You know that scene in Flashdance - the one where she's doing the frantic running in place while sweating profusely and shaking her head around? Wearing legwarmers? Looking all glisten-y and sexy?That's totally me this week. I'm a Maniac! (You're welcome for getting that song stuck in your brain.)

I've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off, trying to adapt to the schedule that I'll be following for the next couple of months. Oh, who am I kidding? It's going to be like this for the next 16 years.

I knew it was a matter of time. I sat back smugly with my toddlers and watched my friends with school aged kids rush out of the house for drop off in the morning, manage to squeeze in 15 errands while keeping tabs on friends and relatives via cellular phone as they dashed about town in their SUVs. I shook my head as they fit my entire week's agenda into four hours, then managed to add a few sports or piano lessons into the mix. I was exhausted just thinking about it. I swore I would find a way to simplify, so that I could continue on with my smugness.

Remember, I'm a lazy, lazy woman. I like a slow start to my day. I loathe the notion of 'tardy' and I prefer my day to run on "maybe, if I feel like it" as opposed to "look smart, get here on time and bring five forms of ID, your checkbook and other random but apparently important documents."

Go ahead, scoff. I am pathetic, but nevertheless, it is a HUGE effort for me to get out the door on time to get my daughter to kindergarten most days. Add in a preschool drop off, swimming lessons for my youngest (where I have to *shudder* get in the pool, too) preschool pickup, kindergarten pickup and then swimming lessons for my oldest two, along with assorted jaunts to Target and 500 loads of laundry... for a chaotic brained, world champion ass sitter like myself, this daily schedule of places to be, things to do - GAH!

Okay, 95% of the stuff I do with the kids takes place within a mile of my house. Seriously. The elementary school is a mile north, the preschool and swim center are in the same complex, one mile east. I can, and often do, walk to these places, which is great, because I did manage to schedule our drop-off/pick-up times to allow for walking. So, like, in theory, I have no complaints.

But I'm me, and that means there is always room for complaints. Hah! I haven't even had time to blog about my adventures this week. And there was comedy gold scattered throughout.

My oldest lost her fourth tooth, and the tooth fairy actually remembered, so as to avoid a five am bait and switch. In my naivetee, I assumed that you lose a tooth, gain a tooth. She's lost four, and the space has been filled with two. Where will the other two go? I can hear my budget groaning over the orthodontics in our future.

My son had his pre-kindergarten physical and shots. I had to ask a dingus question and in my infinite maturity struggled for a good minute to not say 'boner' or 'stiffy' or 'sporting wood', finally settling on 'erection' which I blurted out and then half-snickered. Luckily my son was in the middle of a 30 minute long monologue about trains or something, so he didn't hear me being an ass while trying to ask a technical question.

Ooh! Hot tip! We believe in full disclosure when it comes to getting shots etc. I told my son the night before that he would be getting shots, so he wouldn't be surprised. At breakfast, my oldest regaled us with tales of how painful her shots had been, and how she had cried for an hour, and how the pain lasted for days, and she was sure she was going to die. My son took this under advisement, but he knows his sister's flair for the dramatic, and took a more moderate approach.

"Mom, is it going to hurt?"

"Yeah, for just a minute. It feels like a pinch."

"Oh, okay."

Off we went. I had read that to help kids manage the pain/stress of shots, you can have them buzz like a bee. So when it was our time, he hopped up on the table, and began to buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz. He flinched once, but never cried through three injections, and actually thanked the injection nurse. It worked. Weird, but effective.

My youngest decided that since her brother was calm and in control, she would have to carry the Circus mantle, and threw several epic tantrums. These included throwing herself on the floor screaming, trying to rip up books in the waiting room, going stiff when I tried to strap her into the stroller, and my favorite, the disappearing armpit trick while I was trying to lift her limp, shrieking body off the exam room floor. I puffy heart two year olds. Yes, I do.

Speaking of this youngest child of mine, she's becoming very physical. She has learned that screeching doesn't work, so she will try to push, pull or steamroll her way to getting what she wants. If I am making dinner, she will wedge herself between my legs and the counter and start shoving in an attempt to move me to the fridge to get her a drink.

OMG. I just typed "shart" which the hubs has gleefully adopted into his vocabulary, oh thank you Ben Stiller.

Ahem.

She will grab her siblings by the back of their shirts and force them to the ground. She frequently initiates wrestling matches, with a glint in her eye that scares me a bit.

We've decided that my oldest, with her exacting nature, will be an engineer. My son, a professor who loves him some long drawn out lecturing. And my youngest? Ultimate fighter, baby. No doubt.

I've got to get some laundry done, so that we have clean socks to wear to the rescheduled birthday bash tomorrow. We opted to hold it at an indoor inflatable jumpy place. We're going to feed 'em cake and juice and then turn 'em loose to jump until they puke or get a concussion. Whee!

Now, you must excuse me. I have to get my legwarmers out of the dryer and get ready to resume my frantic dancing.