With Mother’s Day around the corner, I have been looking back at the years gone by and have wondered how it all happened so fast. Motherhood has been a roller coaster indeed; sprinkled with moments I never once dreamed would be a part of my life.

Yes, many were wonderful, happy and earth shattering times. But I am a sap. And if I start to list the beautiful moments I will a.) start crying and b.) bore you to tears.

So let’s talk trash.

Sure, we all expect sleepless nights, dirty diapers and screaming children. But frankly, there have been moments that couldn’t have been predicted. Things that came out of my mouth that I would not have fathomed saying years ago. And of course, there have been things I have done that I am not proud of.

June Cleaver, cover your ears because this is a top ten list you don’t want to hear.

The Top Ten Things I’ve Done As A Mother That I Am Not Proud Of

1. Laughing at my children when they get hurt. Yes, I’ve done it. But seriously. When your teenager peels around a corner and runs right in to the wall, landing unceremoniously onto his ass, how can you keep a straight face? Or when one of the children is watching a horror movie downstairs, gets scared, runs upstairs, trips and flies UP the stairs and then head first into the wall? I mean, you certainly don’t want to see your children hurt, but when they do it with style?  OK so I tried to keep a straight face.  But I am the world’s worst liar.  I don’t think I’ll be getting an award for this one.
2. I’ve spied on my children. Yes, that was me in the hallway, holding my ear to the door as I listened to my son describe his girlfriend to a neighborhood kid. It was just too good. I couldn’t help myself. And he never found out.
3. The Blue Flame Club. My oldest children are members. My brother is the President and I am the Chief of Staff. I handed them the lighter. And I’m not proud.
4. I have caught vomit in my hand. It wasn’t mine. And I did it on purpose.
5. I’ve lied to my children. “Oh but you HAVE to wear a veil for First Communion. That is the rule!” “If you don’t wash your hair you will get bugs!” “Maybe if you hadn’t been so mean to your brother, this would not have happened!”
6. I’ve bribed my children. Enough said.
7. I have spoken to my children calmly, handling a stressful situation with both grace and parental maturity. And then I stuck my tongue out at them when they turned their backs. And it felt good.
8. My children have told me “not to tell Grandma” something. I said OK. And then I told Grandma that something. Because it was just too good. And they never found out.
9. I’ve told each child they were my favorite when pushed. And I told them not to tell the others. And they didn’t.
10. My middle school son once told me his school picture was really bad. And that he looked stupid in it. But he thought it was kind of funny. So I pulled out the school picture and chuckled. And then I started to laugh. And then I started to laugh so hard I cried. And then I turned and saw my child didn’t think it was quite that funny.  Oops.

Oh, I could certainly tell you the amazing things I’ve done, from fighting old school doctors who believed my first and very sick child simply had  “colic” to comforting and hugging away every bad thing I can. But that would be the safe thing to do.

Today I’m being honest. Parenthood is ugly. It can bring out the best in you, but it can also bring out the worst. And I am being brave enough to tell you the worst. If any parents you know say they have never done anything they aren’t proud of, then they are lying. And you should stick your tongue at them behind their backs.  And it will feel good.

Parenthood. Discuss.

You may remember my earlier post about a great urge I had to blog about a handsome young black man doctor and a particular part of my anatomy. Now, the anatomy has been named. And all of Twitterverse knows it.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have had some issues with my breasts. And had to go to a doctor. And was felt up by a young physician. Who turned out to be a young idiot.

A wonderful fellow gastroparesis sufferer was concerned and asked if I knew the results of my mammogram. Through Twitter. Being the amazing A+ Certified Hardware and Software technician that I am, I answered her quite clearly. In a private message. From my stupid Blackberry. So I thought.

For after I posted my “private” comment that YES, my mammogram letter came and I am going to be alright, I realized that gee, maybe it wasn’t a private message? Frantically scrolling down, my heart leaped out of my chest when I realized that I had just announced to everyone on Twitter that my boobies were going to be OK.

My mind raced. I wasn’t near a computer and couldn’t figure out how to delete my tweet through the phone. So what do I do? I thought up the best “fix” I could think of and posted a quickly typed breast cancer awareness post. It just came out! The message is very serious and very true. But the quick, childlike attempt at a fix? I might as well have typed, “My daughter took my phone and even though she is only in second grade she posted that I had a positive mammogram result – how funny is that!” SHEESH!

So Jen, I’m raising the bar here. You commented with an incorrect spelling. I tweeted about my breasts. Can you take it a step further so as to save me from my own stupidity?

Please people… PLEASE.  Share an embarrassing story with me.  A major fail.  On YOUR part.  So everyone will forget about my breasts.

But today, I have a great need to tell you about my toilets.  I have two in the house, and neither work correctly.  The children’s toilet?  Constantly dripping when the water is turned on.  An empty Cool Whip container has become a permanent fixture under the shut off valve.  Water constantly leaks under the flooring, and it is only a matter of time before someone takes a flying crap, literally – right through the floor.

The main bathroom?  You have to hold the handle down for it to flush.  You hold it and hold it and hold it.  I’ve gotten pretty good though.  I can get up, put my foot on the handle and hold it down while washing my hands at the same time.  Pee, hike, flush –hold it down, hold it down, hold it down, wash wash wash, foot back down to the floor.  Process complete.

I’m not sure if it was the hike, the hold or the leak – but something inside me broke yesterday.  And led me to the hardware store.  A long toilet talk later, I was in line with a new flexible supply tube and a toilet repairing kit.

When I got home, I was told I would not be able to repair the toilets.  It can’t be done.  (watch me)  So I grabbed every tool I could find, along with my camping lantern and surgical mask.  Doesn’t every plumber wear a mask?  Well, this one does a day after her son was vomiting his guts out.  Newly disinfected bathroom or not!  If you had seen my son dry heaving throughout the night, you would understand.

So there I am, straddling the toilet which is pushed right up against the wall.  I twist, I pull, I shimmy.  But I cannot get the old supply tube unscrewed.  Tools.  I need better tools.  So I walk to my friend’s house down the street.  And get a BIG TOOL.

When I come back, a picture has been drawn for me to represent how my hard work will result in utter failure. NO LIE.  I was shown a drawing of the pipes, with arrows, and was told I would fail.  (watch me)

Fast forward.  Mishaps, redos, grunts and prayers.  I knew I was getting close.  And then I accidentally popped off the top of the fill valve.  Dang.  So I manipulate it, turn it and push it.  Turn on the water ever so slightly, nope!  Adjust again. Water on.  Darn!  But then I thought I had it.  I slowly (EVER so slowly) turned on the water and watched as the water easily flowed correctly in to the tank.  I open the valve all the way and take a closer look.

And that was when she blew.  And blew BIG.  The fill valve literally flew up like a rocket, hit the ceiling and came crashing down.  Water followed, shooting up like a pressure washer, practically taking paint off the ceiling.  As soon as I shut off the water, a quiet filled the bathroom.  I quickly looked behind me to be sure no one saw.  Phew.  I was safe.  (and wet)  (soaking wet)

Two hours later, I…. Katherine Murray…. had fixed TWO TOILETS.  Two toilets that had been misbehaving for months.  My middle son came to me and said, “You are the Man of the House, Mom.”  My oldest called me a rock star.  And my nine year old daughter belted out, “YOU don’t need no stinkin’ man!”

Me?  I danced.  I crowed.  I got an old forgotten beer out of the fridge.  And then I looked in the mirror.  All the flipping, turning , water spraying and hanging practically upside-down over the toilet bowl made my hair big.  I mean B-I-G.  Furthermore, I still had my mask on.  And I had my beer.  So of course, I asked my daughter to take my picture.

I mean, of all things sacred – it is the GIRL SCOUTS for heaven’s sake.  And Girl Scout cookies are iconic.  This is worse than the Girl Scout Cookie Flipping Incident.  Cookies and Drugs?  Incarcerate this mom and throw away the key, I say.

Ummm.  OK.  So I didn’t realize my prescription bottle had fallen into the bag.  And the fact that I was handing the bag of Girl Scout cookies and drugs to the security guard of the hospital?  That I work at?  Minor technicality.

In my defense, it was Nexium.  Call it a relief aid just in case the lemon cookies were from the recalled Lemon Chalet boxes.  Community service at its best.

Which one of you will send a nail file to break me out of jail?  Just don’t send it in a cake – it’s lent.  And please, NOT IN THE COOKIES.

Self talk. We all do it.  Think about it – no pun intended.  Our minds are constantly chattering.  Picture yourself driving alone or trying to fall asleep.  Your brain is always noting things, thinking about things, questioning things – you are constantly talking to yourself.

Wait.  I am assuming an awful lot.  Maybe it’s just me.  Probably.  Yup, most likely.  OK, so I will rephrase that.  I hear my brain chatter all the time.  You know, just making note of things.  “Oh, that is so pretty.”  “I’m really tired.”  “If I repainted the living room, what color would I use?”

Driving home today, I began to think about, well, things I had thought about this weekend.  And then I imagined saying these things out loud to a stranger who might not know the context in which they were thought.  Surely I would be locked up.

So here are a few things that ran through my mind this weekend.

• Apollo is sexy, but what’s with that ear?
• Whoa, there are little creatures swimming in there.
• Do lesbian couples HAVE to have a “who is the man and who is the woman” thing, or is that just something from TV?
• They have a row of TIKI GUYS on their lawn!
• Its 4:00 and I haven’t eaten anything today. Chalk one up for gastroparesis.
• Holy CRAP, this is a FREAKING MASION!
• Why do I have to struggle so much to simply buy groceries. I’m smart and I know how to make websites, so there has GOT to be a way to keep me from barely keeping my head above water.
• Stupid Google.
• That’s what she said.
• I smell poop.
• I want that cupcake SO BAD but it is Lent. I can’t eat the cupcake I can’t eat the cupcake I can’t eat the cupcake.
• Why can’t anyone flush the toilet around here?
• If I was gay I would so flirt with her.
• I am eating a tarantula.
• I have a strange change in my breast and they can’t get me in until March?!
• I want to make more money so I can secretly give to other people.
• He didn’t come home last night. YES!
• That house has been empty for over a year.
• I would do Johnny Depp even if he was dressed as the Mad Hatter.
• I haven’t been on a curly slide in YEARS!
• What did the dog eat that was red?

Seriously.  Are these things so important that my brain had to form an internal sentence about them?  If I had Tourette’s Syndrome I’d be in trouble.

I would LOVE for you to take a minute to think about what has run across YOUR mind in the last few days.  How bizarre, mundane or freakish has YOUR brain chatter been?  Extra points for honesty!

Last week was the final payment.  This meant I would have $370 more a month in my pocket.  What a godsend.  No more worry about how to pay for groceries every other week.  It was going to be just enough to help ease some of that amazing tightness.

I made a big “to do” when I put it in the mailbox.  The kids and I cheered.  I was absolutely overjoyed.

THEN…. last night, on top of my very-bad-no-good-day, I found an envelope from good ‘ol Suntrust Bank in my mailbox.  But it was not my “suitable for framing” car title.  It was ONE MORE BOOK WITH A YEAR’S WORTH OF CAR PAYMENTS IN IT.

I think I stopped breathing for a moment.  How could I have miscalculated?  My book was EMPTY!  It had been five years!  And then the realization hit.  It was a six year loan.  They just hadn’t printed up all the slips.

I sat down and cried.  It was just too good to be true.

As always, I called my poor mother with my “not always great news.”  She has the burden of not only being my mother, but my best friend as well.  Her response?  “How could you NOT KNOW!?”  I blurted out, “You raised an IDIOT, Mom.  An absolutely stupid IDIOT.  You should know that by now!”

An hour or so later, I really started to think about what I had said.  Am I really an idiot?  Honestly?  My heart knew the answer.  No.  NO WAY.  I have to work full time, raise three kids and keep a house.  I am in charge of it all.  I do homework time, prescription refills, uniforms, sports schedules, breakfasts, lunches, dinners, clothes shopping, permission slip signing, pick ups, drop offs, working out, website writing for extra income, cleaning, calendar keeping, hugging, reading, fussing, supporting, doctoring, tax preparing, physicals, school wakeups, medicine and vitamin dispensing, scout patch sewing, required school volunteering, constant weekend chauffeuring, miscellaneous child sports spectating, grocery shopping, schedule juggling (pant pant pant)… need I go on?  And on top of this, I have to constantly deal with my gastroparesis, which renders me exhausted and sick half the time on a GOOD day.

So Mom, I take it back.  You did not raise an idiot.  Things are going to slip by me.  Even important things.  But for every one thing that gets by, about a hundred don’t.  I am amazed I am still standing by the end of most days.

I am too hard on myself.  Far too critical at times.  I need to give myself more credit… more pats on the back for a job well done.

Are you critical of yourself?  Or do you allow yourself to stop and appreciate your job well done?

Quick!  Run to the laptop!  Check my sites!!!  Up?  Down?  Let’s see…. Same, up one, down one, same, same… and for my blog?  ZERO.

<silence>

No, wait, that can’t be right.  I am white hat.  I build links naturally.  I had a PR THREE for heaven’s sake!  This MUST be a mistake.  Let me check the internet explorer browser.  DANG… still a ZERO!

Yes, this was my week.  Between more sick kids (can you say “doctor trip and walking pneumonia on Halloween?”), work and everything else, there was the PR update that rocked my blogging world.

What is a poor, self taught webmaster to do?  And I’m not the only one.  I know others who work their fingers to the bone trying to make a bit of extra money on the web to feed their kids, only to dashed by search engines and big rich companies.

Yes, I know I know.  PR doesn’t really mean anything, does it?  But when it comes to link building, it DOES.  Who wants to link to a PR0?  Yup.  I have a big fat ZERO on my face now.  *sigh*

I went through the typical stages of mourning…  Denial (I’ll check it every ten minutes for the rest of the day – I’m SURE there will be a change!), Anger (Stupid GOOGLE!) , Bargaining (Maybe if I sent Matt Cutts some cookies?), Depression (That’s it. I will never blog again!) to Acceptance (I am a loser. Might as well blog about it!).

So I’ve changed my theme, changed my permalinks, I’ll continue natural link building and just for good measure, I will light a google candle in church next week.  Oh, and does anyone know Matt Cutts’ favorite kind of cookie?

How did your own blog or website do in the October 2009 PR update?

Let me tell you all about the start of my day.  Before the kids were even awake I had my shower, makeup and hair done.  The lunches were packed.  The breakfasts were made and at the bedside of each child.  Animals were fed and coffee was done.  Time to wake everyone up.

My daughter was asleep on my bed, her tray next to her at the ready.  Honeycomb, mmmmm.  I was so efficient I actually had about five minutes to stop, drink my coffee and quickly hit Facebook.  A luxury.  I put my steaming cup of Dark Mountain on the bedside table.  I hook up my brand spankin’ new laptop.  I sit.  And do you know what happened?  Picture it all in slow motion.  Really.  Slow motion.

I have NO idea how it happened, but my lamp jumps up off the bedside table and flies through the air towards the floor.  This causes me to startle and throw my coffee mug up in the air.  The burning hot coffee flies up and then remembers gravity.  Down down it comes, splashing on my chest, down my work clothes, ON THE LAPTOP, over my shoe, down the side of the bed, under the bed, across the floor and on the wall.  BURNING HOT COFFEE.  I jump up, surprising my daughter, who then flips her tray over, cereal and milk crashing to the floor and spraying over the carpet.

Can you say, “GOOD MORNING GRACE?”

Change my soaking clothes, clean up coffee EVERYWHERE, pray to the patron saint of laptops as I carefully wipe off the wet brown mess, pick up the lamp, clean up the milk, honeycomb and water… and smile.  Because nothing starts off a bad day for an eight year old like a crabby mother.  With coffee soaked underwear.  And coffee stained socks and shoes.

At lunch I had my plastic coffee mug in my hand at 7-11.  I made a joke to the manager about dropping something again.  And then I dropped my cup.  Fortunately it was empty.  The cup hits the floor and literally bounces back up like a rubber ball.  I use my secret ninja skills to catch it by the handle in mid-air.  I look around to see if anyone was watching.  They weren’t.  I walked on as if nothing happened.

My left formerly white tennis shoe is now stained brown.  It is still wet.  And stinky.  And I’m wearing it.  At work.

This is my life.  Sigh.

If I lived by myself, my cabinets and drawers would be neat.  Everything would be in order.  But I would rather have a houseful of kids and a dangerous kitchen.

Even more dangerous?  ME in the kitchen.  I’ve bled on about every vegetable you can name.  Despite the fact that both words start with the letter “K,” knives and Katherine don’t mix.  Get me talking while I’m slicing and WHAM!  Blood on the vegetables.

My latest kitchen accident?  This weekend I was cooking pasta in my super cool pasta cooking and draining pot.  Cook the pasta, make sure the lid is locked and pour all the hot water out… voila!  Instant pasta!

Except I have a different method.  Make sure the lid is locked, walk the boiling pot of water to the sink, pour and watch the UNLOCKED LID fly off of the pot.  Allow boiling hot water to splash into the sink and then repel back onto your body.  Burn your hands and your stomach.  Say ouch.  Say OUCH.  Get some ice.  Get the aloe plant.  Whimper.  Serve the pasta.  Eat.  Whimper.  Notice that no one cares that you have just scalded your stomach and hands with boiling hot water.  No respect for the chef.  Glad I don’t cook naked.

Today I have a burn on my stomach in the exact shape of the Star Trek emblem found on Captain Kirk’s shirt.  I would take a picture but hey, it’s on my stomach!  No one understands why I keep asking people to beam me up.  I don’t explain, because they didn’t care that I burned myself in the first place.  Pooey on them.

If I remember correctly, I paid for part and my parents paid the rest.  Perhaps it was birthday money or allowance.  But that was of no matter to me.  I was getting it, and getting it SOON.  Every day I looked for the mail.  Did it come?  Did it come?  No, not today.  RATS.

And then came the blessed day.  The day the world came to a halt and the heavens opened with angels rejoicing.  Sing with me, “It’s here!!  It’s here!!  The BARBIE FRIENDSHIP AIRPLANE IS HERE!”  (You ALWAYS had to say the WHOLE name.)

I fondly recall opening it up.  Sniff!  Ahhh  the wonderful smell of Barbie large product plastic.  Almost akin to contact paper, don’t you think?  Ken was the pilot and Barbie was the stewardess.  But you know what?  If I were to play today, Barbie’s behind would be flying that airplane.  Ken would be the flight attendant, and perhaps a little light in the loafers as well.  Things change as you grow, don’t you think?

Today, the change is great when it comes to my wish list.  My current DREAM is to own an iRobot Roomba Pet Series 532 Cleaning Robot.  A toy for Moms, that’s what THAT is!  I have a Dalmatian, two cats, guinea pigs… oh I’m not going to go on.  But when you add the three children and no time for cleaning, Ay Carumba is there PET HAIR everywhere!  Kids, get the nebulizer, little Jeffrey is in the house!

I picture myself closing the door, off to school and work.  My little roomba robot set to clean.  Whrrrrrr…. Whrrrrrrr….. Then home, open the door and WOW… someone vacuumed while I was away!  My dream, not to be realized as my wallet was roomba-ed when the economy crashed.  But I can still dream, right?  You know, I might even name my little imaginary Roomba Pet Series 532 (you HAVE to say the whole name!).  I think I will call him…. George.