to take, so she had to take both of them. Who knew that would happen? I think there might be a career in sales and marketing for me after all :-)

It's now been almost a year now since the hamster hatching and I must admit it was somewhat on the fun side....in a weird and strange way. Two nights ago, we were driving to check out a potential new puppy when Hubby looks at me and says, "Hey, let's get a male hamster at the end of May and breed Oreo again." Meanwhile, I'm thinking, "what alien has taken over my husband?". So I'm sure that in the summer, you'll see a note from me, telling you how cute the little critters are and that I'm SURE you need one of the new litter. Until then, brush up on your hamster raising skills to be prepared.

If Wii is Fit, then why am I still Fat?

2009-03-01T16:55:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2007, Santa Claus brought the Giger family a Nintendo Wii gaming system. Let me quickly say, that we LOVE the Wii! Santa brought several games for us to play on the Wii as well. Last year, for Father's Day, I bought Hubby the Wii Fit. He had been wanting it for quite some time. We had tried it out as a "guest" with friends one night at their house.

I think his initial fascination began because in doing the first assessment, his Wii Fit Age was younger than mine, even though he is five physical years older than me. Anytime he gets an opportunity to be younger than, thinner than, smarter than, me...he takes full advantage. You know I had to hear about that stupid Fit test for the next week. There were even the subtle musings of his future wife, since I was going to die waaay before him...I'm so decrepit.

If you have had the opportunity to try out the Wii Fit, or any Wii game for that matter, you would know that the first task you can accomplish is to create your own Mii. Your Mii is your Wii character. So instead of playing as Mario or Sonic or Luigi, you actually play as, well, you. In constructing your Mii, you choose everything from shirt color to eye shape and color, to hair style to body style. Yes, I said body style. This feature is an example of the true genius of Nintendo.

Now, don't go thinking that you'll just use the body of Heidi Klum, which is what I tried, when you are building your Mii. What happened next was one of the most humbling experiences of a lifetime. I stepped on the balance board and out of nowhere this little squeaky computer generated voice utters "ohhh". I knew I was in big trouble then. The Wii Fit takes you through a series of exercises, cleverly disguised as activities. In a manner of minutes, I was told how unbalanced I was. The only real thought that came to mind was "Holy Cow! This thing reads minds as well" then I realized it was referring to my weight distribution skewing to the right when I walk.

The ultimate in humiliation was the moment the Wii Fit calculated my Body Mass Index (BMI). Now I'm not going to tell you where I fell on the scale, but I will say Hubby and the kids struggled to maintain their composure when my little Mii shrunk in height and got much plumper right there on the screen for everyone to see. This new machine is NOT my best friend! You can't even bribe it with wine in an effort to withhold your true weight and BMI.

The Wii Fit is a great way to get in some much needed exercise. If your life is like mine, finding time to hit the gym is next to impossible. My physician means well when he tells me to "get in 30-45 minutes of cardio at least five times a week". With my job, four kids, and various other commitments, he may as well tell me to "go cure cancer". But Hubby and I have found that we can sneak in a little fun with all the kids on the Wii Fit and almost call it exercising.

One of the best workouts on the Wii Fit is the Hula Hoop and Super Hula Hoop. And when I say workout - I am here to tell you my abs really get put through the wringer on this thing. Of course, mostly from laughing at Hubby try to Hula Hoop on the balance board. You want entertainment? Take a middle aged, slightly soft, white boy with no rhythm and put him on a balance board doing virtual hula-hooping. This is pee-in-your-pants funny!

Everyone is my family has their favorite workouts. Emily and I really enjoy the yoga. The really cool thing about the yoga is that the gaming system monitors if you are balancing in the pose and if you are holding the pose correctly. Adam is a phenom at the soccer ball dodging exercise. I only get a cleat in the face when I try it. Tim likes the strength training. I'm sure that's to keep his Wii Fit age below mine. Even Will and Lizzie get into the game. Will loves the ski jump and Lizzie runs like nobody's business.

Since my initial embarrassment, I have made peace with the Wii. Although, sometimes when one of the kids signs on, I can hear that squeaky little computer animated voice saying "tell Mommy we haven't seen her lately". It's not enough apparently that I am chastised at any doctor's visit, now my television tells on me too. Often, friends will ask "does the Wii Fit really work". I answer, "not for me" but I guess you actually have to get on it ;-)

To Soap or Not to Soap?

2009-02-24T18:49:00.001-08:00

Do you have a four year old at home? Well, I do...Will is the third in the Giger line up. At preschool, I'm told he is a sweet, cooperative, angel boy always following directions, sitting quietly at circle time, and even helping the teacher clean up after the other kids. I must admit that when I get the daily report I'm thinking "are you sure you're talking about my kid?" So this just confirms my theory that I held for quite a long time. I'm convinced that children have a very specific amount of good behavior stored up to ration out throughout the day. Once the limit has been met...it's "Look Out World!"

My darling child is feeling quite accomplished in the new skill of talking back. It's a beautiful thing really, an art form mastered by pre-teens across the globe. Maybe because he has two older siblings, ages 13 and 11, he has been ushered into this abyss of naughtiness a little too quickly, with a great deal of confidence might I add.

Last weekend, Thing 3 was exceptionally unruly. A lethal combination of weekend events and no naps (particularly for the parents) left me thinking a demonic wolverine had taken possession of my baby boy. The chubby cheek smile had been replaced by the upturned lips of a snarl. By Sunday afternoon, I found myself searching for the nearest band of gypies to whom I could offer him for a good price.

As we began to negotiate for good behavior in exchange for the ever popular Diego DVD, Will decided it was time to assert his authorithy in the family unit.

It all happened so quickly. The Hubby snapped! He usually has the patience of Job, but our pint sized Napoleon became a little too vocal. Hubby reached for the soap dispenser and all I could think was "Super Nanny Jo would not like this". Of course, Super Nanny Jo wasn't here dealing with Mini Mount Vesuvius.

Hubby squirted a small amount of soap on his fingers and raked them across Will's lips. Now that got his attention! Eyes squinted. The nose scrunched up. Then the mouth began to move in a motion similar to a puppy eating peanut butter. Oh the wailing! Banshees from the Emerald Isle rose up in protest. Little hands flew to his mouth and wiped frantically in an effort to remove the awful taste. Feeling slightly sympathic to him, Hubby grabbed a towel to undo the atrosity. After it was all over, Will had calmed down and realized that he was not in charge. He became agreeable to the family plan and proceeded back to the living room to join everyone.

In a matter of moments, the lesson of the day was done. Did that eliminate the sassy-speak? No. Did it kill him to have a small taste of soap? No. Will he remember that it's not polite to speak to the Mommy and the Daddy in that tone? Hopefully, but I'm not convinced. All in all, I have no plans to soap again. Although, like ever good parent, I threaten to do it :-)

Life Before Birth?

2009-02-23T18:48:00.000-08:00

Anxious...nauseous...overwhelmed....these words describe exactly how I feel at the prospect of sharing my daughter with the world. Arrogant to think that others would be fascinated or intrigued enough to listen to our story, insecure to know that many may see this and believe it is all fiction, the figment of a toddler's vivid imagination, or worse, the lies of a vile mother desperate for attention.

I assure you that neither is true. I am curious though to know of others who share the secret (if I can call it that) we know, the truth we hold dear and believe in every corner of our soul.

Emily has always been a special child. She is the second of four beautiful blond haired, blue eyed children. When Adam (our first) was just over a year old, I had a recurrence of endometrioses. At that time, my OB advised if we wanted more children we should try to conceive sooner rather than later. I stopped taking my birth control pills and in less than three weeks became pregnant.
The day we found out that this tiny life inside of me was a girl, we were overjoyed. "The perfect family" everyone said. No family is perfect, but we certainly were very blessed. My mother was particularly elated that a granddaughter was arriving on the scene. A little girl was coming to add some spice to all the boys in our lives.

When Emily was born my grandmother described her as the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Now I know all grandmothers are required to say that, but there was something special about this child. Emily truly looked like a bright eyed cherub.

I often described Emily as "special" not really knowing how true that statement would prove to be. There were moments when she would stumble by and I would swear I caught a glimpse of Heaven. Her little girl giggles were the songs of angels. Surely this child walked with God.
My life changed on night when I went to tuck her in bed. We went to her Little Mermaid room and crawled up on her bed. That's when she told me!

Emily was somewhere between two and three years old. At this time in our lives, we did not attend a church. Embarassed to admit, but we rarely even prayed at mealtime. Although an incredibly bright girl, gifted academically, she has always been quiet and reserved. She inherited that trait from her father. She was one of those children who chose not to talk until they made complete sentences. That night she miraculously put her words together and told me what she knew.

Emily explained as only a child can, sitting with God and choosing her parents. She and God decided that I would be her Mommy and my husband, her Daddy. It makes for a great bedtime story and seems like the rambling of a young child eager to please. But she spoke vividly of Heaven. A Heaven filled with puppies. She described God's hands as being very big and his shoulders very wide. She even motioned with hands to show me. She said she sat in God's hands and watched the earth below and chose her parents.

Tears streamed down my face for I knew in an instance this child had been in the presence of our Divine Creator and my life was never the same. A sense of peace and calmness accompanies me always because Faith was restored.

I often wonder if others have had similar experiences. There are so many documented variations of life after death. Is it so far-fetched to believe in life before birth?