Silly Bridwell Kids

Silly Bridwell Kids
Originally uploaded by rbridwell

Finger Lickin Good

So last night I caved and let the Little Monster get into bed with us. Usually I'm pretty strict about sleeping arrangements, but I was feeling generous, and allowed her to climb up into what she called "the meadle". Which is really just in between me and the husband.

She laid there still for about 45 seconds and then the pestering began.

"Mommy - ares you seep?"

YES - Be Quiet!

"Mommmmmmy - was tis tat noise?"

Daddy snoring - Go to sleep.

"Mommy smell my vinger."

Okay, this didn't really alarm me at first. My first instinct told me she probably meant "pull my finger" as her best pal Grandpa just loves to play that game. Gross. So, in order to find peace and finally achieve REM I reached over and pulled her finger. But, nothing. Then,

"No Mommy, SMELL my vinger".

This got my attention. So, there I was trying to decide if I was going to smell her finger. I mean, what is the worse thing it could be? She is potty trained, (THANK GOD), but still - I wasn't ready to smell a big wad of my worst nightmare - POOP - or something on her finger.

"Mommy smell it - smell it mommy. It smells good. Smell my VEEEEEEENGER!"

Geez - when was this going to end. I knew what I had to do - "Honey - wake up. Smell her finger". No response. Shit. On to plan B.

Okay okay okay. I'll smell your finger.

So, I grabbed her hand so I could keep it at a safe distance. I did not want a finger full of crap shoved up my nose. Slowly I brought it to my face in the dark....

Nothing, I smelled nothing but the usual odor of my Little Monster's flesh.

"My Venger smells pwetty Mommy".

MmmmHhhhh. Now go to sleep.

And we did.

My Little Monster turns 3!

My kids are all growing too fast. Maybe it's because the two little ones have just had birthdays, or then again, maybe it's because I'm getting older with them. Whatever it is, I really miss having them around as babies.

I remember when the Little Monster was born. She tried to come early twice, the first time she was successful stopped. The second time, however, she came out with a bang! I should have known any girl of mine would be born into drama.

Evidently she swallowed amniotic fluid during delivery and spent her first 12 hours in NICU. I was nervous, but felt confident she was in good hands. And she was, she came out just fine.

I was so excited to have my girl. I love my boys, but I was craving pink. I needed a girl to balance my home, to share my love for everything girly, a girl to complete me. And I got her!

For three days I stayed in the Hospital recuperating from my c-section, and for three days it was just my girl and me.

Now, three years later, I am so pleased she looks so much like me. It's like having the best part of me walking around making me laugh all the time. Too much of her brother's have rubbed off on her - she's still girly, but she now gets boy humor (fart noises, etc).

I'm just glad she likes pink.

The Big 0-4!

Well, today is a very special day in the Birdie household. Today little Red turns 4. It's only appropriate that I venture back down the road to his birth, remembering him in that perfect form, that tiny little infant wrapped in a blue striped blanket with beautiful bright red hair all over his head.

My middle child, much like his personality, was very organized, from his conception to his birth. We were married in October, and were extremely ready for another child. We started right away. By December we were pregnant and nine months later he was born. Unlike the first and third pregnancies, there wasn't any health issues or concerns. Pregnancy was a breeze.

We scheduled the c-section and he came out, right on time, without any drama. Such a sweet baby boy, just laying there quietly wanting to be loved. And loved he was.

From his parents, to his grandparents to his big brother, Blondie, he has always had somewhere there to hug him, kiss him, help him, play with him, hold him, tickle him, laugh with him, and even cry with him.

He was such the perfect baby it was almost a shame that he had to grow up so fast. Little Red was only 6 weeks old when I became pregnant with the little monster. So, for the majority of Red's baby years Mommy was pregnant with the pregnancy from H-E-L-L with his little sister. But, he never complained, never gave me a moments fuss.

The funniest thing about Red's first year was that he loved his Ocean Wonder's Aquarium Swing. I mean, LOVED IT. It got to be that was the only place he would sleep. His father and I would feel guilty laying in bed and knowing he was 5 feet away, swinging by the light of the computer generated fish and ocean sounds. But, that's where he wanted to be.

Now that he's the big 0-4, he's still the same type of kid. Very low maintenance, and wants things his way - regardless of how uncomfortable it may appear. He insists on wearing his shoes on the wrong feet. He does it every time and he knows better, he just likes to be silly.

He also likes to call people the wrong names - on purpose - jut to get a laugh or a reaction. He's my cuddler, the one who can wrap in my arms and stay there for days. He's also the only child in my house who keeps their room clean or can clean it on demand.

He worships his big brother and fears his little sister. He wants to be just like his Dad, and grow up to marry his Mom (or so he says).

His grandparents are his favorite audience, and he likes to try most of his "tall tales" out on them. He also holds a lot of stock in "shock value" as he says some pretty crazy things just to see your reaction.

He was just signed up for his first year of t-ball, and already has more heart than Mickey Mantle, and as much potential too. His goal is to be just like his brother, well, maybe even a little better.

Oh, and most important, he's left handed - which pretty much says it all. He looks just like his Dad, with his mother's heart, and his left-handed Uncle's personality - what a mixture. He really is my favorite little red headed boy.

Happy Birthday Roo! Mommy loves you!

One girls junk is another person's junk...the Garage Sale Success Story

I have to say, whoever came up with the idea of "garage sales" should have won a Pulitzer.

It's amazing what kind of crap you have just laying around your house, taking up space, creating clutter, or holding you back from buying a new, better version. If you are like me, sometimes it's hard to just toss stuff out. But, when you sell it, if you sell it, you feel better about getting rid of your unwanted item. Almost redeemed and uplifted.

Anyone and everyone who knows me knows one thing for sure, I. am. a. shopaholic.

I. am. a. power. shopper.

I make shopping an art...it's second nature even. I will shop when I'm broke (window shopping), shop whenever I get extra money (splurge shopping spree), and shop when I need something (organized shopping). The best part about all of this is that my husband is a shopaholic as well! So together we can tear it up whenever we hit the malls, discount stores, and yes, sadly, even the Internet. No guilt baby, no guilt cause he's right there with me.

But, the downfall to all this shopping, besides the obvious never having any money, is we acquire more crap than any other people I know. Maybe that's not true, maybe you all keep your stuff organized and well hidden, but we don't. We come from the land of house cleaners who only come every other week, so our house pretty much stays in "disaster zone" all the time (except for every other Friday). So, what to do with all this junk?

Well, low and behold the fabulous invention noted above: The Garage Sale! For about two weeks I went through my clothes, my kid's clothes, toys, kitchen stuff, and all kinds of other misc junk. I had my pile, and sadly it was kinda modest. I mean, maybe 4 boxes full of stuff, that's it. So, I called over a pal who I knew had plenty of junk herself and she brought over her junk and together we had one pretty decent load of junk to unload on the public.

My doubtful husband bet me I wouldn't make more than $10. Now, come on, that's ridiculous, I thought to myself. Surely I can rake in more than 100 bucks. So, I took the bet. The stakes were what they always are in the Birdie household but we'll leave that between him and me if you know what I mean...wink wink. (Ba chicka wah wah).

So, the Friday of the sale quickly approached and I had managed to dig up some more junk. Now, the trick to garage sales is waking up at the butt crack of down so the so-called "early birds" can feel like they are getting the absolute BEST DEAL by coming to your house before the sun even rises. So there I am, Friday morning, sitting outside in pretty much my PJ's, drinking juice, reading Stephen King, hiding behind a large pile of junk while people rummage through it.

It wasn't pretty, nor was it pleasant. I notice people don't like making eye contact with you at garage sales. It's like they are embarrassed because they are buying what they know you consider unimportant or unwanted. I avoided eye contact because I hadn't yet applied make-up and I do not go anywhere without make-up.

I hear people snort and snicker, probably at my prices, maybe at the fact that I had the gawl to sell my underwear second hand. Who knows, I didn't care. I had already called Purple Heart, whatever didn't sell, would be donated the next day. This crap was not coming back into my house, take it or leave ladies (and a few men).

I had probably 10 shoppers during those wee hours before 8:00 am. And I sold two items - two. Everyone I had ever talked to said that the Early Birds are the ones who buy it all up. I was thinking to myself, Holy Crap, I'm a garage sale failure! Even my junk is too junky for the Garage Sale!

Just as I was about to change all my signs from "Garage Sale" to "Garbage Sale", the sun came up and thank the lord the people came out.

I was almost overwhelmed by how many people came blowing through there. Some just looked (nosey a-holes), but others, they came to shop.

I had scheduled to go until noon, but was done by 10:30. And when I say done, I mean almost everything to the last pair of underwear sold. I had managed a big fat $192.00 selling everything mostly at 1.00 to 2.00 each.

So, guess what I did with my money? That's right, I went shopping! And the husband, yeah, I haven't quite collected my winnings yet....

Myth of the Single Sleeping Spouse

Read This Story

So, as I was reading this story I thought to myself it can't possibly be normal to have different bedrooms - even if you do have young children. After looking online and talking to friends it appears many couples are claiming to sleep in different bedrooms. Ironically, the majority of these people claim children are the number one reason for this nighttime spousal separation. Wasn't it the sleeping arrangements that created the children to begin with?

Listen, my kids have been "young children" for going on eight years now, and I can honestly say my husband and I have never, ever even discussed separate bedrooms. I'm sure he's dreamed of the idea of having some solitude during his slumber, but realistically he knows I'd probably become irate if he mentioned it. And I would.

We spend all day long working - both of us are employed and work outside the home. On a good day we may get one or two quick, necessary phone calls in to each other. Not a lot of time for small talk when you're on someone else's dime. Every rare once in a while we may give each other a flirty text - you know what I'm talking about - but emphasis on the word "rare". That's just the way it goes for us. We are very busy important people...okay, okay maybe just busy.

When our work day is over, our family day begins. Pick up the kids from daycare, go to the grocery store, pick up dry cleaning, go to baseball/football/dance practice, cook dinner, do homework, clean the house (okay, you caught me again, I don't really clean), play with the kids, bathe them, bathe myself and then pass out from exhaustion. Some days are more, some less. But one thing you can always count on - the children.

When we finally put the little devils to bed, do you think I want to hang out in there and sleep with them? No way - have you really ever tried sleeping with a toddler? It's like an open access night club and you are the water/milk/snack bartender. "Mommy - can I have some milk, please?", "Mommy - I need a glass of water.", "Mommy, I'm huuuuungry!", "Pour me another round, lady!" etc. So, I follow the old saying, "Out of sight, out of mind". It works most nights.

And when I finally do get ready for bed, to read, watch t.v., get my groove on (at least 4 times a week thank you very much), I want my husband to be piled in right there next to me. Call me old fashioned, but there is nothing I love more than waking up a 3:00 am to find that I've been drooling, snoring, (and according to the hubbie passing gas), but there's my man, wrapped up in my legs and arms like a pretzel, sleeping peacefully and dreaming of Carmen Electra. It's intimacy on a level only husband's and wife's can experience.

Sure, it has it's downfalls, but that's what makes the juice sweeter. For example, my husband is 6 ft 5 inches. In case you suck at math, that's pretty tall. Our bed is really really short. Physics tells us if the man is longer than bed, his feet will hang off. We prove this theory true every night...so go ahead and take my word for it. I did feel bad for him, always having to sleep half off the bed, so we went down and bought a King Sized bed. WOW - what a fortune we spent, and what a big ass bed we got. He didn't hang off anymore, but we didn't touch any more either. I mean, I would go to sleep next to him and wake up in California - California King that is. I could spread out jumping jack style and still not even fingertip touch him. It was so lonely.

We both agreed that wasn't going to work, so we went back down to a queen. I knew I was loved when he agreed to also get a foot board - one of those sleigh bed tall ones that would prevent anything from going over the end of the bed.

So, now every night I cuddle in the nook of my vertical sleeping husband and hope we get tangled in each other's arm subconsciously. I mean, seriously, who cuddles when they are awake anyway?

I've Got a Mouse in My Pocket....

Every Sunday we gather as a family and retreat to my husband's grandparent's home for a traditional Sunday lunch. The entire family does this every Sunday. It's nice, and yes it does get old, but all the same nice.

Their home is in this unbelievabley beautiful spot in Texas, right on the water on 7 gorgeous acres of magnificant land. They have a gameroom with a pool table, a half court basketball set-up, and swingsets. A 100 ft. peir takes you out over the bay to the boat house where you can enjoy fishing or relaxing on the water. I mean, it's top notch country. It's roughly 60 miles south/east of Houston, so you get the best of both worlds.

The downside is there are quite a few scary critters out there. Snakes, possums, raccoons, aligators, (yes, I said aligators) spiders and the occasional wolf - or wild dog, whatever.

On one particular day, Blondie was about 3 years old and was playing pool in the game room. Well, he was playing with the pool table and pool balls - the actually game itself was not recognizable. He wandered around here and there, but we always managed to keep him close by. It's pretty dangerous out there for a baby if left unattended. We are great parents, we NEVER EVER leave our children unattended. That's why this next part still stumps me to this day.

As always, when leaving "The Bay" as we like to call it, we took advantage of our nicely dressed child and clean appearances all the way around and would run errands. Today we dedicded to venture to Sears, to buy some towels or something.

As we were walking through the store Blondie kept his hands in both his pockets. For the first 30 seconds this was kinda cute, but then I quickly became suspicious. There were lot's of shiny, breakable items quite in his reach that he wasn't interested in the slightest. Could my baby be getting sick? I decided to keep an even more close watchful eye than normal.

It was not too much later when I notice the hands in his pocket were fidgeting - almost inappropriately. I've seen this same move done by his father - I believe there is some sort of scratching involved in deep dark places I've yet to encounter, but I'm not sure. I knew the 3 year old was playing "pocket pool", so when we were half way down the shower curtain aisle I said, "Honey, what are you doing with your pants?"

He quietly answered, "There's a mouse in my pocket".

Turning to my husband, I said, see this is YOUR INFLUENCE. His dumbfounded expression clued me in to the fact that further explanation was required. The husband is something of a smart mouth. Whenever I would make an assumption and say "we" as in "We would love to attend your son's 2nd birthday party" he would say, "What do you have a mouse in your pocket?". He's pretty sensitive that we stay seperate entitites and not become one of those mod unicouple's - when they dress alike and you can't always tell the man from the woman.

But I digress. I simply assumed Blondie's reference to the mouse in his pocket was some sort of smart ass statement he was using to be more like his dear old dad. During my explanation to my husband, however, I discovered the truth.

"See Mommy," said the tiny voice from down below. "I have a mouse in my pocket."

I am confident that my scream could be heard in Australia. There was Blondie, holding a what appeared to be dead mouse in the palm of his hand. And this was no ordinary dead mouse - rigor mortess had set in and this bad boy was already decomposing.

He found the mouse on a trap, unhooked it, and then placed the poor litte creature into the front pockets of his pants. He then kept "petting" his friend througout the store.

My husband quickly rushes the the boy to the store restroom to try and rid his hands of any bacteria and disease. I was done screaming, but now onto gagging and was desperatley trying to get a hold of myself.

Before too long, my husband and red-faced crying son met me in the applicance ailse. Hands were washed, and washed and washed. Blondie was crying so hard I could barely make out his words, "Daddy made me fwush my fwrend".

The Ballerina Who Wouldn't Dance...

For six years I was without a girl. Don't get me wrong, I adore my boys, but sometimes a mommy just craves some pink. I could barely contain myself when she came out sans penis. For almost three years the girl has wore nothing but pink dresses. But sadly, as fate would have it, this little girl likes to play with the boys, like the boys.

Don't get me wrong, she'll wear the clothes all day long. But you better believe she'll come back covered in mud. Bows get ripped out of her hair, and shoes lost in the chaos...but she loves pink and loves to dress up. She even loves to carry purses and wear jewelry. Those assecories, however, can quickly turn into weapons or a hand held device for destruction. Mostly and worst of all, she just won't stay neat and clean.

One could imagine my excitement as the fall registration for dance began being advertised everywhere. I thought, she could so totally be a ballerina! Miss Little Monster was pretty excited too.

Quite unexpectedly, my excitement melted into disappointment when I learned that she missed the cut off age for registration by 29 days. ONLY 29 DAYS! Oh no, could this be true? I would have to wait another year before dance could begin?

For a full two days I searched the Internet for a class some where (anywhere) that would take a two year old who would be turning three during the fall semester.

Then it happened. A small, new dance academy said they would be "overjoyed" to have my little monster....for $70.00 a month. WHAT? This was way more money than little league ever cost...we're only talking one hour of dance per week - 30 minutes ballet, 30 minutes tap. But, it's my girl, and she's worth it. Of course I signed her up.

We then were told it would be an extra $25.00 registration fee, NO PROBLEM. She'd be required to wear pink tights/leotards for around $30.00, NO PROBLEM. And then the shoes...let's just say money money money, NO PROBLEM. We were set and I could hardly contain myself.

Before I knew it, it was the big day! L.M. was dressed and looked pretty freaking cute if I must say so myself. She definitely looked like a ballerina. Did I mention that the academy was 30 miles from my town? Still, NO PROBLEM.

My excitement must have been bubbling over to her, because by the time we pulled into the parking lot she was giggling and and grinning from ear to ear. This was it, I finally was doing something girly with my own daughter. I was so stoked, I wanted to put on ballet slippers as we entered the studio.

I was not prepared for what happened next: disappointment, again. L.M. did not want to dance. She did not want to do anything except for sit and pout and throw things at me for making her come. She yelled at the teachers, rolled on the floor, pushed the other delicate ballerina's out of the way, and made a lot of weird, inappropriate noises. She started refusing to enter the studio, and was becoming pretty disruptive to all the other little girls (who were behaving perfectly, by the way). We were politely told we could get a refund if we wanted to wait one more year for L.M. to get a "tad bit older'.

So, we left, my spirit wounded as I'll have to wait, for now, to see my daughter do something girly. I was so ready to be a stage mother. Maybe I can salvage some money on Ebay with her dance shoes/clothes. Then again...maybe we can do our own recitals at home...weird inappropriate noises and all.

Our Hero!!

Saturday was a pretty hot day here in Houston. The Hubbie and I decided to take the kids for a swim in our pool in the backyard. Blondie, 8, is an excellent swimmer, but Red, 3 (pictured left) and the Little Monster, 2, still have to wear their arm floaties. We're pretty frequent swimmers, and made the worse mistake you could as parents, we let our guard down.

Everyone says drowning is the "silent death", you never hear the splash. Well, my Hubbie and I can now relate to the silence, but thankfully not to the death.

While we were all swimming together in the shallow end (about 4 ft), L.M. (Little Monster) decided to get out of the pool. She normally does this, as does Red and Blondie. They get out, play with their toys on the deck, and then jump back in. Well, this time, L.M. decided to go sit on a chair on the deck. I turned back to talk to my hubbie when I heard Red yelling, "Mommy, sissy took her floaties off!"

In what felt like hours, but really only seconds, I turned and looked at the chair where L.M. was sitting just seconds before. Sure enough, on the chair were her floaties, but not her. I began scanning the deck and the pool but couldn't find her. Panic was beginning to settle in when I looked over and saw little Red. There he was, my little red-headed boy, treading water with one float-covered arm, and holding his sister above the water with the other. He was struggling, but succeeding, with a look of determination on his face.

L.M. had taken her floaties off and jumped in the pool - all without so much as a splash. She jumped near Red, who saw she had no floaties on and somehow, by some miracle, managed to grab her before she sunk straight to the bottom. He then yelled at me, and all the while, grabbed her by the back of the neck and kept her and himself afloat until I reached them. Like I said, all this took place all under a minute, but it felt like hours!

L.M. received a big hug of relief, but then had to sit on the side of the pool (with her floaties on) as a punishment and some very stern words from her dad. I had to stop him from giving her a spanking (we'd had enough drama for the moment). Red has told everyone the story of how he "saved his little sister". We rewarded him for his brave heroics and quick thinking. His Great Grandmother rewarded him with a nice Medal at our traditional Sunday lunch, and his Dad and I let him get a new toy from the store.

You don't realize how quick things can happen, and you just assume if it does happen, you'll hear it. I thank God over and over that Red was there, I can't bare to think what would have happened if he wasn't. Most 4 year olds wouldn't have the instinct or ability to do what he did. He really is our family superhero. For someone who's role models include Spider-Man, Batman, Super Man and The Power Rangers what more would you expect?

Blondie is Way too Smart for His Own Good...

The hubbie had to work late last night which left me in charge of getting the older boy to football practice. It is August in Texas, and I'm not one to hang out at any summer outdoor practices. Games? I'm front row baby - heat and all...but practices, I tend to sit those out.

So, being the thoughtful mother that I am, I call the head coach and ask him if my kid could bum a ride. How wonderful - he could, I was off the hook.

So, the boy goes to practice with the coach, and thankfully he brings him home too. Being a good mom, I then begin to attempt a conversation with my 8 year old as to how his practice was. He said the standard kid response - "fine".

Well, how was the ride with the Coach? "Fine. But he did creep me out a little."

Uh-oh. What could possibly creep out an 8 year old boy?

"He kept asking me stuff like, 'How big is your family?' and it was creeping me out."

Ummm, okay. Well, that's not really a 'creepy' kind of question. Trying to distinguish the difference for him I said, "Well, that's not really creepy. That's more or less small talk. Maybe he was curious - then again maybe he was just being polite. An example of a creepy question would have been 'So, how did your Mom get so beautiful?' ....I was trying to lighten the kid up.

He a little too quickly responded, "Yeah, that would be creepy...especially considering his wife was sitting right next to him." Then he rolled his eyes and left the room.

How is it that this kid can't figure out why it's impolite to fart in public but yet recognizes that inquiring about another woman in front of your wife is a big No-No?