June 2016 archive

Bad Boys, Bad Boys, What’ca Gonna Do?

I have learned all kinds of things in my last eight years parenting boys. Frogs, bugs and reptiles are a regular part of conversation and I am expected to listen intently and care about the stories being told. Clothing will be filthy by the end of the day and no amount of hand washing, wet wipes or napkins on the lap can prevent it. Boys will beat the crap out of each other one minute and hug it out the next and there are never hard feelings, at all. No matter how much I preach about lifting the seat and aiming, my bathrooms, despite an inordinate amount of bleach and vinegar used, will always have a slight uriney smell. I have come to accept, albeit begrudgingly on the urine thing, all of this. It is a way of life in my house and that house is filled with happy, handsome men….and a couple of girls.

For the most part, my Handsomes are well behaved, have decent manners and do what they are told without much trouble. Sure, they all have their moments, but I can honestly say that I don’t worry too terribly much about how they will act when I am not around. I am not a huge list of rules kind of person either. We have the basics, be kind to one another, don’t talk back, put your dirty laundry in the basket, please don’t pee on your brother while you are both in the tub, all that kind of stuff. But, there is one thing in our house that my sons will unanimously announce as being the ultimate don’t cross mom on this one or she will lose her mind rule. I can handle any of the aforementioned and hand out a quick, knock if off, but when it comes to the Golden Rule in Come on Colleen land, there is no exception.

Picture if you will a lovely breakfast, lunch or dinner table. You are perfectly famished and could eat just about anything. Thankfully, there is a delicious spread before you, the company is equally as divine and you are feeling just delightful! Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot a man at the table in a tank top. He could be the richest, kindest, funniest and most handsome man on the planet, but the second he lifts his arm to reach for the rolls, you see it. His sweaty, straggly, nasty armpit hair is dancing in the breeze. Pieces of dried deodorant are hanging on like the last bit of snow on a rock after the weather warms up. No matter how hard you try, you can’t look away and now you have completely lost your appetite and are resisting the urge to barf all over the table. Just, me? No, probably not any more…….

Did you get your tickets for the gun show? Nope, no way, not at my table. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. The Handsomes know that they absolutely must have a shirt on when we are eating. Often times they sleep in their underwear so that they can be like their idol, The Grillin’ Fool, who incidentally is the only person in our house with actual armpit hair, and will wander down the steps blurry eyed and half naked. I don’t even have to say anything. A victory in and of itself, I have mastered, “the look” that sends them scurrying in to the laundry room to find coverage.

And before you get all, “But Colleen, Handsome #1, your oldest, is only eight years old, he doesn’t even have peach fuzz in those pits.” I gagged just typing that. No, you are right, he sure doesn’t, but, I wouldn’t hand him a Salem Slim Light and a Budweiser, two of my old favorites back in the days when I was fun, so why let him engage in other risky behaviors that could lead to his mother’s premature passing from gagging on her on vomit at the table later on in life? Just not worth the risk.

This rule is infallible at our home. As a matter of fact, even when I was potty training my youngest boy, opposition was quickly squelched my by eldest.
Me- Boys, you know the rule, you must put on a shirt before breakfast.

Handsome #2- Why? Handsome #3 isn’t even wearing any underwear!

Me- No, he isn’t, but he is also tucked under the table and no one can see that.

Handsome #1- Why are you even arguing with her on this one? You will never win.

Yes. A victory. I won! I won! I won! I felt so validated. They respect me and love me and know that this is important to me and a firm rule in our home. My handsomes are allowing me to mold them into strong, respectful and respectable young men that will make me proud. I was on cloud nine for exactly 11 seconds and then I got this series of pictures from Maurmi. Remember that whole, I don’t really worry about their behavior when I’m not around bologna? Well, well, well, apparently at my house the minute I leave it’s a great big, naked, let your arm pits hang out all over the place buffet……




They are lucky they are cute…….

Because You Loved Me…..

I went back to work last week. I wasn’t kicking or screaming. I wasn’t even really crying, but I had a lump in my throat as I kissed my four babies goodbye. I know deep down that in order to keep up with the lifestyle that we have become accustomed to, I have to work. Our life isn’t extravagant or fancy, despite the fact that I am married to a celebrity, but it makes the six of us happy. And knowing that I contribute to that happiness makes me feel validated. And the icing on the cake is that I actually love my job.

My first day was long, because I was fixated on what was happening at home. I had spent the last 12 weeks with my children every single minute and all of a sudden, I felt lonely. I missed their hugs and kisses. I missed their screaming and yelling. I missed their tattles and their stories. I missed my best friends and I missed my mom. She had been with me from the minute I gave birth to my baby girl and stayed with me my entire maternity leave.

As I walked in the door after the first day, I was greeted by four smiling faces and eight arms embracing me. I looked up at Maurmi and smiled, so thankful that she had been there with them that first day. They adore her as much as I do and I knew that I probably wasn’t missed too terribly much. I looked around and noticed that the house was spotless.

“Mom, you didn’t have to clean my house,” I said, feeling utterly guilty and so incredibly grateful. Maurmi knows that I hate to have things a mess, but that I am not a Martha Stewart-type housekeeper either.

“I just didn’t want you to come home and have to do work anymore. You are my baby girl and it is my job to take care of you,” She said with tears in her eyes.

She has always told me that parenting never ends. No matter if your child is six or sixty, you will always have an overwhelming urge to take care of them. I want to think that I can do it all. I want to believe that I am some kind of super mom who can work full time, keep my house under control, feed my children nothing but nutrient-rich foods and always have a full face of makeup. It just isn’t real life. At all…Ever….I can’t do it all all of the time. Well except for the makeup because, let’s be honest, Carly Simon probably could’ve written that song about me!

I am honest about the fact that I make mistakes all the time. I try to find laughter every day because many days if I didn’t, I would cry. I don’t have it all together, and I don’t think that anyone else does either, no matter what their Instagram feed says. No one’s kids look at the camera 100 percent of the time. I know just as well as you do that the perfect pic you just posted was shot number 44 after you screamed a few times, perhaps cursing, to get them all to look. I also know that you are cropping the hell out of your family room because you don’t want anyone to see your kids’, or maybe your husband’s, socks and underwear randomly on the floor. And date night is not always that much fun! You have gotten in a huge fight on the way to the restaurant and spent the night texting your mom all about how much of a jerk your husband acted like in the car but you are staying out because, hello, you have a sitter!

The voyeuristic world that we live in today isn’t real. Rushing home when you are 37 because you just want a hug from your mom is real. Putting on your nightgown, smelling the detergent and crying, because the fresh laundry that your mom does always smells better, is real. Having your kids accidentally call their grandmother mom, not because they love them more but because they love you both so much, is real. Being a career woman, a wife and a mom is all hard. Having a mom who has done it all, who knows how you feel and who is well beyond having to parent but wants to parent you, makes it all so much easier.

I hope that when my children have children that they will allow me to continue to help clean up their messes, to hold their babies, to make them dinner and to wrap my arms around them so that they can feel my love. Right now, even when I am the most tired that I have ever been, there is nothing in the world better than tiny hands on my cheek and little lips whispering, “Mommy, I love you.” As those hands grow bigger I hope that they will still love me as much as I love them and know that no matter how tough life my seem, that I am always in their corner, just like Maurmi…….


Put Me in Coach….

I am not particularly athletic, unless you include Sweatin’ to the Oldies, but as a mother of a lot of boys, sports, currently baseball, have infiltrated every part of our lives. I love to watch little kids get a hit, or make a catch and to see the pride beaming from their faces. There is nothing like watching your child smiling from ear to ear after making a great play and knowing that not one bit of that athletic ability came from you, and your pretty sure not your husband either, but hoping that it might last a few more years.

Recently, Handsomes #1 and #2 had weeknight games, at different locations, that overlapped; therefore, The Grillin’ Fool and I had to divide and conquer. It’s barely mid June and already 1000 degrees in St. Louis, so a full day at the pool followed by an early evening game, that I kind of forgot about until about an hour before hand, is about as much fun as I could possibly handle during the last week of my maternity leave.

In typical fashion, we couldn’t find hats, socks or cleats, despite the fact that every single person in the house swears that they put them away in their proper places just like I asked. Handsome #2 and I were headed out for the early shift. He was clad in head to toe black and grey polyester, bright blue and yellow soccer socks and tennis shoes due to the fact that we couldn’t devote any more time to the scavenger hunt for proper equipment. All the damns that I gave had melted in the heat.

The game started at 6pm and was located at least 15 minutes from home. We left at 5:51pm. I barely made it out of the subdivision when I noticed this in the rear view mirror.


He hadn’t just nodded off, this child was snoring….loudly. Rather than poke the bear, I figured I would let him rest until we got to the field. We rolled in at 6:03pm and I noticed that every player on the field was female. Perfect. I had driven to the wrong place, miles past where we were supposed to be. Suddenly, Chief Meteorologist Maurmi comes in with this warning.


I check my calendar, find the right location and get to the field at 6:17pm just in time for Handsome #2 to wake up with a seat belt crease across his face that could easily be mistaken as a failed attempt to gauge his eye out.

“Are we here? Oh good, my team is up to bat!”

He runs to the dugout and after missing the top of the inning somehow finds himself on deck. Seems fair that all of the other soon-to-be first graders who have battled the seventh circle of hell in the field should move aside for someone who just finished his beauty sleep, right?!?!?! He gets a hit, the kids finish out the inning and head back out to the field.

Handsome #2 didn’t seem particularly thrilled to be out in the heat and each time the thunder would clap, he’d look up as if God was talking directly to him. The other team got a few hits, scored a few runs and it was time for our boys to bat. Once again, there he stood with a helmet on, seemingly undeservedly high up in the batting order, when the coaches spot lightening and the game is called….at 6:31pm. In just 40 minutes, Handsome #2 had taken a nap, visited two Catholic Church fields, batted and gotten a hit, and played an inning in the field. This kid has done more with his athletic career in less than an hour than I have my entire life!

We headed for the car and he looked up at me and said,

“I need a nap, that was exhausting!”





Hangin’ Tough

Not a single soul had spoken to me for the last two hours. I announced to every person in the house that I was going upstairs and would be back in 20 minutes. Clearly, this was a rookie mistake. Never make your presence known lest you want the predator to devour you. I had barely turned the water on when the door opened the first time.

Handsome #2- Mom! Can you make me something to eat?

Me- Can you please give me a few minutes?

Handsome #2- Yes, but hurry!

I shampooed and almost conditioned before the next interruption. A naked from the waist down light saber-wielding child appeared and opened the shower door. 

Me- Honey, I am in the shower. What do you need?

Handsome #3- Um, nothing. I don’t need nothing.

Me- Where are your pants?!?!?!

Handsome #3- I lost them. But, I could find them. Mom! Can you wipe me, please?

Successfully wiping a child with one hand while putting the rest of the conditioner on your head with the other should at the very least come with a cash prize.

Once he was gone, I thought I’d try shaving my legs. Then I heard the screaming from the other side of the door, the only one of my children to give me any privacy.

Handsome #1- Mom! The baby is crying!

Me- Put the binkie in her mouth, I’ll be there in five minutes.

I wanted a few minutes of uninterrupted time, but instead I got to speak to all three of The Handsomes and got a status update on the baby. As I stepped out and caught a glimpse of my face in the foggy mirror, I cried. I cried big ugly tears because all too soon, it will be over. I will miss the screaming and yelling and constant emergencies. I will miss the hugs and the kisses and a chubby sweaty hand grabbing mine. I will miss my little loves needing me as they become more independent and self-sufficient.

As much as I wanted to wallow in my sorrow, I decided that my husband finding me in a heap on the bathroom floor wouldn’t be the best way to kick off his weekend. My mother always says that a little bit of fragrance and a fresh coat of lipstick can alter your mood instantly, so I figured I would give it a shot. Despite the fact that I am now a mother of four, nearing forty with a road map of stretchmarks and other badges of life’s experiences, The Grillin’ Fool still likes me and he deserves me at my best.

And today, the very best I could do was my signature red lips and a New Kids on the Block T-shirt that could likely find a home in the Smithsonian. I snapped a selfie, because no one would really believe that I not only still own this shirt but wear it often. And just like that, as if on cue, from the first floor I heard, “MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!”