Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Thank-you, Luigi, but our Princess is in another castle!

To truly be in the right frame of mind for this post, do yourself a favor: turn up your speakers then click here.

Yes, that's an old school Nintendo controller in Lightning's hands.

Bert brought his old one home, the last time he made a trip down to see his Mother. The only games that work are Super Mario, Duck Hunt and Legend of Zelda. The only game the kids want to play 24/7 would be "Mario and Wu-ligi."

It's incredible how much WASTED brain space I have for that game. I had not touched a controller in at least 15 years, and the second I picked it up, my mind was flooded with useless knowledge. The children were amazed by my speed and accuracy. "MOMMA! How do you make Mario run sooooo fast?! How do you know when to jump, even before the bad guys get there?! You're so much better than Daddy!" The last part is what I like hearing the most. Bert spent very little time on Mario Brothers, and invested his hours on end in the all important sports games.

My sisters and I held many a Mario Tournament. All three of us knew where every single extra life, bonus coin world, and warp zone could be found. Somedays, if we were really up to the challenge, we would play "no warp zones" to see which of us was truly the best player.
I'm not trying to brag. But, us Maynard girls saved the Princess more than a time or two!

Fast forward 15 years.... I can no longer memorize important details, such as my children's social security numbers or the phone number to the preschool. Only on a good day can I recite each of their dates of birth to a receptionist while scheduling an appointment. I can't recall a single detail about the periodic table, and I have no idea what I will do when it's time to help Her Highness with algebra in a few years. But Honey, if you need help getting to a bonus world on Super Mario or need an extra life since you're down to only one man left, on level six, I'm the girl to call!

Oh, what a waste.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Confucius Say.....

Last night we enjoyed take-out from my all time favorite Chinese restaurant here in town. After devouring our hot & sour soup, sesame seed chicken and fried rice, we all stopped just short of total gluttony while the children eagerly cracked open their fortune cookies.

Lightning doesn't care for those things, so he hopped down from the table and resumed his busy schedule of rescuing the world, imaginary style.

Hail ate the entire thing, fortune and all. The fortune there is that it's only a little piece of paper, so it should have no trouble passing. The least of our worries concerning things he has ingested.

Her Highness' fortune read: "Teamwork will be best used in the week ahead."
She shrugged after hearing this, and munched on the sweet, cracker-like cookie.

Thunder's read: "You will do better with real estate than stocks."
To which he scoffed, "Awww! I wanted mine to say, 'You will get lots and lots of money tomorrow.'" I agreed. I wanted his to read that too. And since in his little four-year-old world, "lots and lots of money" is about five bucks, I could totally get away with passing along the 5$ bill and keeping whatever was left.

Why can't fortune cookies give real information any way? I need useful information here, and would appreciate it being most precise. For example: "Go to be early tonight. For your daughter will wake around 2:30 vomiting." Could've used that tid-bit of info last night, so instead of staying up late, I could have gotten a few more hours of sleep, before Her Highness decided to blow royal chunks in the porcelain throne.

Or, how about ones that read: "Place padding around the hearth of your fireplace immediately. Stitches are in your son's near future."

"Take lots of vitamin C, and stock up on clear fluids and tylenol. Your entire family is soon to come down with swine flu."

"Do not go to the park tomorrow. The obnoxious Mom you've been avoiding for weeks will be there, enquiring why she's not yet received her equally obnoxious child's invitation to your son's birthday party."

"Finish all chores today, for falling asleep early on the couch will result in several drop-in guests tomorrow. A clean house is an unvisited one. While a messy house is always dropped in upon."

"Don't bother washing your daughter's hair tonight. The school nurse will call before 10 am to notify you she's got head lice and must be checked out."

"Send extra underwear in your son's back pack to preschool. He's going to poop in his pants this week."

"Do not wear a strap-less dress while holding your 23 month old. He will pull your top down while you are in public, showing the world your goods."

"Have your husband pick up your preschooler from school tomorrow. Your child is going to be in trouble by pick-up time, and that way you won't have to deal with the teacher."

"Force your three-year old to wear overalls and a belt out in public for the next four days. This will cause some delay when he tries to urinate on the sidewalk, allowing you a few extra seconds to stop him. Or at least act as a human shield."

"Avoid taking your almost two-year old to any quiet places, such as the library or church services. He will announce repeatedly that he 'just pooted and it's stinky!' for all to hear."

"Do not scream like a mad woman at your husband for bringing home groceries so you can cook dinner after you called and asked him to pick up dinner. He has testicles, which sometimes result in his in-ability to think clearly."

"Do not change the sheets on your middle child's bed, even though today is house-wide sheet washing day, for tonight he will wet the bed."

"Quit feeding the cat on the front porch. Or, a possum will make your hedges his home."

-Get back to work, old and wise Chinese philosophers. We all would appreciate it.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Would a Rose Not Smell as Sweet...

Dear Precious Baby #5,

It was never my intention to go this long without naming you.
Your Father and I have had countless discussions on the matter. However, the names at the top of his list include, but are not limited to: Amos, Clyde, Abe and Cash... yes, as in money.
After much thought, I believe your name should be Bubba Junior Hudson. We will combine your first and middle names to create a modern twist on an old classic-- Bubior. Of course, those who are nearest and dearest will shorten that to just plain "Bub."

Perhaps the following will help to explain....

Your Daddy (or "Deddy" as you will be taught to say) refuses to change out of his dress socks when playing ball, working out, or just chillin' after a long day at the office.
Unless he's cutting the grass, in which case he goes barefoot....
And speaking of barefoot, that's how your Mother stays... barefoot and pregnant.

Your Mother has also been known to allow children to play in the mud for hours on end.

Your sister can often be found sporting these....

While your brothers just can't get right....

"What's in a name, that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet...."

Look, Bubior...It is what it is.
Enjoy the next eight weeks. You're soon to join the insanity.

Love Always,

Sunday, September 20, 2009

What in the world?

It's inevitable, upon meeting new folks and seeing my huge pregnant belly, the usual game of 20 questions begins: When are you due? Boy or girl? Do you have a name?

I'm totally accustomed to strangers asking questions, then sharing their wild and crazy birthing stories and tips about breast feeding. One time, when I was pregnant with Her Highness, who decided to hold out FIVE DAYS past her due date, I was walking hopefully around the baby department in Target, trying to get some contractions going, when a complete and total stranger stopped me while I just happened to be making a decision on which type of nursing pads to buy. The following is a true story:

Strange and socially awkward lady: Oh, Honey! You look like you're about to POP! When's your due date??

Me (with huge frown on my face): Four days ago.

Strange and socially awkward lady(pointing towards the box of nursing pads I was holding): So you are planning to breast feed?

Me: Uhhh, I'm going to give it a try. I guess. Ummm. Yes?... I mean, if it works out.

SandSAL: Oh, I see. This must be your first. Well, Suga, let me just tell you! You're gonna need some of this!!

And she hands me a tube of Lansinoh!
I must have looked extremely baffled, but not because I didn't know what the cream was for, but because I have NEVER laid eyes on this woman in my entire life. And here she was, recommending a cream for some of my oh-so-private parts. So, she decided to continue...

SandSAL: Well, Darlin', you see when you're breastfeeding for the first time, your nipples are gonna crack and bleed like crazy! If it weren't for this stuff, I think mine would have clear fallen off my chest! This cream is the best on the market. Just lather those suckers up each time your baby nurses and you'll feel so much better!

Me: Oh, I think I'm going to puke. Late morning sickness, I guess. Gotta run.

And run I did. Okay, here's the deal... she was right. That stuff is great. But again, only my BFFs or my Momma have permission to tell me those details. NOT a stranger.

Once you actually have a newborn, the crazies seem to come out of the woodwork to tell you when and how to make your precious baby quit sucking their thumb; How to get cradle cap off their sweet heads; And that toting a blankie for too long will make them less confident later in life. So, these type comments I'm obviously accustomed to, having four kids in four years. What I wasn't ready for, however, was pregnancy number five. The following conversation has taken place with both Bert and me (together and apart) more times than I can keep track... This part of the conversation usually beings immediately after the series of questions above have been completed:

Strangers: So, is this your first?

Me and/or Bert: Nope. Our fifth.

Strangers: FIFTH?? Seriously? (I'm hoping that part is due to the fact that we still look so young and spry... yea, I'm sure that's why.) What are their ages?

Me and/or Bert: 6, 4, 3, and almost 2.

Strangers: Where do you go to church?

Me and/or Bert: Church of Christ.

Strangers, nodding ignorantly, because most folks don't know a whole lot about the Church of Christ and are probably assuming the large number in a short amount of time is due to our religious beliefs: So, are you homeschooling?

Me and/or Bert, clarifying in one sentence that it's not at all our religious beliefs causing the lack of birth control and quickly answering the question: HELL 'nah!

And, I'm not exaggerating when I say those questions follow every time we meet new people. Every. Single. Time.

I realize big families are a thing of the past. And most people do have a tighter grip on birth control by the age of 29, but the truth is, we LOVE our big family. I grew up the middle of five children. My Mom had the five of us in seven years. Not a lot of difference here. I recall her complaining about strangers asking if we all were hers, or had the same father. Quite insulting. I guess the reason I'm not yet asked that question is because all of my redheads look just alike. It will be interesting to see if this one comes out another carbon-copy, or if he'll throw a kink in my system and create a whole new series of questions to be asked by the fellow Kroger patron.

The religion question I do understand... I think it's rude, however. But, I can see how people would assume that some religious beliefs are what keep birth control at bay, since there are those who believe it is wrong to try and plan a family for yourself, instead of letting God decide for you. Not in our case, but for some, so I'll give the socially awkward nosey folks of the world that one. But, what I don't understand is the homeschooling question...

I have no problems with those who homeschool. You wanna be with your child all day and have to teach long division and who won the Battle of the Bulge... knock yourself out. I for one, have no desire to do such a thing. By the time Her Highness was in the fifth grade, I would have to enroll in a local junior college night course just to re-learn math well enough to teach it, I'm quite sure. Call me selfish. Whatever. But, what I don't understand is, why in the world does having a big family mean you're going to homeschool? Maybe people wonder if we're trying for a TLC series, and going all extremes to get there. Well, folks, shows like "18 Kids and seriously, it's time to stop 'cause your oldest son is having a baby"
is not what we're after. Though, at times, our house would make for a very interesting reality show.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Joy and Pain... Sunshine and Rain

My dear friend and beloved surrogate aunt to Hail (Dr. Pepper) touched up this picture and scolded me for always talking so badly about this "little angel."

And since I promised my sister, (who is pregnant with boy and girl twins) to be more encouraging when it comes to raising boys, I thought I should do a post about the sweeter side of our "Storm."

A summer camp out in the dining room, just because they all wanted to sleep together... in the dining room, since that's the ONE room they haven't spent the night in...

Waiting for Daddy to get home from work....

Playing Pirates in the backyard... in their underwear. What, don't most pirates hang out in their undies???....

Tea Parties with Her Highness...

"Stuper-huro" hugs....

Earning your keep....

.... cause Momma's not the one who poured out the entire box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch...

Protecting Her Highness from scary movies. (though I'm not sure which one is more afraid here).....

Playing on the "com-pooter."...

Telling stories that only fellow passie faces can understand or relate to...

Loving to be near one another....

Being thankful to have each other to play with....

And, hanging out ALL the time shirtless and pantless cause, well, that's how we roll...

Though I do find myself on testosterone overload much of the time, I really can't complain. Life is good. GOD has truly blessed us with every member of our Storm. And while some days are stormier than others, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Monday, September 14, 2009

You thought I was joking...

Me: What is the ONLY thing you're allowed to write on???
Hail: PAPER!
Me: So why are you drawing all over the table?!
Hail: Oh, NO! Momma! Where my papers go?? Where my papers?
Where my papers?? Peek-a-boo! Der dey are! Peek-a-boo to my papers!!

What a smart butt.

Me: What's the matter, honey?
Lightning: He's gettin' in trouble AGAIN!

All of this took place BEFORE 9am. And yes, that's a SILK sash in the middle of the puddle that belongs to a flower girl dress Her Highness wore last summer.

No use crying over spilled milk... or is there??
What I don't have are pictures of him smashing a Fisher Price Little People castle over Lightning's head... repeatedly. Pooping in the floor of his bedroom by his door then smearing it all into the carpet as he opened and closed his door 84 times. Or, telling every single person who spoke to him at church yesterday that "You a POO-POO Head!"

Friday, September 11, 2009

Children are a Gift...

That being said, anyone want Hail??? Not permanently, of course, but just until he's out of the terrible two's. No takers? How 'bout for the weekend then?? The horns in that picture are no accident. I mean, uh, let me know if you change your mind!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Dear Mr. Hudson,

Thank-you for continuing to tell me just how beautiful you think I am... even though I am now pregnant for the FIFTH time in only SIX years (without ever really losing the weight from one pregnancy to the next). I truly appreciate all your love and adoration. Despite all my snide remarks about how "you are one of the worst pregnant husbands I've ever heard of..." for not running to McDonald's at midnight to fill my salty cravings, you actually are a great husband to a hormonally wild woman.

As crazy as this sounds, the sweet treats are going to have to stop. If you don't quit bringing home these....

I am going to look like this....

Hopefully, without the facial hair, though the way my hormones have been lately, I wouldn't be surprised.
Forever Yours,

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Faint of Heart, Read NOT

This one gets nasty... Consider yourself warned.
Tonight we were enjoying the company of a dear old school chum and his lovely new wife, who had come over for dinner. Being newlyweds, they have two puppy children, but have not yet ventured into the world of human-parenthood. And, after tonight, they may never do so. Dinner with the Hudson Storm should be deemed birth control by the FDA. And that's on a normal night, but with events like tonight, it's a guarantee for abstinence, I'm quite sure.
Thunder and Hail found Bert's tape measure while us adults were still eating and laughing about old times. A good old fashioned tape measure is hard for young boys to resist, especially since it can be pulled out all the way across the room then fly back into it's own little house, all while making a metal clanging noise, when let go.
Bert had just gotten the words out of his mouth, "Put it up NOW. Some body's gonna get hurt." When Hail began to scream. His thumb had a deep, bloody slice which was bleeding profusely. Bert cleaned it with "special cold water" (aka: peroxide to those who are old enough not to freak out when hearing that word and screaming, "It's gonna BURN! NOOOOO!") and wrapped it in paper towels and sat with Hail in his lap for 20 minutes or so while applying pressure to help stop the gushing blood. We continued with our laughter and stories of old, when the subject of injuries and crazy boys came up. Having a huge mouth, I proudly announced, while knocking on the table of course, "As wild as these boys are, we've actually never had to go to the ER with any injuries. Just illnesses. No stitches, broken bones, etc., so we've been fortunate."
Famous. Last. Words.
Moments later, Bert decided that Hail was ready for a regular band-aid and got one wrapped tight enough to hold in some of the blood. He then placed Hail in the chair, and went to wash his own blood-soaked hands. Hail turned white as a ghost (sidetrack for a moment: Where did that saying come from anyway?? Why do we assume ghosts are white? Do black people die and suddenly become white?? And since I'm not fair skinned, and get a pretty good tan each summer, will I lose all my pool-side work just because I'm a ghost? Just wondering...) Hail, sat with absolutely no color in his face and then with no warning, no crying, no words at all-- vomited every bite of food he had for dinner. Out it came, Exorcist style. Props to Kevin and Jessie for not running as fast as they possibly could to their car, choking back their own vomit. They sat, sweetly, and continued to entertain me while I tended to the carnage, with Her Highness commentating, "Ewww! MOMMA!! That's soooo GROSS! Why do I see carrots?? And some chewed up hamburger? That's the nastiest thing I've EVER SEEN! And there's some...." she continued. "HUSH!" is all I could say, thinking poor Kevin & Jessie will never come over again. And who could blame them?
Bert quickly bathed Hail, and the rest of The Storm, who thought the remainder of our time with guests would be best spent streaking through our living room.
Our guests left shortly after, promising that we hadn't ruined their night, and that we would get together again soon. I almost made them sign in blood, to hold up the promise, but I thought enough had been shed for one night. I guess we could have used some from the puddle I later found on the floor where the accident apparently occurred.
Even though Hail was acting normal... jumping on my bed and squealing as he ran naked through the house to avoid having pajamas put on his hiney... I still called our pediatrician, who we trust with all our lives. Recapping all that occurred, she assured me that vomiting was normal with a deep cut, especially in the finger since it has so many nerve endings. "Take a picture of it real quick and send it to me so I can see if it needs attention..." One hour later, Hail had stitches, a numb finger and a dose of Motrin in his system. Poor thing.
"Dr. Pepper" as my kids really do refer to her, sewed away as I held Hail's other arm and legs down, while covering his eyes and trying to keep his head from knocking one of us out. Bert had to press on his hand and keep it still, while holding his thumb where Dr. Pepper could get the stitches in place. It was just at such an awkward position. Not an easy task with a flailing 23 month old. A strong, flailing, animal-like 23 month old. We were all sweating when it was finally over.
We are so blessed to have Dr. Pepper in our lives... and not just for medical favors such as this one. She is such a good friend... the kind that belongs in the last paragraph of this post. Hail even said, "Dank-you." through his sniffles when it was all over. She was worried that their relationship wouldn't be the same. Hail and Dr. P are very close, and love each other very much. They definitely have that surrogate aunt/nephew love flowing. And, I'm quite sure they still will. Especially since every time we're together, she'll do absolutely anything he asks of her then will look at me and say, "What?! He's just so darn cute/sweet/funny, I can't help it." He can get away with anything when she's around.
And, since I promised this would get really gross... here are some pictures:

They really don't do that poor baby justice. He didn't even cry that much, y'all! If you look closely in the top one, you can see a yellowish substance swimming around, which would be FAT. Disgusting.
Oh, I just hope this isn't a sign of more things to come.