the wiener mom and her wonderful wieners take flight

I have just recently arrived home from my first three wiener trip-just recently as in two days ago, but it kind of takes that much time to recover. My wieners and I visited the fair city of Fargo, ND to see Daddy wiener's 98 year old grandpa. Also on the trip were Daddy wiener's sister, husband and three kids and Daddy wiener's parents. Given the price of gas and also the even higher price of my sanity we didn't drive the 9 hours, but flew with frequent flier miles (good thing all that charging finally paid off). The wieners are not a car-loving people. Big wiener is from the classic "are we there yet"camp. Middle wiener is from the less common, but equally annoying "drop everything you give me on the floor and scream" and little wiener likes to keep it simple. He just cries until he passes out from fatigue. So, 9 hours in a car wasn't going to cut it for us. We flew.

The flying itself went very well. All wieners were well-behaved, save Middle wiener's desire to unbuckle his seat belt constantly. Side note: it's hard to believe that in a huge, terrifying, possible death inducing airplane crash, that piece of nylon is going to save anyone. Lucky for us the two flights were both under an hour, so short that there wasn't even beverage service, but small bowls with lids of orange juice and water. I couldn't do it, water isn't supposed to come pre-packaged in a bowl with a foil top. I strongly suspected it would taste like plastic. I have a strong aversion to airplane food anyway, good thing no one serves it anymore. Big and Middle wiener, sitting with daddy, were thrilled with their bowls of water and Middle wiener proceeded to spill only half of it on himself and his seat. I was sitting across the aisle with Little wiener, who was busy charming anyone in viewing distance with his smile and mohawky hair do.

So the flying itself was fine, the Minneapolis airport was lovely. They have a play land type area that was very popular with the wieners, not however more popular than the 75 cent rides on the vehicles that go up and down and make noise (outside the FREE play area). Daddy wiener got suckered into a couple dollars worth of up and down.

We arrived in Fargo on Friday night, in time to swim in the Pirate themed indoor pool. Hugely popular with wieners young and old. Me, I'm not that into swimming, you can theme it up as much as you want, but I'm still not going for it, unless I absolutely must. We did swimming, eating, visiting, more swimming.

Great Grandpa wiener was thrilled to have us visit him. He freely handed out the key to his Rally scooter thing that gets him around the old folks' home. Not sure if children under the age of 8 should be driving, even 2 miles per hour in the hall, but of course the kids were incredible pleased with themselves. By the time we finished with it, they had only crashed into the wall a few times, dislodged the cargo basket, pinched one finger (Middle wiener, of course), and had successfully avoided injuring any residents. Great Grandpa wiener commented, over the screaming, how well behaved the children were. Yes, he's hard of hearing.

Monday it was time to head home to Madison. Our first flight was on a small plane from Fargo to Minneapolis and hit a little turbulence, nothing that bothered the wieners, or me. Until, a crazy flight attendant came over the little P.A system and told us she wasn't going to collect trash from the little bowls of water because IT WAS TOO DANGEROUS!.Are they ever supposed to say things like that? Aren't they supposed to tell you everything is going to be okay as you plummet from the sky? Then, to make matters worse, upon our arrival to Minneapolis and our taxi into a gate, she came back on the P.A. and said, "Well we made it." I think she needs her P.A privileges revoked.
Of course we couldn't get home without a delay. A two hour delay in Minneapolis and then another hour on the runway because a light was burnt out, got us home by midnight. I sat with Big wiener and Middle wiener on the last flight and happily let them fall asleep with their heads in my lap. Well, Big wiener did that on his own. Middle wiener, in his own style, refused to lay down and was asleep sitting up with his little head bobbing all around until I finally fought him into a laying down position and all was peaceful. Until we got off the plane and Middle wiener cried all the way down the tunnel thingy, through the gate to the baggage claim, through the parking garage, and most of the drive home from the airport. Oh well, it can't be peaceful all the time, or even 10% of the time really.

the wiener mom doesn't shower alone

Just ten minutes was my hope. Just the ten, more would have been preposterous.

I think the shrieking started at minute 3. Three minutes, not so bad, but definitely room for improvement. I'm in the shower, with the fan on and the door closed and can still hear them.

Middle wiener, "Mine!" Big wiener, "No, mine!" Back and forth, escalating into incomprehensible high-pitched shrieks. Minute 4, Big wiener knocks on the door (yea! manners!) and then comes in complaining about his brother wiener, "Middle wiener won't share!" Surprise, surprise, he's two and a half; sharing is against his religion. Mind you, the thing that they're fighting over is a cardboard box.

Suddenly, I am thrust into the role of shower negotiator. No hostages yet, but with wieners you never know. I am calling forth the defense, the prosecution, the witnesses, all while I wash my hair and shave my legs. All my efforts are fruitless, or fruitful depending on how you look at it. The shrieking stops because they have reached a cease shriek amongst themselves.

Showering is just one of the many things I don't do alone. Others include going to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, checking email, writing this post (wieners have taken over the office!)... my wieners are part of a rebel anti-wiener mom coalition that work daily towards the untimely demise of any aloneness I may have. For now, we don't need back up, but little wiener is getting bigger everyday.

the wiener mom and the primary reason that delicious cheese crackers and trampolines do not mix

The last day of kindergarten... big wiener has successfully faux-graduated from his first year of real school. Lord please help me; it's going to be a long summer. The summer began, appropriately enough with a good ol' fashioned ice cream social at a neighbor's house. Please note, we do not know these neighbors very well. Also please note that on the long walk from the bus stop to the un-child friendly tea store to buy daddy wiener some loose tea leaves for father's day (a whole other story) and then to the ice cream social, wieners become ravenously hungry. Big wiener decides to eat a granola bar, well really just selective pieces of said granola bar before dumping the undesirables back into random pockets in the diaper bag (where I will reach in and find them stuck to keys and stuff for weeks). He unwraps the bar, and then ceremoniously tosses the wrapper over his shoulder ON TO THE GROUND and continues walking. What the F? Why is my child littering? Daddy wiener and I don't litter. Where would he learn such a thing? How could he be so ungreen? I look around quickly to see if anyone has seen this embarrassing display of careless unenvironmentalism... no one has seen. I ask, "what are you doing?" He looks at me, "what?" he has no idea. "You can't just throw your wrapper on the street, do you know what that's called?" "Nope" he answers. How can I have gone so wrong. I send him back to pick up the wrapper and lecture him on the pitfalls of littering, destroying the environment, etc. I'm pretty sure most of it when in one pretty little ear and out the other. Oh well.

Meanwhile, middle wiener has eaten an entire sandwich bag of cheddar jack cheezit's that was hanging around the diaper bag for who knows how long. The contents of the bag were meant to be shared between wieners, but he's happy and not shrieking at me so I let him eat the whole bag. Mistake number one.

Mistake number two. Stopping at the damn ice cream social in the first place. I should have just walked on by and pretended that I forgot to go. But, good neighbor that I am I stopped at the effing thing (I am!) We are greeted at the driveway by a young guest of the social who goes on to display incredibly unsocial behavior. He busts around the corner and sees us, stops and says, "YOU were invited to the ice cream social?!" in disbelief. Who the eff does this little s.o.b think he is? The day that one of my wieners talks to an adult like that is the day that I think of something really horrible to follow that phrase (I'll work on it) What else could I do but curl my lip dramatically and say, "Yeaaaaa." It felt good to stoop to his adolescent level.

We head around to the back and the nightmare continues. There is a trampoline. A very large and crowded trampoline. I am an anal retentive rule following rule follower and I'm pretty sure that for the sake of uncracked skulls and unbroken bones you're not supposed to have more than two people on a trampoline at a time. There are six kids on the trampoline and wonder of wonders my little wieners rush up to join in the fun. I make them wait. Someone tries to get the kids off of the trampoline so the smaller kids can have a turn. Basically they reply with, "make us" I don't personally know any of these jumping non-rule followers, so I wait for one of their responsible parents to clear them out so the little kids can have a turn to bounce their brains around. Guess what? No one does, my little wieners and I are invisible to them.

Finally some nice woman approaches the ring of hell and tells the kids that they can only have a little more time because other kids are waiting. How long could it be? Two minutes, three, four maybe? No, she gives them ten more minutes! Ten! Who the eff gives kids ten more minutes of anything? I know that's extreme, but in wiener world it's two minutes or three minutes and since the little wieners can't tell time, it's completely up to my discretion how long those two or three minutes actually last. My little wieners wait patiently in the grass while they slap mosquito's away.

Finally the kids clear out, amidst much protest. The little wieners scramble over and I boost them up and away they bounce. Except that middle wiener has never been on a trampoline and is suddenly hysterical and limp, being bounced around against his will. I hand baby wiener off to someone who looks trustworthy and enter through the hole in the nylon net that leads to hell to pick up middle wiener. I stand him up and give him a pep talk. I send him on his way with instructions and he goes down again. He cries. I go in again. I stand him up. He falls again. He finally figures out that it's kind of fun to just sit there and get bounced around. He laughs. He vomits delicious cheese crackers on the trampoline.

Now at this point one would expect that the trampolining would take a sudden and violent pause, but no. These kids will let nothing get in the way of their illicit bouncing good time. They continue to bounce around as I yell at them to stop. Someone gets a roll of paper towel. I have to go in once again to get middle wiener out. I know that a whole lot more cheese crackers were consumed than have come up yet. He cries. He's having fun! I leave the host to clean up the puddle and get shoes. Now big wiener is crying, he doesn't understand why he has to stop bouncing. Because I effing say so. We go home. School has been out for approximately an hour and a half. I think that says it all.

the wiener mom goes soft

I used to be a hard-ass. I do mean that in more ways than one. My ass, literally used to be hard. I used to work out 5 days a week doing insane things like spinning and step aerobics. That was in the time of only one wiener. Life was so much simpler than. Throw him in the car and go to the gym, every day.

That's not what I'm thinking about today though; I'm thinking about the fact that I have gone soft. I used to be a hard-ass mother. Daddy wiener and I used to believe in "crying it out". I should say I guess that Daddy wiener still does believe in "crying it out" and it's only me that has gone soft. When we had gotten to a point with a wiener baby that we had done everything we could do to soothe them and it didn't work, we'd put him in his crib and walk away. I could do that. I could let babies learn to soothe themselves, find their thumbs, or just basically cry themselves to sleep. I could put in ear plugs and turn on the bathroom fan and just go to sleep.

With each subsequent wiener born unto me that ability has deteriorated until now, I just can't do it. I like to think that it's the fact that little wiener can cry like nobody's business, like he slammed his hand in the car door, but for an hour. He is heart-breaking to listen to. I like to think that any mother couldn't ignore that cry, even though it's just the cry of an over-tired baby and not the cry of someone in dire need of professional medical attention. I know though, that the old me could have done it. I could have weathered on through.

Daddy wiener and I were the poster parents for "cry it out". Friends with new babies came to us and asked, "what do we do?" in that first-time parent end of the world panic. I was the guru levitating on top of the mountain that people made pilgrimages to, except that it was just down the street and a lot of times over the phone. I was so zen, so calm and sure of myself, "babies just have to cry sometimes. Just let him/her cry it out. It will be okay. Ommmmmm."

That used to be me. Now, the sound of baby wiener sobbing and shrieking just grabs me tight around the heart and forces me to pay attention. Even the cries of middle wiener for me to pick up a dropped animal (again) or cover him (again) I can't ignore. Daddy wiener has told me that he will take over, he will be in charge, which means that he will ignore the crying and force me to do the same. I hold on as long as I can before I veto his decision and swoop in to save my babies, no matter how old they are.

Part of me wishes that I could go back to that time, when I just trusted that eventually they'd calm down and take care of themselves. I wanted to raise independent, self-reliant children after all. Mostly though, I can't go back and it's okay. I know things now that I didn't know the first time or even the second. I know now how short this baby time is. How fleeting and precious. I know that those times when I can hold little wiener and soothe his crying just by being me fade so fast. I know that soon enough there will be a time when little wiener doesn't want to be held, just like middle wiener and big wiener before him. I know that the quiet moments without the crying are to be treasured and I need to internalize that feeling of peace because as my house fills with growing wieners the feelings of peace are all to infrequent. I know that my little wiener will turn out just fine if I help him out once in a while. My opportunities to hug and kiss and hold and relish diminish as each of those wieners gets closer to being a man, so I'm gonna take all of them that I can get now.

So, if you see me out and about and I look really walking dead tired know that it's because I was rocking wieners to sleep, retrieving Mickey from the floor and kissing away bad dreams. Know that it was my choice and my fault, I could have just ignored it, but I couldn't. Know that it was my choice, but feel sorry for me anyway.

the wiener mom begins

I've joined the world of the blog, late as usual. I've been looking for some type of intellectual stimulation, beyond the world of the wiener in which I live. My wieners are all here; big wiener home from school, middle wiener napping (finally) and little wiener talking to himself and staring at his toes. And me of course, the mommy. The cook, the cleaner, the teacher, the nurse and everything else that any of my three little wieners could want.

I spent the day stacking checkers with middle wiener and trying to convince him to pee on the potty and not on the floor. "Who do you think has to clean it up?" I ask him. "I'll clean it up!" he says happily, goes and gets a dishtowel from the kitchen and wipes up his pee puddle. Although he seems pretty self-sufficient on the clean up front (unlike big wiener who used to pee all over and not give a rat's ass) he is significantly less interested in changing into dry underwear. "I don't care mommy, if they are wet. I don't care!" He says with a smile and goes about sticking dump truck stickers all over the cover of the library book that I have 4 more days to read. But I do care, wet underwear is not happening for me, so I wrestle him down and change them.

Potty training is my least favorite thing about parenting (I say that now because I'm doing it, but ask me again later...) Big wiener was near to impossible to train and took many months, going on six now it's all good, but there were some very dark and very pee-soaked days.

Now we're on to middle wiener. He's a candy boy, so I started out (not with a ton of fore-thought) using little candies to reward him for peeing. By day three he had figured out that every time he peed he got candy and so he'd be on his 'once upon a potty' every couple minutes. "I peeded!" He'd announce and then help himself to three smarties. I'd look in at the few drops of pee and wonder how I'd break him of this.

I tried a timer, when the timer goes off it's time to try to pee. Then he got attached to the timer and would ask, "Can I try to pee when the timer goes off?" Trying to explain to him that he could try to pee whenever "he felt the pee" was an exercise in frustration because he'd just say, "but the timer didn't go off" and look at me with confusion.

Finally, by day 6 we had a breakthrough. We went to a friends' house for dinner (one 12 year old son) and brought along our potty. My guess is that they don't have too many people show up for dinner carrying their own potty. We put it on the deck while we sat outside and hoped for the best. Sure enough, middle wiener comes running out of the sandbox to the deck holding his crotch, pulls down his little briefs and shorts and goes. He doesn't say anything to us, watching in rapt attention. Stands up, pulls up his clothes and heads back to the sandbox. No mention of candy! No timer! No begging and pleading on my part! Yea! He didn't pee on their floor all evening. Yea middle wiener!

Today we had only one pee crisis, walking to the bus stop to pick up big wiener, all of a sudden middle wiener grabs at his crotch and says, "I have to pee. Where's my potty?" Of course, being that we were only 1/2 a block from home and HE HAD JUST PEED I didn't cart the potty along. "Can you hold it?" I ask. Duh, I'm asking a two and a half year old who pees randomly just about anywhere, if he can hold it. I tell him he has to pee on a tree. For this I am glad to have boys. I pull down his shorts and briefs and point him towards a tree, which is by the way my friends on a very well traveled street, the street on which we live actually. My son is peeing in front of a stream of traffic. I feel damn lucky a cop didn't drive by and ticket us for indecent exposure. I can see the headlines, "Two Year Old jailed for Flashing on Monroe Street. Mother and 3 month old Brother Accomplices." Perfect, just what I need. It turned out fine, no one pulled over and yelled, no one walked by, biked by or came raging out of their homes demanding I stop exploiting my child to passers by. God, I hate potty training. Only one wiener left...