Reason #274

I think you could find a couple hundred reasons in this blog to question my mothering skills. The last post had four all by itself. And since my poor mothering skills seem to be the theme for the weekend I thought I'd share reason #274. This video. I don't even know why I was taking a video of Noah in the first place. He wasn't doing anything interesting. I just started the camera, maybe subconsciously knowing he would hit his head on the table. What kind of mother films her kid subconsciously thinking he will hit his head? Furthermore what kind of mother continues to film after her son gets hurt the first time and then posts it on her blog?...the kind who writes her confessions out for the world to read (okay not the world, only for the 3 people who read this blog)...

Does God Second Guess?

Here are four reasons why God is probably re-thinking his decision to entrust me with two of His precious little cherubs today:

4: Today, after carrying Noah on my hip for a few minutes while in a store, I noticed a huge wet spot on my hip after putting him down. His diaper was so soaked that it leaked through his pants and onto my clothes. I could blame it on cheap diapers but God knows that it was because I left him in the same diaper all day long. I completely forgot to change his diaper. 

3: Maia Belle was being super fussy while we were shopping at Old Navy and Target to the point where I almost offered to sell her to the checker lady for a really discounted price. I was so sick of her incessant interruptions to my shopping. She would not keep the binky in her mouth and nothing would shut her up for about an hour. When we got back to the car, I realized the clock said 4:00 p.m.! Oh CRAP! I was supposed to feed her at 3:00 p.m. My poor child was starving. This also explained the excruciating pain in my boobs for the last hour. 

2: My 1 1/2 year old son says and understands the meaning of spicy. What mother in her right mind gives an 18 month old food that may even remotely cause him pain in his mouth?...That would be yours truly. I was craving Chipotle and failed to pack anything for Noah for dinner so I decided to give him the rice, beans, and tomato (from the mild tomato salsa) from my burrito bowl. I knew full well that Chipotle's food is always spicy no matter what you order, but I figured I would just try it on him since I had no other options. Noah proceeded to grab his tongue in an effort to remove it from his mouth so that the burning would stop. With a scrunched face he said "spicy" (with a lisp, which made it cute) and asked for his smoothie. He figured it was cold and would help alleviate the pain. 

1: This morning at the playground Noah made his usual climb to the top of the slide but did not want to go down it because he said it was hot. I knew that his shorts were long enough to protect his legs from the hot plastic and encouraged him to sit down and nudged him down the slide. On his way down his foot got caught and his little body flipped to where he was now going down head first. During the flip his shirt lifted. Thus, his belly was exposed and rubbing against the scorching hot slide and he was stuck because skin does not slide well on plastic. He let out an agonizing scream and I rushed down the ladder to rescue him from the burning while praying that no one would come out of their houses and call CPS on me. I pulled him off the slide and kissed his red hot belly. Thank God that my Noah thinks a kiss fixes everything. If he would have kept screaming like that, I would have had to make a run for it.

Once again, I will refer you to  my letter to CPS in case you are contemplating calling them. God, I promise to try to do better tomorrow. Maybe I will only have 3 reasons instead of 4. 

The Most Inspiring Blog I've Ever Read

This post is another one of those out of place posts that doesn't really fit with the the usual type of writing I do on this blog but I had to post it...About 1 month ago I was blog surfing and through a friend's blog found this blog called Bring the Rain. I clicked on the blog and decided to go to the very first post instead of the most recent one because the side bar encouraged me to do so. As I began to read, I became immediately engulfed in Angie's story. It took me a whole month to read through all of her posts from the beginning until now not because of time, but because my heart needed a break often. Her story made me ache for her and I found myself often reading blurred words through tear-filled eyes. I think the most amazing thing about Angie, is her faith in Christ. She is genuine and transparent with her feelings, yet she has an unwavering faith in Christ and trusts Him with her whole heart. Her blog has challenged me and inspired me in a way that I have never been challenged or inspired before. 

Fun Pictures of My Babies

Yesssss! I love it when I escape from mom and she doesn't have a chance to take off my clothes and shoes off before I get soaked! 

Heyyyy, the water disappeared. Where'd it go?

I know you're in there...why won't you come out?

I am so cute! 

Great! Now people will really think I am a boy! Thanks Dad. 

I must hold on to my toys even when I sleep or else my big brother will steal them. Nobody takes my beads! 

I am The Biggest Loser

I really look forward to Tuesday evenings now that "The Biggest Loser" started back up. Every Tuesday evening from the time the season starts until it finishes, Ricky and I settle in front of the T.V. with our fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and a glass of whole milk with one ice cube for me and watch the overweight people bust their butts to lose weight. Mid-way through the show, I feel as big as the people on T.V. and sick from eating one too many cookies. Then, I get motivated by the barely breathing profusely sweating contestants, Bob's excessive yelling, and Jillian's mean faces and use of her trainees as chairs. I down one last cookie and chug the last of my milk and  decide to make a lifestyle change the next day. By the time the Last Chance Workout is through, I have made plans to wake up an hour early the next morning to go running and I have mentally noted all of the bad food in my refrigerator and pantry that needs to be thrown away. All of the little fitness tips that they've given throughout the show have been written down and posted on my refrigerator. By the time the show has ended, I am pumped and ready to lose 7 pounds the next day. I do a few sit-ups and head off to bed and dream about how great I am going to feel after I start my new diet and exercise plan....

  When 5:00 a.m. rolls around on Wednesday morning, I turn off the alarm, roll over, and go back to sleep. I have a cookie hangover...I will start my new lifestyle next Wednesday...It's a vicious cycle. 

Trash and Laundry

When Ricky and I first got married, I established the rule that taking out the trash is his job. It is an unpleasant smelly, heavy, messy job, therefore girls should not be required to do that. I deemed it unladylike and off limits for me. However, I failed to mention that there are no chores off-limits for boys and it came back to bite me in the butt yesterday night...

Ricky: Noah has no clean clothes. I had to pull out a dirty shirt for him to wear today. I don't think his clothes have been washed in like three weeks. 

Me: You could throw his clothes in the wash ya know? It's not that difficult! 

Ricky: What?! I'm not a girl!

Me: (gasp) You don't have to be a girl to do laundry. (pause) You chauvinistic pig! (for emphasis)

Ricky: You don't have to be a  guy to take out the trash... you chauvinistic pig! 

Me: shoot, shoot, shoot...I've got nothing...Touche, my dear.

I hate it when that happens! 

Xtreme One-Year- Old

I knew what I was getting myself into when I married my sweetheart 3 years ago but today it really slapped me in the face. I had 6 1/2 years of dating to really decide if I was prepared to deal with the consequences of marrying Ricky Murray. He was Godly, charming, handsome, respectful, and just plain perfect. You may ask what the heck I had to prepare myself for...well...how do I put this...he's kind of crazy... I think it is also known as extreme. He seems to love the thought of almost dying while taking part in extreme sports.  If the activity or sport does not include a high risk of dying or sustaining a paralyzing injury, then my Ricky wants no part in it. He's torn his ACL and Meniscus while back flipping on his wakeboard, he's gone sliding down a hill after falling off his dirt bike, he's fallen off a huge cliff while repelling, and he's been air lifted off a mountain after attempting a huge jump snow boarding...this whole thing has a point, so stay with me! These activities are his passion and joy. After a day on his dirt bike or on his boat on the lake, he is invigorated and excited about life and this is who I fell in love with. The hard part is that when I chose to marry him, I knew that he would want to share these passions with his kids one day and I would have to be okay with that. I took the plunge, married him, and now we have kids. And look at what has already started...my son is only 18 months old. I know that I am in for a lot of emergency room trips...God help me! 

Bleh

I am having a bleh day today. My hair looks like I spilled vegetable oil in it because it has not been washed since I don't remember when; I look like I have two black eyes because the circles underneath them are so dark due to my lovely daughter deciding to wake up at the ungodly hour of 4:00 a.m., and I have 3 month old chipped nail polish on my toes. I would love to take a long bath followed by a 4 hour nap and a pedicure. Then I'd be refreshed and ready for a Friday night on the town...HA HA HA! Yeah right, I am lucky if I get a two minute shower in without a little boy opening the shower door on me and letting all the cold air in and the hot water out all over my bathroom floor.  A four hour nap is like asking for a million dollars...never gonna happen. Pedicures are no longer relaxing because I have to have a baby attached to my boob while I am getting my feet massaged and a night on the town? Well, that's just a joke because I am usually ready for bed by 7:30 when my kids go to sleep.  But, I can dream can't I? 

Mask the Goats Please

We took out a loan today to enjoy a couple of hours at the L.A. County Fair. What a rip off! I have never been a very big fan of the Fair but I didn't want Noah to be deprived of the opportunity because his mother is too cheap to take him. So, we went today for a total of 3 hours and spent close to $80.00 and what do I have to show for it, you ask? Well, blisters on my feet from the 5 mile trek from the $10.00 parking spot to the actual Fair and the 10 mile walk on the inside, 2 sunburnt kids and 1 sunburnt mom, an empty bank account, and a kid who may have contracted whooping cough from the petting zoo goats.

I almost asked the goats if I could please speak to their manager after two of them coughed a nasty phlemy cough right in Noah's face. There we were feeding the funny looking sheared sheep and the aggressive goats. Noah's hand were getting more and more goat slobber on them by the second and I was trying to ignore that he kept putting them in his mouth. All of a sudden I heard a really nasty phlegmy cough close by. I quickly scanned my surroundings for the sick child so that I could remove Noah from his/her germ area. But, to my surprise there were no kids near us, only animals. Then I heard the deep nasty cough again and realized the culprit was standing directly in front of Noah and coughing right in his face and he wasn't a child, he was a GOAT! It sounded like he was going to drop dead any second from smoking too many cigarettes. I could see the germs flying into Noah's face as he giggled at the goats funny noises. I quickly put my hand over Noah's mouth and nose and removed him from the sick goat's area. But as we started to feed another one, he too coughed his germs into my son's face. Are you kidding me? Why don't they put masks on these sick goats or at least teach them manners: cough to the side, not in kid's faces. Anyways, if any of you are planning to go to the fair, make sure you bring your Lysol and your face masks if you go to the petting zoo.

P.S. The one thing that I did enjoy was watching a big mama pig feeding 7 of her little curly tailed piglets. It was hilarious watching them all try to get a teat as she just laid there lazily snorting.

I Covet a Maid

Yes, I know that the Bible says that "Thou shalt not covet." And, yes I do believe that, but this is my confession blog and I am confessing to you that I covet a maid. For the duration of this post I will sin and at the end I will ask for forgiveness and for a maid.

Life would be better if I had a maid because...

I would no longer have to worry about walking into a spider web in the entry way of my house

My son's feet would no longer be black because she would clean my caked with old food and dirt floors.

The 3 inch layer of dust would be removed from our furniture and pictures and we could all stop sneezing so much

I would never have to see 3 day old dishes in my sink again.

Noah would stop choking on remnants that he finds on the floor because the maid would vacuum more than once a month.

My toilet would not have that unsightly dirty ring of yuckiness in it

I would be able to see out of my windows for the first time in 3 years

Our clothes and towels would smell fresh and clean instead of like mildew (I always forget that I put a load in the washing machine until about 2 days later)

I could blog guilt-free instead of looking around at my messy house and thinking I should get off the computer and clean it.

Dear God, please forgive me for coveting and bless me with a cleaning lady. I would be ever-so grateful. Amen.

Taleah the Pack Mule

It's not a very glamorous title but it's what I am. I realized it yesterday when I was carrying 13 pound Maia in the Baby Bjorn, my 10 pound purse (complete with granola bars and half empty water bottles, no banana) on my right shoulder, and Maia's 5 pound diaper bag on my left shoulder.  I probably completed about 4 miles walking around the church carrying all this stuff in heels yesterday. Then, later when Ricky came with Noah, I somehow ended up with another 10 pound diaper bag and Noah. Ricky ended up with Maia. As we were heading to our car after church, walking uphill, Noah decided that he no longer wanted to walk and wanted me to pick him up. I yelled ahead to Ricky, telling him that Noah wanted to be carried. He told me to just make him walk without even glancing back. I muttered a few almost profanities under my breath, and slowly bent down as to not drop any of 3 bags on my shoulders and lifted 26 pound Noah onto my hip and proceeded to walk up the stairs. By the time I got to the car, Noah was hanging on to my shirt for dear life as he was sliding down my waist, the diaper bags were ripping into my forearms leaving red burn marks as they slid down my arms, sweat was dripping down my face, my back was pulsating in pain, and my feet were screaming at me to let me know that I was over my weight limit for them. When Ricky finally looked at me, I shot him a murderous stare and dropped everything on the floor including Noah (he landed on his feet by the way and almost took my shirt with him). Then, my chivalrous hubby burst into laughter and I couldn't help but laugh too at what a sight I must have been. He didn't realize how much I was carrying until I dropped it in my dramatic fashion in front of him. He was probably embarrassed too thinking of all the people we passed who saw a big 6 foot 1 guy holding his tiny baby girl and his wife walking 12 paces behind him loaded down like a pack mule, slowly losing her kid and her shirt. 

 Anyways later that night, I found myself holding my 10 lb purse, Maia's 5 lb diaper bag, and a 30 pound car seat with Maia in it. There really is no way around it. I must always be carrying something heavy because I have 2 babies. I have been told that my arms are looking toned . People always comment on how I lost weight so fast after my second baby. They ask where I find the time to work out. I now have an answer: "I am a Pack Mule."

P.S. I am hoping to include a picture soon just so you can see how ridiculous I look and feel sorry for me. Stay tuned. 

How Do I Go About Inspiring?

My friend Tony who happens to be a pastor wrote on his blog that people will find my blog "inspirational." I read that and immediately went into panic mode: Shoot I need to head over to my blog right now and write something inspiring. My last blog will only inspire people to be completely grossed out by me and never come near my purse. Think quick...ummm...inspiring...hmmm...I changed a gag inducing diaper today, not inspiring...I wore a shirt with a stain that I noticed when I put it on but left it on anyways and when someone pointed it out to me, I acted like that was the first time I saw it, so they wouldn't think I was a slob, soooo not inspiring...I did a load of laundry, that's a stretch. Oh dear! 

This whole thought process almost threw me back into pity party mode. But then I got to thinking...Maybe I inspire other moms to see the humor in their everyday stressful, mundane-task-filled lives. Maybe I inspire them to laugh. Maybe I inspire them to feel like good mothers because they compare themselves to my stories and realize that they have clean purses and boys with clean shirts and well-behaved kids in restaurants. Whether or not all this is true, it made me feel better about my blog promising to inspire. People are inspired by many different things and I guess it's a long shot, but they could be inspired by my blog!

  

Why I Will Never Own a Louis Vuitton Purse

I went to a mom's group this past Monday at my church and one of the activities was a purse scavenger hunt. I attribute the loss of my team to the amount of trash that I had to shovel my way through to find the needed items in my purse. I felt like I had let my team down and was inspired to do my once a year cleaning of my purse that night. Because I am so low maintenance I buy myself a purse once every two years or so and I never switch it out. I use it whether or not it matches my outfit or the occasion. Thus, it has multiple functions, trash bag, diaper bag, pill box, garment bag, lunch bag and acquires many random items and interesting odors. Allow me to take you on a tour through my purse...

First, we have a pile of trash. Notice how some articles in this pile are moist. As I was digging these items out, I kept noticing that many of the items were soaked but I couldn't seem to find the source. I also smelled a familiar odor but could not quite put my finger on it.

The next group of items I discovered were drugs...Oh don't get your panties in a wad people! I don't have a drug problem. I've got asthma, low milk supply, and cramps...don't ask about the orange bottle...I don't know why that one is in there.

Amidst the disturbing content, I found a cute item...one pink baby sock. I have no idea where its partner is. I think it got eaten by the other items in my bag. The sock was a little gooey and smelled kind of like bananas. Weird!

I think I have a subconscious phobia of going hungry. I found four smashed granola bars. I don't know why I keep putting them in there. These were also quite sticky.

Drum roll please...the next item you are about to view may require you to grab a paper bag to vomit in.  I dug to the bottom of my purse and felt something really squishy and it seemed to be oozing something. Slowly, I pulled it out and realized that I had found the source of the moisture and odor. It was a black, I am guessing 4- week- old banana. My explanation: my one-year-old son loves bananas and can be bribed to obedience if promised one. I must have thrown it in my purse before a quick trip somewhere and forgotten about it. Since it is now indistinguishable, I don't think it would work to bribe my son so I decided to photograph it and throw it away.  (Totally coincidental that the piece of trash on which it is laying says "My favorite way to cool down this summer").

This, my blogger world friends, is why I can never own a Louis Vuitton purse. Louis does not deserve to be subjected to the oozings and foul odors of a 4 week-old-banana. 

Technical Difficulties

I hopefully will be back to regular posting this evening. My internet has been down for 5 days and I can't really post while I am at work...too much work to do. I currently am broken out in a cold sweat and have the "shakes" from facebook/ blog withdrawals. I need my fix and will hopefully get it tonight if Time Warner does their job right.

Clothes for Boys are a Waste of Money

Why did I think buying a white shirt for Noah was a good idea? Well, because a white t-shirt goes with almost anything. It's an easy outfit that I don't have to think about. As you can see from this picture, that white shirt was a waste of money. My child looks like he mopped the floor with his shirt (which he probably did since he likes to army crawl around the house sometimes). There really is no point in dressing my kid. His clothes are usually stained by the time breakfast is done. But, I can't let him run around in a diaper because 1. people will think I am a horrible mother 2. I'd have a huge mess on my hands because Noah knows how to take his diaper off. I guess I will just have to keep wasting my money on clothes for him. 

A Model? I Think Not

  I am blessed to work with some of the sweetest ladies in the world. Since arriving with my new hair cut, I have received a few comments from these wonderful ladies saying I should be a model. I wave off the comments but... before exiting the bathroom, I can't help but strike a pose giving myself a second glance in the mirror before leaving. My confidence builds and I begin to walk with my head held high around the office like it was my very own run way. When stopping to talk to people I stand with my weight on one leg and my hands on my hips picturing myself at the end of a cat walk in a fashion show.  I flip my hair, catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall, and realize that it's time to pump. I strut my stuff down the hallway and into my office.

   I close the door, shut the blinds, sit myself at my desk, plug in my pump, hook myself up, and am lulled into a daydream about my modeling career from the rhythmic sounds of the pump. Suddenly, I feel sweat dripping down my arm and notice that I am developing pit stains because my breast feeding hormones are kicking in. I snap out of my daydream, grab some napkins left on my desk from lunch and stick them under my arm pits making a mental note to shave the two week old unsightly stubble that dwells there. While putting the napkins in place, one of the pumps slips off and milk spills onto my jeans.  I blow on my jeans to dry the stain. Sweat beads develop on my forehead. As I maneuver my forehead under my armpit and use the napkin there to dry the sweat on my brow, I hear my name being called and nearly jump out of my seat. The voice approaches and I frantically glance at the door praying that I remembered to lock it. The girl calling me, gets to the door, knocks, calls my name through the door and tries the handle. Thank God Almighty! It does not open. I locked the door! I pretend not to be there, hoping she will go away but she keeps calling me and asks me why my door is locked. Just as I am about to tell her that I am indisposed, someone comes and helps her out with whatever it is that she needed. Phew! Can you imagine the trauma I would have caused her if she would have walked in? The "office model" looking like a cow hooked up to a noisy pump, with pit stains, hairy armpits, napkins hanging out of her shirt, stained jeans, and sweat soaked hair pasted to her forehead.  A model? I think not! 

  My bathroom pose striking, cat walk strutting, hair flipping, hands on hip standing days ended almost as soon as they began. Thanks to the nice office ladies for boosting my ego for a few minutes and thanks to motherhood for causing it to come crashing down into oblivion. 

Mission Impossible: A Good Picture With 5 Kids

The Mission: To get a decent picture of 5 kids (4 under the age of 4). To my displeasure and her delight, my sister-in-law suggests we try this every time we have a Murray get together. She finds the process entertaining. I find it torturous! 

  First we have to gather all the kids, which involves a lot of whining and/or crying as we have to pull the kids away from whatever toy or activity they are playing with or participating in. Then, half of the adults retrieve their cameras and get themselves in position for lightning speed picture taking. A few of the other adults position themselves behind the camera holders to be attention grabbers. The remaining adults get the two older kids positioned on the couch and then proceed to bring the little kids in when the camera holders are good and ready to pull the trigger. Most of the time this involves me bribing Noah. This time my object of choice as you can see in this picture was keys. Once all the kids are on the couch, the positioners move far enough away to be out of the picture but close enough to catch a falling kid before he/she hits the ground. The attention grabbers jump up and down, wave their arms in the air, make funny noises, clap their hands, and call the kids' names to get them to look in the direction of the cameras. The camera holders simultaneously take as many pictures as possible in about 5 seconds. After about 2 seconds one of the kids is climbing off the couch and another is poking the baby in the eye and we've got 3 cryers and the photo opportunity is done. We rush to get our kids before they trample each other trying to get off the couch. My sister-in-law tries to contain her uncontrollable laughter and I take a deep breath and thank God that it is over. Then we all go through our pictures and realize that the result of the whole complicated production is what you see above: My son eating dirty keys, not looking at the camera and trying to make his escape, Tyler looking like he is trying to take a nap, Hailey poking Maia in the eye, Kayla multi-tasking: smiling for the camera while holding Maia and trying to keep Hailey on the couch, and Maia lying in her cousin's arms wondering why her Mama would subject her to this torturous process.