Jeff didn’t look up from his computer but only grunted.

“Did you hear me? They are waiting for you.” I said, slightly annoyed.

“Yeah. I’ll head up in just a minute,” he answered me.

Since he answered me, I knew that he heard me so I walked into the kitchen, opened the cupboard and pulled out a wine glass.

It was my favorite time of day. The kids were finally in bed, sure they were still messing around and I could hear them giggling but I didn’t really care. The day full of constant, “Mom. Mommy. Mom. Momma. Mom. Mommy” was over. It was time for me.

It’s not that they are bad kids or anything or are constantly misbehaving. Quite the opposite, for the most part they are pretty good. They make me smile and laugh They show me the world in a different way. I do enjoy them. I like them. It’s just that by 8pm, I am done. I want time to have a complete thought or no thoughts. I want to just be still and not have to get anyone anything. I’ve been up and moving, constantly doing something for someone for almost 14 hours and since nap time is long a thing of the past, I’ve had no break.

Yeah, their bedtime will always been my favorite time of day.

I chose a bottle of wine from the wine rack and rummaged around in the drawer for the cork screw. When I found it, I opened the bottle and poured a glass. I took a sip and exhaled. I felt the warm red wine coat my throat and I could feel my body relax.

“All tucked in?” I asked as Jeff returned from upstairs.

He nodded as he too went to the cupboard and removed a glass.

I watched him intently.

“What are you doing?’ I asked.

“Um…isn’t obvious?” he began, “I am going to have a glass of wine. Is that alright with you?”

I snickered, of course it was alright with me, him having a glass of wine didn’t bother me, him pouring the glass did.

“Yeah, that’s fine… can I pour it for you?” I asked.

Jeff rolled his eyes at me.

And thus began another round of the longest standing argument in our marriage. ‘The Jeff Pour’ vs ‘The Jen Pour’.

I like to pour a smaller glass and have more of them and he likes to pour a larger glass and nurse it longer. We normally share a bottle which means about 2 glasses of wine each.  The problem with this is that is larger glass sometimes means there is less wine for me. It’s selfish I know and I suppose we could just open another bottle but then I’d want some of that wine and mixing two bottles of wine is just not right.

In the grand scheme of things, I realize this is a silly argument. I know I should not care but I do. It’s just my thing. Just like I like the light switches all up or all down, I care about how much of an over pour Jeff does.

I didn’t know what we are going to do about this. I tried not to care. I tried just not to look but I can’t stop. My annoyance grows and grows. There has to be a solution.

And one day while walking in the grocery store down the wine aisle, as I sacrificed my body to save a bottle of wine one of the kids was about to knock over, a solution presented itself, literally right in front of my face.

Black Box Wine.

I was skeptical at first. Being kind of a wine snob, I had always turned my nose up at boxed wine. It was cheap and usually not very good but I need a solution to this problem. I didn’t know if I could have another ‘Jeff Pour’ vs ‘Jen Pour’ argument.

I picked up the black box and studied it.

The description, “This wine blends Merlot grapes from California’s finest regions which combine to make a blend brimming with redberry fruit, soft tannins and a smooth concentrated finish”  woo’d me and made my mouth water. The shiny award labels made me smile.

And the fact that it contained 4 bottles in one bag made me place that box in my cart.

Then later that night when I tasted the wine, the flavors of  plums, sweet red currants and cinnamon spiced oak danced on my tongue, I was completely won over.

Curious, Jeff walked over to investigate. I allowed him a sip from my glass.

“Nice,” he said, “That’s really good.”

I nodded, smiled and then handed him an empty glass.

“There are about 4 bottles  in there. So you can ‘Jeff pour’ away.” I said as I walked away with my glass.

It was over. The pour battle was finally over.

Thank you Black Box Wine, thank for ending a many year long argument in such a beautiful and blissful way.

It’s time to think inside the box. Available in ten delicious varietals and two sizes (3L and Tetra), Black Box Wine will have you ready to lose the bottle! Black Box Wines is perfect for all your summer gatherings!

This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Black Box Wines. The opinions and text are all mine.

“How about you eat two carrots first and then you can have some more?” I said making a deal with him because it’s all about the give and take.

He sighed, looked at the carrots, looked at me, looked and the Cheetos and then crunched down on the carrot.

“Guys what are potato chips made of?” Jeff asked after a moment of silence.

Three little hands shot in the air but Hayden answered, “Potatoes!”

“What about Veggie Straws?” Jeff asked.

Again, three hands shot up in the air but this time Claire yelled, “Veggies!”

“Then who knows what Cheetos are made of?” Jeff asked.

I looked up from my plate of mac-n-cheese and hot dogs, what was he doing? Where was he going with this?

The table fell silent again as the kids pondered the question. It was Claire who broke the silence, “Potatoes?!”

Jake and Quinn voiced their agreement but Hayden shook his head, “I don’t fhink so, Claire. Daddy, are they made of cheese?”

“Yeah! The are made of cheese!” Quinn and Claire said together.

I semi-nodded and returned to eating my lunch hoping that everyone else would do the same.

“Nope, you are all wrong,” Jeff said. “They are made of cheetahs.”

I immediately looked up from my plate and glared at Jeff. Really, he was going to go there?

“No,” the kids said, shaking their heads.

“Yeah, look at the bag… there is a picture of a cheetah right no there. That is what they are made of because on the potato chip bag there is a potato and on the Veggie Straws there are veggies.” Jeff said, arguing his point.

Hayden grabbed the bag and studied it and being that he is 8, almost 9, he turned the bag around to try and read the ingredient list.

“Seriously, dad?!” Jake said, giving Jeff his best ‘ you are full of it’ look.

“Why else would they put a cheetah on the bag?” Jeff asked.

I sat back and listened to the conversation, rolling my eyes a few times. This was Jeff’s favorite game. Telling the kids silly things to see what they would believe. It used to be pretty easy to do. They would never question him but now as they are getting old, they are getting suspicious of him and often turn to me for verification.  If he wasn’t careful, the kids would never believe a word that came from his mouth.

“Dad.” Hayden said in his best grown up voice, “That is just a cartoon character they use for marketing.”

I choked on my drink. Seriously, where is he learn that?

“No,” Jeff answered, pushing the issue, “I think it’s because it’s because they are made of cheetahs.”

The arguing was now reaching ear piercing levels and I did what had to be done before a full out word war and food fight broke out. I grabbed the Cheetos bag from the middle of the table and read the ingredients.

“They are made from corn. Corn.” I said setting the bag back down. “Now, everyone EAT!”

I sighed as the table hushed and people chewed on their food… Yup, mom had spoken.

Jeff reached across the table and picked up the Cheetos bag. I watched him with a look that said, ‘really you are going to challenge me?’ He read the bag and then set it down.

“Ah, see when they say ‘natural and unnatural’ ingredients what they are really mean is cheetah dust.” he said.

The kids all stopped and looked at him.

“I get it now. Cheetos are mostly made of corn but are sprinkled with cheetah dust because cheetahs are so hard to catch being they are so fast and all.” He clarified.

Each child took a Cheetos in their hand and studied it. Jeff did the same and then popped it in his mouth.

“Mmm… cheetah dust.” he said as he chewed. “Yum.”

From the moment you walked around the car from your side to mine to open the door for me, I knew that I would always be treated like a princess.

From the moment you made me laugh so hard my sides ached and the tears streamed down my face, I knew that when I was with you, I would always laugh.

From the moment you looked deep into my eyes and told me, “you are the most beautiful woman in the world,” I knew that in one look you could make me feel gorgeous.

From the moment you said, “I think I love you,” I knew you did and always would.

From the moment you held me while I cried, I knew all my secrets would be safe with you.

From the moment you said, “Will you marry me?” I knew all my dreams would come true.

From the moment I told you over the phone threw broken sobs that I was pregnant, asking what I should do next and you said, “um… call the doctor?!” I knew you would be a good father.

From the moment our oldest son came out looking just like you, I knew you would help him grow to be all the best of you.

From the moment you said, “Yeah, I’m gonna need some time” and then left me standing in the parking lot, alone after finding out I was pregnant with triplets, I knew it was going to be a bumpy ride but we would be ok.

From the moment I came home and you had a list made of things we needed to be ready for triplets and had called to schedule your vasectomy, I knew, together, we could handle this.

From the moment, you sat with me in the hospital eating take-out and watching bad TV while I grew our babies, I knew that I would always been supported.

From the moment you held each one of our children in your arms, looking down at them with so much more love than I even though possible, I knew our children would never want for anything and be your top priority.

From the moment you took over from me when I was stressed out, exhausted and done after dealing with screaming children all day, I knew we would always be a team.

From the moment you crack a joke when the tension is high and the whole family bursts out in giggles, I knew our family would always find the humor in life.

From the moment the kids scream with glee as you wrestle around with them and rough house, I knew that they would always like you a little more than me and I am just fine with that.

From the moment you brought out the baking soda and vinegar to show our children science, I knew that they would always know the joy of learning new things and you would be their greatest teacher.

From the moment you kiss each child good night and say, “I love you, dork,” I knew you are the best father in the world and a true blessing.

Happy Father’s Day

We love you.

“How’s it going? You drinking wine yet?”

It was from Jeff. I scoffed at it and typed back, “No. Things are actually going pretty well. The kids just finished crafting and are now outside play.”

I smiled to myself. Summer break wasn’t going to be so bad. My muscle memory of being home with the kids all day every day had kicked in. I remembered not to let them watch TV all day, made them play together. This was going to work.

Well, that was Day 1. Then Day 2 hit.

I realize that some of the happenings of this day were kind of my fault but not all of them.

You see, I was kicking ass and taking names in  morning. Most of the kids were dressed and all were fed, the dishes were done, the laundry was started and the husband was sexed. I even took chicken out of the freezer to put in the crock pot for dinner.

And that was all before I had my first cup of coffee. Sex in the morning will do that to a girl.

It was then that I made my first mistake.

I fixed myself some breakfast and sat down in front of the computer. I opened Facebook and Twitter and Pinterest and down the rabbit hole I went.

I should have known that I was in cyber space too long when Quinn and Claire kept asking me, “Mommy, when are we going to get dressed?” But I was pinning things and retweeting people, I just needed a couple more minutes.

Well, I lost track of how many times that I told them, “in a couple minutes” because when I finally looked up, it was 45 minutes before we had to leave. And I needed to shower and shave my legs if I wanted to wear shorts and not be mistaken for a Sasquatch.

I ran into the shower and cursed myself out the entire time which led me to knick my knee with the razor. I was now in the shower dealing with a small cut that was bleeding like Rob Stark after his throat was cut during the Red Wedding.

Finally the bleeding stopped and I jumped out of the shower. I decided it’d be faster  to air dry as I gathered my clothes. I walked into my bedroom only to be greeted by Hayden. Who’s eye’s, like a good man, went right to my breasts. I screamed, he screamed, I covered and he ran away screaming, “YOU GUYS! I JUST SAW MOMMY’S BOOBS! EW!”

Oh, whatever… I’d deal with that later.

I covered myself and walked into the kitchen. We now had 20 minutes before we had to leave for swimming lessons. I gathered towels, swimsuits and other stuff.

That’s when I made my second mistake. I thought that my children could remember where they had taken off their shoes. It makes sense to me to put them in the same spot every time. To them, this is a foreign concept.

“Guys, you need to find your shoes,” I yelled.

They all began to scurry around the house like little squirrels with their tails on fire trying to find their nuts. They looked up at the ceiling. They looked at the cats. They looked at the TV. But of course, not one of them could find their shoes.

“Did you check in the sandbox, in the yard, under your bed?” I yelled to them as I tried to apply eye liner without poking my eyeball.

There was crying  and more yelling but finally everyone had shoes. Of course Jake was wearing a pair of Hayden’s 3 sizes too big flip flops pretty much guaranteeing he would trip and fall but whatever. Feet just need shoes the cover, fit doesn’t really matter.

I finished tucking all my naked bits into clothes, found my shoes, one of which was in the washing machine thank you kids, and we were off. But not before someone had to quickly go potty, one kid confused to only having one shoe and I forgot to grab my bag.

By the time we reached swimming lessons, my eye was twitching and my knuckles hurt from gripping the steering wheel so hard. World War III Sibling Style had broken out and I wanted to stop the van, get out and run away.

How we made it through swimming lessons and a trip the the grocery store is kinda of blur but I do think sitting alone, sweating in the humid observation area helped but I also have yet to figure out why one of my children dropped their swim trunks in the toilet and peed on them.

When we returned home, ‘World War III Sibling Style’ turned into ‘Ultimate Sibling Cage Fighting’ complete with the throwing of crafting scissoring, glitter and screaming.

So when my phone beeped again with a text from Jeff, asking the a similar question as the day before, ”How’s it going?”

You can bet your ass, I responded, ” The bottle’s been opened!! No more questions.”

So yeah, that was Day 2…. only 81 more to go. I guess maybe we all need a bit of time to adjust but all I know is, the jury is still out if we all will survive.

There is no real reason. I just don’t feel like talking. I think it’s because sitting down to dinner is my signal that we are in the home stretch. The witching hour is drawing to a close and bedtime is around the corner. It’s time for c0-parenting and mostly importantly, it’s probably the first time that I sat down in hours.

I just want to be quiet, be still, eat. And by doing this, I am open to listen.

I hear things like, ”Yuck. I am not going to eat this.”

“This is gross. It can’t be food.”

“Is there any bessert?”

But every now and again I hear,  ”Thanks for making the food, mom.”

My heart just melts. It doesn’t matter that the one who said it said it because the others were complaining about the food and he is trying to stay on my good side. He said it and I’ll take it.

I look around the table and the people sitting there, the people most important to me in the world and sometimes I get overwhelmed. There is this feeling that washes over me that I can’t explain. It steals my breath so that I couldn’t talk if I wanted too.

I study each person, really looking at them. I remember who they were when they were small and see who they are now.

I don’t feel worthy.

I yell. I scream. I cuss.

I focus on my own needs sometimes more then theirs.

I don’t want to read a bedtime story.

I don’t want to look at this one quick thing.

I fail.

And I do it over and over again.

I constantly question, ‘am I enough?”

But then one of them will catch my eye and smile at me or come over and put their arms around me in a  hug. They don’t know it but it’s in those moments that they save me. They reaffirm that I am enough, that I am what they need most.

I can’t help but smile at them. Their chatter makes me laugh. Especially the conversations from the littlest ones while they discuss the drama that is kindergarten.

“I like it when Ava kisses me,” Quinn says with a sheepish grin.

“Ew. Gross. How can you like that” Jake answers with a disgusted tone. “Girls are yucky.”

“No they are not,” Quinn defends himself, “Girls are pretty and I like it when they kiss me. Like when Ava does and Olivia and Kelly.”

I want to say something, tell them there is plenty of time for kissing girls, tell them that 5 is not the age to be worried about kissing but I stay quiet. I just listen.

“My teacher says that kissing is just for your family,” Claire announces, proud to tell of her classroom.

“But I can’t help it if the girls are always kissing me. I want them too. I don’t want to tell them no,” Quinn says exasperated.

“You could run away,” Jake adds.

“No. No. Don’t do that,” Claire adds, “Girls don’t like it when you run away from them. Just marry them instead.”

I can’t hold it in anymore and I laugh. I laugh until my sides ache and I’m gasping for breath. On one hand they are so young and have no idea but on the other hand, they know exactly how it works.

“You all should eat now,” I say when I can breathe again. “We can discuss who you are going to marry another time.”

There is a silence that falls around the table, only the sounds of chewing with the occasional burp and giggle.

“I don’t want to kiss any girls,” Jake says, breaking the stillness of the room.

“You don’t have too,” Hayden says speaking up for the first time. “because maybe you will can kiss a boy. You can’t help who you love or want to kiss.”

I can’t help but smile and my sweet insightful son. He’s right. He has no idea why, to him is just that simple. Love is love.

And that is why I listen. They are so young but so wise. They see the world as pure and beautiful.

I’m supposed to be their teacher but each day, if I can forget how the ride my last nerve and sometimes cause me to wish for a padded cell in the loony bin, they teach me something.

And that is why I’m quiet at the dinner table.

Ok. Ok.

Deep breath.

Breath in and out… in and out.

I can do this.

I used to do this all the time. It was no big deal. It was the norm.

There is no need to be scared, no need to fear the next three months.

It will be fine.

We will have fun. Yes, we will have fun.

I managed to find a babysitter to come into the house when needed. She didn’t run away screaming after she met the kids who acted like they were chipmunks on speed. I mean, the kids were so insane during this meet and greet that I wanted to leave the house.

And I’m required to say.

Nope, don’t worry about that. They will behave. I’m pretty sure about that.

We can come and go as we please. There will no routine. No need to get up and get dressed before 10am. No homework to complete. No things to get done. No lunches to pack.

But wait, I will still need to feed them. Oh goodness, the feeding that will need to happen. All meals at home, I will have to make lunch, I hate making lunch and then the constant asking for a snack.

No, no, don’t think about that. Just have them eat Fiber One bars, sure they will be gas powered but at least they will be full.

I used to scoff at moms that complained about school being over but that was back when I was tough and had all four of them home. Now with my 9 months of parole everyday from 8am to 4pm, I’ve gone soft. I’m delicate and they are dirty and loud.

Nope, nope… don’t think like that. I can do this.

They are just kids.

They are just kids.

I am the adult.

I can handle this.

And for the things I can’t, that is where there is bedtime, Twitter and a well stocked wine rack.

Ok, summer break… Bring It On.

I’m ready but please be gentle.

*last day of school June 2013*

This didn’t happen during a moment of deep reflection. I’m a busy mom, the only reflecting I do is about  what kind of wine to drink.

No, when this epiphany happened, I was bending over to pick up a toy while getting dressed and defending my backside from the dry humping my husband was giving me. I pushed him away and acted disgusted that he wanted me. He winked at me and kissed my neck and left me in our room to dress.

I heard him call to the kids to go outside with him which meant that I would be totally alone.

Why did I push him away? I liked that he wanted me. I wanted him to want me but yet, I push him away?

I looked at myself in the mirror. I saw a frumpy no make-up, no bra, stains on her tee shirt, yoga pants wearing mom looking back at me. The clothes hung on me and did nothing for me. I looked like a box.

How could anyone find me sexy?

I sighed and opened my underwear drawer to pull out a clean pair. I pushed around a sea of white cotton granny panties that had become my norm. I sighed again but then I saw a small fleck of black way in the back of the drawer.

I reached for it and pulled out a black lace string thong. I laughed at it. I couldn’t remember the last time I wore it. I had visions of sumo wrestles run through my head. Had I really worn this piece of dental floss as underwear? It seemed like a lifetime ago that I had worn something that sexy. I was pretty sure if I put it on now, it would get lost.

I threw the underwear, if you could even call it that, back into the drawer and took out a my comfortable white granny panties. Sure, I had had these since my son was born about 8 years ago but they sturdy and comfortable and covered me.  They also made my ass look three sizes bigger than what it was, but so what.

As I turned on the water and waited, I asked myself, “When was the last time we had sex?”

I never wanted a sexless marriage so I always made sure that we had sex at least once a week. Giving myself the right to skip a week if I was PMSing or feeling fat or tired.  Not that my husband asked for it but I wanted to try and keep our sex life alive. This wasn’t an easy task after the birth of triplets, four kids ages two and under doesn’t really make a girl feel like giving up the nappy dugout.

But I did. I picked one night a week, I’d get naked, kneel and bend over on the bed, butt in the air and say “Go for it, dude. Do it quick so that I can sleep.” What kind of sex life was that? I’m pretty sure there were senior citizens in nursing homes have more and better sex that I was.

In the shower, my thoughts drifted to a conversation I had with a girlfriend. She told me that she had sex with her husband at least once a day.

“Damn!” I remembered yelling in shock. “And your vagina hasn’t fallen out? Do you suffer from a lot of chaffing?”

She laughed at me because she thought I was joking but I wasn’t. How was that possible with kids. She was a mom, she worked, ran a household and here she was having sex like she lived in a college frat house. I would be lying if I didn’t say that I was a little jealous. I wanted that.

I toweled dry. I reached for my pair of granny panties on the counter and put one foot in, ready to pull them up when something stopped me. I looked at my underwear drawer. I walked over and opened it and found the black string thong I had shoved in the back corner.

“I’m wearing this,” I said to myself. I pulled it up and looked at myself in the mirror, for all intents and purposes, I was naked. And I didn’t look like a prized sumo wrestler.  My body wasn’t the same as when I was in my twenties but I wasn’t a girl any more. I was woman.  I had had children, an almost 11lb baby and triplets. My hips were wider, my breast were fuller, and sure hung a little lower, I had curves and a tummy but, damnit I was beautiful. I lived with a man who sure thought I was as evidenced by the rubbing his crotch on my thigh or ass I received every time I bent over.

And that’s when I remembered that I was a woman and not just a mom. And if I wanted to have sex at least once a day, I was going to. Somewhere inside me was a libdo… it was about to get dusted off and given a jump start.

I put clothes on over my sexy undies and appeared in the kitchen where the kids had reentered the house and were begging to watch TV.

“Let them”, I said trying to give him my best sexy smile.

I was a little rusty on the art of seduction so he didn’t pick up anything from my smile. I slide my yoga pants down my hips a little more, hoping he would notice the black string thong peeking over the top of my pants. I couldn’t remember if a ‘whale tail’ was sexy or trampy but if I wanted this to happen, I had to pull out all the stops.

I bent over the dishwasher and started unloading, banking on the fact that he would notice. I held my ass in the air a little longer than normal but the man seemed to be suddenly oblivious. I knew the window of the kids being glued to the TV was closing. If there was going to be sex, good sex, in the afternoon then it was time to be direct.

I felt a tingle all over my body. This must be what it’s like to be turned on. Hot damn, I like it.

I walked over and pressed myself to him and kissed him. I put his hands on my hips as I worked my kisses down his neck. His fingers found the strings of my thong and I could feel his arousal.

“Mommy, can I have some apple juice?” a child asked

I almost cursed the child out but stopped. Yes, I was a woman who wanted sex but I was also a mom. I bent over to get a sippy cup from the drawer and I could feel him watch me. I was now fully aware that he wanted me.  I poured the juice and then handed it to the child. As the child left the room, he was on me once again on me  like white on rice.

“Bedroom,” I said

He took my hand and I giggled like a horny teenager. This was happening. We are going to have sex in the middle of the day. He pushed me back onto the bed and attacked. Clothes were flying off and hands were everywhere. I opened my eyes and saw the door and the child standing there.

“Shit,” I whispered.

My husband, being the ever quick thinker and still mostly dressed, jump up in the line of sight of the child and ushered him out of the room, “Mommy and I were just hugging.” I heard him say as they walked away.

I laughed and pushed the feelings of embarrassment away. Sex was normal, natural and we weren’t doing anything wrong. So what if the child might have seen a little skin and kissing. I told myself that he’d probably forget in about 5 minutes thanks to having an attention span of a gnat and if not, that’s why we have a therapy fund started for each one of the kids.

The click of the lock on our door brought me back to the here and now. That’s right, we had a lock on our bedroom door. Awesome.

That afternoon was the breath of fresh air that our sex life needed. Sex didn’t have to be scheduled or once a week.  It could happen at any time and in any room where there was a lock on the door. The kids are older and can be more self sufficient if needed. They were no longer the demanding babies sucking the life out of everyone.

“You know, some day the kids are going to realize what we are doing in here when the door is locked,” I said as Jeff walked in on me changing a few weeks later and locked the door, signalling what he wanted.

“That’s why we buy their love with chocolate and toys.” he said as he pulled me close, “Now let’s get naked.”

“You want me to sit on that?” I asked.

Jeff rolled his eyes at me, “It’s just bike seat.”

“Maybe to you, you don’t have the anatomy of a girl. I’ve got holes. To me it’s like a bad pelvic exam,” I said.

He snuffed at me.

“You don’t have to go but I just thought a bike ride would be a fun family outing and get us all some exercise,” he said.

Damn guilt trip. It was now my turn to roll my eyes.

“Fine. I’ll go,” I said.

The plan was to go on a family bike ride. We would eat a lite dinner and then drive to a local school that was connected to a bike path. In all honesty, I was totally down with the plan, just a little nervous.

It had been about 12 years since I had been on a bike and I was putting all my eggs in the same basket that once you learn how to ride a bike, you never really forget. I was also a bit worried about the seat. Jeff and I used to ride all the time before we had kids. Back then I was narrow and I didn’t have the birthing hips I have now.

As I looked down at the bike seat again, I wondered if tilting it up word and just sitting on it like a big dildo would work but I scratched that idea since that would require a lot of explaining to the kids, other people, and probably get me arrested.  Also pantless bike riding just seemed like asking for trouble.

“Come grab your helmets,” I said as I opened the back of the van. The kids scurried over to get suited up. Two kids on bike and two kids on scooters.

Jeff was going to take the lead and I would take the rear with all the kids in between us. We did a practice lap around the parking lot to get everyone accustom to their bikes and give my brain a chance to remember the skill.

“Alright,” Jeff said “Let’s go.” With that he turned to enter the bike path and like little ducklings all the kids followed.

I smiled as the cool wind blew threw my hair and tickled my face. Being on a bike was really freeing. It reminded be a of being a kid and how I used to think that if I could just go fast enough, maybe I could fly.

I slowed myself down as we sped down a hill and I heard the joyful sounds of “Whee!” as my children didn’t put on their brakes and gathered speed.

It was then that I noticed Claire going a little to fast on her scooter. I could hear her screaming ‘whee’ the loudest and I knew that she wasn’t paying attention. I wanted to yell but it would one of those moments where even though you know something bad is going to happen you are frozen, paralyzed to prevent it and can only deal with the aftermath.

CRASH!

Claire’s scooter hit the back of Jake’s little bike sending her flying forward and knocking him off the side and over the handle bars. I could almost hear the skin scrapping off as they hit the pavement.

Instantly screams filled the air. At the sight of his own blood, Jake freaked out. He lost his mind.  His panic was palpable. Some people don’t deal well with the site of their own blood, Jake is one of those people.

Both children stood up and ran towards me. I held them at bay to assess injuries as their wails intensified. Claire was shaken and scratched but since Jake’s face took the brunt of his fall, he was bleeding like a stuck pig.

“Ssshhh,” I smoothed, “It’s ok. It’s ok.”  If there is one thing that being an ICU nurse as taught me it’s that panic and injury don’t mix.

I looked Jake over as Jeff and the other two kids made their way back to the accident scene.

“Nothing too serious, scratches, fat lip, bloody nose…” I began to tell Jeff of the damage.

Jeff nodded and we made our way back the the van.

“Well that was a fun, three minute bike ride,” I said as I cleaned Jake face with a sock from my purse and a water bottle. “Can we go and get ice cream now?”

*Note: Jake is fine and healed nicely from his injuries. He has also since gotten back on his bike and we did have a successful family bike ride expect for the fact that I now feel completely violated by my bike seat. 

“Welcome,” she said with a glittering smile, “How can I help you?”

I understand it’s her job to be friendly and helpful but I didn’t want either. I just wanted to look around and shop in peace.

“Thanks but I am just looking,” I said, pleasantly.

She did not take the hint, “Any thing special?” she asked.

“I need to get some summer clothes for my daughter,” I said, hoping that if I gave her a little bit of detail she would feel like she was doing her job and leave me be.

Whenever there is a change in the season, that means it’s time to sort through the kid’s clothes. I have to pass on the smaller boy clothes to my sister for her son, go through the hand-me-downs that Hayden and his cousin wore for Jake and Quinn and do an inventory of what still will fit Hayden.

It’s a process that leaves me asking, why do kids have to grow so fast?

When it comes to Claire, that is a whole different ballgame. People in my family seem to only make boy children so there are no older cousins for Claire to get hand-me-downs from. Clothes for her involves a process.

I used to do a lot of shopping for her on Ebay, buying large lots of clothes but the cut throat last minute strategic betting that happens on Ebay was just too much for me. I don’t have time for that and often times the prices gets so high, it’s cheaper to just buy them new.

I know people use Craig’s List to find clothes for their kids but I am scared of Craig’s List. I will chat up strangers on the Internet on Twitter until my fingers are numb but talk to someone and then meet them via Craig’s List to exchange money… I run scared to hide under my bed.

My usual plan to get her clothes without spending a small fortune and having Jeff tell me the shopping budget is gone is to scour the clearance racks in the stores. I watch for sales and even use coupons. Plus it’s shopping and I love shopping.

I sighed.

I just wanted to be left alone but I didn’t want to be rude. “Well, she kinda needs it all being that she is the only girl. I think I will just look around and see what I can find.” I said and then started to walk away.

“Well, we have shorts and really cute shirts here and oh I bought this for my friend’s girls. Isn’t it cute? I just love it so much…” she went on.

I smiled and nodded and slowly backed away. She continued to talk but I turned my attention to the clothes around me. I pulled a pair of shorts from the rack and held them up.

“Seriously?!” I said under my breath. “Is this a joke?”

I pulled at the fabric, would this even cover her butt?  My goal here was not to get my 5 year old daughter shorts that allowed her vagina to hang out. I save those for me. I wanted to get her clothes, that covered her for the summer.

And that’s when it hit me… I was no longer in the toddler section of the store. Gone where the cute rompers, sundresses and tee shirts with little sparkly ice cream cones on them. Apparently clothes for  little girls go from fully covered toddlers to skanky bare it all Brittany Spears wanna be’s.

I sighed again.

Well maybe when she is 25 and trying to find a husband can she wear clothes like this but not now. She is already able to collect little boy’s phone numbers with a smile, heaven help me if I allow her to wear a shirt that bares her midriff.

“How about this?” the sales clerk said as she thrust a mesh shirt with rhinestones at me. “This would be so cute with a little tank top or bra.”

I looked at the woman.

“Um, no.” I said, “I’m dressing a little girl. Not a street walker.”

And with that, I went in search of the toddler section. One more year in toddler clothes is not going to hurt her.

I want to discuss some trends that have come from my children because let’s face it, that is about as trendy as I get these days.

Here are the top five most annoying trends from my children at the moment.

We live with cats, I do not understand my children’s need to constantly pet me. Hugs, I like. Petting, not so much.

How my children learned about Twitter, I am not so sure. It’s supposed to be my thing. Not theirs.

I always tell them if they don’t like what I make for dinner then they can make it. They of course think this is awesome and we end up eating pop-tarts and cat food for dinner.

All I ask for is a simple ‘please’. That’s it. I know they have manners, I see them use them with other people but with me, their mother… I get an evil laugh.

This is just poor timing and poor planning and the fact that some alarm goes off in their heads just as mommy is about to…  Yeah, this is just not good.

So what are some annoying trends from your kids?

 *this post is part of Writer’s Workshop*