"Cheesecake"

Today we went to my mom’s house to celebrate her birthday. Mimi and Papa’s house is amazing! So much fun and full of adventure, and Papa never says no! We loaded everyone up with the hopes that the younger two would sleep on the way there. Small has already had a morning nap, but it was about an hour shorter than expected. We pull onto a main street by our house and there’s the BLIMP! I was thinking to myself, as I was watching Medium dose off in the back seat in the rear view mirror, “Thank god we have been parents long enough to know not to point out the blimp, or the kids will never get to sleep. They’ll be too excited.” Literally seconds after I have completed that thought, my husband yells out, “Girls! Do you see the blimp?!” Medium’s eyes jut wide open, and they remain that way. Luckily she fell asleep about fifteen minutes away from Mimi’s house. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something.
 
  Small had no interest in a nap on the way there, which is frightening. Lucky for us, she was still pretty good the entire time. We pull up, and even though Medium has been there a hundred times, she still acts like we’re taking her to a slaughterhouse, and clings to my husband’s shoulders, preventing him from carrying anything in to the house. Small has much more attitude than that. My parents have four small dogs, and Small charges right at them, with her fat little finger pointing. She loves animals. Large hops out of the car and is immediately off in search of Papa and some adventure.

Bug Hunting with Papa

  
Uncle Denny (my brother) arrives with his dog, and there are children and dogs everywhere. Large and Papa go bug hunting, only to catch a toad that she nearly mutilates. Medium asks for a tractor ride, and Papa busts it out of the barn, and they’re off. There’s a huge bonfire. My mom is so excited to receive a photobook that I made for her of our recent NYC trip, that she can hardly contain herself. So, we open gifts.

Helping Mimi open presents

Now, in my family, I am notorious for giving out hysterical cards to the perfect person. I pride myself on this skill, and I take card-giving very seriously. No such luck this time. I spent twenty minutes at Walmart, looking through the birthday cards. My mother is a breast cancer survivor. She has also had a double mastectomy. So I’m looking through the cards for women in their middle ages. Most of the jokes are about sagging boobs. Okay, well I can’t very well buy a card like that. Then I find one that has Mr. Potato head about to pee in a urinal, the text box saying, “Crap, I left it at home.” That’s pretty funny... until I open it up and it says something like “At least you don’t have detachable parts!” Haha but my mom does! So I can’t get that one! (Though she has such a wonderful sense of humor about life, so she probably would have crapped herself laughing at that card. Hindsight sucks). I settle on a old woman stating that she gets five miles of exercise a day, and the catch phrase inside is that she doesn’t know where she is after walking the five miles. It’s lame, I know, but so is Walmart. I should have known better.
  

 The rest of the evening is spent in the backyard, where my parents have the deck from Hell if you have small children. No railings anywhere, and a pond with a set of stairs on either side, connecting the top deck to the bottom deck. There are also flower pots above the pond, and all little girls LOVE flowers. They’re like tiny colorful magnets, dangling dangerously three feet above the six foot pond. Small is 18 months old, and is just learning how to go down the stairs. I’ve been trying to teach her to go down backwards, but the more you tell her something, the more she won’t do it. Mom and I are sitting on the upper deck, and from where we are watching Small, it looks like she is about to topple on her face and roll into the pond while attempting to go down the stairs. This happens about 27 more times while we’re there.
  

Knuckleheads

 At one point, Medium has the bug net, and she has filled it with bird-shit-covered sunflower seed shells. When I scream and tell her to put them back, she flails the net all over the place, causing seeds to fly out everywhere. Large finds another toad and proceeds to almost mutilate it, until Uncle Denny saves the day by helping her. Small has a stick larger than herself, and is trying to carry it up the deck-from-hell’s stairs. The younger two dogs, both practically still puppies, are playing tug-of-war over another stick. Small continuously waves her fat finger at them yelling “nononono!” Is this all painting a nice picture for you of the chaos at Mimi’s party?

Small and Weezer

  Dessert time comes, and I bring out the “cheesecake” that I made. I put “cheesecake” in parentheses for two reasons. 1). It’s vegan, as my husband is vegan, and therefore has no dairy in it. 2). This thing resembled NOTHING of a cake. I used a different kind of pan (my springform was leaking) and a different kind of cream cheese (it was on SALE!). Dear god, this “cake” looked like curdled flan in a wind storm. It was more like a “pudding” than anything else. But the taste was there! It was very tasty! REALLY! My family ate it, and said quietly that it was good. Large looked at me and declared, “Mommy! It’s DELICIOUS! You’re the BEST cook!” And she’s FOUR! Four year olds don’t lie about such things. So it was good. Stop judging.

Eating pizza with Uncle Denny!

   
After presents, dinner, and “cake,” we go back by the fire pit and the little ones (and the dogs) kick around some rubber balls. Uncle Denny shows Large some new soccer moves (and she was actually listening and learning!). Mom declared that she wanted a picture of her and her grandbabies. At this point, Small is a walking zombie from the tiredness, and Medium is only moments away from a meltdown. She appeared fine, but I know her. When she’s that tired, something will set her off. And it’s always a mystery. So Mimi sits down, and the girls are piled on top, and about 13 pictures are taken, 2 of which turn out well. And I know what my mom is thinking. “This is what life is all about.”
   
And she’s 110% right. Little kids, running around with their pigtails and dirty knees, riding tractors with Papa and playing soccer with Uncle Denny. Discovering toads and going up and down stairs over and over again just because. Life is about being together, eating crappy “cheesecake” and laughing at detachable boobs. Life is amazing. My family is amazing.

    Mom, you are the strongest, most amazing and inspiring person I have ever known. Thank you for everything. Especially for being Mimi to three little girls who adore you. Happy Birthday!

Perfect!

...And then, Papa photobombs.

Small, Medium and Large: The FUN! of Dining Out with Three Very Young Children

Last night, we decided to be very, very brave. We took ALL THREE CHILDREN out to dinner. It was the first time ever, without the help of our own parental units. It was everything we thought it would be- terrifying and fun, horrifying and terrific. Well, maybe not terrific. Though the food was.

We had to wake up the older two from their naps, which lead to Middle being very, very crabby. The other day I woke her up so that we could go to the library. I asked her to drink her milk before we went, which lead to an hour long TANTRUM FEST of screaming and crying in the kitchen. We did not go to the library. And she also did not drink her milk. Lose, lose. Any way, we had to wake them up. We told them we were GOING OUT TO EAT!!! Did they care? No. Candy wasn’t involved in the statement “going out to eat,” so why get excited? We tried to booster the excitement of the whole ordeal by mentioning that there is a GIANT HORSE!!! outside of the restaurant. We got nothing in return.

So we load everyone up. Small is excited, because we are leaving the house. Any time the front door opens, it’s a freakfest to get out that door! “HURRAY! We’re going OUT OF THE HOUSE! See you later, walls. I’m outta here.” I had to stop Large from grabbing handfuls of freshly fertilized grass clumps, and herded everyone into our family minivan, thinking fondly of the days that we owned a Tiberon. With everyone buckled in tight, we took off.

We park fairly close, and unload our brood. They spot the GIANT HORSE!!! and excitement ensures, but Daddy is hungry, so we forgo a picture opportunity with GIANT HORSE!!!. The host and hostess eye us up and down, and I know what they’re thinking. I was a server for five years. I know what a family with three very young children is capable of. They seat us all the way in the back of the restaurant, next to another family with young kids. With everyone in proper seating, Large opens up her coloring book to find KID FRIENDLY CHOP STICKS! She whips them out and waves them around, narrowly missing the array of sauces and the lit oil candle in the middle of the table. I blow out the candle, and eventually will ask her ten more times to stop waving those (GOD DAMNED) things around.

 As any parent with a one year old knows, everything must be removed from within a five foot radius of Small. If it’s within that five foot radius, she WILL have it. It’s magic, and you can count on it. We ordered tofu lettuce wraps for an appetizer, one of my favorite things to eat ever. The food runner who brought the appetizer was a young gentleman, who clearly has never been around small children, as he set the plate right in front of Small, who with lightening reflexes tried to grab it. Luckily, Mommy is faster. I gave a bite to Large, who proclaimed to love it, but it was obvious that her love of the tofu was simply because she could pick it up with her chop sticks. The hubs gave a bite to Medium, who almost threw up in her mouth. Then we gave her a piece of lettuce, all of which she shoved in her mouth and down her throat, causing her to gag and almost throw up in her mouth. Small liked the tofu for about three bites before she proceeded to throw the rest on the floor.

The main entrées make it to the table without any causalities (yet) except for Small’s tofu on the floor. I dish out egg noodles, broccoli and rice as quickly as I can, as before me awaits a FEAST OF DELICIOUSNESS that I must attend to promptly. Large begins to eat her brown rice with her chop sticks, one grain at a time. Medium follows suit, but has difficulty with the chopsticks, causing most of her food to go in her lap. Small picks up her noodles and shoves them by the handful into her mouth. She tries the broccoli, which is covered in a brown sauce, and spits it out with a theatrical “BLAH” of the tongue, and then tries it again. And spits it out again. Within minutes, fistfuls of noodles are being flung onto the floor.

I don’t mind though, as I have tuned into my own feast. For a few seconds I have delicious curried veggies and tofu in my mouth, and the children don’t exist. So. Good. Then I swallow, open my eyes, and see egg noodles flying by my face. Meanwhile, there is a group of large, African American gentlemen sitting next to us, and Small is batting her eyes and flirting with them. I hope they find her cute, and that cuteness overshadows Medium crying because she couldn’t get her chop sticks to work.

At least once, at separate times, both Large and Medium decide that they need to GO POTTY!! And when the urge hits, and you’re two or four, IT HITS, and it’s URGENT. So first I take Large, and Medium protests, but I assure her she can wait the ten minutes it was going to take us to finish our dinners. Large does her business, and then all of a sudden, the public bathroom transforms into a festival of treasures that she must TOUCH. So I’m in there, and the dialogue (well, monologue really), goes something like this: “Go potty. Hop down. Wipe. The right way. No, the right way.Throw it in the DON’T TOUCH THAT! DON’T TOUCH THAT! NO!!! DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!!!!” Large washes her hands, dries them, tries to touch the door handle NOOO! We make it back to the table, where Medium awaits, about to pee her pants. The whole scenario is repeated, only two year olds listen a lot less than four year olds, so plenty more “DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING’s!!!!” spew from my mouth.

By the time we make it back, Small is getting antsy. She starts doing a little dance in her highchair which says, “Get me the F out of here, I’M DONE!” Some whines escape, I give her crayons, chop sticks, lettuce, anything! that will keep her occupied while I finish my delicious food. I scarf the rest down. My husband looks happy and content and non-stressed (why couldn’t we have all boys so he could deal with the potty situation? Just kidding. I don’t like little boys. They have penises. And I don’t want to deal with THAT).  Medium and Small have both had enough of this charade at this point. While we were in the bathroom, Small got to drink some of Medium’s lemonade, and now they are fighting over it. Large is still eating rice one grain at a time with her chopsticks, and Small starts screaming as the lemonade is taken from her tiny, clenched fists. Time to go!

The hubs take the smaller two out. Large eats some broccoli, inquiring about dessert. Thank god there are fortune cookies, and she’s happy. Our server was simply amazing- incredibly attentive and speedy. I pay the bill, leave a HUGE tip to cover the HUGE mess that Small left, and then it’s off the find that GIANT HORSE!!!

But the hubs is already in the car with the younger two, so no GIANT HORSE!!! fun. I feel a little bit sad to skip that opportunity yet again, but there is the whole broken up fortune cookie situation that I’m going to have to deal with once we get in the car.

Maybe next time, GIANT HORSE!!! For now, I’m going home. I’m exhausted.

Small, doing her "antsy dance" with a chop stick.