Yep, you're right. I don't work.

Today I went to Starbucks to get my morning iced venti americano with vanilla and cream. I do this every weekday morning - it's part of my routine. I roll out of bed, put on a sweatshirt and slippers and pull my hair back into a really pretty messy pony. I load up the kiddos, drop Andrew off at school and head straight to the Starbucks drive-thru. I do this every morning. The lovely girls there know what I drink. They know my name. They know I do this every morning.

Disclaimer: The only reason I leave the house looking like I do in the morning is because I know I'm not actually getting out of the car. I am fully aware of my hot-mess status, but I don't care because I haven't had my coffee yet, therefore I am still partially asleep. And not ready to accept the fact that it's morning. If I actually had to get out of the car, I promise, a shower would be mandatory.

Okay, back to this morning. I pull up to the drive through, order my coffee at the little speaker box thingy and pull on up to the window. There is this older lady who works there - and she's nice. Fake, but nice. I'm gonna call her Marci. She's always pleasant, always chattin' in her raspy voice but I can tell that she can't be trusted. She's so plastic, it ain't even funny. But I don't care - as long as I get my coffee. It's all good in the hood.

Until today.

I pull up to the window. Marci greets me with her usual super fake smile. It looks like this:Marci: "Hi, hon. How you doin' this morning?"

Me: "Good, how are you?"

Marci (dripping with fakeness): "So super-dee-douper, hon! Thanks for asking. You headed to work this morning?"

I just blinked. And blinked some more. Was she insulting me? I think she was insulting me. Clearly I'm not heading to work. Unless my job was begging on the side of the freeway. And even then I think I'd try to dress up a bit more.

So I just laughed nervously while I gave myself a quick once over.......Awkward.

Me: "Uh......no."

Marci (slaps herself on her forehead with the palm of her hand): "Doh! That's right, hon! You don't work. You have two kids right?"

And now this is where I get pissed. I hate that. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate it when people say that being a stay-at-home-mom isn't work. And usually, I only hear that from old guys who've been around since women were being dragged into caves by their hair. I can (begrudgingly) understand those old farts. They aren't gonna change their way of thinking. And who cares, really. They'll probably be dead within the month anyways. Buh-bye.

But I don't usually hear it from women. Especially women who are old enough to have grandchildren. Now, this here's a guess, but I think this woman probably had children in her day. Because she certainly didn't decide against children so she could follow her career path. She serves coffee at Starbucks, for crying out loud! Nothing wrong with it - but it's sort of an entry level job.

I'm mad. I'm irritated. But I'm trying to smile, because it's the nice thing to do. And I don't want to get crappy coffee on Monday. I depend on that coffee. It's actually a slight addiction. I think I looked something like this:

Me: "Yeah, I have 3 kids. It's 3........not 2......3......kids......And they keep me busy enough, so......."

Marci (stares blankly): "....(blink, blink)........Well, alrighty then. You have a super duper day."

And with, that she slams the window shut.

Me: "Oh, yeah and I also have a business. See, I'm a photographer. I take pictures for people. That also takes up a lot of my time. It's crazy - being a stay-at-home-mom and a work-at-home-mom. I'm so busy I don't even know what to do with myself sometimes. I'm either cleaning floors, or scrubbing counters, or sucking bugars, or doing laundry, or wiping butts, or - oh, yeah and in between I take phone calls from clients and hope to GOD that one of my three, not two, three children doesn't "act up" while I'm trying my best to "sound all professional." Then I cook for those little children - and it's never what they want. No sir! If I make chicken nuggets, they want waffles. Waffles! Even though they just asked for chicken nuggets, they want WAFFLES!!!! I do all those things. And then some. I do a lot. I work. I work plenty! And I'm worn out at the end of the day - because I work all day, every day. I don't ever stop working. I work in my sleep! I work, I work, I work!!!!!"

By the time I was done saying all those things, I realized I'd driven all the way home and was just sitting in my driveway. Talking to myself.

Nice.

I look back at Alivia - and she's just staring at me.

Alivia: "Mooooooooooom?"

Me: "(sigh)......Yes, Liv?"

Alivia: "Can I have waffles?"

I'm NOT part dog!

My kids like to chew on things. But Andrew is by far the worst about it. He has been chewing on anything he could get his hands on, well....from the time he could get his hands on it. When he was three, I was getting really fed up with it, so I went online looking for some parenting advice. I read on some parent forum that if you have a child who likes to chew on things, the solution is to go buy a new rubber doggy chew toy, and give it to them to gnaw on. I thought that was sheer brilliance! So, off I went to Petco, got a good solid chew toy and took it home and ran it through the dishwasher. Then I presented it to him and explained that while it wasn't okay to chew on his clothes or toys, it was okay to chew on this. He seemed intrigued! He took the toy, looked it over, gave it a few good chews, looked at it again and tossed it on the floor, obviously quite unimpressed. Then the dog, as if he'd been waiting for it, quickly snatched the toy off the floor, ran out to the backyard and buried it.

So much for that bright idea.

Well, now Andrew is 7. Four years has gone by since the dog toy incident and I'd like to tell you that he doesn't chew on his things any longer, but unfortunately that would be a lie. He still chews on his sleeves, the collar of his shirts, his Lego's, the Nintendo DS stylus, and most recently he chewed a button of the cable box remote. A flipping button off the remote!

Last night I was going around my house gathering up dirty laundry. I walked into my bedroom where I found one of Andrew's socks. It was soaking wet and I could tell by the look of that thing that he had chewed his way through that sock. And it was sitting on my carpet. Full of slobber.

Me: "ANDREW!!!! Get in here!"

Andrew: "Yeah, Mom?"

Me: "What did you do to that sock?"

He looks down in shame.

Andrew: "I chewed on it."

Me: "Well pick it up, take it to the laundry room and put it in the whites basket. I don't even wanna touch that thing. That is so gross! And why are you still chewing on things? When are you going to outgrow this? I swear, you're part dog!"

I walked past him and went downstairs. A few minutes later, Alivia came up to me carrying a note. (I love how he totally gets her to do his dirty work.)

Alivia: "Dis is fwom Andrew."

I took it out of her hand and walked over to the counter where he was sitting and started reading it out loud. This is what it said:

Page 1
1. I don't chew on bones.
2. I am not as hairy as a dog.
3. I don't chew on toys.
4. I don't eat dog food.
5. I don't walk on four legs.
6. I don't have pahs.
7. I don't have a big nose.
8. I don't bark!
9. I don't have sharp clahs.
10. I don't try and climb walls.
11. I am not black, brown or white.
12. I don't cach a ball with my mouth.
13. I don't drink water with my tonge.
14. I don't live outside or in a dog house.
15. I don't sleep on the flor.
16. I don't beg.
17. I am not part DOG!

Page 2
It breaks my heart that you say that I am part dog when I am not.

I couldn't stop laughing. He was sitting at the counter, and I could tell that he was trying to be mad at me, but he couldn't help but start laughing with me.

Me: "Well, Andrew, you've proved some very good points here. I think based on this evidence, I have no choice but to retract my statement and confirm that you are indeed NOT part dog."

Then I apologized for hurting his feelings. I explained that it was just a figure of speech and that it was impossible for any human to be part dog.

And thank goodness....he decided to forgive me.

Happy VD

...as in Valentine's Day. What else did you think I meant?

I wanted to post some pictures of the kids I took today. This blog is called "The Silva Family" after all. It's not just "Alecia's Really Important Opinion of The Bachelor." I mean, I really like that name, but I chose to go with the other because ARIOOTB is just way too long.


Amelia - 7.5 months

She's currently rolling around the living room. I put her down and walk away and 2 minutes later, she's across the room - and usually having a little fit because she can't get a hold of some toy she really, really wants. I don't know if it's because she's the 3rd child - therefore feeling the need to be overly obnoxious to make sure her needs get met - or - if she's just really spirited. Make no mistake. If she has a question, concern, comment, consideration or complaint - she makes it known. Quite loudly. But I can't help but kiss her chubby cheeks every chance I get. And she eats it up. The girl loves to be loved on.

Alivia - 3.5 years

Liv is now in preschool - and doing really well. She's learning all sorts of letters, numbers, shapes and making some little girly friends along the way. She had her first "friend from school" birthday party a couple weeks ago. She was so excited - and I guess she had a blast. Being the excellent mother that I am, I was gone in Omaha and Jason had to escort her to the party. He said she loved it. She's become super affectionate in the last couple months - she must tell me that she loves me 100 times a day. It's just so sweet to hear those words in her little mousy voice.

Andrew - 7 years

My little man. He is also doing very well in the first grade. He still writing all sorts of BeeMan books (which I think is adorable) and he's far ahead of the rest of his class academically. I'm not surprised, though. I mean, hello?? He's related to me. He's also super sweet - giving out hugs and compliments left and right. That little guy figured out a long time ago how to butter me up, and it works. I know what he's doing, but I don't care. I just eat up all those sweet words like a fat kid eats a cupcake. However, he's completely over me taking his picture. He's had enough. But I still force him. And look at my stunning results! Doesn't that look just scream "I'm thrilled, Mom! Please, take my picture again. In fact - I think I'd like to become America's next top model!!!"

Oh shut your pie hole. They had a guy on last season. He just dressed like a girl.

Wait a minute....

I don't want Andrew to dress like a girl.

That's not what I meant.

I said shut your PIE HOLE!

XOXO