Who's in Charge? myCharge!

The kids are back to school, but Moms know that's only the beginning! Now that the school year is in full swing, there's no slowing down. In fact, things can start getting pretty hectic this time of year between your work and your kid's homework, after-school clubs and sports, music lessons and carpools, birthday parties and play dates...the list goes on and on! Even the most organized Mom will tell you things can change at the last minute, and Moms of all people can't afford to run out of power...we mean for your phone or tablet, of course! myCharge knows how important it is for you to stay charged and connected all day - and all school year - long, so they're giving the gift of portable power so you're never left in the red! To keep you charged and connected myCharge is giving 3 lucky winners each an iPad mini with a myCharge HUB 6000 portable charger! The amazingly compact Hub 6000 features built-in cables and connectors for smartphones, tablets, e-readers and more. Get up to 27 hours of additional talk time for your devices, as well as integrated, quick-charge wall prongs. The Hub series is commonly known as the “Swiss Army Knife of portable power devices.”

 

Additionally, 40 winners will each receive an Energy Shot compact portable charger for their smartphones that delivers an additional boost when you need it most. They come in a variety of styles and can give you up to 10 hours of talk time! (Please note, smart phone not included in giveaway).



So Moms, stay out of the red this school year! myCharge is here to keep you charged and connected! For more information on products visit the myCharge website or follow them on Facebook. You can find myCharge products available at retailers such as Target and Kohl's. Fill out the entry form below September 15, 2014 - October 15, 2014 for your chance to be one of 40 winners to receive an Energy Shot Charger (10 winners randomly selected each week) and one of 3 grand prize winners randomly selected on October 15, 2014 to receive one iPad Mini with a myCharge HUB 6000 portable charger. Entrants must be at least 18 years of age or older, must live in the United States and have a valid shipping address. See giveaway form for complete list of rules and details. a Rafflecopter giveaway This is a sponsored post from myCharge.

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I will write.

I started this blog oh so long ago, just as a place to vent my feelings about a certain little lady coming into our world that I wasn't entirely rolling out the welcome wagon for.  I originally called my blog Confessions of a (Not-so-) Super Mom--because what mom wants to admit (outside of "confession") that they are absolutely NOT wanting to be a mom again?  I felt like the bane of all that is sacred and saintly about Motherhood.

I have been writing ever since I can remember.  I used to think that I would write something cool one day, like Stephen King-ish-freaky-cool stuff, but that never happened. Somewhere along the line I realized that I didn't want or need to make up stories, I just wanted to be able to tell my own.  But even that was tucked away, save several old notebooks chock full of poetic angst and a few scribbly napkins thrown in for most-likely-half-toasted-at-the-bar-spur-of-the-moment good measure.

Then life.  First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a job (or two), a kid (or two), a pound (or twenty) and life is just rolling along like a subway train--flashing by stations you didn't even know were coming until your heads whips around and they're gone.  And you're there still trying to read the signs.

Then things slow down and you've found a rhythm--you're swaying a little but holding steady on the strap--and sometimes it's bumpy and sometimes the car swings a bit wildly on the tracks but you recover.  And then when things seem the smoothest, when you think you've got it down--THIS is your life--you step off the train to discover that you're at the wrong station.  Maybe you think you can figure out where to go from here, but that doesn't make you any less pissed or panicked.

So this is the tipping point, now I start the blog. Why I don't want to be pregnant again, why I'm not happy to be a party of five, why I'm a crappy mom to feel all that. The NotsoSuperMom. That's me.

http://thenotsosupermom.com

The problem, or so I thought, was that I wasn't writing anything special.  I mean, some women have awesome (and not like: dude, awesome!, but like, awe-inspiring) stories about their lives, their families, their children.  I have felt from time to time, that it never matters that I write because not that many people are reading (i.e. who cares?), but the flip side to that--the freedom--is that that can be exactly why TO write because, WHO CARES?  So I trudge along.

I will admit, as a blogger, the social media can be draining but it's hard (for me, at least) to let it go.  You want to show your stuff, you want to share and be shared, and you want to just BE a part of something so much larger than your teeny tiny Who-speck of the blogosphere.

My blog will be 4 years old next month.  Four years is a long time to do many things.  Some days I feel like I'm getting less "Super" by the minute.  Other days I feel like I hit one out of the park. But the best days of all are the ones where you realize that you are someone that someone out there might care about.

I posted this picture on my blog facebook page tonight and I looked at this gorgeous little girl and thought: "She is someone."  And my second thought was "I look pretty good" (despite the Alfalfa hairs that fought their way out of my barrette, and largely due to some artful cropping of my fat-looking knees and calves but still, I like the shot.)

And when I thought about my little girl, my last baby, being someone, it made me feel bigger (in a good way) and made me feel important. Truthfully I don't need to keep this up.  I might still write (even if I didn't do it here), and I would miss this painfully sometimes, but I would be busy enough without it.  I would regret giving it up but by then it would feel pointless to look back at what wasn't there.

I am someone.  I have a story. Not the most interesting.  Not the funniest.  Not the most popular. Just mine. MINE.  And that's the best thing I will ever have. My own story.  To share.  To tell.  To relate.

I love that word, relate.  It encompasses several different meanings:  I can relate my story, and you can relate to it.  It brings us together.  You will know me a little, and the longer you are here, the more you may learn.  And of course I will never know you--not even a little--but if you stay, you read, you relate; on some level I will know you are there.
And I will write.

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If you can't pick your nose, pick Boogie Wipes! (and win $50!)

I've never done a giveaway before, but when given the opportunity to participate in this one, my answer was a resounding ....

"WHAT are Boogie Wipes?"

Since Moo and Slim are older and The Geel is potty trained, I guess I felt that my "wipes" days were over. But Boogie Wipes aren't just any old wipe.

Boogie Wipes are the wipes you WISH you had when you wasted a diaper wipe wiping your kid's snotty face when you were walking through the mall (or the grocery store, or the zoo....) with two whiny kids, an infant with a cold, a stroller lugging a gigantic diaper bag with nary a tissue in sight.

But Boogie Wipes aren't just for babies, and they aren't just for boogers.

In celebration of Great Grape Boogie Wipes being sold at Walmart, I'm teaming up with Boogie Wipes to offer the Great Grape Summer Giveaway! (I know, I know Summer is kinda over, but boogers know no season--except cold season and allergy season--and winning money is timeless!) 

 

One winner will be drawn each week for the next eight weeks and will receive a $50 Walmart gift card and a Boogie Wipes prize pack.

How to Enter

From following some of our favorite bloggers on social media to instagramming a picture of your Great Grape purchase at Walmart, there are dozens of ways to enter - and a few ways to enter every single day. Check back throughout the next eight weeks to enter again and see if you won! a Rafflecopter giveaway

Want to have more fun this summer?

Visit the Boogie Wipes blog for all sorts of summer fun ideas - including Sidewalk Chalk Recipes, Crafts and Games to Play with Pool Noodles and DIY Board Games (for when it rains). Good luck!

Giveaway is live Tuesday, July 8, 2014 until midnight on Tuesday, September 2, 2014. US and Canada residents only. One winner will be chosen each week and will be notified via email. The NotsoSuperMom received no compensation for sponsoring this event, and is not responsible for the delivery of the prize. Prize delivery is the sole responsibility of Boogie Wipes.

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Sinking and Swimming

I have often said that I can swim okay for myself, but I couldn't save anyone's life. Contrarily, The Sarge is an excellent swimmer. In fact, I love to watch him swim. It fascinates me, much like watching someone who can play an instrument well. I can do neither, and I am mesmerized when I can watch others do those things with such ease and grace.

Moo seems to take after him in this way. She has always loved the water and took to it fairly well without too much teaching. Slim just last year really got the hang of it. He had always liked the water too, but took a little longer to pick up actual swimming skills. And even though Moo is now 12 and Slim is soon-to-be 10 neither of them are ever in the pool unsupervised.

We were at my in-laws last weekend and they have an in-ground pool. The kids love it because they have always been able sit on the steps with a "floaty" even before they could swim well.  I love it because I have never needed to climb and/or carry anyone up and down a ladder to get in or out.  The Geel just turned three a few months ago and while she has enjoyed being carried around the pool the last few years, this year she has been less interested in getting in the pool than she has been in playing with the plethora of pool noodles, inflatables and boogie boards lying around it. And I am perfectly happy letting her play around the pool (heavily supervised) rather than IN it because I'd prefer not to be IN it. In addition to not being the greatest swimmer, I'm just not a water-sports person in general.  Truthfully, I'm not an any-kind-of-sports-person, but I digress. 

This last visit, The Geel has been obsessed with the pool toys. Obsessed. She takes them out of the storage bin. She gathers them around her all within arm's reach of the pool steps. She puts them in the pool; she takes them out.  They float away; I retrieve them. Until she decides to retrieve them herself. My mother-in-law and I both watched her walk around to the deep end and try and grab a boogie board that had escaped her. Of course she knocked it away from the edge and we watched tensely as she bent over the side, determined to grab it's slippery edge. Never taking our eyes off her we discussed in hushed tones her lack of fear. A few feet away we waited for the inevitable splash. It never came. Success(!) as she grabbed the elusive board and carried it back to her domain on the steps of The Shallow End. Her lack of fear now solidified.

The following day we are again out back at the pool. Same obsession, same toys, same scenario. She gathers, they fall in, they float away. This time the object of her attention is a large inflated alligator. She has seen the big kids climb aboard many times from the side of the pool. She is determined. This time, I know, there will be no success. It is impossible that she will be able to mount this creature like the older kids with their longer limbs and so much experience. She will go in. I watch from about 10 feet away. I am sitting in a chair but I am tensed to spring up and out, never taking my eyes off her, knowing she will slip from my gaze and under the water. Knowing I will likely need to go in after her. This is how fast it happens:

In the fraction--THE NEARLY IMMEASURABLE FRACTION--of a second that I glance down to ensure my path was clear, she disappeared. I shot like an arrow to the pool. I, the not-so-great swimmer. I, fully clothed in my pajamas, rush over. And in the following FRACTION of a second I decide that she is too far from the edge for me to easily grab any part of her, but I am equally afraid that she is too close to leave enough room for my 160+ pound self to jump in the water without dragging her down further in the effort. I jumped in and tried my best not to disturb her, not to push her further under. I wrapped my arm around her torso, grabbed the edge of the pool, and hoisted her upper body out of the water. I spun her around and threw her over my shoulder while she coughed up whatever had made its way into her airways. I pulled and kicked us down to The Shallow End where I could stand. She cried and I felt that fear. Knowing I was going to let her fall didn't make the experience any less scary for me. But the absolute worst thing was that under the water, she was so horribly still. She was face down in the water and words just flew at me from childhood pool games: Dead Man's Float. I wasn't afraid that she had died just falling under, but she made zero effort whatsoever to move under the water. No flailing. No thrashing. Just stillness. A terrifying stillness.

This is us, right after wards.
Note the "WhyTF are you
taking my picture?" face.

In the end she was fine. I was probably more shaken, of course, thinking about the alternative consequences. And although has been seemingly no less afraid of the water since then, she has been asking for more help fetching the pool toys.

I do wonder if I should have let her fall in at all, and I do not pat myself on the back for "saving" her. I am no hero, right?  I mean, I let it happen. But everything was okay in the end. I, the not-so-super-swimmer, did not sink. I swam.

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Annie Get Yer Gun (or The Night I Almost Shot my Yoga Pants)

We live in a fairly rural area outside what is perceived to be a "sleepy" little college town, and although it is not the innocent small town many people would like it to be, it is definitely not on any list of worse places to live in the United States. However, we have seen our share of incidents--and not terribly far from where we live--in addition to our own brush with vandalism.

The Sarge, being, well, a sarge, is definitely a believer in the Second Amendment. Not card-carrying NRA members, we are gun-owners.  We bought one in particular because it would be easier for me to handle, in the case that I should need to "handle" anything while he is away. 

source

The Sarge went away a few weeks ago for his National Guard Annual Training. Since Spring had finally decided to stay in the Northeast, the weather had been pretty nice. Enjoying my solitude, I decided to sit out on our back deck with a glass of wine, gaze at the stars, troll facebook on my smartphone and successsfully avoid the literal mountain of laundry in my living room.

Laundry? What laundry?

It was kind of chilly, so I donned one of The Sarge's hoodies before heading out to bask in the starlight and the tiny glow of social media. I even brought the dog with me so that she could take care of her nightly before we both turned in. One glass down, some trolling accomplished, I decided to head back in for a refill. As I walked back in the house I see a pair of my yoga pant strewn carelessly across the floor (to the right of the baskets in the picture).

Huh? How did THOSE get THERE? The dog was out with me, so she wasn't rifling through the laundry (not that she ever even does that. Ever.) As far as I knew the kids were all in bed as I am certain they would have called for me had they gotten out of bed and I was not there. All that in about 1.2 seconds and I am now officially FREAKED OUT.  What? The? Fuck?

So I scurry back to our bedroom and free the aforementioned weapon from it's hiding place. I inserted the magazine into the grip and came back down the hall.....

source

Now might be a good time to mention that I've never actually fired this weapon. I am licensed to carry and I usually get a refresher course from The Sarge before he goes away. This time was no different. In fact, we had taken it with us on a recent trip and I had put it away myself.  It had been a while since I'd held it. Before I locked it up, I inserted the clip (I was ALONE in my home) but forgot how to remove it. We took it out and The Sarge reminded me how to remove it and how to chamber a round and how to release the safety.

So I head out into the kitchen to retrieve my phone. I closed and locked the open back door and decided to walk downstairs to check things out. The downstairs was "clear" and the garage doors were locked. I came back upstairs and just stared at the yoga pants, as if they might just stand up and walk themselves back to wherever they came from. 

What? The? Fuck? I was still freaked out and could not figure out HOW in the hell they came to be in the middle of the floor or why? What kind of message was this would-be intruder trying to send me by carelessly tossing my pants on the floor? "Get off the floor, you lazy bitch!" "Do some housework!" "FOLD ME! FOLD ME!" What could he possibly be saying that the mountain of laundry wasn't already? 

Like any faithful Law and Order junkie, I surveyed the scene. One glass of wine was not enough to make me think that I had thrown down some yoga pants and completely forgot that I had done so, but I was the only person awake in the house, so what HAD I done? Let's retrace my steps......

 

I poured myself some wine, stepped outside and set it and my phone down so that I could go back in for a jacket. I got The Sarge's hoodie from the hook by the front door, held it in front of me and swung it around to slide both arms in while walking toward the kitchen. THE HOODIE!!  My yoga pants must have been static-ly clinging to the inside of The Sarge's hoodie! When I swung it around they must have fallen out onto the floor! Obviously I didn't notice and I never looked back on my way to the back door.

Mystery solved! And the only thing shot in the process was my nerves. Lenny Briscoe would be proud.

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The Sugar: I Am Not an Activist.

One thing I have learned on this journey is that it is a very personal one for each of us on it. Another thing I have learned is that I am not an activist.

This is a statement I've made many times and it has been a source of both pride and shame.  I am proud to say it because I wouldn't have the nerve to turn my daughter or her disease into a cause. Besides (and more pointedly), I am too lazy--which is sometimes the source of my shame over the matter. However I put the question to myself, I have never felt any judgement on the matter from anyone else. But I sometimes wonder if I could or should be doing more. 

There are always opportunities to fund raise, organize walks, participate in walks and I'm sure many ways to donate time. Of course, I can't even find time to donate to my laundry. The thought of even organizing ANYTHING is overwhelming and exhausting before I ever lift a finger--forget about actually DOING anything. I know real moms--ok, one mom--with more kids than I, who works full time, home-schools (I have no idea how that happens), works out regularly and travels quite a bit.

Meanwhile I can't even figure out how to get Moo and Slim each to one weekly Scouts meeting, write some semblance of a blog post at least once a month and take less than three months to do our taxes every year. This is above and beyond all the regular day-to-day stuff.  Obviously my friend must not sleep. Clearly, the almost-six, frequently-interrupted  hours I'm getting is way too much.

The other day I had to call our new pharmacy company because Moo received two incorrect prescriptions--for both types of insulin. Thankfully we are not at a point where this is an emergency situation, but while I was on hold with the pharmacy my mind wandered and wondered about what I would do if it was. Would I bust down the doors of the local CVS demanding this necessary drug, lest my daughter's life be at stake? (I totally would.) And THAT I wouldn't even consider "activism." I mean, life-threatening situations are not something negotiated over meetings and facebook events.

So then what exactly is my threshold of activism? Do I even have one? Even after giving this some measure of thought, sadly, I have no clear answer. I would never judge anyone for the tremendous effort they put in to help any cause. Everyone's time is valuable, and many of us have limited resources.  It is no small thing to generate a money for and interest in something that can affect our lives and the lives of so many others in significant ways. Obviously, I would never let a life or death matter idle on while I was busy folding clothes or loading the dishwasher. I would bust down those doors and I would do whatever necessary to keep my daughter alive and/or safe.

On the other hand, I really don't see myself organizing a walk or a bake sale or doing much to raise money or awareness. It feels and it probably is pathetic to even say as much, but I can't even figure out how to activate my kids to do a couple chores every week, how could I possibly motivate a number of folks to donate their hard earned cash and valuable time for my cause? My lack of enthusiasm for the idea is obviously not motivational. I just hope it doesn't come across as apathy to my daughter. I could not love her any more than I could love this disease less.

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Know Thy Enemy

I sat down to write about something completely NOT this post, but after a quick trip to the bathroom this post has been hijacked by your friendly neighborhood domestic centipede.

Source

(Nothing makes my skin crawl likes these fuckers.)

I HATE THEM. Like, a lot. 

So I took a potty break,and what do I see out of the corner of my eye? The biggest domestic centipede that has every traipsed it's long hairy legs through my house, scurrying along the inside of the bathtub.

I wish wish wish I had run to get my phone and taken a picture, but you have to act fast when you see one of these bitches on the run. It's body was at least an inch and a half long. Just the body!!--that's not including the length of the antenna and those whip-like legs propelling it forward.

Usually when faced with such a fast opponent, my go-to method of extermination is a spray bottle of whatever deadly (at least to an insect) chemical cleaner I can grab first. I spray the enemy liberally (or sometimes even spray the projected path of my adversary, if they are too fast for a direct hit) and wait for the poison to exact is toxic affects, incapacitating the beast so that I can run for approximately 8 paper towels with which to dispose of the vile (sometimes still-twitching) remains.

Knowing that I had no such weapon in the limited storage space under my bathroom sink, my only choice was hand-to-hand combat with a mere wad of toilet paper for protection. In the brief time it took me to grab my "weapon" it was heading behind the shower curtain. While pulling back the shower curtain I lunged toward it and squashed it with my soft but powerful toilet paper wrecking ball.

It was so large that even Scott's Extra Soft couldn't contain the carnage. There was a disgusting smear of brown-black gunk on my tub that, in the nanosecond that it took me to wipe up, I briefly considered photographing. But I like you people, so I have spared you the gory photographic evidence of my crime. My apologies to those of you who would have preferred confirmation, but I really just wanted to clean that shit up as fast as I could.  Maybe next time I'll grab my phone on the way to the paper towels.

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