the wiener mom and another one of those open letters

In this season of happy holidays and wishes for peace and joy; it is heartbreaking to witness ruthless acts of violence against other species (Pinktail, I am talking to you)

Interspecies fish violence has no place in a fish tank, not during this season of merriment nor ever, really. The kind of unimaginable fish violence that took place in the aquarium last week shows that even during these peaceful times at 2352 Monroe Street there are still those living among us capable of what can only be interpreted as random acts of fish to fish violence.

Swordtail was a kind fish, a quiet fish, an elder if you will and not particularily good looking, but all the same he was big wiener's favorite fish. In short, Swordtail had never done nor said anything that would have incited this level of violence. Yet, he is gone. His sad fish carcass floating at the top of the tank, throat slitted and gutted.

We carried his lifeless body in a ziploc bowl to Pat the fish man, who by ways of a sort of aqua-racial profiling, pronounced Pinktail the likely perpetrator. "But", we said, defending him, "all he does is hang out in the upper left quadrant of the tank." Pat's reply?
"He probably acts differently when he knows you're not watching him." (?)

So, Pinktail, just because you measure a few inches larger than the other fish, just because your teeth are visible and you descend from a species of predators, does not mean that we will condone your unsportsfishlike behavior. We are watching you and even when you think we are not watching you, we will be, so clean up your act!

In conclusion Swordtail, you will be missed, you were a good fish. But, alas you won't be missed too much or too long because you have been replaced by a lively posse of tiger barbs.

the wiener mom and the second most perfect sentence ever written

"Can he get sheep in the pet shop?"

spelled perfectly (of course) by big wiener.

several questions...

1. Who buys sheep in a pet shop? What kind of a pet shop might this be? Would these be sheep from sheep mills?

2.Pet shop just screams impulse buy to me. Who buys sheep on a whim? the whole tone of the question is panicky. It's a sheep emergency! He needs sheep now! he's been driving all over the city for the g. damn sheep! he has a sheep buying deadline!

3. Just how many sheep does he need? Obviously more than one, but how many? Unless you're getting like a whole big posse (herd might be the word I'm looking for) what's the point? You can't shear like 3 sheep and make anything warmer than a toaster cozy I imagine. But then again maybe that's the emergency; his toaster is cold.

the wiener mom contemplates her job

The impetus for contemplation: Got an email from big wiener's teacher this morning. "Forgot his shoes, can wear his boots, but is upset."

Damn.

First snowfall last night, so the first day of snow pants, boots, mittens, and... shoes in the backpack, oops.

My first instinct is to hop in the car with the smaller wieners, dash over to school and drop off a pair of shoes, what would be so wrong about that?
Problem: little wiener has a massive case of grossness coming out of both ends, so packing him up in the car unless it's ABSOLUTELY necessary is a risky proposition.
Also, middle wiener has an eye doctor appointment that Daddy is doing, then rushing home, and we're driving him to work (only one wienermobile in this family), so by the time we got to school, it would be nearly lunch time and the day would be almost half over.

So... my big wiener sits in class in clunky, sweaty winter boots. He is upset. Does he learn something from this? Do I?

Time magazine recently ran a feature article about over-parenting. Daddy wiener was all over it, posting a link to it on Facebook, wanting to send copies to all our parent friends. One of the main points was that children who are never "bored" never figure out how to be creative. I read the article at his insistence and it covered a lot of points we talk about frequently.

When we were kids our parents didn't play with us. We were pretty much fending for ourselves on the entertainment front. My mom would read to us, but that was it. We spent summer days outside roaming the neighborhood with friends. We didn't go to tennis, tee ball and golf all in the same week (not our wieners, someone else's).

Now, our kids expect to be entertained, played with not just sometimes, but pretty constantly. How does that expectation begin?

When I was a baby there were playpens and I was in one a goodly amount of time. My mom cooked, cleaned, sewed her own nursing pads from cloth diapers (very ambitious lady). I entertained myself, with a rattle, the ceiling fan, my toes, whatever.

When big wiener was a baby I somehow had the feeling that if I did anything but pay complete attention to him I was cheating him. I rattled the rattle, I showed him his toes, I read to him constantly. Now, those aren't bad things, but where did I get the idea that I had to entertain him constantly? I can't say. But, I did and he grew up to be a child that expected companionship at all times. Now, at age 7 he can happily go upstairs to his room and play legos alone, but would prefer daddy build with him.

We're trying to do better with the younger wieners, but once they expect the attention you feel like a prize a-hole for denying them over and over. It has become easier with little wiener, mostly because the other two wieners entertain him for us.

So, back to the boots. Do I swoop in and rescue him? Or, do I hope that he learns something natural consequency? Do I soothe him now? Or, do I let him develop his cause and effect problem solving skills?

This time, I'm going to hope he's learned something and NOT go to school, but next time what if it's his lunch? I think starvation might be my limit. There is hot lunch, but if he's upset about wearing boots all day, the level of ire over ingesting hot lunch will be off the charts.

Sometimes this motherhood thing hurts my brain.

the wiener mom is obsessed

Obsessed I tell you! Vehicles! can't stop seeing vehicles wherever I go. Pointing them out to little wiener all day long has them permeating my being. I now get excited to see a cement mixer... when I'm in the car alone. Anytime we are outside or near a window or watching tv (but we NEVER do that) we are looking for vehicles.
What kind? Doesn't matter, if it has wheels it is intensely interesting/exhilirating to little wiener and now to me too. Big wiener went through similar phases with Jeeps, MiniCoopers, Fire trucks, John Deere tractors and Herbie cars.
I am the girl who grew up with Barbies, dolls and playing school. We had nary a truck in our house, no matchbox cars, just legos that my sister and I used to build dream houses for tiny lego people.
And now, I can't get enough. I actually squealed with glee the other day when we saw a street sweeper and...
wait for it (building suspense)
a fire truck RIGHT behind it!
Can you feel your heart pounding? Your blood pumping?
I know, I know! Go out into the world and search! It's all about noticing the small big stuff.

the wiener mom and her very wonderful big wiener Part 2

We had conferences last week for Big wiener; our big second grader. He has the same teacher that he had last year in first grade (who is wonderful by the way!) Daddy wiener and I didn't know what to expect on the front of How's He Doing in School...

Here's what we see at home: a creative, smart, imaginative boy who comes home from school, throws his backpack on the floor and picks up legos/playmobil/trains, etc and plays until the sun goes down. In other words, he doesn't give a rat's #@$ about anything faintly stinking of academia. When homework time rolls around (all 10 minutes of it) there's an epic fit of exhaustion at the bothersome task of spelling some words/reading out loud/solving A math problem. So, daddy wiener and I are left wondering what he does at school, does he collapse from fatigue with each change in subject matter? Does he pout when it's time to go to reading group? If we ask him about the best part of his day... it's always recess. We have now stipulated his answer must concern "Learning time", then he has to think incredibly hard about the question.

Being a former teacher myself, I don't settle for "He's doing fine." I want to see the hard proof. Ms. T knows this and had his assessments ready to show us.
Ta-Da! Big wiener is doing great- proficient reader, one of the best writers in his class (smug smile from me) and although he still can't tell time worth a darn, he does have some advanced problem solving skills! Hallelujah!

It's not that I didn't think that he could do it, it's just I never see him do it, so I wondered. Daddy wiener and I left that conference with tears in our eyes. Our first little baby, now a a non-time telling, problem solving, reading, writer. Our boy.

You know how people always say (old people mainly): "They grow up so fast."? Well, I'd like to change that to say sometimes they grow up when you aren't around to see it.

the wiener mom just wants to know

what is so g.d. offensive about getting your hair cut? I don't get this and don't expect it, especially when Daddy Wiener says after Little wiener's last haircut (which I refused to attend because of the the horrific abuse he bestowed on me at the one before)
"He was great! No trouble at all!"
What the #@$**?!

Perhaps he has a doppelganger that appears for Daddy.

It's the same shop, same haircutting lady (rocking a 90's version of Kate G's do), same fire truck you can sit in...
and yet...
It has to be me.
How many times have I been told, "____ Wiener is PERFECT for me." and wondered who this aforementioned wiener was.
It has to be me.

I know, I know they save the worst for mom because they know she'll love them anyway. I know, I know, but it just gets tiresome.
When it's noon and you have two half naked wieners begging for chocolate chips while they simutanesouly play with water and refuse to eat lunch (AGAIN) you get tired.

When you have one wiener in a time out for twenty minutes becuase he refuses to either get dressed or go to school or eat lunch (AGAIN) and the other wiener is pulling at your pants leg for chocolate chips (STILL) you get tired.

When it's nap time and you have two hours to yourself, the bed is calling your name "Wiener mom, come to me" and yet you have a #$@** load of stuff to do you get tired. Then you get even more tired when Little wiener spends an indescribable amount of time yelling, "Get Up!"

Basically what I'm trying to get at is: I'm tired.

p.s. the haircut, not so bad, despite the screaming, twisting and general belligerence, which was only interupted very breifly by an Elmo phone.

the wiener mom and the most perfect sentence ever written

I have discovered the most perfect sentence ever crafted in the English language. It speaks volumes in only 7 words. It speaks of pain and disappointment and the hope for a better tomorrow. It speaks of the inner longings of man and the things he may never have.
It is...
Wait for it...

Tom did not get a hot bun.

This is the first sentence of Big wiener's first spelling test EVER.

He got 100%. I am so proud and yet, so profoundly sad for Tom and his lack of a hot bun.

Maybe next time, Tom.

the wiener mom and that moment

It finally came, that moment that makes all this worth every weary night and every snot stained sleeve. Every poopy diaper and every 'oops, I spilled again'. Every I want to do playdoh (AGAIN). Tonight I was sitting in the living room chair watching the evening wrestling match (WWF-Wiener Wrestling Federation)-Daddy wiener v. The little wieners. It was mayhem! Chaos! There was trickery and an obnoxious amount of grunting. Little wiener, face flushed with glee ran over to me and buried his head in my lap. He looked up into my eyes and whispered, "love you mama," gave me another squeeze and ran back to the pile-up squealing.
Love you mama.
Love you too wieners.

wiener mom, meet the swine flu

yes. You read that right. We have met. We have battled. We are victorious.

Sunday was a bad day for little wiener. He was grumpy and downright out of sorts. We took him to church (whoops); he was unhappy. We brought him home; he was unhappy. Just really generally unhappy, but no "symptoms".

Monday morning we wake up at 5:24 to his cries. He has thrown up in his crib (Elmo took the brunt of it). He is literally burning up (okay not literally) with a temp of 103.4. he has the chills and is unable to stay awake sitting up. I make the call, since he is after all in the high risk group, being 19 months. They want to see him and pronto. Luckily Grandma and Grandpa were in town and middle wiener was able to hang with them until preschool. I had to undress my limp little wiener, remove his pukey clothes and redress in fresh jammies. During this whole process, which when well he HATES, he just laid motionless on the rug. Not good.

We rush ourselves over to the pediatrician's office, trying our best to navigate our way through the clinic with minimal contact with others. They suggest he wear a mask. That is a funny joke, he is 1 and half years old. You put it on him, he takes it off. So, we had to wait in the hall. Little wiener's name is called and we are taken back to the examining room . The nurse takes his temp and gets 99.4. Sorry, I think your thermometer's broken. She takes down his symptoms and gives me her preemptive diagnosis. "Just the flu". Reeeeally... "Just" the flu. Tell that to the Dr. who upon seeing him, exits the room and returns in a Hazmat suit. I am only slightly exaggerating. He is wearing a paper coat to the knees, a breathing mask and best of all, to prevent "spray contamination" I guess, some type of a plexi-glass welder's mask.

His diagnosis: H1N1. "Just the flu" she says. In her defense, I think they're getting a lot of panicked parents crying "swine flu" and maybe most cases aren't. I don't know, but I do know that mine is. So the Dr. prescribes Tamiflu and rest, etc.
However, that's not it. It seems Little Wiener is breathing rapidly, a sign that he could be "hiding pneumonia". My directions: get the fever down (thermometer was broken, actually now 101.2). If he's still breathing rapidly, come back for a chest x-ray.
So, brought the fever down and he's still breathing rapidly. Back to the clinic. Once again wait in the hall. Now, chest x-ray. Chest x-ray for a toddler is pure torture. You do not get to hold the child down, they have a machine for that. See photo at left. That is not my little wiener in the photo, it is someone else's poor little wiener who apparently doesn't feel so strongly about getting a chest x-ray. My little wiener screamed his head off while I was relegated to the hall. I cried. A nice nurse stopped and treated me kindly. When it was over we went back down to the clinic to await our results. Of course radiologist not available, wait and wait and wait. Finally Dr. sticks his head in and speaks to us from the door (not wearing his Hazmat suit, so he can't come in). He'll call if there's anything on the x-ray. Back home.

Side note: On the way to the car, we see a crane. I point out the crane and as I am saying, "Look, a crane. Big crane, oooooo." or something to that effect; little wiener coughs (with spittle) directly into my mouth. This will certainly come back to haunt me.

Being that it's the H1N1, which isn't all that uncommon in Madison, we are stuck inside. We could venture outside, to our own yard, but ta-da IT'S RAINING. Every single expletive day. A wise woman who had her own battle with the swine flu said about being trapped inside, "Day three is the worst. After Day three you go numb."
She was right. While Day 3 was quite possibly hell on earth, Day 4 brought a sense of renewed hope, which I think was just actually the numbness she described.

Now, he is just about 100% better. His nose is a faucet, but that's it. Daddy wiener has decided it is now socially acceptable to return him to the public arena. I'm a little unsure about that, but given that I too have been struck down by the beast, he's in charge.

Yes, I got it, but a much truncated and weakened version. Had to sleep all day yesterday, but feeling much much better today. May still nap today though, just to be safe. :)

the wiener mom is SO glad that she amuses you so

An open letter to the chucklers/smirkers/et. al:

When you see me struggling through Target with my small, but powerful wiener patrol and you chuckle to yourself, I can see that.

When I am carrying an upside down wiener who is screaming to "Walk, walk, walk" straight into traffic and you smirk to yourself, I can actually see that too.

When I am superivsing a collection of very bored, over-tired wieners at the Home Depot while we wait for Daddy Wiener for a very, very, very looooong time and they are amusing themselves by turning on every single tacky Christmas knick-knack at the same time, and you elbow your companion and share a chuckle, I can see that too.

When you see me forcibly loading my coalition into the wienermobile (no not that one) as they swing at me and hurl insults at the disgrace of abiding by the martial law of the carseat and you chuckle and shake your head, guess what...
Yeah. I did.

When you see us racing turtles down the sidewalk and losing, and you say "ahhh, those were the days, that's not so bad- at least you aren't laughing.

I guess what I am trying to say is I am glad that my life is so g. damn amusing to you. I'm so glad that my sometime misery can provide you with a brief moment of entertainment. I only wish that I could share with you the perpetual joy that comes from these daily experiences.
No, really, I actually do. Any takers?

the wiener mom is a sad sally

she is. A sad, sad, sack of sally. Why?
Don't know. Sometimes it's like that. With the depression.
Which is what I have. For a long time.
Enough with the non-sentences; I can't even write in my normal extra-long run-on sentence, made up punctuation style.
I have had depression for many years and been on meds for many years and mostly do okay. There are times, however, when the depression seeps through the meds and Sad Sally makes her appearance. Daddy wiener always asks, "But what's WRONG?"
No answer. There isn't really anything WRONG. I can't point to a hurt feeling, or stressful incident, just a general feeling of blah-ness.
Hard to return phone calls, emails, just don't feel like going out. The kicker is that if I did those things, I'd probably feel better. If I could just make myself.

I'll be back soon, I hope. Gotta ditch Sad Sally.

the wiener mom and her traveling wieners

I'm back. School has begun. Daddy wiener and Big wiener are over their bout with the H1N1 (what? you ask! More next time) and the babysitter is back in town. As previously reported, our summer was tough. Well, it was tough for me; maybe not so much for the wieners. The difficult summer was punctuated by a trip to Seaworld in Orlando; which was itself a mixed bag.

Big wiener is an ocean life fanatic with a special focus on dolphins, whales and sharks (in that order). Back in June Daddy wiener and I looked into taking a trip to Seaworld to feed his passion and also just get away from wiener world. It was a teensy bit of a bribe, just a teensy bit. Big wiener was supposed to be in summer school and this trip would mark the end of all his hard work. He didn't end up taking summer school; his amazing, perfect, did I say amazing teacher tutored him all summer for free. I know; amazing. Still, he worked his little hindy off and gained all the reading levels that he needed to and a few more. So, we had frequent flier miles to pay for airfare. We found a great deal on a hotel, including tickets. We would go for 3 days and then to the ocean for 1 day. Little wiener would stay with my parents; too little to appreciate ocean life.

When we planned this trip it never occurred to us that middle wiener might not love ocean life with the same passion that big wiener does. It's hard to tell what his passions are, he usually just goes along with his brother; happily really. How were we to know that he really doesn't give a rat's ass about whales, dolphins, sharks or anything else that lives at Seaworld. His passion it seems is rides. Little roller coasters topping the list. So how did we come to find out where his passions lie? Did he nicely tug on my sleeve, look up at me with those blue eyes and say, "Excuse me mum, but I'd much prefer to go on the roller coaster again, please." No. Of course not.

There were temper tantrums, humiliating public tantrums. There was pushing, shoving, screaming and crying. He pretty much wanted nothing to do with me (daddy only), so there was also the public shunning. It was miserable. Basically if he wasn't riding a ride, or swimming in the hotel pool, or eating candy (don't forget the candy) he was screaming, crying or otherwise melting down into a puddle of wiener.

In some ways I don't really blame him. What I learned on this trip is that I don't really like crowds either. I don't like hot, hot humidity and I don't like being surrounded by people yelling at their kids all day. For being the (2nd) happiest place on earth there were sure a lot of unhappy people there, representing a plethora of unhappy cultures. As soon as we left Seaworld for the day, my sweet little wiener returned.

So, did we have a good time or what? Sometimes. Seeing big wiener take in the Shamu show that he wished and hoped to someday see was pretty amazing. Watching him up close training dolphins was pretty amazing. Daddy wiener tells me that middle wiener was lots of fun on the rides. The pool was great! The ocean was great (until Daddy wiener took middle wiener out too far and he got a giant, salty wave in the face-I told him it would happen). All in all we have decided that we will not be traveling much in the future, at least not to any "happiest places on earth". As challenging as life sometimes is in wiener world, sometimes it's the happiest place on earth too. And you don't have to worry about anyone falling in the sting ray tank. Or grabbing the tail of a small shark. Oh yeah, and hot dogs don't cost $5 a piece.

the wiener mom has turned into THAT MOM

It has happened. I have become that mom. You know the one. The mom with no control over her children in public. The mom that hisses empty threats in the grocery store. The one that looks like she hasn't slept in days, weeks, months maybe. The mom that makes you sigh in both pity and mild disgust. I have become that mom. I'd have to say that the onset of this particular condition had to have coincided with summer break. Now up from 2 wieners to 3, the initial shock was enough to slow the progression, but here it is now the end of July and I am THAT MOM.

Things that used to be remotely possible with 3 wieners have become 100% impossible with 2.
Example: grocery shopping.
Grocery shopping was no fun, but doable. Shove a donut in a wiener's face and you've got at least 30 minutes of peace. Yea, yea, I know. What about a bag of Cheerios? How about some delicious apple slices? Nothing shuts a wiener up like a donut. with frosting. and sprinkles. (It's not me talking now, it's THAT MOM). Although I tried to avoid it, there were days during the school year where I would take 3 wieners to the grocery store after Big wiener got home from school. Doable. Not fun, mind you. A mild form of torture.

Now? Big wiener is with his reading tutor and Middle and Little and I have to get groceries. We have one hour from drop off to pick up. The list isn't too extensive. The store is 5 minutes from the tutor. Doable? hell no.

Where a donut used to last 30 minutes, now I'm lucky if I get 10. So, they're done licking the frosting and sprinkles off of the donut (maybe just a bowl of frosting and sprinkles next time...)and then they just ride nicely in the cart.

Can I get a hell no? This particular store has the most adorable and ingenious carts. On the front of each cart is a car, so wieners can "drive" themselves and the cart around the store. Fun, huh? good for like 10 minutes right? Once again, give it to me (chorus: hell no) Little wiener sees some food he wants and attempts a Dukes of Hazard style exit. Middle wiener and Little wiener can drive the car together for about 5 minutes before the shoving starts. Suddenly they're all up in each other's business and have to be seperated.

So, Little wiener takes his seat in the traditional child seat, by the handles and by the mommy. Should work out better, yea? One last time, chorus. Every piece of food that goes into the cart (PACKAGED, mind you) he wants to eat. He can't. He screeches. Now he attempts his Duke Brothers exit from about 3 feet higher in the air.

At least we're at the check out now, right? Right? No! New checker training! THAT MOM has now become THAT ORNERY WOMAN WHO CAN'T WAIT. I am now holding Little wiener in my arms, where he has somehow twisted himself into an upside down postition, so I put him down, he proceeds to get run over by the cart, driven by none other than Middle wiener (who else?) We finally pay and have purchased so many groceries that wieners must now walk or be carried. We all know how that goes. "Mr. slowest walker in the free world" and "Mr. carry me upside down if you must".

The fun has only just begun, because guess what? I forgot to purchase a third donut for Big wiener who has conveniently missed all the good times. He can see from the chocolate covered faces of his brothers that donuts (or the top layer of donuts) have been consumed. Temper tantrum ensues.
Here's the best part of all, now I have to unload the groceries and put them away!

P.S. I can't even begin to describe what it's like to take all three of them to the pool. But here's a direct quote:
Old Lady who can't possibly believe that I have a effing clue what my children are doing, as Little wiener walks away: You're losing one!
The wiener mom who has mastered the corner of the eye mom-o-vision thing: Yea, I know there are just too many of them.
Old Lady: [shock]

from the mouths of wieners

The wiener mom has prepared a bowl of warm, delicious, popcorn goodness for her adorable, loving and compassionate wieners. The wiener mom decides to eat some of the shared popcorn, sure that consuming just a few kernels out of that big bowl will be no skin off anyone's back.

She is wrong.

Middle wiener says with much obvious shock and disdain, "Mom, you're wasting it!"

the wiener mom, still crazy after all these years

It's official, I have been the wiener mom for 7 years now. Seven glorious years filled with vehicles, mud and hugs. Big wiener turned 7, so much older than 6. What amazes me the most is that even after 7 years, I still don't understand them. The wieners. What makes them tick. What makes them do the things they do. What makes them obsess over things with wheels/wings/treads. This was never more apparent to me than at Big wiener's Birthday party.

We had a string of nasty viruses at our house and so Big wiener's big party had to be postponed, much to his dismay and at the obvious peril of a dozen blue frosted beach-with-shark double chocolate cupcakes not seeing the light of another day. Because of the postponement we had a smaller party than planned, as all of our original party-goers weren't able to make it. It was a good thing, because while I thought that the theme of the party was SHARKS! it was in fact WIENER FUELED CHAOS! It turns out that the decorations and party favors for the two parties are identical, it's the party games that send the party into a downward spiral of insanity.

First of all, let's just say that Big wiener is a cautious wiener. A sweet wiener. A rule-following wiener. Let's also just say that apparently there aren't that many of them around. We had 5 party guests and Big and Middle wiener. I had everything mapped out for a lovely 90 minute party, including painting individual treasure boxes to keep, eating pizza and watermelon, opening presents, singing happy birthday and eating massive blue frosted cupcakes. We had the party in the back yard, so they could also play and climb and dig if they had the time. So... it ends up that my scheduled party itenerary took all of 17.5 minutes, leaving.... much too much time for wieners to roam free.

Turns out that no one wants to eat pizza, when you can chuck things down the slide and see if they break at the bottom. It also turns out that the fun of drinking your lemonade pales in comparison to the fun of pouring down the slide and sliding down in it. Also turns out that the best party game of all (besides chucking things down the slide) is a gem called "who can throw the ball in the road?" Not even the sad, sad perish of a basketball during play could deter them from this one.

Soon they were climbing on top of the swing supports. Their shirts were off and their faces and chests were streaked with watermelon juice and blue frosting. I could hardly bear to join Daddy wiener outside. As I watched out the window it became abundantly clear, what we were dealing with was "Lord of the Flies". I half expected a wiener to run around from the backyard with a boar's head on a spear. It was madness. The maddest thing about all this madness was that I did not understand a single thing about it. This is my life. I am trapped on a deserted island with blue painted wieners in loincloths and I have no idea what to do.

Here's what I did do. I told Daddy wiener that from now on, I would do all (I mean ALL) the prep work for Birthday parties and he can be in charge of all the supervision. I'll be his aide and hide inside whenever possible. I'll watch from afar and welcome my little warriors back into the house with open arms and a washcloth.

Go wiener mom, Go wiener mom, Go

The wiener mom has done it. She has competed (and I use the term VERY loosely) in her first sporting event. Ever. In her life. Serious here. I have never willingly played any sport or participated in any required p.e. class type of physical recreation. (I do ski, but let's not count that, as there was no competition per se, just me vs. the mountain if you will). Yes, I will say it again. never. You know when people get together to play sand volleyball at a picnic. Not me. How about a little work colleague softball. Nope. Nothing ever. However, no more my friend. No more.
On Saturday I raced (once again, using the term about as loosely as you can) in my first 5K (that's 3.2 miles). I have been working out steadily since January and am trying to kick the fatty habit.

Back story: I LOVE FOOD. Anyone who knows me knows this. I like to cook it. Eat it. Share it. Smell it. Stare at it. Talk about it. and the list goes on. We have previously discussed my aversion to the d-word and my quest to find happiness and good health in my curves. [See the post "The wiener mom is among other things, conflicted" for more information. Thank you for your interest.]

My solution to my previous quandary on the raging feud between my love of food and my flabby abs was to train for something. I would run a race damn it! I would run a 5K. I started running 20 minutes at a time in late April. My goal was always not to have to walk. I had worked my way up to struggling through 3 miles by Saturday.

Of course things couldn't go soooo smoothly. On Monday at training with JESSE (I have to write his name in all caps because he himself is all caps.) I fell off a platform and twisted my ankle. Of course I did. JESSE is truly a credit to the profession of personal training, because he didn't laugh at me (until later in the week). The platform was about 3 inches off the ground, but you get going doing your kicks and punches and who has the forethought to avoid the edge of the platform?
I had to rest up for a few days and not run my final week before the 5K.

I felt much better by Saturday and set out very nervously to my first organized sporting event. C agreed to do the race with me. Although a 5K to her is like a leisurely stroll in the park (she's training for an Ironman). She actually ran to the site of the race, and ran further than 5K to do a 5K.

At the start they asked everyone to try to group themselves by their mile times. 5 minute mile in the front and 12 minute at the end (to prevent any sort of running of the bulls type event, I imagine). Okay first of all; who runs a five minute mile. I got to see later before reaching the turn around; all I can say is they run funny.
Anyway, we positioned ourselves near to the back, as I was dreaming of finishing in 30 minutes. We were surrounded by some old people, a coulple families and for some reason, a lot of Australians. We began.

The actual running of the race is pretty boring to retell. Let's just say there was a lot of huffing, puffing, mud, and my wieners were there to cheer me on. We did pass quite a few people and I'm proud to say that I only got passed by one child.

Just as I was about to call it quits, slow down, I saw the bridge before the finish. I kicked it into a relatively high gear and finished in 29 minutes 44 seconds. And, best part: I wasn't dead!

Next was lots of love and hugs and pictures. Amy came to see me; YEA! and the wieners of course. All very proud. Except big wiener; he expressed his utter shock and dismay that I didn't win and bring home a "golden" prize. Maybe next time.

There will be a next time. Oh yes, there will.

Afterword: Not any time real soon though; I fell off the deck Saturday evening and twisted my ankle something fierce (no, the other one). It's all bruised and swollen and very painful. Trip to the doctor tomorrow and no 5Ks for at least a week.

the wiener mom and her incredibly graceful middle wiener

Again. and Again. And yet again. How is it possible that one small body can get hurt this often. Middle wiener falls down more than anyone I have ever met.

Side note: He does not however hold the honor of clumsiest child on earth. Amy, you have dealt with WAY more than your share of head bumps/ falling downs/falling offs. Bless you woman.

Back to my wiener; If there is something lying on the floor; he will trip over it. If there is say a tent set up in the backyard; he will trip over the tent stake every single time he walks by. If there happens to be anything in the space that surrounds his head; he will bump his head on it. If there is a floor beneath his feet or ground beneath his feet; he will fall. It's gotten to the point now where my initial [internal] reaction to his shrieking cries of pain, is "Really? Again?"

The last two days have been particularily bad. Yesterday I raced up stairs after hearing an enormous thump/crash/screams to have my worst fears realized. His dresser had fallen over and hit him on the head

Side note: Yes, yes I know. We will be getting furniture/ wall braces immediately. As soon as Daddy Wiener gets paid on Thursday, because now we only have $4.81 in checking.

He had opened all the dresser drawers at the same time and it tipped the dresser over. He was not trying to climb it, nor standing in front of it. Had he been standing in front of it; you and I wouldn't be having this conversation now. He had a lump on his head and after all the recent head traumas turning deadly I called the pedeatrician's office where they gave me a list of things to look for and if seen -Transport immediately! So far he is fine.

This morning however, playing trains with Little Wiener, he dropped a heavy die-cast Thomas the Tank Engine type train on his bare toes. He was hysterical on and off for an hour. The toe was red and he wouldn't walk on it. Great... now I have to call the pediatrician's office again. That conversation will go real well; "The child whose dresser fell on him yesterday? Yeah, I think he has a broken toe now." Luckily I got a bandaid on that puppy and popped him a little Motrin and a dose of distraction and it's been forgotten.

So, tomorrow... there's still the bunk bed to fall off of, the swing to get hit in the head by, the bike to fall off of, the stairs to trip up and a plethora of walls to walk into. What a wonderful world.

the wiener mom and those #@!!** birds

Ahhh... yes, nature. You gotta love nature don't you, I mean DON'T You? And I do ( I swear) except for one part of it- the earliness.

I am forced by a variety of wieners to awaken before 7:00 6 days out of 7. I know, I know, 6:45 doesn't sound so bad, but I like to sleep. I think I need about 9 hours a day, which surprise, surprise I'm not getting. I have an issue with sleep; I have a hard time falling back asleep if I'm awoke. Once my brain turns on, it's on and churning away at such important matters as dialogue from a movie, calculating how many pounds I would lose by X date, if I lost X pounds a week, that sort of mental diarrhea.

So... Friday 4:00 AM (yes, that's in the morning). Those #@!!** birds have convened in the trees outside my window. By convene I mean that obviously there's some kind of neighborhood bird conference taking place now, at 4 am. I guess they really abide by that old adage about the bird and the worm (haha). I've never heard this many birds in our yard during any normal hours of the day, so my only thought is they must fly in especially for this conference. there must be a shuttle from the hotel and name tags. There's got to be bad coffee and donuts at 4 that they don't want to miss. I picture them milling around with a Styrofoam cup somehow held in one wing and a pastry in the other, briefcase tucked under the wing. "The nests in this hotel are awful" "I asked for a smoking room, but obviously someone was smoking." "You want to hit the telephone wire after the sessions?"

What do birds meet about at 4 am? Worms, nest building strategies, general survival. What else could there be? Maybe this was a conference for the MENSA birds and they were actually hammering out a solution for inter-species peace or a cure for cancer or mange. I don't know and I really don't care. Whatever it was, it reached a fever pitch.

Then it started to rain and that seemed to break up their little meeting pretty damn quick. Just a few hangers-on sneaking the extra pastries into their briefcases to take home for the kids.

Yes, this is what I'm thinking about at 4 am. Mental diarrhea.

the wiener mom and the blessing of a wiener's honesty

Middle wiener: Wow, mom. Your underwear are really big!
Thank you so kindly. I had wondered if perhaps my butt was getting too small, but no. Not so.

the wiener and the mysterious pull of the business debacle that is the lemonade stand

It's tiiiiiime... I saw my first one over the weekend. There they were, set up right next to the bike trail; never mind that most people biking or running on the trail are doing so for exercise and are not prepared to make any purchases, however enticing they might be. And what I ask you is more enticing than a dixie cup of kool-aid, or dare I even hope... countrytime lemonade?

The lemonade stand: a rite of passage for all children with any amount of interest in money or fleeting boredom. I remember my first (and only) lemonade stand. I didn't carry lemonade, because my mom said it was too expensive to make, which I totally didn't get. It's just like water and lemons and sugar right? Oh, but you need like a thousand and eleven lemons to make a pitcher of lemonade. So I had kool-aid. Important decisions were made. Signage was considered and created in a way to woo the most consumers. Prices were set. 10 cents, no, 20, no how about 25 cents. I was going to be rich! Then two hours and a small pile of dixie cups later, I've got $2.75 in my pocket and a heat rash. My mom wasn't even one of those tough love moms that demanded back the money to pay for the kool-aid.

So, the lemonade stand lives on, still mostly kool-aid stands because with inflation and the weakened dollar, blah, blah, blah (throw global warming in there too) lemons probably cost twice as much as they did twenty odd years ago. You probably also need twice as many, becuase of course they don't make lemons like they used to. The kids now encourage you to recycle your cup with their cute pro-environment crayoned signs. The cup of kool-aid is likely to cost at least 50 cents now. You're also more likely to be harassed by the proprieters than you used to be. "Hey, you, buy some lemonade! Hey! Hey!"

I know the day will come when big wiener fancies himself a businessman and sets up a card table in the drive way. He's already shown some interest. He was eyeing up the lemons at the grocery store, before I dashed his dreams by trying to explain how expensive they are. What will I say when he approaches me with a business plan to make millions by dispensing beverages to passers by?

I'll try not to be too cynical. I'll find him a sleeve of tiny cups that just begin to peak the thirst of a buyer, enticing them into another 50 cent cup. I'll help him spell lemonade, or maybe not. Maybe it's cuter if it's misspelled. Cuter, or more endearing at least. I'll watch from the front porch to make sure he's not abducted, or mowed down by a car that jumps the curb. I'll give him a hug when he comes to tell me that he only made $2.75. I won't even make him pay for the kool-aid.

the wiener mom and one or so of those things that you just gotta love

You just gotta love...
six year old boy kung fu moves

crazy tickle torture on mom and dad's big bed

the smell of the head of a boy who has been outside all afternoon

cheese tacos (that's a shell and cheese)

watching your boy walk home from the bus stop when he doesn't know you're watching
Stopping to look at every bug, stick and rock and weighed down by a giant backpack

freshly picked dandelions

the first "MINE"

a handmade "may day basket" signed, "lvoe ____"

the earnest tone of any converstaion describing the merits of dolphins over sharks

the toddling walk, wide smile and scraped up forehead

the yawns

the complete and utter lack of ruffles

all of it

the wiener mom scores a point!

Go Wiener Mom! She scores a point or a run or something. Whatever it was it increased the score of the "Asholes" Adult Kickball team by one.

C next door invited me out to play kickball with her work team (apparently the dnr dept of forestry very young and into group sports: I was the only one there with children and C and I tied for the oldest team members (on either team)).

I'm not sure why I went. Maybe because I like C so much and I'm desperate for time away from Wiener World. The last time I participated in an organized team game of any kind was.... let me think here... never. Yeah, that's it.

My memories of organized team sports include P.E.,getting picked last, embarassing myself and that's pretty much it. In middle school I was in "high" gym. Of course that's not what it was called, but everyone was on an organized athletic team of some kind, except me. I think I was considered so remedial that they thought I might be inspired by the adolescent athletes that surrounded me. Not so. I did learn to laugh at myself though. You'd laugh too.

I got kicked in the face with a soccer ball, and that was just in a "circle-type" warm up thing.

My strapless bra fell down in basketball (why was I wearing a strapless bra in gym? because I could, damn it. Or at least I thought I could, but seeing as it fell down, not so much.)

I was too short to jump over the hurdles and not brave enough to take a flying leap and hope for the best, so my method was this: run up to hurdle, climb over, run up to hurdle, and so on. Go ahead take a moment and laugh...

Done?

Not yet?

Now?

Too bad, I'm going on.

During the badminton unit in high school, I ran away when the birdie (or "shuttlecock" if we're being precise) would come towards my face.

I wore gloves during handball because hitting the ball hurt my hand.
Aside: why play a sport that hurts? Volleyball, I'm talking to you.

High gym was taught by a hard ass (for middle school) coach type guy. When I broke my little toe by walking into a wall...
break for laughter again?
He famously said, "Here's a quarter, go call someone who cares."

So... why am I suddenly playing kickball, with C (an ATHLETE)and a group of twenty-somethings without babyfat and who still have time to go to the gym every day if they want, because they have NOTHIING else to do?
C promised me that it wouldn't be competitive. She promised me that there would be beer-drinking and that no one there would care if we won or lost.

She was right, there was a lot of beer, especially in the outfield and actually on the bases too, and the pitcher's mound. I didn't kick the ball like an a-hole, but probably like a girl. I ran my not-so-little butt off to get around those bases and like I said before I scored a point or a run, or whatever.
Am I going back? Don't know, still waiting for the cramp in my glute to fade away.

the wiener mom has a sudden bout of melancholy

So, I'm driving home after an exciting round of errands involving the tax man, the bank, raw chicken and Mickey Mouse underwear (not mine) when I see a group of maybe 10-12 year old boys waiting to cross the street and I slow down, stop so they can cross. They are very polite and wave to say thanks. I wave back and continue on my merry way, jamming to Dar Williams and slugging down the Diet Dr. Pepper. It was a very brief moment, almost nonexistent, certainly to them no more than an immediately forgotten blip of an interaction with a stranger.

For some reason though it reminded me of something I read in the "Parent of Wieners Must Own Tome" Boys Should be Boys. The author talks about what makes the relationship between a mother and her son unique. Basically it comes down to this sad fact:
As a mother is raising a son she is preparing to let him go.

A mother knows inately that some day he will no longer be hers. He will belong to someone else and that's okay, she wants that. It's not like we want our wieners at home forever, the only woman they've ever loved their mother. We don't want that. But, that doesn't change the fact that at some point I will lose my wieners. Not in the physical sense, they will always be my wieners, my babies, but the relationship will change. It better change or there's gonna be some pissed off daughter-in-laws.

I don't know what it was about seeing those boys cross the street that brought all this deep thinking on, maybe it was the fact that they were polite. I've had numerous encounters with other mother's wieners that have been far from polite (see the post entitled "the wiener mom walks the dog").
I can do everything that I can to mold them into polite young wieners, but in the end I let go and hope for the best. I'm not letting go yet, but I'm already hoping.

the wiener mom is, among other things, conflicted

I'm in a bit of a philosophical, personal pickle of sorts. That last 10 pounds of baby weight is weighing me down, both literally and figuratively and Weight Watchers is calling my name (again). It's not that it's really that hard (in theory): you go online, it figures out all the point values of all the things you eat. It gives you recipe ideas and "helpful tips". It's really all very simple; except for the fact that YOU'RE HUNGRY! I should learn to eat less, and more fruits and vegetables (I'm like a child, I really am). We don't eat a lot of fatty things here in wiener world. I cook everything, we don't go out much, I'm a big fan of Cooking LIght. But... I love food. I love to cook for people; delicious things (I make a mean penne with vodka sauce and the best homemade brownies in the world...mmmm... I digress).

I was on Weight Watchers for two weeks a month ago, and I lost 4 pounds, but it was hard. At first it was all very exciting; I'm a stickler for rules, so the points thing is really fun for me (for awhile). But, then it gets old and I give it up. It comes down to the question: do I really want it bad enough?
Hmmm...
1. Would love to wear much of my wardrobe again.
2. see cute young things in leggings and am VERY jealous.
3. Should be eating healthier.
4. It's only 10 pounds.
5. done it before and wasn't that bad.
But...
1. done it before and it wasn't that much fun.
2. It's only 10 pounds.
3. am eating pretty healthy already (mostly)
4. daddy wiener thinks I'm sexy just the way I am.
5. will have to work to keep it off for the rest of my life.
6. am super exercising machine (4 days a week).
And then there's this...
A therapist I once saw said this about body image crap:
Our bodies are like furniture. Would you rather collapse into a soft, cushy sofa, or a hard wooden bench? All our children are looking for in the end is a soft place to land. I don't know if that's the wisest advice, but I couldn't help but think of it yesterday. Middle wiener had a big couple days with a train trip to Chicago and was very tired. He never naps anymore, but he fell asleep next to me on the porch swing. I scooped him up and cuddled him on my lap and he rested his head on my (plentiful) bosom. It was indeed a soft place to land and it felt good to provide it.

So in the end, I like my life the way it is, but at the same time I hate seeing that flab in the mirror and squeezing into those jeans from my old (pre-little wiener) life. I love cooking and baking for the people I love (and me too!), but I'm tired of being a blob. I would love to have faith that it will come off in it's own sweet time, but how long can I wait? See- conflicted.

the wiener mom can take criticism, really she can

So, being the ever-hopeful optimist with unending confidence in my abilities and talents (guffaw) I entered this years Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest, fully expecting to, you know, win and stuff. Guess what? I didn't win; actually no surprise. They accept the first 5000 entries and there's a mad rush to be one of those 5000. In my heart of hearts, I knew that I wouldn't win, or apparently even advance past the pool of 5000. In my heart of heart of hearts though, I hoped I would.

Part of the draw for entering this contest, besides the possibility of becoming a published author with an award winning best sellling novel to your name, is that you get several "reviews" from "reviewers" on the first 50 pages of your novel. Each and every contestant gets 2 reviews, so that's 10000 reviews, so you can imagine that they may not be that long, nor really that helpful.

The first I like to believe was written by a woman, who although she may not have children, she does understand them and has an inkling of an idea of what it takes to raise them. We're not even talking specifically about wieners here, just the smaller, younger humans that we call "children". She said my novel excerpt was endearing and appealing and though not her type of book, she thought it would be successful.

Ah... love and flowers.

Now, the second review I feel deep in my soul was written by a man. A man who has possibly never met nor been a child and certainly has no idea the level of care that is required to prevent one from perishing from poisining, trauma to the head, or impacted bowels while under your care. He described it as agnst driven. He said it would take patience to get through. He said that the complaining of the "HOUSEWIVES" was repetitious and monotonous. HOUSEWIVES? Anyone who has any knowledge of the requirments of child rearing would NOT refer to a mother as a "housewife"
Side note: Desperate Housewives seems to have made it acceptable to use the term, but I would not describe the women on that show as housewives, most of them work outside the home OR even stay at home mothers. I haven't watched it in awhile, but I'm not sure that Eva Longoria's character qualifies as a dedicated stay at home mom. But, I digress.

So, my first reaction to Mr. Negative reviewer man was shock. "How dare he tell me MY life is repetitious, monontonous or agnst driven!"
Side note: my novel is a story of 5 stay at home mothers and their quests for happiness. So it is actually about my life, very thinly (if at all) veiled.
I was a little upset. Tried to shake it off. Then I tried to be rational and think about each one of his "helpful" critiques.
Agnst driven: Hmmmmm... yes, sometimes my life is angst driven. Okay, it might happen more frequently than I'd like to admit.
Requires Patience: yup. Got that one too.
Repetitious and Monotonous: Okay, Okay. I think we got that one covered too. After reading the same Elmo book for the 17th time (in a day) or pretending to be Bob the Builder's sidekick again (curse you Wendy!) I defenitely have the feeling that I've been here before. Oh, because I have.

So.... Mr. Negative Reviewer has actually accurately summed up the state of my life. Now, I'm depressed. I think the wiener mom has some serious thinking to do. Serious thinking and burning of an effigy of Mr. Negative Reviewer.

the wiener mom has a bit of practical advice

When looking for a sitter...
If she shows up at your door wearing a t-shirt that says "Bucky did your mom" and has a jewel encrusted cell phone stuck to the side of her head, there is a preeeetty good chance that your children WILL escape from a McDonald's playland under her care. Just sayin'.

the wiener mom and an update on the whole fish thing

Yea... so a couple weeks ago I was venting about the incredible stress that has been brought on by Santa's fish tank. I reread the post and saw that at the end of it I was jubilant: we had only lost 6 fish out of 23.

Umm... yea... so we've had a rough couple of weeks. Turns out the diseased fish that we bought unknowingly from some huge guy named Lou (Oh, why didn't I wait for the return of Pat the fish man?!) gave many of the other fish that same disease and somehow some other fish disease that causes your fins to fall off (if you have them: no wieners have thus far lost any limbs).

We were suddenly finding fish swimming around with no tail fin and we came to know that meant the end was near. My stress level has decreased slightly as I have gotten over my ridiculous sensitivity to flushing fish. I just want those diseased M.F's out of there before Mustache catches something; that would be truly tragic.

So we also lost Catfish Stevens to this whole mess: he just seemed to have given up and gone stiff. A song was written in his memory (to the tune of Blackbird)
Catfish Stevens in the dead of night
Take this broken fish and swim away
All your life, you were only waiting for a quiet place to hide.
Quiet place to hide.
Into the dark and lonely night.

Oh, and Mrs. Platy had her babies and they were promptly eaten; a community feast ensued. She had her babies and just days later she looked fat again. I googled it of course and found out that Mrs Platy has the unique ability to store Mr Platy's sperm inside her body for a rainy day, so she could be pregnant again even though it hasn't been 6 weeks. SUPER!

Final status of 23 total fish owned: 11 currently alive, but Austin is acting kind of weird.

the wiener mom and the unfortunate blemish

What is this? Effing middle school? I wake up with a large and very crimson zit right on the tip of my nose. A zit marring the otherwise young and glowing complexion of the wiener mom. I remember a similar event taking place many moons ago when I was 13. I remember studying my Rudolphesque reflection in a mirror for what could have been hours, wondering how my life would go on. It did, obviously.

Not 13 anymore, hello skin! What's this all about? A revolt against the excessively consumed cookie dough? A protest in support of the frequently forgotten nightly beauty regimen? I choose to blame the wieners.
big, ugly, flaming zit = stress
stress = wieners
how much simpler could it be.

I've gotta go spend hours examining my nose now; probably with the aid of some wieners asking one of two questions:
"Mommy, why do you look like Rudolph?"
"Mommy, how did you get chicken pox on your nose?"
just shut up all of you.

the wiener mom and life in the sick lane

The sick lane? That's like slower than the slow lane. You do not move. I'm speaking in tongues. Let me rewind.

Last week all is fine and dandy in wiener world until Daddy wiener and I are awoke by screaming in the night. It's middle wiener and I handily pretend not to hear, so Daddy Wiener (bless him) gets up and goes to see what the hell is up. It's not good news, I know that immediately from the way he calls my name. Real menacing like, you know?

So, there has been a vomiting event. A large, chunky, red vomiting event in bed. On the bed, sheets, pillow, comforter, every single one of those damn backyardigans and of course, all over the wiener. Middle wiener doesn't tolerate things well. Just generally, it's a rule. So, if you throw something like this at him...
I do not do well with vomit. I do not like vomit; it has something to do with my super human sense of smell (both a gift and a curse). The vomiting event thus repeats itself at 6, with another showing at 6:15. So, middle wiener can not go to school.

The vomiting is gone... and has been replaced by rancid poo. The watery, explosive type. So, middle wiener still can't go to school and now I get to spend my days changing pull ups and lifting him up onto the potty every 10 minutes. His life sucks, my life sucks, it all just sucks.

What could make any of this worse? Now, little wiener awakes in the night barking like a seal. He's got a fever, how high I'm unsure. He hates having his temperature taken and insists on ripping the thermometer out of his armpit. I'm pretty sure that a rectal wouldn't go any better.

A phone call to the nurse about not one wiener, but two. Pick one, any one... It's little wiener. Apt. at 2:30. Daddy wiener has to ride his bike home like the wind to stay with middle wiener. I don't feel like risking a explosive poo accident at the Dr's office. I just don't.

Little wiener has croup. The "will my child make it through the night or will they die gasping for air" virus that every parent loves. So, now I get to lay awake praying that little wiener continues to breath and bark.

It's the weekend and I am just barely hanging on. More explosive poo! More fevers and barking! It's like a big sick party.

Now, we seem to be on the upswing, finally. It's like coming out from under a huge cloud of germs. I am starting to feel like a human being again. It's hard to explain to someone who's never been there, but being stuck at home with sick children has got to be one of the most isolating positions to be in. You can't go anywhere. You're totally out of your routine. No one wants to be near you. There is no escape. But, like I said I see the light. We seem to be not exactly symptom free, but closer than we were yesterday. Middle wiener WILL go to school tomorrow. He must.

So, the light's getting brighter, unless I'm just having a febrile hallucination myself. must go lie down.

the wiener mom's quote of the day

"Sorry Mom, I couldn't hear you: I was peeing too loud!"

the wiener mom has a few nice things to say about someone special

As far as wiener moms go, I am a lucky one. I am very lucky to have a very special wiener in my life. Of course, all my wieners are special, but the one less talked about one is extra special. He doesn't try to pull his penis off (not that he'll admit). He doesn't need extra help reading. He doesn't like to sit in the window and watch the traffic go by (waiting, just waiting to see a BUH!) He doesn't really do anything too newsworthy or entertaining for that matter. He's Daddy Wiener! Round of Applause!

Daddy wiener is the best daddy wiener that I know; have known or will know. YOU wanna make something of it? Let's go. He has always been a great husband and continues to be better each day (blah, blah, romance crap). But he is really and truly the best father any wiener or wiener mom could ask for.

The other day at preschool drop-off, I'm standing by middle wiener's locker waiting a painfully loooooong time for him to take his outerwear off. There are two moms that I know only casually conversing a couple lockers down. I hear snippets like this:
He doesn't lift a finger.
The division of labor is like set (like,totally?).
If he helps one of the kids brush their teeth, he thinks he's doing me a favor.
He's never (!) put one of the kids to bed on his own.
He never does anything, so eventually I just do everything.

I am horrified. First of all, if any of this stuff (like) ever went down in my house; some serious daddy wiener ass would be kicked.
Second, I can't imagine living like that; without a partner, with another child to take care of. What a sad, sad life. Parenting should be a partnership, not you do all the work and he breezes in to play video games and wrestle.

So, I once again (as I periodically do) came to the revelation that I am indeed a very lucky wiener mom. Daddy wiener does it all; I mean it all. He does an absolute equal amount of parenting as I do and probably a little more housework, if we're being shamefully truthful (kiss, kiss, if you're reading this D.W.)
He encourages me to leave the house, sans wieners. He disciplines. He takes over when he can tell I'm ready to walk out (and may or may not return, sometimes it's dicey). All in all, he's perfect.

So, if you're reading this Daddy Wiener (which I know you are, because you always do -PERFECT!!) I love you and thank you for being all around wonderful and not at all an a-hole.

P.S. he does have one fault, but I guess it's not really a fault. He breathes a lot when he sleeps. I guess it's his right and all, but simmer down over there D.W.

the wiener mom finds out all the wonderful things you can do with a wiener

Middle wiener: Mommy, my glasses are dirty. (hands glasses to the wiener mom)
wiener mom: How did they get so dirty? (as she starts spit cleaning them)
Middle wiener: I put my penis on them.
Really? Really?

[Middle wiener in the bathtub]
Middle wiener: Look, mommy I can stick this lego guy to my penis!
Really? Really?

You can stretch it! But you can't pull it off (see previous post-a very short play)!
You can twist it! You can jam it up into itself (apparently)!
You can compare the size of it to the size of another wiener's wiener!
Oh the fun you can have with a wiener!

like the wiener mom needs this stress

So, Santa (the bastard) brought the wieners an aquarium. Not just any aquarium, but a 40 gallon aquarium. Why start small, right? The bigger the aquarium, the easier it is to keep clean (allegedly). It has something to do with surface area and volume and some other mathematical terms that I blanked out on. I'm all for easy. Fish- easy, right? Right?

Not so much apparently. We begin with starter fish; in other words, really small, boring fish that are very hardy. They set the healthy bacteria level in the water. Blah, blah, blah, more words I blank out on-this time science. Hardy equals easy right? Once again, right?

It seems that our particular aquarium is a death trap for starter fish. We lost 4 out of the 6. But, in our defense it wasn't really our fault. No, really. We had a bully fish that picked on other fish until they just died in order to be left alone. So we were down to 2 fish and then had to wait a month before we could get more (read bigger and better) fish.

We had our water tested and everything was good to go. We chose 4 very hardy (please let this be easy) fish. Little did we know just how easy one of them turned out to be. Mrs. Platy had to go and get herself knocked up by Mr. Platy.

Side note: One Platy continuously poking the other in the side with a modified penis fin = babies 6 weeks later. Google it if you must.

So now just about 6 weeks later we have a full aquarium (15 fish) and Mrs. Platy about to give birth. What will happen then you ask?
She will give birth to live fish, called fry (hee-hee) and then all the other fish will eat them. The end.

Just the perfect lesson for little wieners everywhere. I looked into the other options, but they involved a lot of effort and a lot of money. Like say, getting a separate tank, filter and heater for the mother, until she gives birth. Then, getting her out asap, so she doesn't eat her own young. If you have enough plants and other hiding spots some of the fry might live amongst the cannibals. So, we're going that route. Hope for the best and all that.

Now Mrs. Platy is in the process of finding the perfect place to give birth; she's trying out different locations around the tank; in the green plant, under the orange plant, in Catfish Stevens' secret lair. Meanwhile, Mr. Platy and his sidekick Swordtail are nervously following her around and trying to get all up in her business. You'd think they cared, instead of just hangning around waiting for dinner.

So, how does this possibly cause the wiener mom stress? Let nature take it's course right? It's driving me nuts. I'm constantly checking for spawn. I'm trying to gauge her level of pregnancy. I'm wishing that Mr. Platy and Swordtail would just leave her the eff alone.

Besides the fact that I'm still waiting for someone to die. If I can't find Mustache I freak out. If one of the glass catfish isn't where they usually are I check the filter to see if another one of thier lifeless bodies is stuck to it (that wasn't our fault either). We've been able to keep a good many fish alive for awhile now, but I'm constantly on edge. Of the 23 fish that have been under our care, we've only lost 6 and IT WASN'T OUR FAULT! Those odds aren't so bad; I'd try to figure it out, but that would involve math.

no, no, don't say it...

The six most dreaded words in wiener world...
I peed on my whole self.

the wiener mom has buyer's remorse

Despite the fact that it's made in Germany, and it can absorb a full can of soda (among other things), and it's the only cleaning cloth you need, and it's ONLY available on TV (and also at Target, Walgreens, and Walmart-among other places), the SHAMWOW does not clean up vomit.

Maybe I should have went with the Snuglee.

the wiener mom walks the dog (that is not a euphemism)

Today I walked the dog, in the completely traditional sense of the word. The sitter was there; little wiener was napping (allegedly) and the sun was shining. I stepped out into the world with my dog. We walked around the neighborhood. In my neighborhood there is a private high school and I guess high school kids park their cars on the nearby streets when school is in session. Wait, let me correct myself: they park their BMWs, Lexus, and Jeeps on the nearby streets. What the hell?
Who are these kids and even more important-who are their parents? No high school kid needs a BMW. I kind of labor under the belief that no adult really needs one either, but I digress.
When I was in high school, I didn't have a car. In fact if I had not had a best friend with a "virginmobile" I would have been climbing on the yellow school bus to get to school when I was 17. A car just wasn't a question. Maybe I was in the minority.
The worst part about this whole thing was that I was walking by when school was letting out, so I got to experience the kids themselves as they made their way to their vehicles. They were rude! Sad to say, it was the wieners who were particularly vulgar and obnoxious. I know I sound like a prude, but no girl deserves to have "blow -itch" written on her windshield in the snow. If I ever find out my wieners partook in any such activity...
They just better not.

the wiener mom chuckles inwardly at first time mothers

I was at the doctor's office the other day for little wiener's big one year check up (4 shots! Oh the injustice!) when I made a pleasant observation.
There was a mother there with her baby. A first time mother with her first time baby. How did I know?
First of all, she was waaaaay too excited. Waaaaay.
Second, she had her mother with her. It was her, her mother and a little six month old baby. She actually had back up for one baby. THE ADULTS OUTNUMBERED THE SPAWN. The probability of this happening in wiener world is virtually nonexistent. Normally, it's me (alone) and at least one wiener, but mostly 2. I do not travel with back up. Though the ridiculousness of this picture caused in me great feelings of both humor and mild superiority, I do vaguely recall those days.
Back in the day of one baby wiener you were just never sure if you could handle what came your way. What if he cried and I couldn't make him stop- I might need back up.
What if he needed a diaper change and I needed someeone to hand me the wipes- again, back up. What if I couldn't carry the diaper bag and the car seat with a ten pound baby in it- I need back up here!
THose were the days.
Now I just suck it up and deal. I didn't know how good I had it.

P.S. Oh, yeah and New Mom and New Mom's Mother were simultaneously reading six month old baby a book about the zoo. Brief transcript:
New Mom: Looooook at the cockatoooooo. (pointing)
Baby looks at ceiling.
New Mom's Mother: Someday you'll go to the zoo and see a cockatoo. Yes you will. Yes you will.
Baby looks at ceiling.

P.S.S I am taking applications for a position in back up. Pay is low.

the wiener mom is going to provide too much information

Since big wiener has started school (preschool-age 3) I have always lived with this irrational, paranoid feeling that I'm going to get a phone call from the school nurse saying one of the following:
a. your wiener has vomited all over the entire school.
b. your wiener has a raging fever and is hallucinating.
c. your wiener has raging diarrhea and has soiled himself and all those in the vicinity.
d. your wiener has actually coughed up a lung.
e. any combination of a through d.

Never in all that time did I imagine that the call I would finally receive from a school nurse (after 3 and 1/2 years of waiting for it) would be for a sore wiener.
A wiener with a sore wiener. What are the chances?

Well, with three wieners, probably higher than you might imagine or I might hope.

the wiener mom celebrates the fact that her little wiener survived the first year

He did it! I'm not even going to go into the fact that I did it. He's still here; and healthy and mostly really happy. I'm not a gloomy gus type negative thinkerish person, but there were moments that his mere survival was questionable.
There are the legions of Lego's that slip by my wiener mom lego-dar.
There are the stray pennies and the starburst that caused him to choke and puke.
There was of course, the fall down the entire flight of stairs.

I have learned that despite my very best efforts (and by that I mean like 110% range) I can not be everywhere at all times.

I have learned that it doesn't matter how many times you pick up Lego's, more will appear.

I have also learned that it doesn't matter how many times you tell a wiener to PUT AWAY ALL THE GODDAMN SMALL THINGS LAYING AROUND; they will miss something, somewhere, that only little wiener will find.

I have learned that as fast as I pick up, they dump shit out again.

I have learned that baby gates on stairs should be law, because you never know just how fast they can move (like when you turn your back for just a second to break up a fight between two wieners).

I have also learned that the nurses at the peds office are really nice when hysterical, sobbing mothers call because their baby just fell down the stairs.

I have learned that if it is small enough to fit into a little wiener's mouth and is inedible it will go in. If it is small enough to fit into a littler wiener's mouth and IS edible, it may or may not go in.

I have learned that even after doing this twice before, it never gets old. That smiling baby looking up at you is never overdone. A snuggle into the shoulder is always new and an open mouth kiss is always welcome.

I have learned that the third one can be hard on a marriage; it drives you into business partner mode, but when you come out on the other side, you'll be better off for it.

I have learned that I can't even remember the misery of being pregnant with little wiener.

I have learned to live in the present, because this is the last little wiener I get and I want to soak up every precious moment.

I have learned that despite all the stress, the yelling, the butt wiping, the fighting, and quite frankly; the wieners, wiener world is a pretty great place to be.
Visitors welcome (if you wash dishes and wipe butts).

the wiener mom used to be nice

You heard it here first; the wiener mom is not as nice as she used to be. She doesn't have time to be as nice as she used to be. "What?" you say, "How does someone not have time to be nice?" Let me explain...

In the beginning the wiener mom was nice to everyone, really, really nice (like too nice). She was even too nice to people who weren't even nice to her to begin with. She also worried a lot; all the time about some pretty irrational things (like that she might get abducted by aliens-really). She had sooooo much time and with her time, she worried and was nice. She worried about what people thought and how they felt. She spent untold amounts of time trying to analyze EVERYTHING.

Then big wiener was born. She had slightly less time to worry about being nice and all those other irrational things (the aliens again-really!). She was still way too nice to just about everyone. She took a lot of crap from a lot of people.

Then along came middle wiener. Now, a little less time for the worrying and the niceness. The irrational things that once occupied her brain started to disappear (no more aliens!). Her brain was filling up with wieners and laundry and more wieners and still more laundry and all those other exctiing things.

Then, last but by no means least, came little wiener. Now, no time for worrying. Is daddy wiener going to get hit by a semi and squished riding his bike home from work? Can't think about it! Is Phyllis mad because I didn't forward her chain email-don't care! Hear that Phyllis? The wiener mom's brain is so overflowing that she doesn't worry much anymore. She also isn't unfailingly generous, compassionate, helpful and nice to every Tom, Dick and Harriet. Like I said, she's got her own wieners to worry about. The wiener mom has a much smaller circle of friends and their friends who can stand on thier own. Friends who don't need constant attention or fawning. The wiener mom is happy because now she doesn't have to worry about who thinks what and how do they feel about every damn thing she's ever done or said; even if she wanted to she doesn't have time.

Just for your information: other things the wiener mom doesn't have time for anymore:
American Idol, daily showers, clean jeans, sweeping, feeling bad about herself, reading crap, straightening her hair, organizing the basement, eating fiber, and cleaning out the drain in the bathroom sink (whose hair is that?)

the wiener mom asks for a moment of (relative) silence

Quiet. I miss it. I have wieners who speak- a lot. all day. both of them at the same time. all the time. you get the point...

What are they saying? The same things over and over again, duh!?! I like to refer to it as verbal diarrhea- stuff just pours out of their mouths. Meaningless stuff-mostly. They just talk ALL DAY LONG.

It all started with big wiener. He's a talker. I guess that I might have something to do with it. I'm a talker and I encouraged talking from a very early age (why? why I ask!) By the time he was two big wiener was trying to include me in everything he did by giving me a running commentary, which I was in turn expected to comment on.
big wiener: the car is red. I like the car. the car is really good. and on and on and on...
Now, no where in this description of the car was I questioned or even referred to, so I listen and don't say anything.
big wiener: MOM! the car is red! etc, etc...

So it began. It has gotten to the point periodically where I have to tell him that I need to turn off my ears, because he can't turn off his MOUTH! Even when my ears are turned off, he doesn't stop talking. He talks to himself, or his brothers, or continues to talk to me. My brain is on overload.

So now we have middle wiener, also a talker, of course. Besides being a talker though, he's a screamer. When he doesn't get an immediate response to a query; HE SCREAMS IT. Effective to say the least.

Now little wiener is starting to make noises, you know the pre-talking ones. What I really want to say to him is, "shhhhh." but I don't because language is a gift and so important and blah, blah, blah.

There are moments in days when I just really want to scream myself- SHUT UP. but of course I don't. I nod and smile and "hmmm" in all the right places because that's what the wiener mom is supposed to do.

the wiener mom has a few words

there are just so many of them.

the wiener mom and her very wonderful big wiener

In my former life, I was a kindergarten teacher (a good one I was led to believe). I was on the teacher/public school side of things; now-I'm on the parent side of things. We got big wiener's report card for the first semester of first grade and I'm filled with conflicting emotions. It's so odd to see someone that you know and love, and created for God's sake, reduced to numbers and one sentence comments on a piece of paper. You say that my son's a two and not a three? How dare you! He's a three, I tell you! I'm proud of him and his character. I go to volunteer in his class and see him in action; listening, following directions, being so polite. People at school (kids and adults) say what a nice kid he is and he is. It swells me with pride seeing him in his "away from home habitat". but...

Yes, there's a but. He can't read. He's levels behind where he should be and it kills me. I never would have thought that I, the person who taught kids to read, would have a child who couldn't read. It destroys me. Not my ego or pride, but my feeling of peace for him. Does that make sense? Me, the worrier, imagines him not reading and continuing to not read and falling behind in school and in life eventually. I want his life to be perfect with no difficult anything, ever. Daddy wiener says that is ridiculous; no body's life is that easy. Everybody has some struggles. Not my babies, I want to say; knowing completely and fully how crazy that hope is. I want it all the same. What mother doesn't?

So, we work at home, much to big wiener's grave annoyance. He'd much rather do art, or legos, or pretend, but for 20 minutes a night we try to find some way to make reading and writing fun. He's starting to care; to want it, which is the first step. Every once in a while it strikes him that it might be cool to read what he wants to, when he wants to. He does write the most wonderful "stories" at school that his fabulous teacher shares with me. He's going to get extra help with reading in school. It will come. I just have to remind myself that it will come. He is not me. I was an early reader. Daddy wiener told me that he didn't really care about school or try until he was in 4Th grade (thanks a lot daddy). So I wait and work and love and hope (emphasis on love and hope). That's all I can do, really

the wiener mom has one of those days

What does it mean when the highlight of your day is playing "bootie" with your three year old? You know that game where you make bugs with all different bug parts? Some people apparently call it "cootie", like the people who manufacture it. Middle wiener however, refuses to call it anything other than "bootie" so that's what it is. "Momma, what's your bootie doing now?" "Momma, my bootie is wearing roller skates." "Momma, my bootie is pink and yours is blue."
Ah... good times.

the wiener mom really really hates boogers. (again)

Snot, snot, snot. I am so damn tired of snot. If it's not one wiener than it's another. Wiping noses has become a new hobby of mine. I am currently wiping noses more than I am wiping asses, so that's really saying something. Little wiener has a cold and so that means that he has trouble drinking which makes him crabby, which makes me crabby. I wish I had trouble drinking, ha ha. Little wiener mom attempt at humor there. Stop and chuckle if you must.

Ready? The worst part of it is that little wiener can't blow his nose, so our only option is to pin him down and suck the boogers out with the booger vacuum. Oh, he hates that. It is akin to branding a cow that knows what's coming. As soon as we pull it out and one of us grabs his head, the thrashing commences!

Add to this the fact that middle wiener has re-come down with a sinus infection. Truth be told, I think it's the same sinus infection he's had since November and the antibiotics aren't cutting it, but Dr. wants to try them again. Guess what? They taste awful. We had it flavored, but I tried it and it is indeed awful, or "minty" as middle wiener calls it. That's his way of saying spicy. It doesn't actually taste like pepperoni or jalapeno, but cherry. So now besides the green bubbles of snot coming out of his nose and chasing him down with tissues so he can "blow like a good boy" we have to force feed him augmentin.

I have to say as annoying as wiping noses is, it still doesn't annoy me as much as persistent cough or the unending throat clearing of 2006 (before big wiener got his tonsils out). When the cough starts and continues every minute of every hour for days on end, I really want to run away. Just leave, that or wear ear plugs all the time. Neither of those is an option, so I'll just have to go to my happy place... Target. Literally. I can ignore it in a retail like environment. While I'm there I'll check out the earplugs.

the wiener mom begins to consider the possibility of letting go

So, as the wiener mom drives around the fair city of Madison, especially near the high school that the wieners will one day attend, she sees something troubling. A little background info:this high school has won some awards, something National Merit, something with high SAT scores, blah, blah (I'll figure it out before my kids get there). So, we're talking about bright kids here.

Also, it's winter, like dead of. Normally temperatures under 10 degrees. What does the wiener mom see? Legions of kids who aren't wearing coats. Walking around campus without coats, shivering in hoodies and sweaters. Some of them eating ice cream cones... Anyway, I'm shocked. First of all, how dumb are these kids-it's freaking cold out? Why don't they put on a damn coat. Because, they're too cool. That's why. Now I'm shaking my head like an old lady about "kids these days".

Then I start thinking about their parents, what kind of parents let them leave the house without a coat when it's like zero? Suddenly I am struck by a thought...
what if these parents tried to get their kids to wear coats and they wouldn't do it. You can't force a high school kid into a snowsuit like you can a little wiener. You can't velcro a hat with ear flaps to his head. MAYBE, THERE WILL COME A TIME WHEN I CAN'T CONTROL MY WIENERS. Horrifying thought...

Maybe, these parents have chosen their battles and they let this one go, hoping that the kids would figure it out on their own. There will come a time when I will have to let go. My wieners may be very cold and I won't be able to do anything about it. There's something to think about.

the wiener mom and her very creative wieners

One of the favorite activities of the wieners is making "creations" out of recyclables. Big wiener and middle wiener will go to war over a cardboard box. They make use of massive amounts of tape on a daily basis and can turn anything into anything else (geniuses!)
For example, today before preschool, middle wiener found a smallish box. He cut it apart in an elaborate way and cut a whole to look out of. Now it was a spying box! How fabulous! How fun!

Note: it is a tampon box.

Time for school! Middle wiener won't go to school without his spying box (see note above on said spying box). We fight and I give in and let him take a tampon box to preschool. Luckily his teachers found it hilarious and let him share it at circle.

This story does in end in tragedy though. Another teacher, cleaning up the room, didn't see the worth in a cut up tampon box with a whole in it to spy out of. She threw it away.

a very, very short play by the wiener mom

characters: big wiener, middle wiener, the wiener mom

setting: the wiener's bedroom about 7:45 pm Monday night
big wiener is getting his pajamas on and trying to tell the wiener mom about something that happened at school (this will be a very long and drawwwwwwn out process, as big wiener LOVES to talk).
The wiener mom is trying to get middle wiener into his pull-up and pajamas. He is buck naked and apparently trying to pull his penis off...

big wiener: So, then, we went to the.... art room and....
middle wiener: My penis doesn't come off! It doesn't!
big wiener: at the art room we had to wait for... uh Mrs.... what's her name... and
middle wiener: It really doesn't come off mom!
the wiener mom: shhh. I'm trying to listen to your brother.
big wiener: the art teacher wasn't there and there was a sub. do I need cold medicine tonight?
middle wiener: Moooom, my penis will not come off! (continues to violently pull on said member)
the wiener mom: I know that. Now let me listen to your brother. You already had your cold medicine, but what happened in the art room.
big wiener: we are gonna start a project with, ummm what do you call it...
middle wiener: (grabs the wiener mom's face and stares deep into her eyes) My. Penis. Doesn't. Come. Off! (grins).
(the wiener mom is struggling to pull up aforementioned pull-up under incredible odds (involving penis pulling)
the wiener mom: Stop talking to me about your penis!!!
middle wiener: you don't have a penis (shakes head seriously) are you sad?
the wiener mom: NO!
big wiener: paper mache!

the end.

the wiener mom and roger the singing cowboy

Ahhh, nothing says late January to me like a (pseudo) cowboy singing Christmas carols really badly. Hey, just because you wear wranglers and one of those bolo ties doesn't mean you're authentic. Let me explain...

A few weekends ago, little wiener and I headed over to Grandma's nursing home for a "winter party". We were going for the sole purpose of socializing with Grandma (who's almost 90); not, I repeat, not for the entertainment. Had I known the caliber of the entertainment at the winter party, I may have reconsidered my trip. Hey, I'm not trying to be mean, but I hope they didn't pay for the services of Roger, the singing cowboy. Little wiener and I arrive to meet up with mom, dad and grandma and the show is already underway. I should have turned back then.

First of all, in my opinion, Christmas music season ends on January 1, no exceptions. Did they not think that the elderly ladies (no wieners) would notice that CHRISTMAS HAD PASSED? I find this borderline offensive. What's wrong with offering some other type of music, like love songs, or songs from the 40's (they dig that stuff). To make matters worse, Roger had located karaoke versions of tens of carols set to a country twang. 90 year old women, not so much into the country scene. All they really wanted to do was dance, well like 2 of them. My grandma was sitting there shaking her head and "tutting" at the audacity of Roger. She's kind of a live performance snob. The lady in front of her was talking to her son at what can only be described as a very loud stage whisper, "That's Dolores' daughter over there in the blue. Nice of her to come. Of course your sister didn't come. She's very busy I'm sure." One lady was asleep with her head on her knees and countless others were drifting off. The guests of these elderly were just trying their darnedest not to make eye contact with Roger as he swaggered around the community room with his microphone and his cowboy hat. If he made eye contact with you, it was over, he was coming for you. If you were female he was holding your hand for an uncomfortable amount of time and swaying and if you were male, well count yourself as one of the lucky ones.

The pinnacle of the show had to be his attempt at becoming Alvin the Chipmunk by putting on a pair of generic animal ears and talking in a sad falsetto. I think you'd be hard pressed to find one of the residents who even knew who Alvin the Chipmunk was. They probably thought he was one of those doped up kids.

Now, had this show been 30 minutes, it would have been bearable, even dare I say, amusing. But, Roger had no intention of not giving us our money's worth (it was free), so he sang and swaggered for an unbelievable hour and 15 minutes. Perhaps this doesn't sound like too much time to you. Perhaps this sounds altogether enjoyable and I have no appreciation for the finer things in life. I suggest then that you find a holiday episode of the Lawrence Welk show, pop it in the VCR and tie yourself to a chair. Oh, with a squirmy baby on your lap. Fun, huh?

the wiener mom writes an open letter to little wieners everywhere

Dear wieners (specifically mine, but all are welcome),

I have come before you today to address a crucial issue in the success of wiener mom/little wiener relationships. The future of my goodwill and your continued survival depend upon it.
My dear wieners, we must discuss the meaning of the word "other". What it means is not that one, i.e. not that hand, the OTHER one or not that foot, the OTHER ONE. When a person has two of something (hands or feet primarily) and the wiener mom says "not that one, the other one" she does not mean the SAME ONE, she means the OTHER ONE. What confuses the otherwise intelligent and capable mind of the wiener mom, is how a relatively small wiener can correctly use words like, ACTUALLY, and USUALLY, and even REAPPEARING, but he can not give the wiener mom THE OTHER FOOT, even after repeated pointing and wild gesturing, as well as overly clear annunciation, "No, the OTH-ER one."

Perhaps this is a phenomenon witnessed only in wiener world, and both wieners and non-wieners in the outside world have a strong grasp of the OTHER one. If so, please give the wiener mom your apparently successful strategies before she pulls her hair out. No, the other one.

Love and kisses, the wiener mom

the wiener mom gets an eyeful

Nothing important today, just an observation about life inside the locker room. Not that I spend all that much time in the locker room, but part of the reason I go to the gym is to shower in peace and without someone ripping open the shower curtain and pointing at my woman parts and laughing (3 year olds, ha, ha, aren't they cute?)

So, I'm in the locker room, just finished my kick ass workout while watching the Colbert Report, not as motivating as Tom Petty, but I forgot the ipod. I have a little extra time and the 2 smaller wieners are safely ensconced in the daycare having a blast at someone else's expense, so I decide to try the steam room. Ever been in a steam room? Not talking about a sauna here, I've done that, but a steam room.

In my previous sauna experiences I did not feel as though I was trapped in a stifling mist of mystery. I turned it on and nothing happened right away. Immediate reaction, super this is gonna take forever. Like I have anything better to do, than sit alone in a room that is quiet and child-free. Then all of a sudden with great force the steam comes. Ahhhhh, this is nice and warm and detoxifying, blah, blah... until it's not anymore! Until the steam is so thick I CAN NOT SEE ANYTHING. I can not see the buttons to turn the damn thing off. It is precipitating in my nose. When I breath in I gasp for air. So do I get up and blindly try to find the door? No, I wonder, how long am I supposed to sit here for? Is it working yet?

Finally I stagger towards the light which I'm pretty sure is the outside, normally humidified world. I know that next to the door are the buttons to TURN IT OFF. I do manage to find the buttons and press the power button. The great steam machine stops adn I go for the door. IT WON'T OPEN. I feel like I'm going to die in a Bond movie, except that the steam has been turned off and oops, the door opens the other way.

After my refreshing/terrifying steam, I shower and dress and go to dry my hair at the wall of mirrors. There is another woman there, probably 55 or 60. I saw her working out on the treadmill, hey, nothing wrong with a leisurely stroll. She was drying her hair while wearing a towel. I went about my business, drying away. Her dryer stopped and I saw her adjust her towel out of the corner of my eye.

Now, in the locker room, you expect PG, towel covering all important bits, and you expect X, total nudie (hopefully drying off and then dressing). What you do not expect is R-Rated for a LONG period of time. As she adjusted her towel, she forgot to include her boobs. So now anything above the under-breast area is flapping in the breeze. But, she's not done styling. She's going to curl, spray, curl and spray some more. She's gone to apply several layers of makeup, with her boobies just swinging away.

I don't get it. I don't get the level of comfort with one's own body that allows a person to complete their entire hair/makeup routine topless. YOU ARE NOT IN YOUR OWN HOME.I DO NOT NEED TO SEE YOUR BREASTS FOR MORE THAN SAY, A MINUTE. I know it's a locker room, but put the girls away if they don't really need to be out.

the wiener mom gets her groove back

So I joined a gym. It's been years since I belonged to a gym, about 4 to be a little exact. When big wiener was only wiener, I used to tool off to the gym 5 days a week, just for a little social interaction with adults. That did however have the added benefit of getting me in rocking shape. At the time I wouldn't have said that, but looking back, I should have appreciated it when I had it. I was lifting weights and doing all kinds of cardio stuff.

Then we moved and I let my membership expire. I had middle wiener and things got a little crazy and then along came little wiener and we all know what life has been like since then. A new gym opened about 10 minutes from wiener world and were offering low, low introductory rates and I am not one to pass up low rates of any kind. I joined and the gym opened in mid-December and I have been trying to go at least 3 times a week since then.

Now, this is all a little boring, I know. Here's the interesting part, okay the less boring part. I used to love to take classes, I always felt like I got a better workout when someone was telling me what to do. The class schedule is fairly limited since they're new, so it was a struggle to find something to take at the right times. I'm not showing up at the gym for a 5:30 am class, it's just never going to happen. So I found Zumba, a cardio class. Beyond that I knew nothing, so I thought I'd give it a go. Turns out, Zumba is a hip-hop Latin dance cardio class that involves a lot of shaking of booties and other shakeable parts. Fun, I thought. I can go with this. Turns out, my shakeable parts have forgotten how to shake. Turns out, when I try to swivel my hips or shake my breasties my body actually makes pained creaking sounds and sometimes refuses to move that way.

Now, I'd like to say that I could blame this on the fact that my abs are shot from having three c-sections. I wish it was that simple. I think though, that in fact. My shakeable parts have kind of frozen up into a state of old-ladydom. As I'm trying to gyrate along with the other ladies (some are very shake-y, some not so much) I come to the realization that I haven't been using my sexy parts for some time. I haven't needed to, or had the energy to, shake anything for Daddy wiener in a long time. And if we can be honest here, he doesn't require a whole lot of shaking anyway.

So after my first class I'm feeling old, but decide to go back. I do, I go back again and again. I'm not going so much for the cardio, as I am for the shaking practice. This shouldn't be so hard should it? Aren't women's bodies supposed to sway and shake and whatever else I can't do? So I've made it my mission to get "resexyfied". It might also help if the other unshakable parts didn't shake too. I guess I'll shake what I got until I can shake the other stuff. You might not want to watch, not just yet.

okay, okay, okay, I'm sorry.

Yes, yes, I know. I know. I've been really busy. I've been working a lot. Let's just skip all that and pick up where we left off, shall we? It's a new year and I'd love to say; it's a new wiener mom too, but not so much.
I'm back to the blogging. It was either go back to the wiener mom or join facebook and the more people who tell me to join facebook.... well, let's just say "Na-na, na, na, na." So back to blogging.
So let's see... what's new? The wiener mom has joined a gym. The wiener mom got laid off from her job and then found something else. The wiener mom has suffered through two sinus infections (middle wiener) and two double ear infections (little wiener) and an all over body rash reaction to augmentin. The wiener mom has been rejected by a total of 12 literary agencies. The wiener mom has laid awake at night trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life.
The wiener mom visited lovely San Fransisco with her oldest, greatest friend and missed her little wiener so much she wanted to cry sometimes. The wiener mom voted for a candidate for president who actually won and watched him get sworn in today with middle wiener on her lap (asking about Michelle in the sparkly coat). The wiener mom still didn't get enough sleep, though little wiener is mostly sleeping through the night(thanks for asking).
The wiener mom celebrated middle wiener's birthday, halloween (see photos), thanksgiving, and christmas. New Year's Eve too, though she's never felt the magnitude of and enthusiasm for the night. The wiener mom had her little wiener dedicated at the Unitarian Church. The wiener mom knitted 5 scarves.
The wiener mom has survived through winter break, too many snow days and deadly cold days. The wiener mom is now fish mom. Santa brought a fish tank with 6 small fish. The tank promptly became a death trap for fish and only two are stilling hanging on. The wiener mom was consistently amazed and frustrated by her wieners, filled with love and the occasional loath. Just very occasional really.
Oh, and daddy wiener got a harmonica for christmas and now fancies himself a blues harmonica player. So, what's new with you?