Quit growing.  I know we all complain about it and every time someone’s kid has a birthday, we hear the same thing muttered, “how in the hell (well, maybe these are me and my friends) did another year pass?”  Seriously. Someone needs to figure out how to slow down time, just for a few years – right until puberty would be nice.  Really just until that first pube sprouts.

I have spent the past few weeks getting into friendly “arguments” with my husband because I want one more.  “Just one more.”  He says I am acting like it is a chip.  “Go ahead and eat the whole damn bag of chips….have all the chips you want but kids, no more.”

His famous line has been, and keep in mind it is said with a shit eating grin from ear to ear – “Sure, go ahead and have a fourth baby…..with your third husband because I am out.”  Ouch.  Yikes.  That is like a double burn but I have to give him credit.  He can come up with some good zingers.  The funny thing is that before I would agree to the vasectomy, I made sure he put a “sample” on ice so if I could ever change his mind, I had the nectar needed to grow one sassy little kid who wears a cross around his neck and thinks that Nonie and Papa live in the Green Bay Packers.  They don’t just live in Green Bay.  They live IN the Green Bay Packers.  How cool is that?l?

Fast as lightening my husband called the sperm bank where the goods are held to make sure that I could not get my mitts on it.  He is the only one who can get it released.  He is scared he is going to come home and find me in one of my fancy yoga poses with a turkey baster up my nether regions.  I mean, geez.  I would lock the door so he wouldn’t have to see anything.  I do have some tact.  Not much, but some.

3 has always been my lucky number and I was good with it until today.  My giant baby really is no longer a baby.  He is just giant.  Today he did this:

All by himself, mohawk and chucks double tied to his feet, took off down the sidewalk on his sister’s pink scooter.  For the record, this did not cause a problem – none at all.  That was her pink scooter and only girls like pink so he has to stop asap.  Like now, he has to stop.  He didn’t stop.  He laughed.  I laughed.  His sister cried.

And now he is dying to get potty trained.  He sits on the shitter.  Plays with shitter.  Has me take his diaper off 46 times a day so he can pretend shitter.  “Poo poo” is his war cry these days.  For the record he has yet to actually shit on the shitter but he is getting damn close.  Is there a chance that I could actually miss changing those diapers?  Cleaning poop off of nuts? (and I am not talking acorns, almonds or macadamias)

To make matters worse, the other night he was “practicing” in a canadian tuxedo that he picked out.  It was so awesome on so many levels but made me realize the shit is getting real.  He is getting big.  Giant.  My giant baby really is now a giant toddler.

Keep in mind he lugged the second hand shitter that we got from our awesome neighbors…..from the restroom to our living room.  He got bored in there alone.  Our neighbors are going through a massive remodel and I stopped by and this shitter was on their front porch. After I stopped laughing, I asked Mr. Patrick where that toilet was going.  He informed me his son had used it out there, right on the front porch but it was on it’s way to the dumpster.  Not so fast.  It is on it’s way to my house.  Where it sits in my living room.

So, apparently I will not be getting my way and as De La Soul (WAY back in the day) said -“three is the magic number.”  (Do you remember that jam?  so fun)

I guess I am 40 and not 30 so maybe it is better this way.  It’s just that I love my pals so damn much, that I think having even more would be better!  If three is good, 4 is better.  RIght?  How the hell do you think I am from a family of 7.  The albino gyno (my dad) never wanted the fun to end.

I know I am nuts….but I love to love.  I love to craft, read, color and cook and screw with people, so I feel like I have room for one more degenerate here in the “Gerbie Gang”.

Thank God my sister just had a new baby.  The cutest little guy you ever saw.  He might be easy to steal.  Wish me luck.  As I always say – if you ever hear a report of a giant orange lady with big boobs robbing a bank or committing a crime doused in accessories,  think Snooki…..not me”

Really.  Googly eyes make everything better.

The best part – you can buy a giant bag at Dollar Tree.  That is another thing that does not disappoint.  I take my kids there and tell them they can pick ANYTHING in the entire store.  This can literally blow a couple 4 year old minds.  Don’t think you can go to Dollar General or Dollar Value (I am not sure this is even a place) – it has to be Dollar Tree.  Trust me on this.  Dollar.  Tree.  Googly eyes.  Also gift bags and crap for kids parties like balloons, streamers, those kazoo things – all that junk.  1 dollar make you holla.

So back to googly eyes.  They come in 4 sizes.  I love sizes.

I put them on everything.  We fired up the glue the other day and put them on acorns.  Seriously, how do you get cuter than this?

I mean, come on.  Look at those tiny eyes and that long stem.

That tiny guy is my favorite but I love them all.  I do.  And sizes, I love sizes.

So the other night, at the urging of a friend who knows my love of googly eyes, I had a little fun in my fridge.  And for the record, yes, I know how lame I am.  My husband informed me of this right after I was giddy with excitement after he FINALLY noticed my handy work.

I mean, look at the roll of sugar cookies peeking out of the drawer.  It is hard to see but each Activia yogurt has tiny eyes.  You can’t beat that.  And sizes, you can’t beat sizes.

This guy….my favorite “tiny” guy – eats off the floor and I am ok with it.

I have one of the word’s pickiest eaters on my hands and I have nearly given up.  He literally only eats white shit.  Well, not shit, not really but he might as well.  His diet is about as nutritious as dung.

My giant baby eats the following white foods:

-Bananas

-Vanilla yogurt

-Granola Bars

-Oyster crackers

-Graham crackers

-Goldfish (technically not white)

-Applesauce

-Tater tots

-French fries

-Chicken nuggets

-Saltines

-Ramen noodles

-Pediasure

Lord.  This is it.  I have tried.  I have left the poor kid in the high chair for 2 hours with nothing but peas and turkey.  The little guy is stubborn.  He wanted to have a stare down instead of eat.  He started eating his fingernails, which technically are white.

The pediatrician said it was a phase and not to be worried.  I actually had a nephew that was the exact same and he grew out of it so there is hope.  The odd thing is that my pals will eat anything and everything.  They love fruit.  They love veggies.  Eden likes everything except ketchup because she thinks girls do not eat it, only boys.  I wonder where she got this from.  Ketchup gives me the shivers just thinking about it…so does salmon, red pepper, mango, peaches, swiss cheese, mustard, tuna salad and the McRib.

It is actually not surprising that Abbott is picky because I am about the worst.  I do not think I have ever gone into a restaurant and ordered off the menu without tweaking the item in some way.  This is why I kill servers and bartenders with kindness although my brother still swears I have ingested at least a gallon of spit due to this annoying habit.  On a side note, I waited tables for years and didn’t give a rip if people ordered special requests as long as they were nice about it.  This is where “the kill them with kindness” part comes in along with the standard 25% tip.  Unless my husband is in charge, then this goes up to 30% because he thinks I am so annoying and feels the need to make up for my “can I have extra mushrooms, sauce on the side and no red pepper please.”

So, I do anything and everything to get my giant baby to eat.  The 5 second rule does not apply at our house.  Or anywhere.  If he found a random cob of corn at the park and wanted to take a bit, I would let him. This is why our house has about the 24 hour rule.

I sweep every day.  Don’t get me wrong, it is not a deep sweep.  I am talking a 4 minute sweep to pick up the crumbs, shattered dreams, beads, glitter and cheerios.  I sweep it into one spot and this guy comes along and just eats right out of my pile.  Guess what, I am ok with this.  The other day he ate a fruit loop and I was just excited it was a red one and not a yellow one.

So the 5 second rule does not apply at our house.  Not even close.  The other day I personally picked up a tater tot, brushed it off and considered popping it in my mouth.  I found a dog hair on it though and we have not had a dog here for about a month.  Maybe I need to rethink my 4 minute sweeping strategy and up it by a minute or two.

*(On a side note, for those wondering – Enzo is not dead or anything.  He just happens to have moved in with my mother-in-law aka St. Roberta so my sanity can stay in tact).

Ok, these things are awesome.

No, not the Ikea plates (well those are awesome too) or the goldfish (totally awesome too) but the corn holders.  The freaking corn holders.  If you don’t have these, get them for your pals for your last bbq.  Do you remember the one’s they had when we were little?  Oh, actually I have a hard time remembering because for some reason my mother would not buy these for us.  My sister Sas and I recall begging, literally begging for them in the Sentry grocery store but Barb would not have it.  She would rather we burn our tiny little digits than use these brilliant devices.  I will never understand this one.  It is one of those weird things I remember – wanting these damn corn on the cob holders.  Do you remember the ones from the 70’s looked like tiny cobs of corn?

Do you know how hot a cob of corn fresh out of the pot can be?  Piping.  But it has to be piping so you can roll it over the stick of butter right before you salt and pepper it up real nice.  Then if you don’t have these beauties you end up trying to eat the corn while balancing it between your fingers and not dropping it due to the heat.  The corn essentially turns into a hot potato.  Who knew?

My mom was severely awesome and gave us so much but for some reason I remember the few things we did not get.  We never got to get the super cool fancy folders or notebooks at back to school time…..just the plain colored ones.  F’ing Mead.

The drive-thru lunches and dinners were another one.  At McDonald’s we could only get hamburgers or cheeseburgers and Taco Bell – plain taco or bean burrito.  If you thought you were getting a McRib or a mexican pizza, think again amigo, it was not happening.  An apple pie?  You better get to bed so it can be in your dreams because that is the only place you would find an apple pie in 1983.

I just got a great idea – I am going to go get a few apple pies from McD’s and put the corn holders into the ends and munch away.  Talk about nirvana….I will eat it right over my Strawberry Shortcake folder so if any juice drips out I will be covered.

It’s that time again….anniversary time.  The time of the year where I get to thank my husband for another amazing year of tears, laughter, fighting, smiles, diapers, sleepless nights, love, drama, bills, hugs, a few hangovers, vacations that turned into trips, endurance of a lifetime, compromise and most of all “give and take” – mostly give.

This guy…..the guy who works a grueling 80 hours a week so his kids and wife can have everything we could dream of.  This girl – who works in and out of the house so her kids can experience every single thing possible.  I want them to experience the stuff that will steer them to the path that will continue to make them kids that we are so proud of – sweet kids who want to share with their pals and put others first.  That is my first job – my kids. My second is changing diapers and singing showtunes.  My third is being a Real Estate broker in a FINALLY turning market.  My fourth job is private chef and 5th is bath time comedian.  I also make sure the house runs – there is food in the fridge, stamps in the drawer, Irish Spring bath gel in the shower and Right Guard deodorant and fresh black socks in the drawer.  The little things are done but Arno Robert does the big thing…..the really big thing.  He puts up with me.  All of me.  All of the time.  Well, most of the time.  Sometimes he works mysteriously late.

I have to admit that I usually run the show and Arno Robert is ok with this fact.  When we go out for dinner, he does not even open the menu because he just lets me pick a couple items and we share.  He wants me to be happy all the time.  I want him to be happy all the time too so it works.  We try hard to make it work and it is not easy.  Being married is the hardest job I ever had but it is also one of the best.  It has its perks – I don’t have to take the garbage out and I always have someone to spoon.

Arno Robert is the hardest worker I know, the worst speller I know and an amazing father.  This is another reason why I love him so – his children adore him.  The look on their faces when he walks in the door really says it all.

So to you, Arno Robert, my knight in shining armor – Thank you.  Thanks for all you do.  Happy Anniversary….and cheers to many more.

Well, we took the summer off to do all the fun things we needed to do – camp, the zoo, fighting, trips to the Lake house, a family trip to Belize, fighting, T-ball, swimming lessons, fighting.  You know the drill.

School officially started.  5 days a week from 8-3.  You read that correctly.  All day, all week.  This Junior Kindergarten thing is no joke.  Show and tell every Friday, a 30 minute nap and the very best part – uniforms.  Ah….no more trying to figure out what they are going to wear.  No more arguing that she cannot wear her Minnie nightgown to school or he cannot wear his minion shirt for the 4th day in a row.  Blackwatch plaid – you are my hero.

We took the obligatory first day photos with their signs.  My mom certainly did not do this when we grew up, no one’s mom did.  Well maybe once or twice but things are different now.  I do have a few photo’s of me with my Dorothy Hammil haircut on the front porch but there were no signs back then.  Now every damn kid, mine included, take their first day of school photo holding a sign.  It is detailed – the grade, where they go (in case you need a reminder of where to pick them up) and of course, what they want to be when they grow up.  My pals have appropriately decided on Minnie Mouse and a minion from Despicable Me.  Hey, I always tell them they can be whatever they want to be when they grow up, so they are really reaching for the stars.

Even Butters got in on the whole “Sign thing” even though he is going absolutely nowhere…..well do naps count?  Then he will be going to his crib along with running errands with mom and hanging out with the world’s best nanny, Marlena, while Mommy goes to work.

This whole “what do you want to be when you grow up” reminds me of one of my favorite stories growing up.  My mom sat my 3 older sisters down and asked them what they wanted to be.  The oldest wanted to be a farmer.  Simple enough….and do-able really.  Amy wanted to be a princess or a burglar.  Both slightly disturbing but what the hell as long as she does not get caught.  Be the best burglar you can be.

Elisabeth wanted to be a “plain person”.  My mom really liked this one.  She excitedly asked her if she wanted to be a stewardess or a pilot because you know, it was the 70’s and women could be pilots.  Laura set her straight – “No mom, she does not want to be on an airplane.  She wants to be a plain person. Someone like you, someone who doing nothing.  A PLAIN person.”

So on this first day of school I guess I should be thankful that I have a future Minnie Mouse and Minion and one kid who wants to live in my basement, according to his sign.