kids you can't live with them, can't eat 'em

I am a mother of 8 children and during their years, I have been through many situations with them. To survive this many children you have to have a good sense of humor.
MOTHERHOOD

I like most women wanted children. Unfortunately you have to carry them around for 9 months. I was not one of these women that enjoyed being pregnant. I'd rather walk through fields of broken glass and jump into a large vat of iodine than to have to endure one pregnancy. During the early months of pregnancy I always go through the pleasure of seeing up close and becoming personal with my toilet. I craved hot dogs with everything on them only to find myself in the bathroom wishing I hadn't, then turn around and do it again. I always felt very large and cumbersome and often looked like I had a stomach goiter.

I know some women enjoyed feeling the baby growing and moving inside but I always felt like I was doing a scene from "Alien". I did not experience the 'feminine mystique' like most women do. I had so many stretch marks my body looked a road map of Kathmandu. My feet would swell so that my shoes wouldn't fit and it is at those times that everyone wants to go for a nice family walk in the mountains'. I will give you an example: After applying two tubs of lard to each foot so that I could can get my shoes on, I’d manage to waddle over to the car and everyone would laugh because they’d think I was doing the "funky duck", no, actually I was just trying to juggle natures' little gift. I’d manage to slide into position like someone who just had hemorrhoid surgery. Awww I made it and we’re off! It really feels kind of good doing something normal. But wait! Mother Nature has come to call and being pregnant it always feels like you have a full bladder. So I’d beg my husband to stop the car so I could go.

Now I always had a wonderful husband that knew just how bad I had to go and so when he stopped the car, it was alongside the road. I would really try to be inconspicuous and hope no one saw me, (here is a woman that is huge and she is hoping no one can see her?) I’d make it down the side of the little hill to do my thing but the only problem would be that if I tried to squat, gravity alone would pull me down and I COULDN’T get back up without help. So I’d fall right into my own puddle and if that weren’t bad enough, I’d end up hollering for help. Well, if I were at home no one would hear me but where it is really mortifying everyone heard me. I not only had my family coming to my rescue but dozens of onlookers also.

Already my dignity was slipping away. I'd manage to get back into the car and after about 30 more stops we made it to the mountain, but now the day is almost gone so we’d turn around and head back, and once again I had to stop, and stop, and stop. All I really wanted was to get home and put this day behind me.


Home at last, now to get these shoes off. Oh no, I am going to need the Jaws of Life for this operation and I realized the oil slick me feet are leaving is worse than the Valdez oil spill.
I would be so tired from the fun of the afternoon I just wanted to retire. I would waddle up the stairs to climb into a tub of nice hot water. I could hardly stay awake; I think it'll sure feel good to get off my feet and sleep. Finally relaxed, clean, happy, I’d make my way to the bed, close my eyes and realize I had company.......... Mr. Insomnia!!!!!!!!!!! He decided he is going to stay for the rest of my pregnancy. Well, when the baby comes I knew I could sleep then, right? Now if I was lucky enough to fall asleep, Mother Nature would send her uncle..............Uncle Charley Horse. My poor husband has been brought out of a deep sleep many a quiet nights by the sound of a shrill shrieking voice coming from my side of the bed. He thought it was war cries but no, it's me getting ready to gnaw my leg off.


About the only thing I did like about pregnancy is that my chest size increased. I went from a -32aaa to a +1. I felt like a playboy bunny but it seemed it wasn't long before my stomach got larger making my chest look small again. Then if that wasn't bad enough my belly button would turn inside out. My stomach looked like it was growing a nose.
During pregnancy the child I was carrying always worked as an insulator. If I was pregnant during the winter it was good, but during the summer, then it wasn't. I hated it when people told me I had a glow. I was suffering from a body temperature of 110 degrees. Heck, it wasn't a glow, it was heat stroke.

Finally the big day comes, I was so excited to finally meet this little person who I had been carrying for nine months and had made my life a living hell the whole time. The nurse checked me in and I was ready to go.

The sleep I so richly deserved was right around the corner. I wanted to feel every pain, I was going to be a good mother, and I was already sacrificing for this child. "No I don't want any anesthesia, just a bullet to chew on will do. The pain really isn't so bad, I could do this standing on my head." I laid back in my bed and closed my eyes and had just started to relax......................ALL OF A SUDDEN SOMEONE HAD STRAPPED TWO TEAMS OF HORSES TO MY STOMACH AND HAD THEM RUNNING IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!YEEHAW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I would look for anything that would help me cope with the pain............a gun...........horse tranquilizer....................baseball bat etc. I would grab the only thing I could find...........my husband!!!!!!!!!! Now he would be sitting there looking at me and wondering why I was thrashing about so much, then he’d feel me clamp my hand onto his inner thigh into a death grip. He'd scream, I'd scream....until I finally came away with a souvenir, a nice piece of pliable thigh muscle.

Then the urge to push would come over me, an uncontrollable urge to push. My husband who is ever so observant at the wrong times, would comment on the funny faces I was making and the pretty shades of red my face is changing to. I thought if I only looked that way nine months ago during romance I might not be going through this right now. With one final push and the feeling like my head would explode, I gave birth. A baby, oh how cute. Oh how tired I was.

My husband was beaming, well he can afford to, after all it is his fruit you just bore, which by the way felt like a watermelon. After childbirth I am probably looking my worst. My hair is messed up, I am all sweaty, I'm drooling, I'm shaking, my false teeth have been thrown across the room and I am smiling because it is over. "Honey you look beautiful." Well, he would say that, because you realize that is pretty much the way you look after a night of passionate lovemaking. The next sound I would hear was the sound of a baby crying.

A sound I would hear all too often before it is over. All my hopes and dreams would be compiled into this sweet little child laying in my arms. Are we ever really prepared? The day came that I took my little bundle home. Oh boy, our family had finally begun.

1st year

Being home with a newborn is like a fresh start. Everything is going well for the 1st three days except for fatigue, a few sore spots and the constant succession of well meaning people. Every one wants to come and see the new addition which I didn’t mind but when they would bring gifts to the door, i.e. strollers, high chairs, playpens and throw them into your arms to carry back to your chair while they ran over to grab the baby was all a little too much. Every one wants to know how the labor and delivery went.
How many stitches you got? Do you have hemorrhoids? Was there a lot of amniotic fluid and are you going to save the umbilical cord in the baby’s’ scrap book? All I really wanted was to relax and get to know my baby. When all the visitors curiosity had been cured and I was alone again I could sit back and relish the feeling of something so small and helpless needing me. I studied every little feature; their fingers, toes, eyes, nose, chin, knees, head, and ears.
Everything about them was so perfect. I was on top of the world, I felt content, happy and then IT happened……….My milk came in!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I began to look like something off of a 4-H farm. I’d wake up at 4 a.m., grab a small stool, a milk bucket and wait patiently.
The next thing that would creep up on me would be the “Baby Blues”, and I am not talking about singing but total depression and it seemed that they would come calling at the strangest times. I’d be right in the middle of changing my baby’s diaper, the real messy kind, the kind that only mothers can change and live through, the kind that needs a sand blaster. The tears would start flowing and I would cry out, “I’m not worthy!” My husband who is praying he never has to change a diaper like this has heard me and believing I’m referring to the diaper change replies nervously, “Yes honey, you are.”
Men have this memory loss that comes with having babies. They act like the child you have carried for nine months and endured 19 hours of pain for was created solely by them. My husband like so many proud papas would carry a picture of the baby in his wallet next to mine. “Hey you want to see a picture of my child?” Someone might say then, “Nice looking kid. Then they’d point to a picture of me and ask “Who is the other picture of?” He would then respond, “Oh her? She is just the vessel that carried this fine specimen that I created.”
The months pass and a baby goes through many changes. The sleep I really deserved still hadn’t come. I learned to see the world through foggy eyes and brain. Babies are constantly learning; they will take in more during their 1st year than any other time in their life.
During this period of adjustment, I had learned that my body had not nor will it ever without the help of plastic surgery go back to any semblance of its original state. The stretch marks are here to stay and every time my husband looks at my nude body now, he gets all dreamy eyed, looks out the window and replies, “I hear Kathmandu is nice this time of year.” Some say that gravity has come to call, where once I had knockers, I now have knee knockers. I just tell them that parts of me are very relaxed.
I breastfed all my children, usually I didn't produce a lot of milk so after a short time I would put them on formula. That depressed me also, I felt that I was distancing myself from them. My last child I breastfed as I had more milk than most dairy cows. The feeling was that I was finally doing it right.. I breast fed her for almost 5 months, no sore nipples, good milk supply, she was on a really good schedule. One evening after giving her the bath and rubbing her down with lotion and getting her dressed, she was so sleepy and relaxed, the next thing was to nurse her and that should be about it before my little angel was ready for sleep. I'd sit in my chair that rocked and begin to nurse her.
I would be humming softly and taking in this gift of perfection, I found it very relaxing, Then I would feel teeth bite my nipple, teeth searing into the flesh, I let out this yell, well it scared her so bad she started crying, so in trying to comfort her I explained to her that the nipple is not a chew toy, "Honey I don't even let your dad do that." After that when I tried to nurse her, my breasts would retract so it was time to put her on a bottle.
One of my favorite times in my child rearing was bath time. As long as everything went okay. A warm bath always relaxes my babies. I’d give them a bath, get them ready for bed, nurse them and they would be out. Not every time went so smoothly though. Sometimes putting them in the tub and letting them play would be my first mistake.
After washing their hair and getting them clean, I would decide to read while they played. It was at those times a smell would reach my nose and I would find something smeared all over; in their hair, their bodies, teeth. Nothing like a warm bath to relax the bowels. I have learned how to maneuver without getting too much on me. After spending what seemed like hours retching in the toilet, I’d manage to get them clean again and out before they decided to get artistic again. They are so pleased with their freelance art work even if you’re not.

2nd year

I love children but something happens when they reach 2 yrs. old. It seems it is downhill for the next 16 years. For the first year my little bundle from heaven had grown and done a lot of things that were cute and real milestones. I would spend a lot of energy preparing and training him. I set his feet in the path that would make me the most proud. The something happened that I prayed never would. He discovered he had a brain, which meant ……………………………………………………..independent thinking!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was the end of a beautiful relationship. My husband and I had to resort to spelling everything because our little trooper had learned to talk. Which is really bad if you can’t spell.
The terrible twos are quite an understatement. Our children had 2 years of being cute to make up for. He did just the opposite of what we told him, and what’s worse he had perfected the fine art of screaming. Personally I would rather have a bucket of ice poured down my pants than to have a 2-year-old scream in my ear.
Next came potty training. Boys are naturally adventuresome and I found it harder to potty train a boy than a girl. So I had to be more creative. I’d put objects in the toilet and let my son play "sink the Bismarck". Soon he got very good with his aim and he seemed to like the idea of hitting targets so much so that he practiced until he could hit a fly off the wall in a single shot or hit the mole on my cheek at 20 paces. Many times I could have sworn that I heard the theme song from "The Good the Bad, and the Ugly" playing in the background. It was at this time that he also realized that he could make things disappear when he flushed the toilet. We had many things disappear, to him this was very exciting and to our cat when he tried to flush her.
It was quite disturbing when my son went through his nudity phase. He’d strip naked and then take off outside while I wasn’t looking. He’d be running up the street, smiling, waving, and blowing kisses to all onlookers. He seemed to think he was some kind of sex symbol. ‘Oh, oh here comes mom in hot pursuit. He thought it was a game of tag and would run faster squealing with delight. I’d have to run, jump and tackle him. I’d apologize to the neighbors and assure them that this was not a behavior I condoned while I am spanking his bare butt. He, on the other hand would be winking, and telling everyone, "Catch you on the flip side, babe!"
Small children can be very scary. They are into everything and from a very early age everything goes into their mouths. I had made bubbles for my 2 older kids. Without thinking I set the glass on the edge of the table. The kids were having fun blowing the bubbles. My 2-year-old walked over and seeing the cup believed it was something to drink and downed the bubble concoction. Her started spitting and sputtering, everytime he tried to cry or cough, and the only thing that came out was bubbles. Bubbles everywhere. My 2 older kids saw the humor in this and laughed but I was frantic. I ran him into the bathroom to wash him off but all I got was more bubbles. "Lawrence Welk where are you?!!!!!!"
This kid was like a human bubble machine. Thank goodness all ended up ok.
I’m a firm believer that kids should remain in their cribs until the age of accountability, which is 18 in my book. I had to learn the hard way. My oldest son would wake up and decide to wake me up by whatever means he could devise that morning. I had the pleasure of waking up to dirt being patted on my face as if her were trying to repot my nose or coming out of a sound sleep with a pencil being jabbed up my nose coming in contact with that part of the brain that senses pain. I know the pencil was sharp because the pain was.

3 year olds

One of my sons went through an identity crisis early on. At first it was real cute but soon became physically disabling to me! He believed he was a dog. He barked and growled at everyone. He would sniff people’s legs, their hands, and he’d lick their faces. If we hit him with a rolled up newspaper then he would whimper and whine. We even caught him eating dog food. He seemed to prefer Mighty Dog over Ken’l Ration. It was real cute till he turned on me. I was reading, and relaxed, when all of a sudden I felt teeth clamp down on my ankle and heard growling as flesh was being ripped from the bone on my leg. For a split second I thought I was being attacked by a rottweiller, no it was just my rottenson. We finally had to put a stop to his behavior when he started tearing up the newspapers and eating our shoes.
With that phase comfortably behind us he could explore and evolve into another phase of his social growth. He took a real interest in DINOSAURS! He became a…Tyrannosaurus Rex.
He would walk on his tiptoes, curve his middle and index fingers like claws and go on his rampage. He would screech at people, make kids cry, and needless to say I had to have my groceries brought in because I had been banned from all public places. I couldn’t even get a babysitter, every one was afraid of him.
When I was finally able to go back to the stores, I found my grocery bill going up. I kept thinking that inflation had risen to around 400%. It just so happened that mommy’s’ little helper was doing his own shopping. I learned not to take him in any stores unless he was properly restrained, in a straight jacket.
It is about this time that they are learning to throw real well. I would be reading, minding my own business when all of a sudden I would see stars all around me, but before I passed out I’d manage to look and he would be smiling ever so proudly. He had thrown a golf ball and hit me square in the forehead. "Oh say can you see those Stars and Stripes forever?" You bet, sign that kid up with the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Get that kid as far East as possible before he decides to throw something else. To this day I panic and go into panic attacks when I see golf balls.
I loved taking my children to church with me but heaven only knows why. I really wanted my people to believe that I had the best kids on the face of the earth. I used to fast and pray that their mouths and bodies be bound until church was over. It never happened, my children who I adored were so awful that people would come up to me after church and inquire, "Gee Mrs. Slater, maybe you ought to look into early baptism." I would try to explain that they were only 3 and that there was still hope. One Sunday my son decided he wanted to sing with the rest of the congregation and even if he didn’t know the words, he would fake everyone out by singing with enough zest and zeal like everyone else. You could hear all through the church him singing "Stupid, stupid, stupid" through the entire song.

4 years

At 4 years old kids are a lot of fun. They have a pretty good vocabulary, can entertain themselves for quite awhile. They are somewhat independent and had me trained pretty good. Now I felt that I could relax somewhat. That is until they discover "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" I saw no real danger in it, it seemed harmless enough. I thought the turtles had pretty good values. I loved watching my son pretend to be Donatello. I could have watched him for hours until that fateful night. He got a little carried away and I got kicked in the shins and hit in the throat with a large stick while he is yelling, "Cowabunga Dude!" I realized I had just about enough of sacrificing for this child, I watched as my mental status slip into the dark abyss of mental instability.
Kids of this age also learn to be sneaky. I would find finger tracks in the peanut butter, kool whip, butter, and ice cream. When I did confront him I would be told the cat did it. How could I argue with that?
At this age they have whining down to a fine science and wouldn’t be happy till I was really angry. Once my son wanted a drink and wanted it now!!!!!!!! I was in the middle of a conversation and said I would get it in a minute. He wasn’t happy with that and screamed at me. So I got up, very controlled and proceeded to get him his water. When I returned I poured it on his head. He cried and I smiled and went back to my conversation. When I was done I got him his drink but by that time he had gotten his own…….right from the toilet. Again I wretched.
It was at this time that spankings became less effective and we had to find more meaningful ways of getting our point across. Ours was a cold shower with the clothes on. Now we didn’t make the kid stay in there till hypothermia set in. We didn’t need to, he knew within seconds that this was something he did not like. He hated it and therefore we knew we were on the right track. If given a choice between a spanking or cold shower, he would choose a spanking. Well, guess you know which one we would do. He may not have been happy but at least he was clean.
One of the most embarrassing things about child rearing is your child’s habits. My son being in his own Sunday school class would at times sing with his class in front of the whole congregation. Most parents looked forward to that moment, not me. I just knew that something would go wrong. Sure enough out of all the kids, mine would be the one standing in the front picking his nose, the only one.

5 years

I have found 5 yr. olds to be very affectionate. One of my
sons would ask me to marry them when they grow up. "I love you,
mommy."
"I love you too, honey." 5 min. later "I love you,
mommy."
"I love you too, honey." So it goes all day until I am saying I love you
through clenched teeth and feeling as though I really just
want to choke the life out of them, all out of love of
course.
Children can be very insecure, They don't want to be left behind
with a sitter. They will cling to your legs and go into
theatrics and try to make you feel guilty. "Mommy, please
don't leave me. Let me go with you. I promise I won't call daddy a poo-poo
face anymore. Please, I promise I'll be good and quiet. I promise I won't breathe."
I’d look at my young sons purple face and see he is trying real
hard to keep his promise. How can I say no? "Okay, you can go
but you have to keep your promise not to breathe." So we’d
head to the car, my son skipping, holding his breath and
feeling like all is right with the world. I’d wonder just how
long he can really hold his breath?
I loved seeing my children learning to ride their bikes. It
is good seeing them sailing down the road looking so grown up
and independent on their Huffy. Then when they seemed to have
mastered the fine art of riding, I’d see arms and legs flailing
and the once proud metal steed would be sailing off into the sunset.
I’d run over to check on my child, crowds are forming and you know the
child is really okay until they see you coming then comes the drama.
"Mom, is that really you? Come closer, it's getting dark and cold.
I'm failing fast. Bring your face closer so that I may gaze upon
your beauty one last time. Tell dad I love him and I don't want you to
blame yourself for not buying me a safer bike like the one that I wanted.
I know your happiness is more important, this accident was not your fault.
Many of you have experienced sibling rivalry either personally or
through your kids. This is where you are either ‘good parent or bad
parent’ but you are definitely referee. I’d be trying to break up a
fight when I would be the one to get hurt. That would usually case some anger from the one that felt I was on their side. This in itself would start another fight and the blaming would start on who hurt mom. I have often heard that banging heads together usually puts an end to fighting but can cause brain damage if done to often. Sometimes a mom has to do what a mom has to do, so weighing the options and considering all the avenues, I figured I could deal with the brain damage at a later date.
Starting school can be exciting and traumatic. Exciting for you but traumatic for the teachers.

6 years

I believe that God created creatures for a purpose. Some were created for companionship, some for garbage disposal, some for man to eat, and some to make mothers neurotic. There is nothing like pulling a dead June Bug out of my sons pockets or scraping slug slime off the bottom of his feet. But I have to honestly say that the all time worst was when my son opened his footlocker and turned it into a half way house for wayward garden snakes. There had to have been around 500 snakes in his footlocker. They were crawling and slithering all over each other. I don’t know how long they had been in there but it was definitely long enough to get a good stench going.
The name-calling was another thing that made me crazy. One child would start off with names like "You dummy", then the other would try to outdo that with "You stupid idiotic", so it would go with the name calling competition until there was nothing left except to become physical. Once again I would try to stop the fight and getting hurt in the process. Once that had been stopped they would resort to sticking their tongues out at each other. It would expand to tattling and then the sound of heads coming in contact with each other again. Ah quiet at last, I hope they’ll be okay.

7 years old

My sons went from toy cars, army men, and dinosaurs to the most hideous toys they could find. One so-called ‘toy’ was Spawn characters. These were so ugly that they gave me nightmares while they gave him so much delight. To me they looked as if the toy company had taken a clump of plastic, put 2 eyes on it, long sharp teeth and said it looked like something trying to spawn. I tried to deter his attention by introducing him to cuter and cuddlier toys such as Pound-Puppies, G.I. Joes, and stuffed animals. No, he wanted Spawn and the Spawn-mobile. If it shot bullets all the better. Many times I have been pelted in the rear-end with hard plastic bullets. There has always been a strange fascination to my kids over my backside. They would run up and smack me and then rate it like a seismograph. The more the jiggle, the higher the rating. "Wow, that was a SEVEN!" Sometimes I would bend over to pick up one of their toys and from across the room, I’d hear, "Hey! You’re blocking the Sun!" Then shrieks of laughter.
Another phase of the 7-year-olds life is questions. One of the worst is, "Where do babies come from?" They can never wait and ask at a more appropriate time like when they are grown. They always have to ask when there is a room full of people. I have always tried if even unsuccessful to leave a feeling with people that I was of a somewhat high caliber for an individual. It always seems that when there are people that you want to have good thoughts about you that your darling child asks the question. I don’t know but all of a sudden the whole room seems quiet and as you look around you realize that everyone’s eyes are upon you. As sweat breaks out on your forehead and your pulse is going mach 2 and knowing that my answer could either make me or break me I’d manage to say the only thing that could be said at the time. "Well honey, babies come from the baby fairies." Little did I know that I had just screwed up my child and had set the pattern for deep psychological counseling later.

8 years

You would think that at 8 yrs. old it would be a whole new era for your child and a fresh start for the 2 of you. This is the age of baptism or for you zodiac freaks, the Age of Aquarius. I’d do all I could to prepare my future missionary for the big day. I tell my children that baptism is a rebirth for them and all they have done is wiped away. I explain that their souls are like blackboards and when they go down into the waters of baptism and come up they are essentially erasing all the bad things. You would think that this would be a relief for them but NO, they see it as being able to scribble anew.
My sons loved to play rough. They’d grab anything that looked like a sword to us. If they could pick it up and swing it then it was good enough to be a sword. At times they would dismantle the furniture just to use the legs, sometimes they’d use dolls, bats, 2x4’s, fireplace pokers, and of course the cat. This did not make the cat happy and she’d protest. Unfortunately she had to go to a kitty rest home from boyhood trauma. I heard she was responding well to treatment.
My boys loved pets, but out of sympathy and respect for the animal kingdom we had to finally tell them no. So being the creative little men that they were they would find their own pets. It could be a mouse, a rat, a leaf, a rock or even a slug. If they could hold it they loved it. I don’t know how I survived boys. To this day I am not sure I did. So many things they did gave men the willies. I learned real quick to always keep a bottle of Pepto Bismal close by.
It is also at this age that "I’m bored" comes into play. It didn’t matter whether my son had been playing all day and was able to go several places, if he had 5 minutes of doing nothing he would yell, "I’m bored!" I hated it; I would have loved to have 5 minutes to even feel bored. I could threaten him with work or some other growth promoting activity and that would put an end to his boredom. By magic he’d remember he already had something to do such as watching a spot on the wall.
Water fights during the summer was always so much fun around our house. Indoors it would become a swimming pool, if we had to bring the hose inside to pay someone back, then by golly that is exactly what we did. We finally had to resort to balloons in order for us to save the house from being water logged. My children ever so snoopy found some funny looking, individually wrapped balloons in my husbands and my bedroom and decided these would make splendid ammunition. I didn’t realize how much condoms could hold but I was truly amazed. The only problem for them was that one person could not carry it alone without dropping it. I saw my children carrying this huge, HUGE, HUGE water balloon getting ready to throw it on us. I realized what it was just as they were going to heave this thing. All of a sudden it busted……….all over them. I never thought it was possible to see a tsunami in my front room but…… Whoomp there it is! Anyway they were upset and I laughed. After that I’d sing "Onward Trojan Soldiers" to them at night.

9 years

This is the age that was always such a hoot for me. I felt my first son was very mature for his age. He was always such a good boy, and so responsible. So thinking I knew my son well enough I let him have a BB GUN!!!!!!! Well, I thought he was responsible and mature. One day my young son came in the house complaining that his stomach was hurting. So I decided to investigate. He had little round bruises on his belly. I inquired as to what had happened and it seemed that my son, ‘Al Capone’ reincarnate had asked his younger brother to please hold a target (a plastic kool-whip bowl) directly in front of him so that he could practice shooting. Well like all younger siblings who trust so completely and honestly, he did as was requested. I didn’t know who was dumber at that moment. The gun disappeared. If that wasn’t enough he soon learned how to use the staple gun. He did not believe that it could actually shoot out with enough force to stick in someone’s head. So he tried it and now my son doesn’t have to worry about parting his hair, because it is stapled into place.
It was about this time that my sons would go into the bathroom and stay for an hour. I always wondered what they could possibly find to do for that long. I would ask, "What are you doing; keeping a daily log? If you are then leave it in there." I’d snicker because I knew what was coming. "Mom! That is so gross!"

8 years

You would think that at 8 yrs. old it would be a whole new era for your child and a fresh start for the 2 of you. This is the age of baptism or for you zodiac freaks, the Age of Aquarius. I’d do all I could to prepare my future missionary for the big day. I tell my children that baptism is a rebirth for them and all they have done is wiped away. I explain that their souls are like blackboards and when they go down into the waters of baptism and come up they are essentially erasing all the bad things. You would think that this would be a relief for them but NO, they see it as being able to scribble anew.
My sons loved to play rough. They’d grab anything that looked like a sword to us. If they could pick it up and swing it then it was good enough to be a sword. At times they would dismantle the furniture just to use the legs, sometimes they’d use dolls, bats, 2x4’s, fireplace pokers, and of course the cat. This did not make the cat happy and she’d protest. Unfortunately she had to go to a kitty rest home from boyhood trauma. I heard she was responding well to treatment.
My boys loved pets, but out of sympathy and respect for the animal kingdom we had to finally tell them no. So being the creative little men that they were they would find their own pets. It could be a mouse, a rat, a leaf, a rock or even a slug. If they could hold it they loved it. I don’t know how I survived boys. To this day I am not sure I did. So many things they did gave men the willies. I learned real quick to always keep a bottle of Pepto Bismal close by.
It is also at this age that "I’m bored" comes into play. It didn’t matter whether my son had been playing all day and was able to go several places, if he had 5 minutes of doing nothing he would yell, "I’m bored!" I hated it; I would have loved to have 5 minutes to even feel bored. I could threaten him with work or some other growth promoting activity and that would put an end to his boredom. By magic he’d remember he already had something to do such as watching a spot on the wall.
Water fights during the summer was always so much fun around our house. Indoors it would become a swimming pool, if we had to bring the hose inside to pay someone back, then by golly that is exactly what we did. We finally had to resort to balloons in order for us to save the house from being water logged. My children ever so snoopy found some funny looking, individually wrapped balloons in my husbands and my bedroom and decided these would make splendid ammunition. I didn’t realize how much condoms could hold but I was truly amazed. The only problem for them was that one person could not carry it alone without dropping it. I saw my children carrying this huge, HUGE, HUGE water balloon getting ready to throw it on us. I realized what it was just as they were going to heave this thing. All of a sudden it busted……….all over them. I never thought it was possible to see a tsunami in my front room but…… Whoomp there it is! Anyway they were upset and I laughed. After that I’d sing "Onward Trojan Soldiers" to them at night.

10 years

At this age my children started a whole new way of life; we call it ‘water conservation’. Something happens that all of a sudden rebel at the thought of having to climb into the dreaded tub. Having to take a bath was enough to make then a nervous wreck. I believe in conserving our natural resources as much as the next guy but not at the risk of becoming non-hygienic. When I did happen to force them to bathe (which was usually 3 weeks into their environmental consciousness) they refused to use soup. I think it was just a way of maintaining some kind of control over the situation. They would not comb their hair, change their clothes or use toilet paper. It is an awful feeling when you see flies buzzing around your child you are raising to carry on the family name. Names like "Pigpen" was often used to describe my child but I would have to stick up for the Peanuts character and admit he was not that bad. Seeing my child cry at this time and tears leaving mud trails down their faces was something I cringed at; a true facial mudslide. I would have to put netting over their faces to try and salvage what was left of them. I wanted to comfor them but the thought of touching then was more than I could bear. I’d get the broom out and stand across the room and pat them on the back, oh boy you should have seen the dust fly. I was always amazed when they pondered why people couldn’t accept them for who they were. Even the sock after days of not being changed was screaming harikari. After sleeping in their clothes day after day they began to smell as bad as the garbage. Many times I’d drag them out at 6 a.m. and leave them by the curb in hopes that the garbage truck would pick them up but not even the garbage men wanted them. "Sorry Ma’am it they’ll make the garbage smell bad." After sitting on the furniture I would have to have it disinfected. When I did manage to talk them out of their clothes, the pieces would go into a bag labeled "Caution, hazardous waste". Unfortunately this behavior lasted for a few years.
My kids are avid candy eaters. I must say that that is my fault. One of my sons was worse than others. He’d actually climb trees to get away from those that he might have to share with. He was also the one to get hurt. He was my accident waiting to happen. On one of his upward treks to be alone with his big bag of candy, he fell. He managed to hit every tree branch and a picket fence before he landed on the ground. I think he would have rather risked his life than to lose his candy. It is far better that one boy should perish than a bag of candy dwindle uneaten. When we ran outside we found his body mangled but he still had a tight hold of his treats.
My kids at about this age develop and eating disorder called, "I don’t care what it is, If I can chew it I want it." My grocery bill triples and the amazing thing was that they never gained weight. I think I could have done a movie called, "The kid who ate Manhattan". I did get a little concerned when they started going through everyone’s garbage and ours. The poor raccoons were found lying on the side of the road dying from starvation.
I had to do something when the Animal Rights Activists started carrying signs that read, "Unfair to our little woodland creatures, Slaters’ go home!" We began putting cement in their oatmeal as filler. It helped make them feel more full but it also made them constipated. All in all it was a fair trade-off

11 years

I have mainly picked on boys because they were the most mischievous and little girls are cute and so sweet until this age. Now comes the time in every parents life that little girls are coming of age and developing a real sense of who they are, the power they have and who their parents don’t want them to be.
My 2nd daughter would have candy and sometimes suckers and her brothers would bug her and bug her share. She learned how to inflict her own type of justice on them. They would beg and beg for her candy so she would tell them,"Okay." She would then proceed to the bathroom and unwrap all of her suckers ever so gently, suck and lick on them for awhile, then wrap them back up and give each of her brothers one. Those boys were so pleased with her generosity. She’d sit back on the couch and smile as she watched those boys eat their suckers. So far I am the only one who knows and I am not telling.
Every year we go camping as a family. I really look forward to it. The kids are so happy, I’m happy, everyone is happy. At night I take a quarter to the showers to wash the days mud off. One night I was doing what I normally do. I had a quarter, clean clothes, soap, shampoo, toothpaste etc. I looked forward to getting clean and crawling into my sleeping bag. There was only one shower available, so I took it. I got undressed and put my clothes down on the bench but stopped in time when I saw jelly fish, they were the tiny clear ones that don’t sting but are slimy. I scooped them down on the floor and proceeded to take my shower. There in the drain was more jellyfish. Being determined to take my shower I stepped over them. I tried to adjust the water temperature but guess what! More Jelly fish hanging from the handles, faucet, showerhead, in the soap dish, and well basically all over. Flashes of a plane wreck with these poor jellyfish in their crash positions ran through my mind. I believe my last count was 50. I DID take my shower and got out, not feeling any cleaner mind you. I knew those jelly fish had not walked or swam in there but had been strategically placed by someone’s’ brats. I stormed back to camp ranting and raving about how kids these days are not disciplined and that the ones that did that were obviously never taught any better because the parents were probably inbred. I went on and on that those parents needed to be horsewhipped and I was so glad that my kids were better behaved than that. I found out 3 years later that it had been my daughter and her friend that had done the decorating. She did not think that I would pick that particular stall. She knew how mad I was and felt it was better NOT to fess up at that time. I learned a great lesson that day,"If you think your child is not capable of something, think again!"
The old adage,"Children should be seen and not heard" had to have been thought of by a parent who had a child at this age. It is at this time that children learn to perfect their bodily functions, namely burping skills. I have to admit my dainty little feminine daughter was better at belching than any boy. She could let go with the loudest, longest and heartiest burps around. I thought to myself, "She is really going to win some guys heart someday and it will probably be a drunks’."
My sons who are ever so quick to compete learned that their sister could burp better but they could cut loose with bodily wind better. It is amazing to see someone be that crude and yet be so proud. They’d reply, "Silent but deadly." I believe that even the animal kingdom has more scruples than boys do. The worse they smelled, the better and believe me they had contests against whom was the stinkiest. It was all the better if a person almost passed out. We had to change their diet when the E.P.A. sent us a letter that said we were going to be fined because our children were eating a huge hole in the ozone.

12 years old

Puberty is such an awful time, a difficult transition for any person to go through. Their bodies go through so many changes, they have to give up toys and become who knows what and that is exactly what they become, a "you know what."
My sons are very affectionate at this age, always wanting a kiss, a hug or an "I love you." My daughters would pull away from me. It is such a messed up time for everyone. I personally enjoyed this change with my boys because they were showing me for the first time in years how sweet, normal, and cute they could be. I would become my sons love for a little while.
I used to get a kick out of watching my sons discover they had armpit hair. They would play with it, twist it and I asked my son once if he would like to have those put into dreadlocks for a real fashion statement. They would run around with their shirts off so they could raise their arms up high in a stretching pose whenever a girl was around. I don’t know if they really believed that some girl was going to fall at their feet and worship the ground they walked on because NOW they could perspire and sweat like a pig. It was also at this time that my children started taking baths everyday all on their own and sometimes they’d shower twice a day.
My daughter started shaving her legs. Boy, was she bad about it. She had so many cuts that I was afraid she was going to bleed to death. "Honey, don’t you think you need stitches?" "No mom, the stitches would just run my nylons." She would put little squares of toilet paper on her open gaping wounds and then her nylons on over the conglomeration of cuts and tissue. She had the appearance of mosaic legs, but hey who was I to question her method of being beautiful?
When I bought my daughter her first bra, I was amazed that bras had become so streamlined. When I got my first bra, the cups were so stiff and pointed; I didn’t dare let anyone get too close to me. I didn’t fill my bra out so if someone just happened to elbow me it would cause a crater. Everyone would know I was trying to make moutnains out of molehills. But the bras of today, are so cool. They look more like a slingshot. Modern technology, isn’t it wonderful? When I did laundry, I’d take her clothes upstairs and stand across the room and shoot her bras at her open dresser drawer to see if I could make it. If by chance they landed in her drawer then I would yell, "SCORE!!!!!!!!" My kids thought I was nuts but it didn’t matter, the age of fun underclothing was finally here. I couldn’t wait for my sons to start wearing jock straps just so I could see what kind of fun I could have with them………maybe an icepack or a nosewarmer, the possibilities were endless.

13 years

There was nothing worse than having your daughter become boy crazy or my sons becoming girl crazy and I just became crazy. I believe my daughter was worse than my sons. It was always,"So and so did this" and "so and so did that" and "he is so majorly buff". The whole dialect seemed to change over night. My kids would say the opposite of what they meant and then get irritated when I didn’t understand. If they liked something then it was considered bad. I didn’t know whether to apologize or say "thankyou" half the time. What happened to plain old English like, cool, neato, groovy, or farout? I understood those words but words like rad, tubular, tweakin’ and the most all time favorite phrase was, It’ll blow your hair back. I tried to be hip and speak their language but they’d make fun of me even though it is exactly how they sounded.
My daughter got into her hair and makeup phase. Many times I’d freeze and think the grim reaper had come to claim me, then I realized it was my daughter. I’d think to myself, "Is this really attractive?" A few years later she learned to put on makeup correctly and fix her hair so that it was flattering.
Teenage girls are some of the most difficult creatures you’ll ever have the pleasure(?) of knowing. They can go from Dr. Jeckyll to Mr. Hyde within a twinkling of an eye. Everything is a crisis! During these times of woe, they will let out their battle cries. "WHAT NO MILK?!!!!!!!!! I can’t drink water! No ham for sandwiches? I can’t eat peanut butter! What is wrong with you guys? Didn’t you watch T.V.? They said on the evening news that the world revolves around ME!!!!!!!!" Then she would run off to her room screaming and crying that life was unfair and no one loved her no matter how hard she tried. I could do nothing but stand there with my mouth hanging open and wonderif it was too late for that abortion. It could be as soon as 5 minutes later that she’d come out of her room, smiling sweetly and ask for 50 dollars. Still so dumbstruck I’d write her the check. Ever so grateful she’d bend down and kiss me on the cheek, tell me I was the best and run out the door. For the next 4 hours I’d sit in shock trying to digest that day’s episode of "As her hormones turns."
I kind of liked having my daughter’s boyfriends and friends around. It was about the only time she was on her best behavior. She would act very mature to impress them. At his tender part of her emotional growth and physical transition, my poor little girl didn’t quite know if she was still a child or a young woman. So, depending on who was around, that is who she became. If boys were around, I became, "Mother dear" and if her girlfriends were at the house I was called, "mommy."
I have tried really hard to like my kids music but for the most part I could not. My daughter liked the bubblegum music and my sons music sounded like wailing and gnashing of teeth and that the devil himself had a belly ache. Many times it would be real quiet then the radio would turn on really loud. I always wondered what was the purpose of that. Either they were trying to break the sound barrier or they didn’t like being able to hear. The whole house reacted, windows would vibrate, figurines would jitterbug off the shelves and any creatures we had in the house would pack their bags and move out. If I yelled to them to turn their music down, they wouldn’t hear me so I’d throw things at them to get their attention. I’d get a dirty look, and they’d ask, "Why did you do that?" I’d tell them to keep their music turned down and they’d tell me it helped them think! I could not understand how it helped unless it vibrated the thoughts and imagery right into their brains so that they didn’t have to think so hard. Regardless of the reasons I feel that it jarred some of my teeth loose.

14 years

Sometime during the teen years my child would learn how to use a phone. When they discovered that the ringing of the phone meant someone was on the other end that is when I no longer was allowed to use it. I was still commanded to pay the bill and have it in my name but I was not allowed to use it. It didn’t matter how much I begged or pleaded to use the phone; it just fell on deaf ears. "Mom, be quiet. Can’t you see I am on the phone? Go next door and call for an ambulance from there." If I was lucky enough to use the phone I’d get told not to stay on it for too long as someone was supposed to call. I don’t think it was anyone in particular it was just that someone was going to call. My husband and I became an answering service for our daughter who so thoughtfully bought us a memo pad with explicit instructions to write down who called, the day and time and a short message. We were also told to tell whomever it was that she’d call them as soon as she was available.
Another phase at this time is eating. My kids can put away a mountain of junkfood but no meat! "I am a vegetarian, don’t you know?" I tried to explain that french-fries that she loved was cooked in animal fat. I would get this look like I was trying to undermine their social awareness. I’d wait and pray that this was would soon pass.
Their clothes would become a big deal at this time. My kids would build shrines around a favorite shirt and pants. They’d wear something because some athlete said they should. "Don’t worry about the cost, let your parents buy it." A few weeks later their clothes would fall apart and they'd be screaming that they'd have nothing to wear. I’d suggest that I take them to K-Mart and it was like I said some awful swear word. "Mom, I can’t go there. My friends will see me there and they will know I wear K-Mart clothes." I kind of wished that neck tourniquets were in style. I’d hear that they had to wear what everyone else is wearing. I would ask why and they would respond that they had to be an individual and their own person. Make sense? NO! I’d look at other teens and realize that have all coned each other in the name of individualism.
My kids in their early teens had perfected the fine art of teasing their younger siblings to the point of tears………MINE! I’d come to the younger ones defense I would get told that I never loved him, I really favored everyone else and if the truth be known I didn’t really want him anyway. I had just wanted the fighting to stop and I felt the older one could be mature enough to stop.

15 years

My poor children didn’t stand a chance with me as their mother. I come from a long line of pranksters and I should have realized it would rub off in one way or another. I taught my children well, I just didn’t know how well until they turned on me. They’d hide outside my bedroom door and then wait till I came out to scream and scare the living daylights out of me. Sometimes they’d smear the toilet seat with Vaseline and listen for a scream and a thud. I used to smoke so they thought it was funny to put explodes in my cigarettes just to watch the look on my face when they exploded. I became a nervous wreck that would normally cause me to smoke 3 packs a day but I was too afraid to smoke.
When they were young I would dance with them all over the house. They always loved it when I ‘d waltz with them while I am carrying them and somet6imes we’d Tango and they especially loved it when I’d do a dip. As they got older and their tastes in music changed, so did their way of dancing. I learned what exactly a "Mosh Pit" was. I made the mistake of asking them to dance, Big mistake! I got slammed, jabbed, punched and knocked down and every time I tried to get up I got knocked down again. My son was having the time of his life and didn’t realize I was being brutalized. He thought he had a hip mom and I felt like I broke one. I didn’t feel like it was a positive bonding experience for me.
It was so difficult watching my son being so shy and liking a girl but not being able to tell her. He was always thought of as a brother by the fairer sex. Always a bridesmaid never a bride, so he worshipped them from afar. He’d ask his friends to ask a girl if she liked him. Most of the time his friends ended up with that particular girl. He’d stand back and watched his friends who he trusted make off with the girl they were suppose to set him up with.
My son decided to start shaving his peach fuzz so that he could tell everyone that he was shaving. No one ever asked if he needed to, they just assumed he did why else would he shave. My oh my it was a red-letter day if he nicked himself because then he had proof. "Yeah I’m trying out a new razor and I guess my whiskers are way too corse." I suggested putting miracle grow in his face but he didn’t listen. After awhile he began to grow coarse, fuzzy down ion his face, the only thing was that he had very blonde hair and so he tried to color the hair with my mascara but when it rained he looked like Tammy Faye Baker in drag.
I got such a charge out of hairstyles. My sons wanted bowl haircuts, now when I was younger that was something parents gave their sons whom they were trying to punish them. Girls would shave their heads with just a little tuft of hair left, put on combat boots, green field jackets and lots and lots of black makeup. All I could think at that time was that her parents must be so proud. The look scared me; it reminded me of nightmares I was avoiding. What’s next, barbwire chokers, and rhinestone lips? I am afraid that body piercing has entered our midst. My son decided that after he moved out that he would pierce his eyebrow, lips, and tongue. Why, it isn’t pretty or manly in fact I don’t know what it is. When I see a kid with their nose pierced I want to raise a red cape to see if they will charge.

16 years

Ah yes 16, the age of jobs, driving, dating, and the dreaded curfew. I tried to be pretty flexible with my kids. Their curfew was they could go but be back by 18 years old. I never wanted to be "The man trying to keep them down".
I am a firm believer in giving my children responsibility, so my kids got chores and that way I knew who to get mad at when I ended up doing them. When my children got to the ripe old age of consent, I let them know it is time to start preparing for the real world and that meant get a job. I wouldn’take their money and what they earned was theirs to keep. Fair enough? I thought so but it was not an incentive to get a job. Their ideas of looking for work is to look on bathroom walls, study ceilings and maybe ask a friend that didn’t have a clue. They just knew that someday a job was going to bite them in the butts and voila’employment would be there like magic. One rule I have always had was that if they wanted to drive they had to have a job. Well there is a way around that, they’d get girlfriends that could drive and would have access to a car. What I found amazing was that not only could those girls drive but they also had jobs. "See mom, not all is lost." They had managed to kill 2 birds with one stone and don’t worry about dignity, it isn’t necessary.
I have met many boyfriends and girlfriends of my children. I can honestly say some I was impressed with and some I was not. Some of them I felt I needed a gun close by. At that time the questions became a little more upfront. "Mom how do you feel about birth control?" or "All the guys carry a condom in their wallets, can I have one too? I promise not to use it." Trying to explain the pitfalls of sex before marriage is like not trying to get crap on my shoes at a Black Angus ranch. So I do the only mature thing and that is not talk about it. Many times I’d go into a crying fit, hanging on their legs and begging them to "just say no!" When that didn’t work I start telling to think of the starving children in Somalia. It seemed at this point they had become so utterly confused and forget what they had asked. That made me happy, I’d wipe the sweat from my brow and realize I had thwarted this subject a little longer. I would have been happy if I could have done that till they were married.

17 years

When my son turned 17 he believed he was a man of the world. When he spoke the heavens would rumble from the voice of experience. He’d try to warn his younger siblings to not do what had himself just done, he felt that he had done and seen it all and ready for life but was life ready for him? Now that he was quicky approaching his manhood with all of this unbridled experience by his side he could start looking toward the future. I was so proud, I’m thinking a college, jobs, career, family. He's thinking at the same time tattoos, body piercing, growing his hair long, living off his friends and the freedom to go wherever. As much as I would love grandchildren I’m praying in my heart, "Please don’t let him reproduce."
Now I know that kids have to at some point in time break a rule or two and that day would come that they’d test the waters and break curfew. Not only did this test the waters but also tested my compassion and intelligence. I could handle being a little tardy but all night long? When they finally did make their appearance, they knew I was mad by the look on my face. They always came up with the dumbest thing possible at that time to say. "What? Are you mad?" Then came the excuses. "Her car broke down and I just know you wouldn’t want me to walk home." Or "Honestly mom, we were playing touch football, I got tackled by some really big guys, they knocked me unconciousness. I developed amnesia, or I would have called; you know that!" My most favorite one was, "I’m sorry I just lost track of time."

18 years

I had finally made it to this time in my child’s life when I would have to say "Goodbye". I cried over each one leaving the nest and every time the emptiness in the house became a little more overwhelming. I’d stand by and watch them take the last of their stuff out, their excitement was definitely there. Now it is their turn to experience all the things that I have talked about in this book. Thoughts ran through my mind, "Will he be ok?" and "I wonder if I did ok as a mother." I then realized that nothing will be the same now and that I had just become a ‘has been’. During the first few weeks, I’d go into their rooms and stand, hoping to catch something in the air that might help me remember something I may have forgotten at some time. All 18 years flashed through my mind, my thoughts would drift back to the good times and the bad times and wipe the tears away. It hadn’t been that long ago that he was just a little boy running through the house screeching with delight or showing some cool bug he found. It wasn’t that long ago I was kissing her booboos away or sewing clothes for her or putting her hair in pigtails. When the phone would ring, my heart would beat hard and I would pick of the phone hoping that it was one of the kids telling me that they still needed me but it was all for naught as it was usually someone else. Where had all the time gone? While exerting energy to help them prepare for their future away from home I had neglected to prepare myself for this moment.
I realized that my life had been full and busy and how I hardly ever had any time for the things I wanted to do. All of a sudden, a smile crossed my lips, TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have time to pursue some of the things I have always wanted to do. I realized that I didn’t have to get dinner done at a certain time or trying to find someone that might watch my kids for me. I felt joy over this new found freedom, so many avenues I can follow up on. The phone rings and with me still in deep thought I’d answer. "Mom, can I come over and do my laundry?" Of course I’d say yes. Then soon a few more rings and eventually most of my kids are at the house. While I was doing their laundry they would be invading the kitchen. "What do you have to eat?’ They begin piling food into their mouths, on their plates, and in their pockets. They acted like they hadn’t eaten for a month I leaned back against the way and realize that nothing has really changed. I will always be ‘mom’ and no matter what might happen after that, there will always be small children in a way and I’ll always be needed. I smiled and knew that the things I wanted to do could wait a little longer. I knew that I could do those things once they were settled down and married.
You ask, "Would I do it gain?" You bet and more of it.