Some People!

DH's boss invited us to a Labor Day party at his house this weekend. DH doesn't understand why I don't want to go. Let me give you a recap of last time...

It was supposed to be a pool party so I had a VERY anxious 2 year old who wanted to swim. But everyone was watching soccer and it felt rude to just go outside and get in his pool especially considering this was my first time meeting him. This was followed by my relief that I had brought Cali's juice cup with me as the only drinks to be found were mojitos and beer. I awkwardly took Xander out of his seat and went to sit at the counter, trying to keep the poor baby away from the screaming soccer fans. The women were all around 30 and engrossed in their own conversation. Eventually they noticed us and said hello then went right back to their conversation. Meanwhile DH was managing Cali who is usually social but was totally concerned by all the big men screaming at the TV. Finally the game ended and people headed outside. We all got in the pool and I was trying to keep Xander from pulling my bathing suit top off next to these women who looked concerned to get their hair wet. Then his boss came out with a tray of tequila shots. He tried to thrust a shot glass into the hand that wasn't holding a baby. One of the women finally turned to talk to me. She was 34 and had just gotten married. The first thing out of her mouth "Wow you are so young and you already have 3 kids! What's that like having so many already?" What I wanted to say was, "Well it's just like having kids at 34 except my body bounces back faster." And, "Ya know it's like having one but with three times the shit and crying." Or even, "I obviously want to kill myself since I have so many and have missed out on my youth." As I'm pretty sure that's what she was insinuating. What I really said was, "Well I always planned on having kids young." It's not like I could have said, "I unfortunately get pregnant easily and got knocked up... twice." That would make me sound super classy. This conversation was ended before she could make another careless remark and hear my real opinion by DH's boss canon balling into the pool about a foot away and a wave hitting Xander square in the face who immediately started to choke after inhaling a bunch of water. This was when I decided we needed to leave. Of course it's a Broadway musical to get two kids changed out of wet clothe and get everything all packed up. As I was changing Xander's clothes on the floor DH's boss staggers over and spends the next five minutes slurring some words I can't understand and staring down my shirt. What are you supposed to do about that? Is there some sort of protocol about when your husbands drunk boss is standing above you staring down your shirt? Seriously?! Some people are just too much!

Bye Bye Retail Therapy

It came to my attention today that my mall trips are a thing of the past. Instead of both arms being loaded down with bags of shoes, both arms are loaded down with babies. I used to think about how cute my outfit was and now I'm just happy to be showered and dressed. Designer jeans used to fill my shopping bags and now I drop the serious cash at Gymboree where they have that little TV in the back that really annoyed me when shopping for my niece but I am now grateful for. I bought lingerie, trying to be extra sexy, now I buy lingerie to cover my saggy boobs and stretch marks. It also seems that my favorite stores seem to be my children's least favorite stores, almost like they can sense my joy and decide to ruin it. I remember walking through a store and smelling something terrible, realizing it was someone's baby and thinking that they should have taken care of that immediately. But I know that once I haul my stinky baby all the way to the bathroom with the changing table there is no way I will have the energy to get all the way back to the store. And they always wait till I have a huge stack of stuff to try on. So I now change them in the dressing room, something I would have been disgusted by before. I would sigh in pleasure when I saw the tag proclaiming my favorite brand of jeans as I pulled them on and I now rush home to cut it out so I am not constantly reminded what size they are. But I figure as long as I'm not replacing them with a smaller size tag from an old pair I haven't completely lost it. (I keep trying to convince myself I'm still sane). And I used to spend hours at the mall, going in every store, but now I get about an hour (maybe 2 if I'm lucky) before someone wants out/ wants down/ wants to eat. And I realized why I've been so stressed, there hasn't been any retail therapy. On a good note, I can hang bags on the stroller and the basket underneath holds quite a bit! Of course with 3 cars seat and a double stroller I would have to hold it all in my lap while I drove home.

Blast to the Past

Now that I am a mother I really like to take weekends to focus on spending time as a family. I think that is because I never had that with my parents. They got divorced when I was 8 months old. My mother hauled me off to live with my controlling, crazy grandmother. You know, the kind of person that makes you want to pull your hair out. And that’s exactly what I did. For my second birthday, I had a little bald patch on the right side of my head. You think my mother would have noticed, actually I’m sure she did, but she has always been more into herself than me. We finally left when I was four. Moved north to Camarillo, CA. Who knows why, I suspect it had something to do with a man. That’s when she met John. Now I really could write a whole book about just John. He was really a winner. Now keep in mind my mom is about thirty at this point. And this guy is a LOSER. Is getting kicked out of his parents mobile home because it’s a senior community. Two divorces, four kids. Drug and alcohol problems. But he moved in. In the meantime, daddy is moving on with his life, picking up the pieces after my mom left him. He is definitely the good guy in the story. Meets Teresa and gives me a step mom. Now as obsessive compulsive, impatient, and sometimes downright crazy Teresa is, I could never say anything bad about her. She raised me, pretty much on her own from when I was 8 till 16. She got the short end of that stick. My dad was great, but he commuted so I could go to a nice school and I didn’t get to spend too much time with him. Had it not been for them, I would have never graduated high school or had any semblance of responsibility. So back to my mom. John knocks her up when I’m 6. And I get a brother. And then he knocks her up again seven months later. And I get a sister. So add those to the four he already had and you have a screwed up version of the Brady Bunch. Somewhere in between both kids, John and Mom are on their way to Vegas to elope, get pulled over, and John is drugged up on speed. So he does time. And Mom tells me he’s helping on his aunt’s farm. Which is somewhat the truth, he is working outside, she just left out the fact that it was in a prison jumpsuit. Fast forward to today and I get to have my own family and raise them the way that I wish I had been raised. So even when I've had a horrible day I just remember "It could be worse, you could be your mother."

I Hate Birth Control

Ok so the title pretty much explains it but since I elaborate on everything... I have pretty much always been on the pill. Which means I am lucky I only have three children cause I have the worst memory in the world. I don’t think I have ever had a week in which I remembered to take my pill at the same time every day. I think it is pretty much the worst idea in the world. If you are a mom, you are lucky to have time to pee, let alone remember “Oh I should go take my birth control just in case I decide to wash the spit up out of my hair, shave my legs, turn off the lights (cause God knows my stretch marks and saggy boobs are not encouraging) and pass out during foreplay!” So I started looking into other birth control options. There is always the old fashioned idea of condoms. But they make the hubby last longer and I am too fucking tired for a marathon sex session. Let’s get down to business and get it done. Plus I would have to go stand in line at CVS and buy them, probably running into someone I used to babysit for or one of my little sister’s friends. So that idea was quickly rejected. My Dr. really pushed the idea of an IUD. She told me she has one and loves it. Something about the idea of them shoving a little plastic thing through my cervix is just not appealing. And I just had two babies removed from uterus. It is finally vacant and I want it to stay that way. The idea just creeps me out. So for the last few weeks we’ve been pulling and praying but with the twins that is just too risky for my taste. So this week I went to the doctor and came home with a little plastic circle called Nuvaring. My doctor tells me I can leave it in during sex. All I can think about is DH’s penis jumping through a hoop like a circus animal. I think I will opt to take it out during sex even though that may dampen the mood. Me, “Hold on honey, let me dig this ring out of my vagina… ugh it’s so slippery, I can’t get it!” DH, “Let me help you.” Cue me spread eagle on the bed while DH tries to dig out my birth control. As you can see I am already skeptical about this. The Dr. also tells me I need to go straight home and put it in the fridge. What? My vagina isn’t refrigerated. But I do as I’m told and wait for my period to start so I can put it in. Which was today. So I’ll let you all know how it goes.

Excuses, Excuses

I realized I failed to introduce myself. Hello, my name is Korey and I... am a mother of 3. Twin boys who are 10 months and a daughter who is almost 3. And I already used my excuse. "I am a mother of 3" It's my excuse for being late, not waxing and never wearing makeup. Before kids I was this perfectly pruned specimen. I tanned and plucked and whitened my teeth regularly. My criteria for leaving the house now is "Do I have any bodily fluids on my clothes?" My poor husband complained about my prickly legs the other night and I considered not shaving for awhile so it would be softer. And as I type I am looking down at 3 month old chips of nail polish on my toes. I did find this awesome eye shadow a couple weeks ago so I've been wearing makeup on occasion. I really wanted this blog to focus on the woman behind the mom. I forget that I am a person apart from being a wife and a mother. That I am not only the person who changes poop and washes clothes but the woman who used to love fashion and product and salons. Who used to read and cook extravagant meals. As moms, we spend all say focusing on someone other than ourselves so hopefully this inspires you dig those old heels out of the back of the closet or make an appointment for an eyebrow wax or just have an adult train of thought. Hey I might even shave my legs tonight!

I feel like I'm having an affair.

A couple months back I was sitting in my Ob/Gyn office for a follow up. I rushed to get there for my 2:00 appointment and at 2:30 I was still sitting there holding a magazine that was 6 months old and hoping that my 10 month old twins hadn't cured my mother of her desire to babysit. The door to the office swings open and I find myself checking out the woman that walks in. Does she have kids? Is she pregnant? Does she look like a drug addict? She sits down next to me and I muster my best charming but "I'm not a creeper" smile and try to strike conversation. Turns out she just had a baby a couple months ago and lives like 5 minutes away from me. And she's clearly not a drug addict. After another 1o minutes or so I decide I genuinely like this woman and think we could possibly have a future together. Then the nurse calls my name and I stand up completely conflicted. I really want to ask for her number but will she think I'm a creeper? Maybe she didn't feel the connection I did? Thankfully she suggests we exchange numbers and the nurse stands there tapping her foot while she scribbles it down.

Two days later I'm still sitting there staring at the paper. How long should I wait before I call? I don't want to seem as desperate as I actually am. Two weeks pass and then I start to worry she won't even remember me. But I muster the courage and get her voicemail in which I proceed to stammer out a message. And I forget to leave my phone number. Great. A week later I'm convinced she either got my message and decided I was an idiot or didn't get my number from her caller ID. But then she called and we had coffee. I am happy to report the relationship is really on track! We go for walks and have coffee. I can't help but think I put more effort into this woman than I did when I first met my husband. And the best part, her name is Devan. So I get to tell my hubby, I'm going out with Devan.