It started on a morning a week ago Thursday with a normal routine of muffins, oatmeal and chocolate milk. The boys were watching Cartoon Network while I was preparing a bottle for the baby. The next thing I knew, our less than 3-year-old big screen TV went black. Beads of sweat started to form as I tried to turn it back on. I even plugged and unplugged. Nothing worked. How the hell was I supposed to make it through the day without a TV? I started to panic and called my husband who said that he needed the receipt with the warranty in order to get it serviced. I can’t find two missing potato heads, there is no way I’m going to be able to find this receipt. Luckily, he’s use to my minor meltdowns, went ahead, and called the store. He calls back with the dire news that the service guy won’t be able to get there until the following Wednesday. Unfortunately, the store didn’t get the memo that having three kids under the age of five and a not so domestic mother is supposed to move you to the top of the list.

I’m betting that half of you feel my pain without explaining any further how essential the TV is to my daily life of actually getting anything done. The other half are probably thinking, “Have you ever heard of crayons?” Well, I have. They are the tool of choice for my artistic preschoolers to leave their mark all over the house. Anyway, being the person I am with a long list of items to accomplish in a day while taking care of a 4-year-old, 3-year-old and 10-month old, the television has become my friend. That is until it went black.

Now mind you, we do have another television in the master bedroom, but we also still have the baby sleeping in there as well. Time, life, and lack of space crept up on us and we were still in the process of clearing out my office for the baby. So, how in the world was I going to be able to occupy the boys while I put her to sleep? How was I supposed to watch Oprah while she was sleeping? How was I going to get anything done in the house without access to the Wii?

I have to tell you, I never wanted a TV guy more. A six-day wait for the service call turned into seven thanks to mother nature dumping a foot of snow in my ill-prepared city. Finally, the TV guy comes and less than 15 minutes later, the music of Yo Gabba Gabba filled the room. To quote my 3-year-old, “I like the TV guy.” Me too Hayden, me too.

Still, this impromptu experiment did do my family good. I have to say that it wasn’t easy, but going cold turkey (almost, there was still access upstairs) did me and my children a lot of good. They were forced to play with the zillions of forgotten toys collecting dust. A little bit of creativity was sparked and they began making up their own games. I used play dough as a reward for listening and being quiet while I put the baby to sleep. It also forced me to put a move on it and finally move the baby girl into her own room. I learned that I don’t need to rely on the television so much. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t become all anti-TV or anything. I still need to vacuum and clean the backyard. Sounds and pictures will still come from the big box in the corner as needed. But, getting a break from listening to Bendaroo and Blendy Pen commercials every five minutes is sweet.

“What did you do?”

“I made you polka dots mommy. Surprise!”

“Holy !@%$#%!!!!!!”

That was the conversation I had with my 4-year-old a few days ago. Oh, he surprised me all right, by redecorating every wall and floor downstairs with a collection of painted polka dots. Let’s start from the beginning…

For those of you that don’t know, I have a 4 ½ month old daughter. Of course, the baby takes naps and it is near impossible to put her to sleep downstairs with the boys around. Therefore, I rock her to sleep upstairs where the noise is at best, muted. However, it is always a crapshoot as to what I’m going to find when I come back downstairs. So far, the worse mess has been a picnic set-up with real food that included the dog as a guest. Leave it to my 4-year-old, the master planner, and his 3-year-old sidekick to top that.

My day started as one that would’ve put anyone teetering on the brink of insanity, over the edge. We were running late for a 9:30 dentist appointment and the van wouldn’t start. I couldn’t even get the side doors open. So, I had to squeeze my way in and maneuver car seats through the van and out the driver side door. Then I had to figure out how to install them in my husband’s car. I get all three kids to the dentist’s office at 9:40. A woman in the waiting room tells me that I should tell my boys to sit down. Nice. Then I ask the receptionist why it’s taking so long to see my son and she says that his appointment is at 10:30. Ugghhh! I had to cancel my 3-year-old’s appointment due to his ITP. Apparently, he had the 9:30 appointment, not the 4-year-old. Somehow, I remained eerily calm through all of this, not one ounce of frustration. I mean, not one ounce. I tried to maintain peace, so my day wouldn’t snowball into hell. Uh, that didn’t work.

Excuse this flashback sequence of events. I probably watched too many episodes of Lost! Stay with me, because now I’m going to take you back to the scene of the most horrific crime I’ve faced as a mother thus far. I emphasize thus far, because my oldest child has a mind that I think one day might include world domination. Just kidding, he’s not evil, just… ingenious. Yeah, ingenious describes him.

When I walked into the kitchen, all I saw were spots of paint on the floor and 2-inch in diameter colored polka dots by the backdoor. That is until I looked to the right. There I could see every wall covered in my children’s abstract art. I look to the left and see more. I immediately ask where the 3-year-old is and see his shadow running through the living room. Apparently, his assignment was the living room and dining room. Do you believe that he actually came into the kitchen and asked me to open the purple paint? His older brother brainwashed him into thinking painting mommy’s walls was a good thing. Actually, my 4-year-old did not run and hide as usually the case when he does something wrong. Instead, he proudly showed off his wall art. I might have a miniature Jackson Pollock in the making.

I know that I cannot come close to describing the mess that was made within 15 – 20 minutes of alone time. (I swear that I left them peacefully watching Noggin.) I couldn’t quite believe it myself how fast those boys worked. I tried to tell my husband over the phone, but even he was not prepared for the massive clean up that waited for him at home. Carpets, floors, walls, and unfortunate objects in the way of two determined artists were covered in paint. We now have to repaint every wall that was touched with a brush, because of course washable paint doesn’t really wash off.

You’re probably wondering how I didn’t end up on the evening news with a breakdown after this day, good question. When one of my friends saw the mess, she asked me why I wasn’t freaking out and why I was so calm. I really didn’t know the answer at the time. I thought maybe the Eckhart Tolle stuff is working and I’m really living in the present. Maybe I’m actually becoming an enlightened human being. Then I realized that it had to be some kind of divine intervention that put me in a state of shock, so I didn’t end up on the 6:00 news. Just like how people are in a state of denial after a traumatic event. This coupled with many other things was my traumatic event. Amazing how the mind works.

Here are pictures of some of the walls involved in the unauthorized art project. Unfortunately, fewer walls were left unscathed than covered in polka dots.

The day started out great with a trip to the park. My 4-year-old and 2 ½-year-old listened and had a great time going up and down the slides. There was only a slight problem with the youngest when I told him it was time to go. He decided that he would rather crash the party in shelter #2 than go to the grocery store. After a slightly embarrassing chase through the shelter, I caught the party crasher and we were off. Little did I know that the real fun was on it’s way.

When we got to the store, I thought that it would be a good idea to give them each a little cart that they could fill with groceries. Who knew their minds would be able to keep a running total of who has what in each other’s cart. If only I had realized this before we got to the cookie ailse. So, I put a container of $3.99 cookies in my youngest son’s cart. The older one promptly takes it out and declares that it is his. The little guy isn’t going for this and takes them back. I’ve witnessed this scene before and know that it’s about to get ugly. My boys are small, but very scrappy. They don’t take any crap, especially from their brother. Before I know it, fists and food are flying. They’ve turned delirious and are acting as if they are famine stricken beings fighting over the last morsel of food. I wish I were exaggerating, but this shopping excursion has turned into a knockdown, drag-out fight. Somehow, amidst the stares of less than sympathetic shoppers, I’m able to pull them apart and grab a second package of cookies. This was my bribe to get them to the checkout lane.

Now they each have their own container of cookies, they act as if nothing ever happened. As if, they didn’t totally mortify their mother in the middle of the grocery store or try to rearrange each other’s face just seconds earlier. I did learn an unexpected lesson from the battle’s aftermath. I learned that it’s not worth holding a grudge. Kids don’t, why should we?

In retrospect, I’ve figured out that it’s not the taking them somewhere that is so difficult, it’s the combination of the two of them together and the competition that ensues. Unfortunately, I had to figure it out over a container of organic chocolate chip cookies in the middle of Trader Joes. The funny part is that the cookies weren’t even that good.

Incidentally, I didn’t actually buy the second tub of cookies. I made sure the cashier hid them. I use this tactic often with my youngest son, because he usually forgets about the item he wanted so badly. My oldest son on the other hand doesn’t forget a thing. It took approximately five times before he quit asking me if he was getting a cookie from his container or his brother’s. I think this is the exact situation where it is perfectly acceptable to lie to your child. “Of course, these are your cookies, dear.”

So, how does a mother of a preschooler, toddler, and newborn accomplish this? Good question. I’ve been trying to figure that out myself as my two boys have been auditioning for the TV show “Super Nanny” over the last two weeks. (No doubt, a delayed reaction brought on by the birth of their 6-week-old baby sister.) However, last Friday I did stumble upon my moment of peace.

Miraculously, all three of my kids were asleep at the same time. And it wasn’t during the middle of the night. At precisely 3:23 pm, I found a little bit of peace. I sat there smiling and wondering what I should do with my newfound silence. After about a minute, I decided that I would wash the dishes, relax with my muffin, and listen to Oprah & Friends on XM Radio. Unfortunately, baby girl had other plans and woke up 15 minutes later. Therefore, I didn’t get to finish the dishes, eat my muffin, and only heard bits and pieces of the words of wisdom on the radio I desperately needed.

In retrospect, I should have left the dishes and been present in my moment of silence. Lesson learned. I guess that’s all part of evolving as a mother. Utilize a quiet moment in time for yourself when it comes your way.

You can find all kinds of resources, tips, and activities to keep your kids happy on JustBreatheMom.com’s family travel page.

Here’s my story…

My 3-year-old comes into my bedroom and tells me that his little brother took his diaper off and put poop on the floor. Ok, not so bad I thought. I can handle a little poop on the floor. After all, it’s not as bad as my friend’s son who smeared his poop all over her wall. Oh, but how wrong I was. I walk into the room and see my curious little 2-year-old poking at the dark round pile on the floor with hands covered in what I would’ve given my last girl scout cookie to be chocolate. But, it wasn’t chocolate all over his hands, shirt, chubby butt, or stocky thighs. Yes, once again, it was a poop-tastrophe.

I immediately picked him up and put him in the tub. Off went the shirt, in went the bubbles, and within 10 minutes all was well again in the household. That is until 1 hour later when the stinker came running in my office once again without a diaper. It turns out that he doesn’t like anything rubbing against his pint sized penis or plump rear, so he takes off his diaper. He then proceeds to tell me what he did in his pants. Now if only he could only get the concept of sitting on the potty before he does his business. Then life would be good, with two down and one to go in the messy world of potty training.

**Warning** The pictures that you are about to see do not contain chocolate.