not like the other

One of these is not like the other.

One of these two registered for their very first bike race, couldn't wait to get his helmet on and race whoever would take them on.

One of these two then decided that, when they almost reached the start line, the number was annoying and ripped it off and threw it on the ground. One of these two then decided to rip off his helmet, cry that he needed his blankie and refused to attempt to 'race' the course.

Can you guess who?

Maybe he should stick to walking to race

race photo courtesy of Dana Schoppe Photography

dirt cheap

If there is anything that you should already know about the Anti-Supermom family, it's that we are cheap. We don't want to spend tons of money on family vacations, we just want to fun and it be cheap - dirt cheap.


So our summer already has been filled with trips just a drive away - think Griswold family with a DVD player, just teasing. It's amazing some of the places we've been in just the last month:

Duluth, MN

Taylors Fall, MN


This is where we are going this 4th of July weekend.

Eau Claire, WI

and in two weeks:

Madeline Island, WI

You know where I'm going the end of July? BlogHer - in Chicago. (Cue the choirs singing, clouds separating, rainbow appearing - did I forget to mention I'm going without my kids.)

Seriously though, we are having such a good time on our weekend trips, maybe we'll go back to Chicago this summer, all four of us. After all it's just just a drive away.

Maybe your summer vacation can be Anti-Supermom family style (aka dirt cheap) too.

*

Nothing is more dirt cheap than free - Check out this great sweepstakes for a chance to win your own family vacation in Chicago.

last one standing sitting

Wyatt, my freshly turned two-year-old toddler, has decided that he likes peeing standing up, which means for me; letting him stand on my feet, contorting his body in some Cirque du Soleil movement and me pointing his 'peep' into the general direction of the toilet water. All this in the name of progress, I guess...

This leaves me as the last remaining sitting-down-to-pee person in the household. Lucky me. Even though I might have been slightly disgusted that Wyatt's hands are resting on the toilet rim to keep his butt from swimming in the toilet water, it's even worse that it's me sitting in pee dribbles multiple times a day.

So, did you know that they make something to let women pee standing up?

With my luck, wedging a silicone funnel between my legs, straddling the toilet would end up a complete peeing-my-pants disaster, but I might be willing to take the chance if I sit on one more wet rim.

Oh the joys of an all boy house.

a letter

Dear Ari,

I'm so happy, happy that I was able to see you. You are now three-years-old and repeatedly let us all know that you are a big boy. I showed you a picture that sits on my sideboard taken of you the day you were born and you refused to believe that that picture was you, I just smiled.

I loved having you in my home, playing with my two boys. You called them 'your boys'. You fit in perfectly, just like a sibling would and that warms my heart even still, the day after your departure.

Your trip provided a peace for me, thank you. I'm now comfortable with knowing that I might not ever see you again in person, because I see that you are secure, confident, bright, charming and certainly on your way to being a wonderful man.

You made me once again feel that pride I felt the day that you were born. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of myself for having been a surrogate. I'm proud of your mother and father for the child they are raising. I'm proud of my family.

I cannot thank you enough for the experience you have given me, this experience has been an amazing gift.

With Love,
Your surrogate mother, Beth

my three boys

tomorrow

Blah, blah, blah, she's talking about surrogacy again. This is what I'm worried about, that I'm going to bore you once again, but then I remembered that this is my blog, read it if you want, skip over me in your reader if you are sick of hearing about it. Actually, I tried to come up with some witty little post about the going-ons of my children, but I'm just too excited to really be creative.

My surrogate-son, Ari and his mother are visiting me tomorrow.

The last time I saw him was when he was 10 days old. The only time I cried was that day, when I wondered if I would ever see him again, if I was someone significant in his life or just some stranger whose name might or might not come up in conservation.

The last time I saw him I wondered if I would actually keep in contact with his mother, that I might know that in another country, he was asleep in his bed, safe with his family and nothing had come even close to harming him.

I just needed to know that he was safe, alive and loved. Just like he had been with me for 9 months.


Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will get to 'meet' him again, at three-years-old.

I will not be a stranger and I will get to witness him safe, alive and loved, once again.

be my friend

Yes, I understand that we might appear 'larger than life' strolling through the double doors of the library for family story time. Henry, the five-year-old leading the pack; Wyatt, the two-year-old possibly trying to push himself to the front instead and in the double stroller; the two other kiddos I watch, both one-year-old.

Yes, we might intimidate you with our huge bag full of diapers, wipes, extra underwear, extra pants, snacks and sippy cups for four little people and then on the other side balancing out the double stroller is a bag full of library books possibly with a few ripped pages taped back together with Scotch tape (in which I will not confirm or deny this was us).

Yes, I'm pretty certain that I might appear crazy, to attempt to go to story time weekly with four children, ages five and under and to expect each one of them to sit there quietly for 30 minutes using their inside voices.

But you know what; I'm not crazy, I shouldn't intimidate you and we are certainly not 'larger than life', so if you happen to notice that I have a sticker on my butt that says "Library Storytime - my name is Wyatt". Please pull me aside and let me know. I don't bite.

Next time, be my friend. I can't count on my husband to come home for lunch after weekly story times and inspect my butt for stickers, now can I?

*

Be my friend, if you haven't already,enter my giveaway

square peg in a round hole

I'm the mother of boys. I take care of two other boys. I've taken care of six boys total (and one boyish-husband) within the last four years. Needless to say, I'm not in the mindset of dealing with issues of blossoming/coming of age/becoming a woman/having 'the talk' with my sons anywhere in the near or even far future. (If Hypothetical is girl, I imagine I might try to pass off some horrible DVDs and tampon pamphlets to do the job instead of me, poor thing.)

Apparently, Henry is ready for 'the talk' though. He spied a box in my Target bag (He who unwraps Christmas presents and screams "I love this box, thank you!" instead of the actual present.) and asked, eyes wide "What's this box? Can I have it when it's empty?"

I tell him "It's mine, it's private."

Now I've intrigued him more, like I'm keeping some awesome secret from him. "Come on, Mom. Just tell me what this box is."

I respond "It's medicine for me".

Henry: "Like our vitamin gummies?" He's little mind processes the fact that there might be that many gummies in this box, "Can I see them?

Me: "No, Henry. This medicine goes inside of me."

Henry said nothing more - his eyes got bigger, obviously he thought whatever is in there is as big as the box, square and fits inside of me.

I didn't correct him, after all he stopped asking questions and bonus, I've just impressed my preschooler with the talent that I actually can fit a square 'peg' in a round hole.

*

In honor of fathers who will more than likely never have to give 'the talk' and never have to fit 'square pegs in round holes' themselves, I'm giving away a great Tumi messenger bag (MSRP $150) for Father's Day, because fathers are lucky like that - and they get to carry the 'smaller' diaper bag too.

(or you can keep it for yourself if you want, I won't tell.)

Leave a comment for an entry. Follow me or subscribe to my blog - and leave a comment you do/did so - for a second entry.

pool etiquette

Dear Seasonal Pool Pass Subscribers,

Tomorrow the pool opens. Let's all be friends and follow some simple pool etiquette.

1)Please don't pee in the pool. You know that I don't know, but you know and do you want to swim around in your pee? I don't want to swim around in your pee either.

2)Speaking of pee, they're your kids, not mine, just because she/he is wearing a life preserver doesn't mean that you should start texting your BFF over at the lounge chairs.

3)I know that we both paid the $45 per person price tag to enjoy the public pool for three months, but it's public, cover your business. I don't need to see half of your boobs, half your a$$ or for the males out there, anything resembling a racing Speedo.

4)Just because I'm in the water, doesn't mean that I want to get soaked. Jump in the other 50% of the pool that appears to be empty and not 6" from me and my non-swimming children.

5)Don't look at me in my suit and then rate how I look in the swimming suit according to the number of children I have/ages of children with me. If you don't, neither will I, promise.

If we can follow these, I think we will all get along swimmingly.

Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom


Visit Janah for more fun Dear So-And-So letters.

orange you glad

Yesterday started my first, official day of summer, meaning I'm home with all four children, all day long.

I attempted to start off on the right foot making pancakes, not the kind that I usually 'make' by cooking them in the microwave, but the real homemade kind where you have to add water, plus I got fancy and added raisins.

Wyatt climbed down from his chair, walked over to the refrigerator and pulled on the handle to no avail. He then screamed at the door and yelled at me that he wanted juice. I told him just be patient, I opened the door and Wyatt pushed his way past me and then managed to dump an entire, nearly full glass of Powerade all over.

I turned to Henry and yelled, since I couldn't possibly blame Wyatt since he's 2 and could really care less what I say to him, 'Why didn't you finish your drink? It spilled all over the refrigerator."

He asks "Is it all gone?"

I replied, "Yes, it's all over the refrigerator; the lettuce, the eggs, it's a huge mess."

He starts to cry "I wanted to drink that"... sobs... "When will you get me more?"

That's when I turned all five-year-old on him, I replied "Never. I will never waste money on Powerade, because you obviously didn't like it. You just wasted money, you literally poured it (from my paper towels) down the drain."

Between Henry's sobs "Never?"

"Never!"

Daddy was there to break up the 'fight', telling Henry that he will get him some more if he really wanted some more another day.

Some days, it's so liberating to act like a five-year-old.

Later on during lunch, I taught them how to stick oranges in their mouths to look like teeth. It reminds me of when I was in the elementary school cafeteria making my own orange peel teeth, acting like the five-year-old that I was closer in age to then than I am now.

But whatever, I'm 30 something and it's still liberating to be five-years-old sometimes.

Orange you glad summer is only 3 months long?

I am.