Turn Around and Swim

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Samurai Slap Away 

Appearing in the winter dreariness at the top of our upstairs landing was a young boy who appeared to be part samurai warrior and part Aunt Jemima It was utterly confusing and I blinked a few times before wrapping my eyes around the sight of this boy. 


We had just returned from Sunday Mass when my overtired and wildly irritable 9-year old son stepped a boundary and got mouthy with me. It was as if some unholy spirit suddenly invaded his body. He spent the weekend “elsewhere” and spent a good part of it playing video games in “raids” with “grown men”. Something of which I do not allow or condone in our home. 

He was cranky and teetering back and forth from launching a granade at me and being my sweet son I carried in my womb for 9 months and one week. Then it happened, almost in A Christmas Story fashion, he said the unthinkable. Yet, the unthinkable was accompanied by a few more unthinkable(s) and then the unthinkable(s) just wouldn’t stop. 

So, as I was caught between seeing my beautiful, blue-eyed boy and a horned demon, I did the unthinkable. I slapped his sweet little cheek rosy red. We both immediately froze. And then my gentle child reappeared and the tears welled up in his eyes. 

He was instantly slapped back to reality as if an exorcism of sorts had occurred. We had a long talk about video games and saying no to things that seem fun but hurt us in the end. That sometimes making the decision to go to bed early even when no one else is holding you accountable is wisest of choices. We both apologized and I thought we went on our merry ways with a new sense of appreciation for the moment that overcame us both. 

A half hour past, I motioned for him to freshen his face, tidy his clothes and restyle his hair. Big brother’s basketball game was coming up and trek number 11 from home to court was soon to be underway. 

That’s when the samurai warrior appeared. Head and face fully wrapped in a black, dry wick long sleeve Under Armour compression shirt. All I could see were his enormous blue eyes. Just as I was about to lose my cool because we needed to leave, he spoke. 

Under the wick his muffled voice told of the day he spoke harsh words to his mother and she cracked him on his cheek. The shame he said was too much to bear and the redness on one cheek that didn’t match the other was to awkward to explain. The puffiness under his eyes that showed of a child distraught was too obvious to give way that tears had been shed. Such a heart felt muffled theatrical lead, I couldn’t resist. In his quest for sympathy of sorts, I did the unthinkable again. 

I laughed. Hysterically. I had nothing else to offer. Just pure, unfiltered belly laughter. What in the world are you doing my dear son? Like the adorning of the Scarlet Letter, he made his way one foot after another down the staircase, passed me, out the door and into his booster seat with his head and face fully cloaked in black Under Armour dry wick compression shirt.


That episode was a week ago. And although we have both moved on and have forgotten all about the unthinkable(s), I still can’t help from cracking up at the sight of him and his dramatics. You never will know what will come of a good old fashioned slap across the old cheek and usage of Under Armour dry wick long sleeve compression shirts. May the warrior in us all, fight the good fight! 


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Asphalt Soup and the Math Goes Whoop

I’m pretty confident I am ready for the school year to be complete. I really am over fourth grade. In fact, I was over it back in 1980 something too. Now it’s all coming back to me because I have little children. Little children that still need my help with homework. What they don’t get is I need Google and I need sleep. Oh thank heavens for Google. Education is just different these days. Seriously how in the world did I get a college degree and start and manage a business? I think we were still on cut and pasting in the fourth grade. Oh and fractions and decimals, that $h*t didn’t start until Junior High.

So after an eight-hour day of work, dinner, baths, homework (sort of) and getting three kids to bed, sometimes mommy dearest can make mistakes. Especially when it comes to checking fourth grade Math homework. It happens, people, let it go! A free pass for incorrectness should be an excusable mishap given most nights I wrestle my three-year old to get to sleep. Oh and laying in bed with my five-year old while he reads to me, it is sweet on most odd days but every other day including Holidays, I sometimes want to pull my hair out. Just say the word already. It sounds like shout.

My patience runs low on energy at about 8:00p.m.  Plus fourth grade Math homework is waiting for me after ‘Splat the Cat‘. I am not a bad mom, I’m real. You know it parents, frustration with a capital F. Oh my friends, that is a whole other blog post bubbling in my veins but for now we focus here on Math mistakes.

Because they can and will happen. And when I am exhausted, the last thing I want to do is help my son with his Math homework. So if I incorrectly add and multiple then divide by ten thousandths and make my ten-year old change his answers, I think I get a free pass. If the stupid a$$ decoder using our answers gives us *asphault soup, then so be it. If asphalt is also misspelled, than please excuse that as well.

20130430-215138.jpgSo, please Mrs. Teacher do not reprimand my son for being mischievous. I made him change the answers and the two freaking words with one misspelled fit in the boxes so with much sleep deprivation and mommy exhaustion we decoded *asphault soup instead of getting the said better code of alphabet soup. I mean really, no need to send an email.  No need to hand out the pink detention slips.  Although I wouldn’t mind sitting alone in a Library for an hour with complete silence. 

Because in all reality, why after two hours of working through the problems do we have to then play Pink Panther and decode the secret riddle anyways? Just turn the $h*t in and call it a day. Yep, that’s what happens when you have that attitude. My son is still calling me out for it. He was summoned to the teacher’s desk for being naughty. It was I Mrs. Teacher and I am freaking tired. So if school does not get out for summer soon, this mama will be face planting in *asphault soup.

So, I ask, what BIG mistake have you made when helping little missy or junior with their homework?

*Asphalt purposely misspelled to fit on a line.  Namaste!


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Uh Oh, It’s a No Go on The Spaghetti O’s

Uh oh, no, no on the Spaghetti O's.

Uh oh, no, no on the Spaghetti O’s.

Who gets denied the opportunity to contribute to charity?  Whose donations do not qualify as a viable food source for a hunger center?  Who gets the ixnay on the spaghett-tay?  Well, we do of course. 

Over Spring Break I took the kids to the Library.  Given our Spring Break week looked more like Winter Break, we had to forego a trip to the zoo and spend our time indoors.  I figured a nice quiet place surrounded by books would do the three little guys and myself some good.

It was also that one time of the year where I can drastically reduce my library fines.  You see, I am very good with money.  I pay all my bills on time.  I can set up and hold to a budget.  I even manage my business’ finances.  It’s all good.  Yet, when it comes to returning library books and movies on time, well there is a bit of a problem.th[9]

I now have to lock up the kids library books in my closet.  This way in order to grab the next book they have to return their current book to me.  It is one way I can monitor the books and avoid calls from The Library Association of Unretunred Library Items.  I have bought more books and movies that seriously we could open up our own institution to borrow and lend books, DVD’s and CD’s.  In fact, I just found Thomas’ Snowy Day Surprise hidden in a moving box from 2005.

Do you think they will accept its return this late in the game?

Anyways, when I have a chance to reduce my fines, I’m all for it.  I have picked up trash, donated used books to schools, volunteered my time during children’s story hour and most recently had an opportunity to donate canned goods.  So on our latest trip over break, while the little monkeys were climbing the book shelves, I was negotiating a fine reduction.  $1.00 off fines for every canned good item.  I was so happy to donate to the hunger center that I was willing to empty out my whole pantry.  I even told the Librarian to keep the extras. 

I wanted to show the kids it is not just about doing something to get something in return.  That giving more is always the better option.  Until the Librarian started to indicate to her assistant that the many items I turned in need to go into the unacceptable bin.  I’m sorry, come again?  Black beans do not qualify.  What could the volunteers possibly do with black beans?  Garbanzo beans do not qualify.  Artichokes are not a real vegetable item.  Low sodium soup is not acceptable.  I guess there is a need for iodine.  Probably for an electrolyte boost or something.  Oh and Spaghetti O’s, what was I thinking?  No really, she said, “You really shouldn’t feed your children this as nothing in this can is real.”

thCAR9DJUZNow if any of you know me personally or have been following my blog, I do not feed my children Spaghetti O’s or their equivalents.  Not that I am knocking on Chef Boyardee or Campbell’s, but I believe in raw, whole foods without added dyes, processed ingredients or genetically modified substances.  I know it is not everybody’s thing but it’s how I choose to raise my little guys.  It is how I choose to nourish them and my own body. 

So naturally I explained to the Librarian and her assistant, that someone brought these over to my house and I agree I would never give the kids such a delicacy as Spaghetti’s O’s.  They just peered at me through their Librarian lenses and in disbelief, said “Mmm hmm.”  So along with a lecture on healthy and nutritious foods I should feed my children, my Spaghetti O’s were denied as well as the beans o’ plentiful and my library fines remained the same.

So, finding Thomas’ Snowy Day Surprise just tickled my fancy.  I cannot wait to return this item.  Yet, I will probably receive another fine as it is now probably a discontinued item on the Librarian’s List. 

Who else owes their retirement in library fines?  Have you ever been denied an item for donation?  Since when did hunger centers get so picky? 

I mean hunger is hunger.  Legumes are high in protein and filling via their carbohydrate content.  Now Spaghetti O’s on the other hand, well shame on me for trying to donate those, but I figured it was better than putting them in the trash.  Well, my good lesson to the children on giving more than necessary all sort of backfired.  They were ashamed of me for trying to give away “bad food” to the homeless.  The Librarian was able to pull off her signature move by lowering her glasses and gazing at me with sternness as if  I just shouted in her institution.  It was a total belly flop and complete waste of a Spring Break morning.

So, where are you at in library fines?


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You Wiped My Son’s Eyes

20130402-141335.jpgYesterday morning was off to a rough start. I woke up late. It was cold and the thought of bouncing from bed to shower just made me want to pull the covers over my head. I needed a gradual good morning. One that allowed sipping some hot coffee, curled up under the blanket by the fire.

I had the choice to act now and get a head start before the kids woke up. This would lead to my being present at the breakfast table with them. This would allow me to control the “I wants”, sibling bickering and a nicely prepared breakfast ending up in the trash. The nutritious breakfast taking second place to M&M yogurt and Easter candy. I had a choice.

The other option would be the gradual good morning. I chose this option. Despite past experiences, I decided to roll with it but was convinced I could stay mindful. I could start the turkey bacon and sip the coffee. I could wake the kids up, have breakfast on their plates and then jump into the shower. I could let them carry on with their bickering with an occassional diversion from getting ready to mediate. I could do this. I did.

It was frustrating. There were many interruptions. I forget my eyeliner on one eye. I forget to plug in the curling iron. The nutritious breakfast took a hike for sugar laden yogurt and Easter candy. I had a choice. I refused to get upset. I refused to be frustrated. I calmly put the yogurt back into the refrigerator. I put my other eye’s liner on. I plugged in the curling iron. I mediated. I took deep breaths. I referred them to brush their teeth and get their school bags.

I carried on. It was getting closer to crunch time. My oldest sounded the 8:01a.m. alarm. I knew the bus would be coming. I stopped. I had to make a choice to get them out the door. I wanted them off with smiles and hugs. I refused to not be mindful. I refused to let the chaos win. The chaos fought me hard. One went out the front door, one out into the garage, the other climbed into my car. Stop. We are not leaving yet. Come back in. They all did, eventually.

All he wanted was his snow boots. I tried to explain to him he wouldn’t need them today. He kept asking about the weather. Through the hair dryer I could hear him saying it is sunny now but a dark cloud is coming. He wondered if the cloud meant rain or snow. I had a choice to stop the hair dryer and crouch down to his level, meeting him face to face explaining he would not need the snow boots. I chose to put on his tennis shoes. I didn’t see he was frustrated. I didn’t let him explain. All he wanted to tell me was that if it was going to rain or snow and he didn’t have his boots he would have to stay on the asphalt during recess.

20130402-141259.jpgI had a choice to listen or be the parent in charge. I chose to be the parent in charge. I chose to not listen. He walked out the door with his head hanging low muttering a statement which really was asking for permission. He was going to grab his snow boots anyway. I saw his fingers grasp the boots. I removed them from his hands and put them back on the shelf. He grabbed them again. The bus was coming.

My oldest took off without a hug or a kiss. My baby was climbing into my car and then the bus stopped. I took the boots from his hand and threw them into his bag. I told him he was not listening. I chose to be upset. I kissed him off quickly and with his head down he walked down the 150 feet path of cement.

I was defeated. I let the chaos win. I did not send them off as I intended. I motioned for him to run. He never looked back. He never picked up his head. He stayed at the same defeated pace. Still yet I was upset. Upset that he didn’t listen. But really it was I who didn’t listen. I was too busy giving in to chaos. I made a choice to ease into the morning. A choice I knew would have repercussions. A choice I knew could lead to farewell defeats.

Then she grabbed a tissue as he boarded the bus. She wiped his eyes and hugged him. My heart sank. My eyes dripped with water. I wanted nothing more to run to them and get them off the bus. How could I let this happen. I was mindful of what she did. It bothered me. It stung. I felt like I failed. I made a choice.

Parenting isn’t always easy. Especially when you have multiple children and you are a working parent. It is a fine balancing act; getting yourself ready for work and children off to school. The intentions are good. The breakfast is nutritious. The lunches are packed. The schoolbags are ready. The teeth are brushed. Everything is in place. But what our little ones want most is to be heard. I know in this instance I was only acting on motherly intuition. I only wanted the absolute best for the children. But sometimes, we need to stop and just listen. Our children can provide an enormous amount of teaching. If we just choose to listen.


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$182.13 and You Got What?

Some people decided to drink their St. Patty’s Day away. Others suddenly turned Irish for a day. Some looked to the leprachauns for luck and inspiration. I went broke on my three little clovers. I decided to forego the festivities and spend the day with my little men. We had a great day filled with a mommy workout, a free lunch due to their creative coloring artwork submissions to a local cafe, boys haircuts super pimped out style, a trip to the grocer and an all hands on deck homemade dinner. It was the “Patty’s Day of Perfection”. Well almost.

After it took more of a workout to get out the door Sunday morning to get the kids to my gym than my actual workout, I got dooped by the gym childcare center. Apparently somewhere between a gym name change and last Saturday they now require a key card pass to check the kids into the kiddie zone at the gym. I’m sorry but I seem to have missed that memo. It required all this paperwork, new credit card on file, blood type, shoe size, a photo ID of me with the kids, me separately and then each kid separately. By the time I checked into the workout class they were already 3 towels of sweat into their groove and by the time I busted my first bead, class dismissed. Huh?

Then off we went to gather our free brunch courtesy of childhood doodles. As they each cashed in their lucky leprechaun coloring pics, I was standing in between them and the mob of drunks from the local college who needed a quick carb fix before round two of their Guinness frenzy. Yikes. When you tell children some people just act silly on St. Patty’s day and they look at you with a questionable gleam in their eyes, do know they know. Anyways, we carried on through our brunch while I distracted them by spilling Vitamin Water all over my lap. Oh boys, time to go, mommy made a mess.

Would you like a hot facial wrap with your neck and shoulder massage there little fella?

Would you like a hot facial wrap with your neck and shoulder massage there little fella?

Luckily it was a “National Holiday” or something observed for all things Irish and nobody was getting their haircut on a Sunday afternoon. Most people don’t down 10 pints of Guinness and crave a haircut. Most people. So we had the whole place to ourselves. Now let me tell you these boys got the royal sports spa deluxe treatment for free. I’m talking haircut, scalp massage, wash, wax, dry, finish, hot towel facial wrap and neck and shoulder massage. They definitely got the MVP VIP upgrade. I can only imagine how they talked their way into this one.

When I went to the ladies room I didn’t expect to come out and see the three amigos getting massages and wrapped in towels. But I do know what I will do the next time they are getting too wild and crazy. I will institute the mommy hot towel wrap massage session. They were so quiet. I totally would have paid extra for this service and I even inquired how I can pay in advance to secure this MVP VIP treatment in the future. I actually read six uninterrupted pages of my book I downloaded last August. Count them. Six. Six whole pages.

Now with nothing but time and booze free fun ahead of us, we headed to the grocer for a few things. The kids begged and pleaded for each of them to have their own cart. Peeno had a mini me and Noochie and Nickelbass got the express shopper dual basket cart. So we were off. Mama duck and her three little ducklings cruising from aisle to aisle. Now when there is one cart and eight hands, I can usually put things back onto the shelves (a few aisles away of course – and I do apologize in advance for messing up the store). But when there are four carts and three sets of grabby hands, I cannot be responsible for what happens.

So, as they were unloading their carts and I was desperately trying to open a fruit stick for Peeno before he had a major meltdown, the cashier was scanning and scanning and scanning. It wasn’t until my oldest asked, “Umm Mommy, do you have money? Like a lot?” I immediately threw down the fruit stick, well, tried to shake the sticky thing, and peered up at the running total. $170.00 and still scanning. Then the cashier pages Customer Service Baggage Help. Oh no that could never be a good sign. So when all was said and done I had to hand over a card because cash wouldn’t cut it as my total was $182.13. Cha-ching! Now mind you I had just gone grocery shopping three days earlier.

Being this independent can only mean trouble.

Being this independent can only mean trouble.

When we got home and I began to unload the groceries, these are some of the items we now have in stock. Two pineapples, a cantaloupe, cherry tomatoes, tomatoes on the vine, hydroponic tomatoes, Roma tomatoes, potatoes in every family to include Idaho, Yukon, Red, Sweet and Yam. We also have every variety of Kids Cliff bars in triples. Three mega size shower gels, deodorant for a five-year old, protein powder for a nine-year old, bananas, more bananas, another pineapple, almond bites, ice cream sandwiches, 4 pints of ice cream and frozen pizza in plain, BBQ chicken, Greek, pepperoni and sausage. We also have sesame sticks, trail mix in everywhere color of the rainbow and I no longer have a pot o’ gold.

But we learned about economics and bartering. We learned that sometimes it takes 4 bags of coffee to get the grinder to explode work and grind the beans. We learned that our grocer has a baggage help person on staff. We learned that coupons are pointless when it comes to keeping hands from getting stuck on a conveyor belt. We learned that mommy cannot just whip out a card when the green stuff runs low. We learned teamwork and most importantly we learned that spending time together, no matter what the cost, is worth it. Even if after $182.13 and my bags didn’t even include mommy juice wine.

After the initial shock of cost and the full stocked pantry, we were able to use our ingredients to prepare a delicious dinner. Like all hands in the cart, we had all hands in the Sunday dinner food prep. It was lovely and if I had to do it again, I wouldn’t get a sitter for two hours at $10.00 bucks a pop for a quiet budget wise trip. Sometimes the most unplanned and out of budget mishaps turn into the best adventures.

Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle. - James Russell Lowell

Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle. – James Russell Lowell

So parents, do you bring your children to the grocer? Do you leave them at home with a sitter? What did you do back in the day?


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E.T. Finally Went Home

E.T. Please Go Home!With the modern technology of today, this should be really easy for you buddy.

E.T. Please Go Home!
With the modern technology of today, this should be really easy for you buddy.

I had this bright idea about three weeks ago for Friday family movie night. I figured I’d light a fire, make some organic popcorn via stove top and put in E.T. It was PG right and the 1980’s were such an innocent time. For instance, I only had to fast forward a few times during the opening scene when the junior high boys and their little siblings were playing poker and smoking cigarettes. It’s all good. Oh and just one other time when one of the characters was calling Elliot “penis breathe.” Such a different time back then. Take note I am still not explaining what “penis breathe” is and oh my goodness the cigarettes and second-hand smoke, what is that they ask? Fast forward. Fast forward. Fast forward.

Well I might have dodged a few bullets and left Google to curious minds (insert website parental block) but I cannot escape from E.T. I cannot escape from the fact that for three weeks E.T. has caused me 21 sleepless nights. The fact that the slimy little alien resides in my three-year olds closet and now he refuses to sleep in his room or own bed. The fact that E.T. will not go home. He has traumatized my parental guidance well-being as well as my three-year old.

Whose fancy idea was it again to watch this during family movie night? Never, ever assume PG in the 1980’s is equivalent to a negative G un-squared rating in the millenia. Just because our parents exposed us to such horror in extra terrestrial beings, fury hairball Gremlins and homes in Amityville does not mean we should be quick to assume these viewings as 1980’s young-ins were safe and in our best interests as children. Perspectives change big time in 30 years. Imaginations are now technologically stimulated. “Penis breathe” is disgusting and microwaves and fury animals should never coincide. I should have researched a 1980’s PG rating. I mean it would have told me rated as such for language and mild thematic elements. Never assume, mommy. Never assume!

Plus as a mother of three boys, it is bad enough I have enough masculine energy in my home to last me a lifetime. I don’t need to stimulate the thoughts of little boys or need fake aliens harassing me. I would be horrified if my son’s kindergarten teacher called me because my little Noochie was in the principal’s office for calling a fellow kindergartener a “penis breathe.” Oh and the thought of my little dog being a test pilot for a Gremlins retake in my stainless steel microwave just sends chills up my spine. Do not give my boys any more ideas. And E.T., please phone your mother and go home already! You are driving me nuts!

Picture Courtesy of Google Images

Picture Courtesy of Google Images

Well, last night just like clockwork, little Peeno ventured into our bedroom teary-eyed and horrified. E.T. was screaming and giggling in his closet. As usual, the response was, “E.T. IS NOT REAL! Go to sleep!” Then in the morning little Peeno ran out again in tears because I left him alone in my king size bed and E.T. could have escaped from his closet and taken him. I can’t win. Plus my five-year old chimes in, “So, mommy, is E.T. then fictional or nonfictional?” I literally spit out my coffee laughing. He is so academically literal and if I answered, “He’s not real,” I would have been given a literary lecture. So I answered, “He is fictional. Now please eat your breakfast.”

Now given that my children run circles around me from sun up to sun down and I have no time for searching for E.T., I probably would never have gotten to the bottom of the horror in his closet. But since my hubby is a kid at heart, if you will, he went on an all out search for E.T. with the boys. If I ever credit this man for his childlike behavior, it will be for the finding of E.T.

So while they were on an alien hunt I was getting ready for work, packing lunches, doing laundry, woofing down breakfast and getting ready to make my bed. You know, big kid things. Then there on my bed was an article of clothing and a few accessories that I haven’t seen or touched in many years. It was my wedding slip, veil and tiara head-piece. I come running out to the kitchen where the alien hunt meeting was taking place and start frantically asking who touched this and why is it on my bed and flipping out of sorts. My husband looks at me and says, “Do you want to get to the bottom of the E.T. debacle or what?”

I sure do but not at the expense of my time and secretly hidden garments from the boys. There are certain things that are just off-limits and I purposely hid them in the closet so nobody will touch them. As all eyes are looking at me while I’m holding the garments and accessories, their gazes became blinding. In that moment of darkness I realized I was holding E.T. and I hid him in the closet. Oh my heavens. So, now that I just freaked out on everybody I looked at them and sure enough, my husband says, “THAT, what you are holding, is E.T.” E.T. was hiding in Peeno’s closet after all. In fact the more I looked at it, I could see the slimy alien dressed in a wig and tiara hiding in the closet. I just had a major mommy failure.

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Can You See The Resemblance?

photo

So the moral of the situation goes if your three-year old says E.T. is in his closet, he probably is. If more often than not your husband acts like a child, it may just save the day. For as a grown, mature adult, I never would have taken up the hunt for E.T. Like my five-year old, we are too literal. For in our minds E.T. is fictional. It’s black or white and everyone should grasp this concept in my family.

But in the future I will get down like GI-Joe ready to turn into The Hulk if need be to find the 1980’s or equivalent creatures that lurk in the closets of little boys. Now that E.T. is in my closet, I should get a complete night of sleep. Until next time when they stumble upon the clawed pinstripe sweater man, Freddy. Oh and if you sometimes question your sanity, blame it on the movies we were exposed to in the 80’s. It’s all Spielberg’s and the likes fault.


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The Art of Losing an Hour

Last year I approached spring forward very roughly.  It was not quite my style nor very character like of me.  But it happens, we venture off path every once in a while.  It’s okay.  We live, we learn and we carry on.  So this year I re-blog my Art of Losing an Hour post as a reminder of what not to do tonight.  Happy Daylight Savings Time!

The Art of Losing an Hour

March 12, 2012 by | 2 Comments

It is that momentos time of the year; Daylight Savings Time.  When we “Spring” forward  with the hopes and promises of springtime to arrive.  Yesterday might have just been the finest Daylight Savings Day ever by way of weather and WEATHER ONLY!

Just last Thursday it was snowing and yesterday you were not even able to grab a parking spot in the local Metroparks.  Man kids running, bikers, motorcycles, lovers walking hand in hand and runners galore.  There were kites flying, birds chirping and layers shedding.  It was a balmy 68 give or take a few degrees.  Now that is what most would call a “Spring” forward!

Had I gracefully approached the loss of an hour I might have gained full appreciation yesterday for Daylight Savings Time.  But I sprung forward and landed right on my face.  The trek may have been worth it at the time, but trying to navigate through Daylight Savings Day on three hours and a mild to severe hangover made for a slippery ride.

So, I have compiled a list, mostly to myself, so I do not make the same mistakes next year when I “Spring” forward.  So, if you will, please learn from my mistakes and never, ever repeat!

Top 10 Things To Avoid the Day/Eve Before Daylight Savings Time

1.  Low to no carbs. You have to carb Load!  Yes, that’s right, maximum carb consumption!  If you are going to consume wine in Margherita fashion, you best get your starch on.  Crispy romaine, a few tomatoes and 3 greasy croutons will not absorb that type of wine consumption you silly rabbit. (Note to self: this is not how to consume wine either)

2. Shots – Just Say No!  Shots can never be a good thing. With a lack of starch and wine consumption up the yin yang what was I thinking?  Shots are just an evil reminder that I am not 21 anymore.

3. Pulling an all-nighter.  Real smart.  As if losing an hour isn’t enough, I have to close the house down.  Who do I think I am? I don’t wear a cape.  Go home fool!

4.  An oversized Panini stuffed with turkey, cabbage and french fries.  These should be illegal as they are stomach aches, among other things, in the making.  Especially when consuming this delectable at 1:45 in the morning.  How did I go from a fine food and wine enthusiast to a college student?

5.  Thinking you are minus 3 kids.  Yep, HELLoooo mommy!  My Panini loving shot doing wine guzzling a$$ will need to get up with three kids in oh say less than 4.5 hours.  I have to maneuver through Daylight Savings Day with my mommy title.  No, there is no abandoning post.  Ha, ha, dummy, deal with it now.  Once you earn that mommy title, it is yours for life! Hangover or no hangover.

6.  Getting home at 2:30 a.m.  Oops that is now 3:30 a.m!  “Spring” forward has sprung.  Now we are down to 3.5 hours, 3 kids, one very dirty stomach and a pounding head.

7.  Rounding up a big crew to meet at Starbucks pre-spin class at 8:00 a.m.  Can’t bail now as I peel myself off my bed linens, slap some cold water on my face and get my workout gear on.  OUCH and why do I look so blurry in the mirror?

8. Getting on a stationary bike for a 15 mile, one hour ride at 9:00 a.m.  I already have my spin on…in my head!  I was so dehydrated I couldn’t even sweat.  How in the world did I make it through that class? The whisper of the fan was hurting my head.  You go mommy, pedal now, faster and faster.  No pain, no gain.

9.  “Playing” mommy.  There is no such thing unless you are a little girl.  So, sure kids, we can go to the park!  Fresh air might do us all some good.  Let’s take full advantage of this spring-like day and play.  You go ahead now, while I slumber under this tree.  Who am I kidding?  Swinging, hiking, frisbee throwing and uh oh, hello again Panini.

10. Navigate through Daylight Savings on 3 hours of sleep.  Never do this on any given day either.  Sleep is crucial, beneficial and very much appreciated.  Yah, sweetie, there is no nappy, nap like back in the day.  You need to push through this day, non-stop, until the kiddies are tucked into bed.  But you go girl, have another shot!

So, with all appreciation for what Daylight Savings promises to bring, is it really necessary to “Spring” forward via loss of an hour? As if time is not limited as it is, you have to go and get all short on me? I need you minutes!

I know now not what to do next year.  In fact, I think I am going to settle into a nice Daylight Savings Spa Retreat.  The H2O plentiful, non-alcoholic, detoxifying,  fresh fruit and veggies type.  I would rather lose the hour gracefully than party like it’s 1999. (Although, at the time, it was blast!)