Category Archives: humor

New title and tagline

WordPress is sending me daily emails. Trying to help me with my blog education. Today I was supposed to update my title and tagline.

When we got our first foster care placement back in September, our number of kids went from 5 to 6. At the time, my Instagram account was titled 5grubbworms. That was driving me crazy because now there weren’t just 5 there were 6. Even if Pipsqueak is only here for a little while, she’s a Grubb while she’s here. So I pondered changing it to 6grubbworms but I have no idea if we will foster more children in the future so why place a limit on the number? So my @5grubbworms became @allthelittlegrubbs on Instagram and I liked it so much I decided to revamp the blog name too.

The tagline is a different story and requires a little more explanation.

I love children. All the children. I really do. I’m the grown-up who will fight for the kids. I want to protect them all, heal them all, love them all. I would gladly give them my all.

Unfortunately, I’m also an introvert. Most small humans under the age of 18 tend to be loud and have endless stores of energy and emotional needs. It’s the way they are wired.

In essence, what I love about children – their innocence, kindness, excitement, energy, creativity, transparency, affectionate natures and potential, is also what is so, so exhausting.

Are they worth it though? Are they worth wanting to crawl into a shell after being with them all day? Are they worth never getting to have a complete adult conversation? Of not having time to read a book, or write a blog post, go on trips, etc.? Of course. No doubt.

My new tagline: Give me all the children. Then get them away from me.

Fatty, Fatty 2 by 4

*This post is a follow up to my Social Media Fast post, if you’d like to start there.

Funny-Weight-loss-Cartoon-W630

I decided to move on to another area of my life that has been weighing me down (literally). My eating and my exercise habits (or lack thereof). I have approached these changes with a totally different attitude than I ever have. I am only drinking water and black coffee, no more sodas or tea, creamer or Frappuccinos (evil Starbucks). I was consuming a lot of sugar and crap through what I was drinking and I wanted to see if the same amount of self-discipline that allowed me to quit social media would also be there while I quit eating desserts, eating after 6:30pm and drinking sugar.

As with the social media fast, I quickly realized that this was going to be more of a psychological battle. The first challenge? Becoming obsessed with a number on the scale. So many experts out there will tell you not to worry about what the scale says. I don’t have a specific number in mind, but I do have a range I’d like to be in. And I have to make that my goal because I can’t see my own body for what it is.

When I look at myself it is all subjective. My number on the scale may be 50 pound less than the person next to me, but I still see and feel that I am too big. I know everyone may not have this problem, but I’d venture to say the majority of American women do. We are not usually pleased with our bodies, no matter what we say or project. There is a certain amount of my “give a damn” that broke when I turned 40. But I am human. I’d rather not be buying bigger sizes of clothes. I’d rather be comfortable in a swimsuit. I’d rather not look 6 months pregnant when my youngest child is about to turn 5.

So my motivation initially to make diet/exercise changes was to lose weight. But just like with the social media fast, I quickly realized with every day that passed that I was sleeping better, having fewer headaches and fewer mood swings. It’s funny how much and how long we justify our bad habits. I have had so many sweet friends over the years try to give me advice on how to better care for myself physically. Drink more water. Walk or run. Cut out most sugar. Don’t eat late. Eat more veggies. Don’t eat out.

And I appreciate every moment they took to try and help me. Unfortunately, what comes easier to some, comes very painfully to others. I DETEST exercise. I didn’t say that so plainly for many years, but it’s the truth. I didn’t play sports as a kid, the opportunities weren’t afforded me to even try. By college, my roommate was a runner and exercise science major. At that point I was about 120 pounds and thought exercise was a) BORING b) quite uncomfortable (with all that sweating) c) pointless. Then my mid-20’s hit and along with it came 5 babies in a less than 8 year span. And I grew all those babies. Like I gained all the weight and have all the stretch marks (making me regret the belly button ring I had in college).

Along with the eating changes, I do want to start walking. The three oldest kids will be running cross country this semester. I’m hoping to walk while they are practicing three times a week, IF Parker and Jonah will cooperate and walk with me.

Here’s to hoping I can continue to establish good habits, feel healthier and lose a few pounds. Without having to eat a skinny person.

training for a 5K

I bet that title got some people’s attention.

Especially if you know me at all.

I do not run.  A few of my close friends in the past have spent time trying to “teach” me to run.  They were great teachers but apparently I am not a quick study.  Obviously, running is NOT like riding a bike since once you learn to ride a bike you never forget. I know I must have ran as a child. At the very least I spent a year as a 2 year old once and I needed to run away from my parents

I always joke, “if you see me running something is probably chasing me.”

Which led me to this fabulous idea regarding training for a 5K.  The research into this has been low I will admit.  It’s really just in the planning stages at this point. 

All kidding aside there probably are people out there who research what motivates people to run.  They probably have all the great ideas of having the race support a good cause, giving out t-shirts and free snacks at the end, trophies and medals….

However, I think of those things and my affinity for running does not increase at all.  Am I a heartless person who doesn’t care if we find a cure for cancer or free prisoners in other countries or save cute little puppies?  I don’t think so. In fact, I think you would be hard pressed to find anyone who would say “no, I think cancer is cool, those prisoners are getting what they deserve and I’ll just take those puppies out myself {insert evil laugh here}.”

So, I’ve come with up with THE motivational tool that I think will finally work for me.  It didn’t just come to me, I’ve been saying it all along!

I referred to it above and you probably thought I was just kidding.

Here’s how it would go:

{Race advertisement shows a ferocious bear (or tiger) growling with it’s mouth open, sharp teeth exposed and dripping saliva to show you are about to be the next meal.}

FOR THE RELUCTANT OR DEFIANT RUNNER….THIS IS YOUR KIND OF RACE.
Want to lose a few pounds but not your life?
Want to test your fight or flight response as you are getting up in age?
Come to the race of your life! Literally.

Then when the actual race day arrived, the animal handler who has kept food from their beast would be at the starting line.  Now don’t freak out…the animal would be in a cage. 

Until the starting whistle…then the gates would open on the beast and off we would all go!

I understand that this may seem a little drastic, or possibly that it might terrorize the fans that have come to watch (maybe not if you’ve met the Romans).  For those of you who may not be 100 percent on board we will still offer a t-shirt and medal at the end.  It’s not like we would have to really buy that many…{insert evil laugh again}.

I’m sure they learned something today

Sometimes with homeschooling you just have to roll with it.  You’re tired.  Or they are tired.

This morning right after breakfast, Parker (age 4) decided he would pull out a couple of his 24 piece puzzles and then couldn’t find a piece.

That’s really how it all started.  Then Foster started to help him find his piece in the puzzle cabinet and noticed that some of the boxes were falling apart.  Foster pulled out a 300 piece puzzle and put it on the bar to work. I got out my sharpie and big Ziploc bags and started cutting up the broken boxes to get organized.  Then Katie and Theodore decided they wanted to play with the beans…but then they wanted to do puzzles when Jonah wanted the beans…

And so forth and so on…then there was playing with Legos, watching Magic School Bus, popcorn and animal crackers for lunch and a story before rest time.

I’m sure they learned something today.

(Wanted to include the knocked over basket of cardboard, the basket of dirty laundry and
you can’t make them out but the sink is full of dirty dishes too.)

in-between

Doesn’t it feel good to purge the stuff in your life? I’ve always gotten a thrill out of cleaning out and getting boxes and bags of stuff ready to donate.

Yesterday Chris and I spent a couple of hours going through our closet. He needed to get rid of things that didn’t fit anymore (because he’s lost so much weight) and things that he had been wearing for the past 10 years.

I needed to get rid of the things that didn’t fit anymore (not because I’ve lost weight) and things I wore mostly when I was nursing a baby or were given to me and just aren’t my style.

This part of the process wasn’t very painful.  It was a little depressing realizing I couldn’t keep a skirt or two because I couldn’t get them zipped up around my muffin top but all in all not such a bad experience.

It was the shopping later in the day that was horrid.

I have realized that I am in some strange “in-between” stage of life.

I went to the Juniors section, loving all the cute tops and dresses there. I picked up a dress. I got a large, after all, I’m no junior and knew I should be realistic.

Then I traveled around the endless path of women’s fashion and came to a skirt I really liked. It was in the Women’s section so I got a medium, I found a dress and picked up a large.

At this point, I was getting a little stressed. I could tell I was headed down a bad road because everything I saw seemed like it was something an old lady would wear.

I couldn’t exactly go back to the Junior’s section and try to pull off $90 skinny jeans that had been pre-ripped, faded and torn, either.

I finally had enough to warrant the dreaded trip to the dressing room.

My sweet husband had been following me the whole time, holding a sports bra and nightgown and handful of undies. He finally got a cart so he could troll behind me with my purse and list.

From time to time he had to dodge over-perfumed, white haired women who were on a mission to make the most of this one-day sale.

I went into the dressing room, promising Chris I would show him my selections once I got them on, knowing the poor man didn’t realize what he was asking.

I put on the junior dress, size large and was immediately sickened by the sight of a middle aged mom of 5 trying to look like she was 17. Yikes, it was ugly.

But I kept my word and slinked to the hall of the dressing room where Chris was standing right outside the door. I’m not sure what he said, my self deprecating thoughts drowning it all out.

I returned to the dressing room and had a brief moment of panic as I realized I might not be able to get this stupid dress off without ripping off the sleeves.

This continued with the women’s large which was too big and the dress that showed my 5 kids in 7 years belly.

I was in tears as I came out of the dressing room. I took the hug and encouragement offered by Chris. I tried not to lash out at him and just said “I need to get out of this place.”

And we did, we left the evil world of women’s clothing where a 37 year old gets stuck in the in-between of not young enough, not old enough, not thin enough and not fashionable enough.

We left and went back into our world, where my husband thinks I’m beautiful and my kids adore my squishiness and God reminds me that I am His no matter what I’m wearing.

mommy fail

Katie has begun reading more and more on her own. I was excited when she picked up a couple of Scooby Doo books at the library the other day because I knew they would likely challenge her. I feel like Foster really took off after tackling those level readers on his own.

I asked her yesterday if she thought she would be able to take them to bed and read them on her own and she said “sure!” Then today we had this conversation:

Me: “Katie how did you do with the Scooby Doo book?”

Katie: “Well, not very good.”

Me: “Really?” (genuinely surprised)

Katie: “Yeah, they are really hard.”

Me: “Are you just having trouble with certain words?”

Katie: “No, I don’t understand hardly any of the words.”

Me: (finally paying full attention) “What do you mean? What are some of the words?”

Katie: “There are all these 2 letter words that I don’t understand like el and la and se…”

Me: (so confused) “Could you bring the book please?”

Katie: “Sure.” (hands me the book)

…and the book is written in Spanish…

Total mommy fail. This is what happens when I take the preschooler and toddler to the library. I didn’t even notice that she had checked out 2 Spanish Scooby Doo books. I just had to laugh and tell her I was sorry that I am sure she will have an easier time reading the ones written in English.

Good grief.

the bodily fluid chronicles

You don’t realize until you become a parent how much time, energy and thought will go into your offspring’s bodily fluids.

When you tell people you are pregnant you get congratulatory comments:

“You are SO blessed!”

“It will be the most wonderful thing to happen to you!”

“There is nothing like looking into the face of your sweet newborn!”

And the few derogatory comments:

“Already?”

“Say goodbye to life as you know it.”

“How will you afford it?”

But typically no one conveys to you the dialogue that begins seconds after birth and ends, well, I don’t know when it ends.

Think about it.

The moments after your child is born someone (maybe you if you had a home birth) takes one of those baby sucker things and starts cleaning out all the guck from their mouth and throat.

Shortly after that the discussion turns to meconium. That’s a fancy word for the first poop. They say it is the first poop but actually it’s the first series of poop. And they aren’t really poop at all but black, sticky, tar that you would like to remove with pure acetone from your little lovey’s rear, but instead are shown by a nurse how to use a coarse, warm, wet rag to try and scrape baby’s hiney clean. 

It’s lovely really.

Then they come in with the “breastfeeding diary”. Which is a form they give to new moms who are trying to breastfeed to be sure she has the added pressure of whether or not she’s doing it right.

The one they gave me was so detailed that I was supposed to write the date, the time I started nursing, which boob was getting suckled, how long it was suckled and then how many wet or dirty diapers came after the suckling.

No pressure.

Geez.

What happened to the good ole days when you were plowing the field, birthed in a bucket and then just went back to work. You could just wear baby on your back and then spin him around front to suck his meal until he was full and soiled himself.

Ok, so maybe we don’t have to go that far but really? A written log for bodily functions when your baby is hours old?

And so begins the bodily fluid chronicles.

It’s no wonder mothers have a hard time talking about anything else.

The bodily fluid stats from just my past 24 hours would blow your mind.

My 5 kids, 9 years old and under, have been sick. So, there has been even more attention paid to what is coming out of them.

Please forgive me if you ask how we are and I respond with any of the following:

“Jonah only had 2 bowel movements yesterday and they seemed to be more firm in consistency.”

“Katie’s drainage is still a little green but doesn’t seem as thick as it has been.”

“Theodore had diarrhea 2 times in the middle of the night, it was like he was peeing out his butt, standing up. It was disgusting.”

Instead I will try to spare you and answer with:

“We are all feeling much better.”