Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The Cows

"I'm going to miss the cows," I sobbed on the phone to husband Paul.

Taken out of context, this statement may appear a bit odd, if not completely random. The cows in question are those whose domain backs up to our backyard. When we first moved into our current home, we were informed that the expansive property of open field behind us belonged to a farmer. It may seem weird , that inspite of this knowledge I was actually perplexed one morning when I was alerted to a rather loud nasally/gutural noise coming from outside in the backyard. Low and behold; I had my first of many cow-sightings.

After the birth of first child Laura, cow appeal in the Davis household increased tremendously. On pretty spring days like today--wind blowing through trees and grass, the two of us would venture right up to our fenceline. "Ahhhh," cooed the wide-eyed baby on my hip. When she could talk in full sentences (which was almost right out of the womb), Laura would periodically provide commentary on the cows from her booster seat in the kitchen. "Mommy," she'd exlaim, "that cow out there is peeing." Or one of my other favorite stories was Grandma Kim's discovery of our neighborhood cows. As Grandma Kim relays it, Laura kept trying to convince Grandma Kim that cows were in our backyard. "Oh, you're so silly," Grandma replied, "you want to pretend there are cows in your backyard?"(Laura has a very active imagination). But after repeated insistance from Laura that cows were in our backyard, Grandma Kim finally looked out the kitchen window to discover...cows were indeed in the backyard--or at least close enough.

The other day as we rode past the pasture (the same one that backs up to our property), Laura shouted, "Mommy look--big fat guys!" toward a few straggler cows only a few feet from our minivan. Though incorrect in gender, she got the plump part right anyhow.

The twins are just now catching on that creatures are stirring in our backyard and from time-to-time they'll excitedly shout, "Moo-moo" in unison.

When I shared my story of sobbing about cows to a very dear friend of mine, she said, "Oh Erin, you have to write about it. Even though you might thinkg it's silly, it's important to write about those cows before you move. It's important to remember every detail and reason why you were crying about those cows you love in Kansas City."

I sure will miss those "Big Fat Guys," but you all know it's not really about the cows...right?

Friday, April 16, 2010

We Done Struck Babysitter Gold Y'all!

Finding a good babysitter is like finding a juicy golden nugget, except better, because a golden nugget can't watch three kids, three and under.

Abbey is my proverbial golden nugget. My friend Lauren highly recommended her; a babysitter recommendation from Lauren Leonard is worth it's weight in gold (yes, I will use the gold analogy for all it's worth,, ar, ar). Not only that, but it's like having a sitter being put through an FBI background check. Not that I don't have high standards for babysitters, it's just LL has been in the game longer. She's thorough, that's all I'm saying.

When Abs (as I've come to call her) came to our house for the first time I thought, "Oh geez, she's young...and my kids are, 'Adventures in Babysitting' the unrated version." And if you haven't seen the movie--that means Davis girls=handful X3. It's not that I doubted Abs's ability--Lauren had covered that from the get-go. I just doubted her sanity would remain intact at close of sitting session, not to mention harboring any desire on her part to ever return to the Davis household. If toddler twins and a three-year-old will test most adult nerves (including mine), what would they do to poor teenage Abs?

I quickly discovered that Abs was one-up on me. Barring a few grizzly Laura incidents (if you've been reading my blaaags you'll know what I'm talking about), Abs came out of her babysitting experience unscathed (as far as I can tell). Not only that, but she actually came back for more! Even cooler and totally perplexing to me, she hasn't turned down a single offer of mine to watch the girls. She has a totally laid back and responsible persona for one her age. Oh and perhaps one of the greatest aspects of having Abs as our sitter--she won't let the three, three and under run her! Now that my friends, is far more valuable than any precious metal that I'll ever find.

Yes indeed, looks like the Davis family struck a goldmine. We love you Abs!

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

All my Single Mommies...All my Single Mommies

Dedicated to the Empresses of Single Mommas Missi Rasmussen and Jennifer Thompson

Let this be an ode to the single parent...

No parent should be allowed to have the stomach flu. No single parent should EVER, EVER, EVER be allowed to have the stomach flu. Nor should she have to endure it on Easter...or any holiday for that matter. As I cried on the phone with friend Lauren on Easter Sunday, surrounded by sorrowful teething twins and a three-year-old on Easter candy overdose, I was able to make out her brother Andy chanting "SM2K, SM2K!" above my steady sobs. "What is SM2K?" I asked, or sniffled. "Single Mom 2 Kids," Lauren replied. "That was his name for me before I got remarried." I like it. I don't know why, but I like it. Maybe it's something about the way it rolls off the tongue--kind of a snazzy, contemporary sound to it, like Y2K, but not lame like Y2K.

So there I was, alone on Easter marinating in the realization that I was an SM3K. Only honorary SM3K, because I am of course married (don't worry the flu didn't damage my memory that bad). I decided to ask friends Missi and Jennifer hostesses with the mostesses of blog: if hubby Paul only coming home every 30 days could allow for an honorary single mom status. I have realized throughout this "transitional period" as I've come to call it, just how excruciatingly difficult single moms have it. Throw in a night full of running to and fro from toilet to couch and coming too close to missing regurgitating into a plastic bag in the mix, and we've just upped the ante from excruciatingly difficult to impossibly difficult.

Part of my crying wasn't from the frustration of barely being able to peel myself off the couch, or feeling like feeding babies was like participating in a day long was also that I was surrounded by filth (much of it my own); piles of crumbs, diapers (some clean, some dirty), sippy cups, big girl cups, toys, Easter basket grass, blah, blah, blah--and if I'm being completely honest, I cried because I was completely and utterly lonely. Thank God that when I was in the midst of my actual sickness, the cavalry was here to rescue me. But sitting in the middle of the battlefield post-barf, etc. had me humbled and in gratitude for all the SM1K's, 2K's, 3K's, and beyond.

So, in homage to all my single mommas, I took a few photos to document part of my honorary period of being SM3K--let's call it the "Easter Flucapade." You will see no little girls in pretty, flowery Easter dresses, you will not see a Pine-Sol disinfected house, and you will most definitely not see a ham, casserole or any other tantalizing food dish anywhere in sight. But I can promise you will see babies still in pajamas at 3p.m. (one picking her nose), dirty carpets and dirty house.


Your Honorary SM3K--Erin Davis

Thursday, April 1, 2010

I'm Late, I'm Late For A Very Important Date!

As I rushed around the kitchen this morning dishing out breakfast with my catlike speed and reflexes, I began to get that, "How on earth will I ever get everything done today that I need to" feeling in the pit of my stomach. Or was I just hungry? After all, Momma gets breakfast last. Yes, I was hungry, but I was also feeling the stress of having too much to do in a day and of course, no time in which to do it.

"Stupid Daylight Savings," I thought while grimacing at babies--still in pajamas, still eating, no hope for a quickie a.m. dining experience. "More bapple, more bapple," Elizabeth pleaded. More bapple...I mean apple?!?! NO, NO, NO--no time for more apples, cheerios, or other mass quantities of breakfast food, no time to get ready for preschool (less than an hour away), no time for bill paying, laundry, personal hygiene (when did I take a shower last?), no time for Laura's preschool Easter party, making that soup I've already put off for two days, etc.

Forget trying to blame Daylight Savings, it's already been what, a couple weeks since we've done that? It doesn't really matter in the end...Spring forward, fall backward, fall, no, no--no time...the point is, no matter what the time of year, I'll never feel there is enough time in a day. Sheez, the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland has nothin' on us moms. Yet, like the rabbit, I suppose we'll use any excuse to blame the pocket watch, or seasons, or whatever else for not getting the million and one things done that we need too. Forget reducing responsibility, that's for sissies...that's also a joke, don't worry.

What we need moms, is our own international time zone. Mommy Extended Hours Zone. Welcome to an abundant source of readily available extra time! More bapples for everyone! In fact, in the MEHZ (love my acronyms or what?) you can be in two places at once. You can go to the preschool Easter party and also conveniently get your grocery shopping done. And the best part of MEHZ? You never have to hurry! You can take the time to clean the crusty faces of your children, dress them properly (like with socks and shoes) and yes, even give yourself a nice, hot shower!

Until I find the correct hemisphere of magical time zones, I guess I'll just have to do the best I can on whatever time zone we are presently experiencing. I look forward to meeting all you moms along the way--just don't expect me to be on time. After all, there are always more bapples to cut, and not enough time to cut them!