1.31.2009

Stomach flu: making bulimia seem like a viable option since 1572

There is nothing sweeter than waking to a husband making hraaaawwk noises while emptying his stomach involuntarily at 4:15 AM. I flew out of bed this morning to find Mike hunched over the toilet while dressed in his work gear, jacket and boots included.

I think it was the chicken last night... or something. He proclaimed and went on his way to work.

Turns out it was the "or something."

I received a phone call two hours later saying I'm coming back home, and then a follow-up call thirty minutes later: I've stopped at an exit to puke my guts out, but I'll be home shortly.

Turns out both of his carpool buddies had to leave work or stay home due to similar problems.

I told him that's what they get for making out like lovesick teenagers.

***

On to bigger news, I've now worked out for three days straight. Lifting weights, elliptical training, the whole bit. I may have mentioned... this is big news.

***

So I've been working out, and Mike has the stomach flu.

Any wagers as to who is gonna lose the 20 pounds first?

1.28.2009

The modern dowry

My husband once said, "I didn't marry into money; I married into family."

***Before you get all awwww on me, remember that this is the same guy who asked if I was in a bad mood because of Toxic Vag Syndrome. Yeah, he's a sweetie.***

Mike would never divorce me.

Besides the obvious reasons - child support that would pillage his checking account, going through that whole "dating" thing again, finding another woman (or man or animal or whatever) who would clean his whole house while expecting nothing in return - Mike has one big reason to stay with me forever...

My parents.

Back in 1999 when we first started dating, Mike was invited to my family's Christmas. This was a big deal, and as Mike admits, it was like nothing he had ever seen. From his accounts, his family really didn't get into the whole family time gig, even at the holidays. Whatever... to each his own. Our family goes over the top for Christmas. The tree and presents fill an entire room, and it takes hours to open them all. It is insanity at its best.

So imagine Mike's surprise when my parents bought him presents that first Christmas - just a few things. I remember being pleased my parents were so thoughtful. *(snort)*

Fast forward three years to Christmas 2002. By this point, Mike had been around for a while and we were engaged. Stephanie, my only sibling, and I were none-too-pleased when Mike, the "adopted" family member, received more presents than either one of us! My normally retentive parents - the type to count every present and match dollar amount exactly - had never given us a reason to think about who got how much. But when Mike came along and my mom sputtered reasons as to why he got more than we did, we sisters found a common enemy.

Mike is spoiled.

It doesn't stop at holidays. Every time I go to my parents' house, they force me to take food, and usually it's something I don't like. It's their ploy to make sure that it gets to Mike's poor starving belly.

Thanks to Michele, I recently realized that I am married to Raymond, and my mother is Marie! Let me cook for you, Mike. Lay down and rest, Mike. Don't work too hard, MIKE. Your wife is no Martha, Mike, but it's okay because you'll always have us.

It's like a perpetual thank you card for taking me off their hands.

I didn't think I was that bad as a teen! I'm wondering if it has anything to do with my apparent* lack of a dating life. (*I say apparent because I didn't really date anyone seriously and kept most of my boyfriends a secret.)

I can't feel too badly for myself. As my sister put it, since I married Mike and gave my parents three grandkids at once - voila! - we've both moved to the bottom of the priority list, with Stephie's unmarried, not-as-reproductive keister at ground level, directly below me. Ha. Hee. Haheehaha.

Stephie's brewing up some quintuplets as we speak, I just know it.

1.25.2009

We's havin' us a witch burnin'

I need to check Alison for a third nipple, or any new "birth" marks. I am convinced my child has become a witch.

Proof, you ask?

How about three consecutive days of running a high fever? This is something that is unheard of in our house, and it is especially rare to have one sick child with two more in the wings. Today's high temp was 102.8.

Alison is showing almost no signs of sickness besides an occasional bout of coughing and longer-than-normal naps. Other than that, she is a model of happiness.

I'm convinced this "fever" and "cough" (I use quotes because these things are alleged) are just a rouse to reserve her spot in mommy and daddy's bed at night.

Why? Revenge, possibly.

I rarely mention it, but I'd never ever ever ever ever ever EVER let the kids sleep with us as babies. First off, kids can and do sometimes get smothered during cosleeping. (Before readers start leaving comments to the contrary, this last Thanksgiving a man just up the road from us took a short nap with his child and smothered her to death. So yes, it can happen.) Secondly, I like my sleep, and worrying about crushing a child is not conducive to a good night's rest. It was a decision we made out of sheer selfishness.

Just recently, I started pulling Alison out of her bedroom during naptime. She needs her midday sleep or she turns into Linda Blair, head spinning and all. Her sisters don't need their sleep, so I let them play in their room - pretending to sleep - while Alison sleeps in our bed.

Unfortunately for Mike, that means when he works nights, he has a sleep buddy for a few hours during the day.

Fortunately for Mike, it's someone he actually likes (not me).

*pause typing to listen to Alison "coughing" (allegedly) from my bedroom*

So back to the topic at hand.

When do I take this fever seriously? Because I'm not really sure I feel comfortable sleeping next to a witch.

I guess that's something Mike and I have in common.

1.24.2009

Sorta feverish

What is 32 pounds of steaming hot flesh that snores and causes mommies to lose sleep?

(Don't say Lindsay Lohan after a night of clubbing.)

Alison had such a high fever last night it was painful to have her feet against my bare skin. Can you imagine trying to sleep through that? I can't. I love my sleep, but I couldn't give in to the temptation. I stayed awake for the better part of the night and morning to keep a close eye on my whimpering, steaming puddle of a child, making sure she got liquids and medicine all through the night.

So do you understand why I'm a little crabby when Mike cheerfully tells me he's going on a man-cation (that's a man vacation) to Wisconsin? The plan: tour breweries and drink. He has been "asking" (read: hinting) to go on this trip for months. I finally snapped and told him I didn't give a #$*@ what he did. Mind you, this man has only taken off of work for two reasons in previous memory: to stay home to take care of the children while I was deathly ill, and to surprise me by showing up at the neighborhood block party (because somehow that was for my benefit).

I haven't had more than a few hours to myself in the last FOUR YEARS, and even those few hours were from one afternoon Mike took the girls in town by himself. So yeah, I'm f#*!king crabby that he's going on vacation!

But I'll get over it because I am the bigger person.

I also understand that he needs this to regain some semblance of testicles.

More importantly, I have decided to take a vacation of my very own.

Without Mike.

Without kids.

Anyone want a visit from a 28-year-old slightly chubby mom of three who hasn't been clubbing in years and wouldn't know a good time if it smacked its sweaty Puerto Rican ass against her forehead?

I deserve it, if for no reason other than the fact I have a 4-year-old portable heater sleeping in my bed right now with the second child now sporting an elevated temp.

1.23.2009

Either one will do

(Alison and I talking to my sister over speakerphone)

Me: Alison, do you love your mommy?

Alison: Yeah.

Do you love your daddy?

Yeah.

Do you love your sisters?

Yeah.

Do you love your grandma / grandpa / auntie Stephie / cousin Elliott?

Yeah.

Who else do you love?

(Thinking intensely) I love... I love boys.

(Stephanie and I laughing hysterically at this unexpected answer)

Stephie: Did she say 'boys'? Man, she's gonna be a troublemaker!

Me: Yeah, I thought she was gonna say 'uncle Jeff'! Alison, who else do you love?

Alison: I love... girls.

Me: I think we have one confused child on our hands.

1.21.2009

Totally TMI, butt I couldn't resist

So...

Now that I'm not pregnant (and to the relief of all my male readers, I'll leave it at that), I can blog about the important and not quite so disgusting things again.

Like turds.

My toilet, the toilet that never gets plugged, and thus we have never bought a plunger, is completely stopped up. When I shouted the bad news at Mike as he was getting comfortable over said plugged toilet, he asked, "Too much toilet paper?" assuming one of the kids had rammed a whole roll down at once.

"Nope."

"One of the kids plugged it with poop?" He appeared surprised at the thought.

I hesitated. "Nope."

"You?" He raised his eyebrows at the thought that I had crapped a midget and became the first person to plug our toilet in such a manner. This coveted feat is especially shocking considering how much time Mike spends in the bathroom versus me. I mean, the ratio has to be near 20:1.

Tomorrow, we are shopping for a plunger. Mike suggested, at the rate at which we've been plugging our unpluggable toilets, we need an industrial-strength plunger with some sort of a hydraulic pump.

And while I hate to disappoint that I'm not pregnant - sorry, Mom - I'm sure you're all glad to know that there's never a shortage of turd babies to be had at our house.

Considering the size of this last one, I should've checked it for a pulse...

In the words

People have asked why I feel our country needs this president. Putting aside political grievances, I have highlighted passages to show where I stand with President Obama:

My fellow citizens:

I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.

Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because we the people have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebears, and true to our founding documents.

So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.

That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.

These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land — a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.

Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met.

On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.

On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted — for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things — some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.

For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.

For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.

For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sanh.

Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.

This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions — that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.

For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act — not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. All this we will do.

Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions — who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.

What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them — that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works — whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. Those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account — to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day — because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.

Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control — and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart — not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our founding fathers ... our found fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all the other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.

Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.

We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort — even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West — know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.

To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to the suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment — a moment that will define a generation — it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends — hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism — these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

This is the source of our confidence — the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed — why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.

So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."

America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America.

1.20.2009

44

We have a new president! Barack Obama was just sworn in as the 44th president of America.

I am hopeful for the world and America's future. I am proud to be here to witness this. I am grateful to have the right to vote. I am confident that Americans will pull together to find solutions to our problems. I am sure we can be a strong and truly respected country once again.

I haven't felt that way for a long time.

1.18.2009

I'm still waiting and I think my uterus is busted

Does the title explain everything?

In case it doesn't, to recap, as of Monday morning, my period is 11 days late. This deserves its own theme music and catchy title... like: Period Watch, or I Hate My Period, Exclamation Point.

I've taken two pee-sticks, one Thursday and one Friday, and because I'm thorough, I retook one test today. Yes, that's a re-pee, folks. I have no clue what that was supposed to accomplish, besides a fantastic pantless display of how to shake a pee-stick.

Nuthin.

I'm starting to wonder... did I forget to "pull the plug" last month?

Did my uterus decide with the lack of action to pack up its shit and leave town?

Is this karma showing me how much procrastination sucks? (If that's the case, fuck off, karma! I like to procrastinate!)

The terror and excitement has worn off... both Mike and I are thinking PICK A TEAM AND GET THIS OVER WITH.

I honestly don't give a flying funkynugget what happens anymore.

Commence with the betting.

1.17.2009

Life is one big cruel joke some days

Remember last winter when God was trying to kill me via bad weather?

Obviously it was unsuccessful, and He moved on to bigger and better modes of torture - something that would surely ruin my day.

My period is nine days late, and two pregnancy tests have come back negative.

Either my uterus is a procrastinator, much like myself, or those tests are defunct. Is 28 too young to be going through menopause?

1.14.2009

Thank god I don't have a real job

Preschool has been cancelled once again, and I'm about to have one of those days that I look forward to at first, only to look back on in loathing. That's because I have all these hopes and dreams for what I can accomplish, and then the day gets here and I end up playing Candy Land for three straight hours until I find myself cheating just to get the game over with.

What to do? What to do?

We could sit around and play twenty questions with my other personalities, like: Why is my period late? Is Mike conspiring with the devil to knock me up? Would Mike fight back if I tried to smother him in his sleep? You know, burning questions like that.

Or I could try to put my powers to good use and delve into the workings of our desktop. I realized the potential of my computer tonight only after it went all OCD on me and recorded every 10:00 news broadcast for the last 72 nights. I was thinking it might be fun to schedule recordings of all my favorite shows so I could watch them in lieu of spending so much time blogging!

Or not...

One thing that definitely has to get done tomorrow is the writing of our holiday letter. (Yes, I know it's technically not Christmas anymore, but Valentine's Day is considered a legitimate holiday, so screw you and your fascist holiday ideals. Okay, I have to go google what 'fascist' means.) If I don't get that letter written, it'll surely be the end of our marriage. Mike is so wound up about getting pictures to his crazy manipulative strung-out bitch of a mother that I'm afraid he might blow at any second.

And as we've already discussed, hate sex causes late periods.

So I guess I've answered my own question. Tomorrow, I'll be writing a Valentine's Day letter to relatives while dodging requests to play Candy Land as I pray for Mike's anti-virility.

Or I could scrap the whole thing and brave the winds to go to Target for their huge toy sale.

It's a full schedule, folks.

Oh the weather outside is frightful

As many of you may know, either because you live in the Midwest or you have eyes that function and see the news, we are undergoing a "cold snap." That's just a quick way of saying if you go outside for ten minutes, your flesh will freeze.

Tonight and tomorrow, the wind chill will make it feel as cold as negative 40 degrees.

When my mom told me yesterday to take the kids outside to play while I shoveled, I'm thinking she wants to see us as human popcicles. Mind you, these are children who get cold and need to go inside after ten minutes of playing in normal winter temps like, oh say, 10 degrees.

The "snow cows" have been up and down the street every five minutes or so, which I find hilarious since we have maybe ten people using them every hour, and the snow just blows back across the road once they leave.

California is supposed to have record high temps in the low 80s today.

Northern Minnesota is seeing actual temps as low as -35 degrees.

That's 115 degrees difference.

Thus concludes our weather report.

Now someone bring me my yogurt and slippers.

1.13.2009

I'm not the prayin' type

Someone was answering prayers this morning. (Jeebus, can you hear me?)

Last week at school, our girls received the dreaded blue basket. It's the basket which designates the snack-bringer. You can guess that we bring that blasted basket quite a bit, since our girls make up almost half the class.

Today was a three-fer. We had the basket on our normally "off" snack day because of the girls' birthday on Sunday. It's meant as some sort of kind gesture, I think? At least the teacher was nice enough to only designate one birthday snack day for our girls.

After putting the girls to bed last night, I convinced myself to make 14 cupcakes to send to school. I had everything ready when I hit a huge roadblock. I searched and swore, but alas, we were out of eggs.

This never happens. I am the egg queen and usually have two dozen ready to go at any given moment. You have to have that many eggs when your kids systematically crack them onto your livingroom floor for entertainment.

The only cupcake mix I had in the house that didn't require eggs was apple-cinnamon flavored. My kids are allergic to cinnamon. Even so, knowing they only break out in a rash, I contemplated sending them with the apple-cinnamon cupcakes anyway. Would that be completely terrible?

Anywho... I went to bed last night, praying for an egg to appear miraculously in our fridge.

Just as I started dozing, a sleep conspiracy unfolded against me which involved quite a few tears, some coughing from Emma, and a lot of I want waters. Finally at 3:45 AM, I laid down, kids asleep, and prepared for three blissful hours of sleep.

When I awoke less than three hours later to voices from my alarm: I... had... the time of my liiiife, and I never felt this way before (never felt this way) yes I swear, it's the truuuth, and I owe it all to yoooooouuuuu, I had to hold my sleepless-stupored self from going to the butcher block and ending it all.

My one functioning brain cell called me to the computer where I saw three amazing little words:

2 hour delay

That's when I crawled back into bed, praying for a long winter's nap.

1.12.2009

It's all about ME

The weight set was out. It put me over the edge.

When I went downstairs to work out tonight, I'd noticed that Mike had little weight lifting stations set up. This was the first time I'd had a chance to use my elliptical machine in months, and here, Mike had been working out in the basement this whole time. No wonder it took so long for him to "sort laundry."

His ass is grass.

My workout went a little like this:

2 minutes on the machine

girls needed a potty break

2 minutes on the machine

phone call with another call coming in during the first one

5 minutes on the machine

several yells from me to the girls to stop stealing from each other

7 minutes on the machine

me giving up because Alison was pushing the rocking horse around the floor after I'd told her not to

So that was that. I can't work out in that atmosphere! And I can just picture Mike in his smug little face lifting weights as I chased kids and cleaned above him. I'm certain if I had come downstairs, he would have rushed to look busy because that's his style. Punk.

This is when it became decision time. Mike doesn't want a fat-assed wife? Then he's gotta pull his weight in the kitchen and with the house and the kids rather than the darkest, most concealed corners of his weight room.

This year is all about ME.

And it starts with a new blog look tonight.

Tomorrow - I get a workout session alone in the basement.

Who knows what the future will bring in this awesome new year about me...

1.11.2009

Four years later...

I'd love to write about my sledding adventure yesterday on a completely ice-covered hill of death.

I'd love to write about how, after sledding, we went to a Ghengis Grill and were seated at a table for four with five people, and I couldn't face forward the entire dinner.

I'd love to write about Alison's breakdown in the restaurant because of missing her nap.

I'd love to write about a great visit with my neighbor later last night and all the goofy stuff we talked about as we made jewelry.

I'd love to write about coming home to a husband - asleep, with no laundry done, after I reminded him at least ten times to switch the loads around before he forgot.

I'd love to write about waking up this morning at the butt crack of dawn to make three birthday cakes in the shape of dresses only to discover the Barbies were too tall for the cakes.

I'd love to write about our mad dash to the house cleaning finish line before my parents were to arrive, only to find out they were going to be two hours late.

I'd love to write about pulling tiny worms from my cat's asshairs (yes, this is as disgusting as it sounds).

I'd love to write about all of this and more, but I'm exhausted.

Turns out that the transition from 3 to 4 is hard work. I hope my girls make all of the effort worthwhile.

Here's to another year with my girls... even the worst day with you is better than any day without you. Happy 4th birthday!

1.10.2009

I was aiming for you

Mike: Where are my pretzels?

Me: Along the wall.

Why are they over there?

Because I hated you last night.

What?

I hated you last night.

So you threw my pretzels?

Yep.

Alright. You want some?

1.08.2009

If they were boys, I'd shave their heads

My children have become superheroes. Emma has become the carefree Supercuts-Girl:
and Kristin is now the incarnation of Spunky Rooster:

Mommy has grown some superpowers of her own. She is now psychic. She foresees lots of ponytails and hats in Kristin's future.

It's not just me they do this to, is it?

"Kristin, you look like a squirrel."

The teacher's assistant, standing right behind me, "A squirrel?"

"Yeah, they love to give each other haircuts, and Kristin had a sprout of hair out of her cowlick that they decided needed to be removed."

The T.A. laughs and makes a mental note to call CPS on the woman unloading her kids with squirrelly hair cuts.

In an effort to look like a good mother, I offer snowpants.

"We're not going outside today since it's only five degrees."

I think to myself, I guess I should have put the mittens on them instead of in their bags. "I have these chopper mittens for the girls, too. They hid their other gloves on me... I keep them by the door so they're easy to find, but they do this every time!"

More laughter. The T.A. ushers the children to safety and waves away the choppers as she wonders How long are these kids left alone during the day?

We wave and say goodbye, while my kids run into the classroom without looking back.

I secretly hope my kids find their safety scissors, give another student a haircut and hide their backpacks while under their supervision.

Do the good work, my tiny little minions!

Because they frown on locking your kids in the bathroom for 3 days

What is: a great reason to get a cat!

Any last inklings of wanting a baby have been sucked out of me. (I think I just felt my eggs shrivel up and die.)

I was so terrified of owning a pet since we/my mom killed two hedgehogs and we ended up giving Bailey back after he destroyed every floor in the house and tried to eat Alison's nose for supper. Then along came our baby cat named Moochie.

She is awesome.

She is like me in cat form.

Pet her, love her, feed her, let her lounge around all day and she's happy. But try to touch her when she wants to be left alone and she lets out this hissing sound that sounds eerily like Fffffffffffuckofffffff!

Maybe I'm going to reincarnate into Moochie. Hmmm... I'd better get her fixed because I've been known to involuntarily give birth to litters of small whiney creatures.

Another great reason to get a cat rather than a baby: it avoids all those awkward conversations about "being done" in regards to procreation, usually with complete strangers.

Ah, yes. The Egyptians were onto something!

1.06.2009

Online therapy

I'd like to see someone open a business that is nothing more than a blog for women to bitch on. I believe this could be a huge moneymaker since there are simply not enough forums nor time in the day to bitch about all that ails us. Seriously, women deal with a lot of crap. Men might say the crap we deal with is unimportant, but they have the luxury of thinking it's unimportant because some poor woman is out there dealing with the problem, e.g. a crying infant at 2 AM or making sure the children get their teeth brushed at least once a month.

This isn't a rant, for those of you who speak only in terms of smiley faces. I'm merely stating an opportunity for any interested entrepreneur.

I loved the responses from the last post. Awesome, and thanks for sharing! See, Mikey? You wanted me to stop blogging about you, but how would you have ever found out there are others just like you?

My husband gets teased a lot - it's how I deal with the inequality of our other relationship areas - so I think I'll take a moment to talk about how great Mike is.

  • Mike is the best person to watch movies with because of his warped sense of humor, and he is willing to run an errand at the drop of a hat. He had at least one viable sperm (way to go, Mikey!) and he's not scared when my aunts hit on him.

Okay, moment's over.

Now that you know I adore my husband, we can move on. I think it's safe to say I can still include Mike in our conversations.

P.S. This is a shout out to anyone who works with my husband. Now get off the computer and get back to work, you lazy assholes. Don't make me sic my dad on you.

1.05.2009

Scoot over, scoot over (plus a marriage bonus)

In retaliation for being forced to sleep against the wall while my children slept in comfort, I removed one of the girls' beds. Emma and Kristin now share a toddler bed.

I'm not sure this is a punishment, though, because they've been sleeping in the same bed for weeks now. Well, except for naps. Emma prefers the floor for those occasional ciestas.

Let me tell you that it is infinitely easier to fit two beds in one room than it is to fit three beds in one room. Plus there's a symmetry with two beds that's so hard to come by with three. Not to mention all that extra room for TOYS. Since we got so many new TOYS for Christmas and their soon-to-be fourth birthday (please, dear GOD, do not buy them TOYS for their birthday), we needed every spare inch we could squeeze out of that room.

The girls have already kicked us out of our own master bedroom... they're not getting any more rooms, dammit!

On a side note, Mike asked me when I was going to finish painting the girls' room. Well, the conversation went something like this:

Mike: So... when are you planning on painting the rest of this room?

Me: (Looking at him like he just sprouted a unicorn horn out his forehead because I, unlike him, remember the fit Mike threw when I started painting the room, and I had to quit painting it because, as he said, it was not a 'priority,' and I then focus on not killing him right then and there.)

I've been on a rollercoaster of love/hate with Mike lately. I'm finding myself doing a lot of deep-breathing exercises to prevent hurling myself or Mike into oncoming traffic. I'm assuming marriage is like that, though. Especially when you marry someone who is as relationship-retarded as Mike. At least once a day he does something that makes me want to slap his parents.

Just this morning Mike got "lubricated" before I even woke up, then he covered his tracks by dumping out the booze in the sink. For future reference, make sure to rinse the "booze stench" down the drain next time. First question: why are you drinking hard liquor before 9 AM when you know you become either completely intolerably annoying or completely intolerably assholish when you drink it? Second question: Why lie about it? It's stuff like that that makes me feel like I married a 17-year-old. Like I said, relationship-retarded.

Best part... He's caught in a lie so he gets mad at me for the rest of the afternoon, even though I didn't get upset with him. Yeah, that's fair.

Do men PMS? Or maybe he's got man-opause.

This evening he was over whatever was ailing him, and we had a fun time watching movies and wrastlin'.

Except I'm pretty sure the wrastlin' moves he was using weren't legal.

1.02.2009

In and out before Wisconsin knew what hit 'em

I'll sum up our Christmas Eve present-opening with two pictures. These will prove once and for all that grandma and grandpa give awesome presents and we, sadly, do not. For instance, I would die before spending money on a Disney princess TV with matching tiara and embedded DVD player.

Like how our children follow directions? "Kids... close your eyes!"

"Way to go, Elliott!"

The barn was by far the hit of the evening. Thank goodness they brought it out last because I doubt the girls would have given us even one "Ooh... a sweater!"

My dad drove over 5 hours earlier in the week to pick up my grandma so she could spend Christmas with us. The girls were substantially less afraid of her this year. Still not thrilled, but at least not screaming. We'd occasionally catch Emma - in the blue - looking at great-grandma like she was a pterodactyl about to strike (grandma, not Emma).

The plan, which I could not divulge to my internet friends until now, was to drive back to Wisconsin on Christmas Day. We wanted to surprise my mom's family - my many many aunts, uncles and cousins, about 3 dozen people - by showing up during the festivities.

Note to anyone planning on taking a roadtrip with four adults and three 4-year-olds: rent a van. We took our Suburban and my mom and I took turns cramming our asses between the back two carseats. It was truly a Christmas miracle that we could fit.

Note to anyone planning to travel with children in general: make sure to take enough potty breaks so, oh, say you want to walk in to surprise a group of people, you won't have to say, "Surprise! We need a toilet."

Christmas was a blast. The girls showed off their talents (hahahahaha... continued) on the karaoke machine. We heard Jingle Bells from Alison, Twinkle Twinkle from Kristin, and Garbled Miscellaneous from Emma. Guess what you girls are getting for your birthday?

At the end of the night, I ditched the kids with my parents and headed to Sports Bar. Apparently Christmas Night is a great night to party because I saw at least a dozen high school classmates.

When I decided I'd had enough of This is Your Life - Bar Edition, I took my totally uncool behind back to Grandma Dinosaur's house. For the record, I love staying there. I even have my own toothbrush, marked with my name, that's been in her cabinet for 100 years. And lucky for me, this time my children's sheer numbers allowed us to take over the glamorous "big" bed. This is opposed to the twin beds that Mike and I were assigned until they were traded to my parents. Then they suddenly became my parents' Lucy and Ricky beds. (Don't you dare see each other naked, either.) Here is a picture of said "big" bed with three children in it.

That empty space to the right? That's my spot. My back was pressed up against the (as the girls would say) "broken" wall the entire night. Every time I carefully ejected an alien or stuffed animal to make more room, the girls awoke and protested. I swear they have stuffed animal radar. Or mommy's-been-drinking radar. Goodness sakes... scoot over and give mommy an Aspirin!

We spent a good portion of the weekend watching movies. Thank the Lord DVD players are $30. How else would we entertain my kids?

The girls couldn't stop staring at great-grandma, and every time she fell asleep, Alison would tell me that she was a "sleepy birdy." We left sleepy birdy at home and went out for a sledding day at my mom's parents' farm. It's times like this we get to whip out our sexy snowmobiling gear, although mom wouldn't let me get a picture of her dressed like the abominable snowman. (I snuck one from behind anyway.)

Grandpa threw a case of beer on the back of a sled and off we went! I have never seen the girls so happy as they were sledding. Here's Alison and Emma at the bottom of the run:

video

Woohoo!

Grandpa pulled the girls back (while my mom, my aunt Lori and I carried the empty cans...)

We built the girls' first snowman. The snow was wet and really packy... perfect snowman weather. We emptied an ash bucket and threw it on his head for good measure (yes, that makes him an "ash" hat!) If you look closely at his right arm, you can see that we recycled our beverage containers. Totally classy, and totally Wisconsin.

The girls were fascinated by their handiwork, although if I remember correctly, they were mostly eating snow while he was made.

Here they are with my other grandparents. My grandma has been fairly ill for a long time, but she was so excited to have the kids around.

Because my mother is a selfish old hag, she woke the kids up on the way back from sledding so we could drop in on a family friend. Can you tell how much Alison needs her sleep?

This is when I shared my most important piece of wisdom with our old friends: if you get fatter as your kids get bigger, you never run out of lap space. Think about it.

The only way we could get the girls to cooperate with our little visit was by promising them steak and fries. We picked up sleepy birdy and went to our favorite restaurant, Kathy and Cal's Club 64 (Merrill, WI - check it out).

We ate the most delicious prime rib steaks and even let the girls "gamble" before leaving. I ran into yet another group of old classmates, and let's say I was slightly horrified yet a little glad that the class beauty was now such a heavy smoker her voice was mannish. Tee-hee. She got her revenge by being the tenth person that night to ask me - in front of my baby-drooling parents - if we were having more kids.

The trip home was pretty uneventful. We just missed an ice storm, and the weather was beautiful. We didn't have great-grandma so no one had to break a rib to sit, and Alison only got carsick once.

If you take nothing else from this story, remember this...

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack!