Ode to Diet Coke

An ode to you, oh diet Coke, 

Which I have sworn off of often. 

Sleek, crisp, calorie-free,

Though science says you're killing me, yet you do it softly. 

Unlike that of all the noise I face daily. 

You judge me not. 

You pick me up, most days around 2pm. 

Nothing artificial about that kinda sweetness. 

And today, diet Coke, when I forgot you in the freezer, you proved yet again, you are a loyal friend. 

No bursting had you done, though you were nearly a frozen one. 

Now so slushy, a perfected sip I take.

Ahhhhhhhh.  

My sanity thanks you. 

Popping Tags, Hudson Storm Style

A quick little jam session to get your Monday morning going...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWUhL97pj_A&sns=em

 Why can't I get that to imbed and show a pic of the clip like it's supposed to do with videos?? As you can see, I'm still completely compooter illiterate.  Uggh.  Anyways... Just click the link.

Happy Monday! I won't lie.. Now that I have four kids in school, Monday is almost as good as Friday to me. The noise level goes down 400%.  So, may your Monday be as quiet and (hopefully) peaceful as mine! (I'm raising my coffee mug in a toast to you, sweet friends.)

Love, Big Momma and The Tag Popping Monkeys 

Whimsical Beds, Platinum Edition

The Hudson children have never been huge advocates of sleep.
When I was pregnant with Flash Flood, I wrote this post: Whimsical Beds, A Game Played Just Like Musical Chairs.  The Storm still enjoys this bedtime game, but now it goes a little more like this....

 7:45: From the couch, look up from Candy Crush/Facebook/other mindless distraction you've rewarded yourself with, in effort to tune out whatever obnoxious Disney show is on at the moment.  State in matter of fact tone, "Time for bed. Go potty and brush teeth."

7:50: Look up again to realize no one budged.  Say in teacher voice, "You have approximately three seconds to move your behinds to the bathroom... 3-2..."

7:59: Finally put ipad down and use booming Drill Sergeant voice, "I SAID, GO BRUSH YOUR TEETH, USE THE POTTY, AND GET IN YOUR BEDS!!  Why do I have to practically light my hair on fire to get a response out of you children??! Tomorrow night there will be NO TV, NO electronics, NO FUN of any kind if you don't GO RIGHT NOW!!"
Watch everyone scramble to the bathroom sink.  Remind them to actually use the toothpaste this time.

8:10: Get off couch and shoo the stragglers towards their beds.  Tuck each kid in his/her own bed, prayers and kisses included.

8:23:  Tell each child no less than 12 times, "The kitchen is CLOSED. No, you won't starve before morning.  You should have eaten more at dinner. FINE. Grab a couple of carrots and get back in the bed... What do you mean you forgot to potty?? Go to the bathroom, get a sip of water, get back in the bed. GOODNIGHT."

8:30: Carry chubby toddler to your bed.  (Ahem. Which is also her bed.) Hand 20 month old her bottle of milk. (I muttered those sentences while looking down at the floor, trying to avoid eye contact with you.) Lay next to her in the dark, making mental lists of all the things you forgot to do today. Let chubby 20 month old pinch your arm flab while she falls asleep.  Plan to sneak out of the bed, but decide you're too tired and.... Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

10:47: Wake up to television blaring ESPN.  Shuffle into living room, turn tv down, throw blanket on husband, who is snoring on the couch.  Check to see if all the doors are locked.  Move 3 year old from the couch with husband, back to his bed.Check on other kids. Remember you left clothes in the wash, move them to dryer.  Play Candy Crush/Facebook/other mindless distraction on your phone for the next 27 minutes because you're now wide awake. But still too tired to be productive. Eventually doze off.

 11:31: 7 year old starts a dry, hacking cough.  Sit up and listen for him to stop.  Take him a cup of water and wake him, prop pillows underneath his head and pray its not the beginning of croup. Shuffle back to bed, pass out.

Midnight:  Hear husband fumbling around in kitchen.Then hear sounds of cereal being poured.  Roll eyes, doze off.

12:34: Chubby 20 month old cries out for no apparent reason.  Feel around for passie in the dark.  Hear it hit the head board, as you knock it to the floor.  Hold out arm in hopes she'll be soothed by squeezing your arm flab instead.  Pray her strange habit isn't the early sign of a serial killer, as you both fall back to sleep.

1:11: Feel 3 year old trying to climb into bed, clumsily, since he has his blankie, set of matchbox cars, and a creepy porcelain clown your sweet neighbor gave him from her thrift store pile she was planning to donate.  Beg three year old to please go back to his own bed, and do so quietly, so not to wake his baby sister.  3 year old begins crying for milk, and insists on making room for ALL his crap. Hand off sippy cup, while tucking the blankie, cars and scary clown (face down, to avoid it's sad eyes suddenly glowing red, as it makes plans to murder you in your sleep) into your spot.  Move to couch.

2:23: Hear sweet 10 year old daughter say, "Momma, sorry to wake you up, but my eczema is super itchy.  We forgot my cream again. Can you put some on my arms and legs?" Coat itchy tween in expensive steroid cream. Make mental note to call doc in the morning to get a refill on the prescription. Fall asleep the second your head hits pillow, while simultaneously deleting mental note from memory.

3:18: Wake up. On your own. No rhyme or reason.  WIDE AWAKE.  Consider punching yourself in the face. What in the world is your problem?? Flip through channels and nearly order one of everything on each infomercial you see.  Decide you need to stick to Full House reruns when the Chillow begins to look appealing. 



4:45: Hear 5 year old digging in the laundry for dry pajama pants.  Hear him plummeting through linen closet for a quilt. Feel same boy wiggle his way onto the couch where you're trying to sleep, even though there are two vacant ones in the same room. Threaten to move him to the dogs' bed outside if he doesn't get still and go to sleep.

5:57: Hear 8 year old son walking around the house in search of the ipad.  (This of course only happens on the weekends.  Because on school days I have to drag him out of the bed.) Use the hoarse whisper version of the drill sergeant's voice to remind him it's SATURDAY and if he wakes anyone else up, there will be serious consequences. 

6:22: Wake up to 20 month old's pitter pattering as she looks for you. "MOMMA! MOMMA! I wanna hold you... I wanna milk baba... I wanna watch Gabba Gabba!... MOMMA! MOMMA! I WANNA HOLD YOU!!!!"

6:23: Stare blankly at coffee pot, and plead with it to brew faster.

6:36: Break up a fight, pour three bowls of cereal, and consider crawling back in bed. Wake up husband and give briefing of his Saturday schedule which includes a karate belt test, play rehearsal, and three birthday parties, two of which are overlapping.

8:05: Put your big girl panties on, grab second cup of coffee, and hit the ground running. You're already late.

Oh, the places you will go, indeed.

 When I wrote that last post, over a year and a half ago, I never intended for that to be my farewell to this blog, my quiet space on the internet, where I've logged many hours recording our (not so) quiet lives.  And yet, I think deep down, I must have known it would be.  So very much has happened over the past nineteen months, and I have missed using this outlet, this journal of sorts, this community shared with all of you.  So, nineteen months later, and in the middle of the night, I'm happy to say, I'm back.  In more ways than one. 

First, I feel the need to reintroduce you to our Storm...

 (From left to right..) Flash Flood (3 1/2) Thunder (8) Hail (almost 6!) Her Highness (TEN!?!) Bitty Princess (20 months) and Lightning (7). I asked them to take one group picture at the beach and this was the best I got.  Just typical.

 Quick shout out to The Meteorologist, who is still an amazing Daddy, and best at predicting and tolerating our Storm's patterns.  He's a hard worker, that guy right there, and I'm so very blessed to have him in my life.

Her Highness made it to DOUBLE DIGITS this year, my number one girl, now a full fledged TWEEN.  I blinked and she was suddenly too cool for me.  Wait, that's not true.  She was born too cool for me. Her Highness is still a fabulous lil' momma in training, and works hard to keep The Storm in line, and keep my sanity in tact.  Can't imagine what I would do without her.  She's a fifth grader this year, and is big into our children's community theater, which tickles me.

 And since this little munchkin never got much air time, here is the Bitty Princess... The calm AFTER our Storm, our sweet baby girl.  The Bitty Princess fits right in, just as we imagined she would.  She rules the roost most days, squawking at her big brothers, mimicking her big sister, who is mostly mimicking me... "GET DOWN.... NO NO NO!... COME HERE WIGHT NOW!" are phrases she bossily throws around.  The child is a stinker pot, who causes her own trouble too.  She makes the cutest identical book end, with her bossy big sissy. It's been fun having baby dolls back in the mix of legos and Tonka trucks, although the Bitty Princess certainly isn't afraid to toss a baby in the back of a Tonka truck, completely covered in dirt. 

 She's our sweet, little GRAND FINALE.  No, I'm serious this time.  Bert and I talked about having kids during our first ever phone conversation. The night he called to ask me out on our first date, we talked nearly three hours.  That was back before texting, and the phone I was using had a cord, something my children will most likely never know of.  During that conversation he told me all about his five year old brother, and how much fun he had with him, and that he knew he wanted to have a house full of kids some day.  I came from a big family, and always knew I wanted at least three, maybe four.  So from the beginning of US, we knew children would be in our future.  But that's where that conversation ended.  We never had the numbers talk until we had the Bitty Princess.  It was then we decided two would be plenty. 

"But, what would we do without them all?" we usually laugh, as we shake our heads in disbelief over the latest destruction caused by our Storm. And they are just that... our perfectly imperfect Storm.

Thunder, is now a THIRD GRADER, which I still find myself telling people is the grade Her Highness is in. It's all starting to run together...  The homework folders, the projects, the spelling tests... Her Highness always acts extremely offended by my mistake, and corrects me immediately, "NO, I'm in FIFTH GRADE, Momma.  THUNDER is in THIRD grade." followed by a loud sigh and eye rolling, which if considered a talent, Her Highness could be the National Champion.

Thunder loves watching football with his Daddy, and trying to make conversation about the players and how the coaches could have handled games differently.  He's still one of my sweeter natured boys, always been more of a lover, not a fighter. He's a wonderful big brother to this brood, and he still likes to cuddle with his ol' Momma while watching movies. He gives the best hugs.  Something I hope he never grows out of. 

Lightning is a first grader, and is loving his second year of school as much as he did his first.  He's a natural friend maker, which is no surprise... Middle children always make the best friends, because we know how to get along with everybody.  :) Lightning, while our most reserved child at home, has surprised us with reports from his teachers saying he's quite the ladies' man at school, and is also outgoing and talkative. I think maybe he just can't get a word in at home, so he lets it all out away from us.  He's got a big heart, that kid.  Makes this momma proud. 

Hail started Kindergarten this year.  And it's going about how we expected... Many mornings he's not too fond of school, and protests from under his covers, "I don't NEED to go anymore.  I already know everything!" Some mornings he hops right up, and gets himself ready, no fuss.  You just never know which side of the bed he'll wake up on.  Hail is still our little monkey, climbing, cartwheeling, rolling, running.... Today, he was given a pedometer at school, and was tickled silly when he realized it would even record cartwheels. So, he did as many cartwheels as he could before he got too dizzy.  He's a stinker pot, and has been since birth.  Truly his Daddy's mini me, in looks and personality. 

And then there's Flash Flood, who is still home with me full time.  I'm thoroughly enjoying having only two at home during the day, and Flash thoroughly enjoys being head honcho too.  He can usually be found with a pile of matchbox cars and his blankie, pretending there is a police chase or that he's a fireman saving people from a burning building.  His full lips and big chocolate eyes get him out of more trouble than I'd like to admit.  He still speaks with a slight lisp, which owns me, except when those full lips and adorable lisp are screaming, "I STHAID I NEED STHOME MIIIIIIIILLLLLLK!!!" Flash Flood loves to compliment others, and will often say, "You's pwetty and bootiful. And I lub your neckalace." That kid, that kid.

And me... I turned 33 this year.  My house is still messy, I still live in denial that I have to cook dinner daily, and I still hold the title for Most Unorganized Mom on the Planet.  This year I battled depression, temper-tantruming children, and a fruit fly infestation. I also moved my best friend/soul sister 847 miles across the country, which I still can't talk about without choking up. All of which I plan to write more about, soon.  Because I'm back.  Ready to find my voice again.  And to journal our family's zany antics, since I don't scrapbook, and my poor two youngest babies won't have any memories in writing. Bless it.

 I've missed you, old blog.