The death of voicemail

Our answering machine flashes all day.

27

F

27

F

Full. And I haven't listened to a single one.

My irritation with phone calls and messages - in general - started with *a certain family member* ahem. She's the reason I set up a time limit of 2 minutes for each message.

There's nothing funnier than hearing someone ramble on, gossiping, when a beeeeep cuts into their rant. Heh. I still think it's funny, apparently.

Then it was the telemarketers and political propaganda pushers "pollsters."

I only answer my phone 1 in about every 50 calls.

I'm going to change the greeting from the default "Leave a message" to: Don't bother because if you knew me, you'd know how to find me.

Better yet, I haven't listened to my cell phone messages in almost 4 years.

People might ask, Why not turn off the answering machine and voicemail altogether?

That's easy. To let the telemarketers think they have a chance.

I'm sure Mike is irritated (and suspects it's collectors calling, even though odds are it's someone calling for pizza with the almost correct phone number for Godfather's).

It's a ritual. The phone rings. Unknown Number. Mike looks. I say, We don't owe nobody nuthin' and turn the ringer off.

I went through a period of What the heck? and answered every call. "Not interested, stop calling me" became the most-used phrase of the day.

It wasn't until last election cycle when I got sick of hearing all the (mostly) GOP propaganda. Barf. It made me want to not vote for their candidate. I swear if I hear one more biased phone poll, I'm gonna projectile vomit so hard through the phone, their ears will taste it.

(Sorry about that visual.)

"Our candidate loves children and babies, but the other candidate eats babies for breakfast. Which candidate do you align yourself with on family issues."

Hmmmm... the one who eats babies? Wait, can you give me a definition of "breakfast"?

So back to the voicemail.

Seriously? NEVER leave me a message. Ever. I simply don't have the time to listen to: Press 1 to Play Messages. You have 27 new messages. First message, received Saturdayohmyfuckinghellwhocares I have to go find out why one of my children is screaming bloody murder and this bionic hooker just used up your ten seconds of my time.

Texting. Texting is good.

Or maybe email me.

Or Facebook.

But definitely not voicemail.

Voicemail is dead.

Let us all take a moment to grieve...

Titillating Tuesday: Jesus be badass (and some school stuff)

What the hell are kids supposed to know before Kindergarten? Can anyone give me a clue???

There are only seven weeks before school starts. Yelp.

Busing. Immunization records. Lead tests. Forms. Dental records. Physicals.

I have only accomplished one thing - calling the principal to make sure the girls are in separate classes. Check. Let's throw a party.

For kids who are going to K next fall or have gone through recently, what did you do to prepare them academically?

At this point, I just want someone to tell me what to do. I am so over trying to sort this crap out on my own.

And thanks to LeapFrog - my savior - I haven't had to work too hard at teaching them academics up to this point. Oh we do worksheets and dot-to-dots, and I teach them random nonsense throughout the day about the moon and grasshoppers and the meaning of a death glare, but I feel inadequate.

I need a book: What to Expect When You're Expecting to Lose Your Fucking Mind Over All These Kindergarten Requirements.

Oh yeah, one more thing. Where can I find some non-Dora velcro tennies?

Thanks a heap.

---

Alison and I have been working on reading lately. I'll give her a word like MAT and ask her to spell it. It takes about ten minutes to finally eek the answer out of her. If I can even get her to give me an answer that makes sense (since giraffe is apparently the answer to everything) before Kristin shouts it out.

While Alison isn't yet reading, she loves pretending to read. She doesn't just talk, either. She sings the stories. I tried to catch her in action as she sat amidst a heap of toys in her room, singing about dinosaurs and mice, but I missed the best (and loudest) part of the song. Oh well, use your imagination...

*I forgot to mention Alison's "twang." I'm not sure where she gets it. She changes the pronunciation of words for fun. Moon = meewn. School = skewel. Reflection = afluction. Movie = mewvee.

I'm trying to be patient and let things unfold for her. Unfortunately, it's easy to worry since she is our Mini Mike - acts, sounds, plays, tantrums, thinks just like him - and Mike had problems all through school.

She is so creative and energetic. I don't want her to waste all that energy struggling through school.

---

Speaking of books, Malea - my gaaawwjus Korean Barbie doll friend - came over to borrow the Twilight series. She'd been avoiding reading it, but too many people have harassed her. So she came to me.

And odds are, if it's been printed in the last decade, I probably own it. I am a book hoarder.

She paid me in some kind of delicious dessert bar, and being a friend, I offered to let her rip out my arm hair. Her eyes lit up with excitement, but I told her we'd have to do it on another date when I'm not so sunburned.

Because what's a little literature and body hair between friends?

---

Malea and I got to talking about religion and how strange it is when acquaintances, friends or family become crazy-obsessed with God. I told her, It's one thing to "find God," but another thing to stalk him. (I think that's going to be my new motto.)

If Jesus was alive today, he would need to quickly learn these two words: restraining order.

I have this vision of Jesus turning to the uber-religious fanatics and telling them, I get it! You worship me. Now back up off me! (I also have a vision that Jesus would be a little ghetto.) I need some space while I turn this Evian into krunk juice...

The joys of the mutha freakin outdoors (continued)

To hear about the first night of terrors, read this.

During my conversation with Mike on Friday night, I sprinted to the tent, laughed and told him the tent door had been left WIIIIIDE open. After quickly zipping it shut, I sprinted back to the truck. Mike: Did you make sure the rest of the windows were shut tight? Me (driving away 30 seconds after arriving): Yep. Uh huh! Definitely.

Saturday morning, the tent and all our belongings were full of water. Turns out the other door's window wasn't completely closed, and the pounding rain drove PUDDLES into our mattresses and food and clothes. Whoops.

Or so we thought. But I'll get to that in a bit.

We spent part of the morning watching Toy Story 3 with Mike's coworkers and my family (my dad works there, too). I'm so glad we paid $80 to see it last weekend instead of waiting until we could watch it for free.

It was still a lot of fun.

So we went back to our tent bucket and unloaded all the water with cups, and we wrung and draped and dried as much as we could.

Then we relaxed. The kids played in the sand pit near our site.

Yes, sand. I know what you're thinking. I must have been drunk to allow them into a sandpit two days in a row. I swear I wasn't, although I was pretty desperate to get some quiet time.

And that's when our neighbors - who hadn't been around all day - came back and hooked up a gas generator that ran for 10 consecutive hours. Nothing says peace and quiet like bahrumpumpumpumpumpumpum blasting through the park.

Then they left. Only to return and fill that bastard back up with gas and leave again. We have no freakin' clue what they were doing there. So we started speculating.

Me: Meth lab.

Mike: Mold problems.

Me: Keeping someone hostage and on life support in the camper.

Mike: Meth lab, but the young girl is the QueenPin and her dad is her hapless slave.

Me: Mobile child porn lab.

I was going to report them, but the ranger came around at 10:30 last night and told them it was time to shut it down. Then he walked past us and very subtly said, I'm sorry 'bout that... bet that wasn't bothering you any, was it?

Of course, I thanked him and said, Maybe a tiny bit...

...and he laughed and said they were cut off for the night.

I love law enforcement officers.

Since I was satisfied that the onslaught of noise had ended, we headed to bed. It rained a little, but the tent held. Mike felt the ceiling and asked if I thought it seemed wet.

We should have looked into it a little more closely, but we both crawled into bed and passed out into a sunburned coma.

It was 5 AM when I woke up.

Drip. Drip. Plop. Plip plop drip. Drop. SPLASH.

What the hell???

The rain fly was leaking. I thought I could sneakily wad up a few paper towels and dab down the mesh.

Drip. Drip drip dripdropdrip SPLASH dripdripdripdrip SPRAY.

Our pillows were soaked when Mike finally woke up and looked up at my pitiful Help me face. He jumped up and asked if the kids side was dry, and when I affirmed that it was, he reached over to feel the stream of rain pouring onto their bed.

We threw 5 layers of blankets on them while we decided what to do.

Do we leave at 5:30 AM and trudge through the rain? or should we wait it out?

It was when we found the inch-deep puddle under our food and mattress that we wrapped the kids up and put them in the truck.

We had 90% of our belongings at our house by 6 AM.

Mike: I guess it had nothing to do with the door vent Friday night, huh?

We were thinking of staying another night, but I don't think I can handle having any more "fun" this week.

Plus, you know how people see Jesus in their toast and Cheetohs?

I see Jesus's brain cross-section in my dishtowels.

I think it was a sign to get the hell outta there.

The joys of the mutha freakin outdoors

I could do what normal moms do and tell you how great today was, with the swimming at the beach

and the sand castles (later stomped full-out by a little boy right in front of a stunned and protesting Alison)

or how Mike played in the water while I stared at this mom's back tattoo.

I could talk about all that, but then I wouldn't be able to tell you about how I thought I was going to kick the bucket tonight.

It started with a visit from my parents and a little bucket o' KFC.

We were under the impression there would be peaceful skies tonight, when in the distance we saw lightning. Weird.

I asked Dad to call me with a weather report from home, since we are the only couple on planet Earth who don't have internet access on our phones.

At around 10:30, we got this call from Dad: Ummm, (heh.) you have pretty bad storms heading straight toward you out of the NorthWest. If you decide to weather it, I'd spend a little time camping out in the bathroom. OR better yet, pack the kids up, leave your camping stuff there and sleep at home tonight.

So after I got Mike to quit playing Handsy McGee, I convinced him to get out of bed and drag the kids to the truck. He grabbed his child and helped me by grabbing himself a traveler.*

*Traveler: (n) alcoholic beverage one takes with them for the ride home. (syn): crotcher, go-juice, parting gift.

Mike teased me relentlessly that it probably wouldn't be a bad storm at all.

We were about a mile from home when the shit hit the fan...

Mike, did you at least remember to shut the door of the tent? (chuckle chuckle chuckle, heh heh heh oh god he's silent, oh my god he DID forget the shut the tent!)

Yep.

While he was beating his brain to remember, I offered to run into the house and check the weather. If the storm didn't look so bad, we'd drag our sorry selves back to the tent.

I came out of the house in a hurry. Get the kids inside... I'll drive back to the campground and shut the tent.

All I'd seen on the radar was a wave of green and red coming straight for us like an angry, growing smile.

With me so far?

By the way, do you know how afraid of lightning and storms I am?

I cower while driving if there is lightning overhead.

So I broke the sound barrier on the highway, then pulled along the winding park roads, swerved around the gate telling me it was an hour past park close, and up a hill, doing about 10 over. It was then I spotted the lineup of DNR trucks.

DAMN.

After I stopped and he sauntered up, probably expecting a drunk, I smiled and politely told him my story. The really condensed version that made me sound more frantic and my husband more of a forgetful a-hole. Sorry, Mike!

I asked the ranger if he thought I could wait it out in the bathroom.

He grimaced. I dunno... you see that over there? (Pointing to a lowering section of clouds) You go right ahead and take care of whatever you need to, zip the tent, whatever whatever, but if I was you, I'd get the hell out of here and fast. I won't keep you by chatting anymore!

I took that to mean I could speed. And I did. Really really did.

I got Mike on the phone just in time to confirm the tent door was WIIIIIIIDE open, I zipped it and he told me just to head away from the storm and toward my parents. Easy.

Except that's when the clouds started to dip and funnel. I'm not kidding. I was freaking out on the phone about the conical spinning clouds and the branches flying across the road when Mike suddenly went from calm to loud: Hold on. GIRLS! IN THE BASEMENT, NOW!!! I've gotta call you back (click.)

Um, that made me feel relaxed and calm.

With my foot shaking, I passed someone doing about 80 in a 65, pulled into the Palo gas station, and wouldn't you know it? It was fucking CLOSED.

I looked up at the clouds and thought Screw it, I can outrun that.

Off to the Cedar Rapids Hy-Vee I went. At least I knew I could hide in the freezer section if needed. I bought myself some tea, summer sausage (I have no idea... I was nervous) and an O Magazine. I sat at the window, watching the storm pass, waiting for trees and cars to fly by while reading good ole Southern advice from Dr. Phil.

I made it home by 1:30. The kids were asleep in bed - Emma with her hands over her ears.

It's a downpour, and Mike is convinced we're going to come back to wreckage at the campsite tomorrow.

The irony would be if our house got destroyed and our tent stayed put...

Thankfully, we have plenty of beverages

Packing for a trip is a little like running the 100 metre dash. You do all that work, break into a full sweat, then have to ask other people what just happened.

Remind me never to volunteer to do what I did yesterday, ever again.

After setting up the tent, packing clothes for 5 people, shopping for food, entombing the 4 of us into the truck with grocery bags, and unloading/organizing everything at the campsite, I realized there were a few minor things I forgot.

Like my jeans. Which is really no big deal since you know how much I love going pants-less.

And pillows for Mike and I.

We solved that by forcing the girls to hand over theirs.

And when 8:30 rolled around last night, the sun was still shining, and everyone but me was in bed and asleep?

I remembered what camping and all that work was about.

Silence.

Reading by the campfire.

Eating junk food with no one else around to judge you.

Hello, Hint of Lime Tostitos with salsa.

Hello, orange and cranberry scones.

Hello, lunch meat.

Hello, ever-expanding ass.

And my parents heard we were camping, so Dad is already talking about coming out to visit.

I offered to cook him some of our delicious shrimp/mushroom/chicken/potato-kabobs, or maybe the pork chops and sweet corn we picked up. He offered to pick something up. I was thinking: steak! or chicken and fresh veggies!

You know what he wants to bring this evening?

KFC.

And surprisingly... I'm down with that. Just don't forget extra mashed 'taters.

This is actually happening, I guess

The tent is up - kind of - and I only had to screech at the kids once for running around a pile of dog poop they found and were calling A clue! A clue! I'm sure people were watching me with great pleasure or curiosity, since it was quite the spectacle of a tent erection. (Thanks, Julie!) Plus I think I swore a bit when the wind picked up and tried to make off with the un-staked monstrosity.

Then Alison got stung/bit by one of those tiny itsy bitsy teeny bees, and the world was going to end. And Emma stepped on her daisy sunglasses, crushing the ear piece straight off.

Ten minutes into our camping trip and we already had major drama.

Of course I forgot that this is Iowa, not Wisconsin, so I needed cash to pay for the site. We went to the nearest ATM at a gas station, passing fields and trees and rivers and oh look! Our lovely nuclear power plant

...and the accompanying miles of power lines stretching out in each direction. Pur-teeh.

I always feel the need to give myself a breast exam after leaving that town - like I'm going to grow a tumor overnight. And I just shake my head at the people catching and eating fish out of the reservoir in the camping area. Not me. Not after hearing about the 3-legged frogs or whatever the DNR found a couple years ago.

I especially love to see signs that read: "Tune to X radio station when sirens sound for emergency instructions." Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Or is that what radiation feels like?

So we're back home, packing our clothes for our nuclear adventure. (I told Mike there was no way in hell I was packing until we knew we had a site available.)

Maybe I'll pack some extra tinfoil in case I need to make us some protective headgear this weekend.

Or to make myself some metal underpants.

You know, to keep Mike and raccoons out.

There's a reason they give badges for learning how to pitch tents

Somewhere along the last two weeks, Mike and I decided to go camping this weekend.

No big deal. In fact we camped the crap outta last summer. Even when the nights were so bad the words "freezing ass cold" took new meaning as my butthole puckered just to stay warm.

COLD. Really.

So we love to camp.

And the girls love to camp.

They went through a 3-month stretch of drawing and talking and writing non-stop about camping this last school year. I have the fistfuls of campfire paintings to prove it.

Good idea, then, right?

Except for one thing...

Mike is working tomorrow, meaning I'll have to set up our tent by myself. Do you remember how big that thing is? It's a hotel made of nylon. We can fit two queen-sized air mattresses in it plus luggage and still have room to sit in the middle during rain storms which is in the forecast for our lovely camping extravaganza.

And I've only ever set up that tent maybe once in my life by myself.

Oh my hell. I'm gonna be that crazy lady wrestling with fiberglass poles while screeching at my children to stop hitting each other with sticks/running in the street sohelpmegod.

And this week was going so well* - all the while I'd completely forgotten about this feat of strength and patience waiting for me tomorrow..

*As a note to how well this week has gone, the girls passed up their apple slice snack because - get this - they wanted to finish cleaning their room. This is what I walked in to see:

Before you say anything, yes there were a few stuffed animals and a book under the bed, and I had to vacuum afterward, and the bed is definitely lacking in any kind of quality control, BUT this is the best they've ever done and I didn't have to beg them or threaten physical harm!

While I was floating on my happy little cloud of denial, Mike asked out of the blue tonight...

You gonna be okay tomorrow setting up that tent?

Erm. Maybe?

What did I get myself into? This'll be fun, right?

Just keep telling myself it'll be fun...

What's that STINK?!?

We ran a few errands yesterday, essentially making a loop around the entire metropolis of Cedar Rapids.

When we dropped off our two giant bags of aluminum cans for cash, I was hoping the kids wouldn't comment on the stench coming from every surface of the disgusting metal shed.

They didn't. They did, however, play with the candy machine until I yelled for them to hold hands (which is secret code for: quit touching that nasty thing).

But when we got back on the road, passing the ADM corn syrup processing plant, Alison twisted her face up in a frown and said, What's that SMELL?! It's stinky!

I laughed and told her that was the stink of Cedar Rapids, the City of Five Smells.

Mike and I were trying to remember last night what those five were. So far we have: the sewage treatment facility off Hwy 13, Penford, Quaker Oats, ADM, and we can't think of the last one... Is it Mt. Trashmore? Help, anyone?

Another of my "chores" was to get the oil changed in the Suburban.

It was supposed to take 15 minutes, but the guy said to come back in 40 unless he called my phone.

We wandered the mall for an hour and came back to find out the guy couldn't solve the mystery of how to dial out. I looked at him in disbelief and couldn't help but think when looking at his huge frame: Big dumb animal.

Really? A phone. I realize I'm only 29, but I pray for our future...

A few more errands later and I decided to treat the girls to a trip to the park for all of 20 minutes.

They decided it was more fun to push the swings than to actually sit on them.

Usually the park is filled with moms and children, but today, there was only one other mom texting on her super stylish phone, haphazardly watching her Ed Hardy-wearing toddler dip and dodge head wounds.

We also had a small group of pre-teens hanging out on the picnic tables.

One of the boys was loudly telling stories that included the word fuck a few too many times. I ignored it, figuring my kids don't usually pay attention too much to swearing.

I was SO PROUD of one of the young girls sitting at the table. She said, Quit swearing so much! There are little kids over there. Have a little respect.

Good for her.

Before leaving, I let the girls head across the parking lot to the pond. There are always ducks running around.

I had to keep telling the girls that the ducks weren't playing and didn't want to be chased. You could walk right up to them if you went slowly.

Those were three happy babies.

Sorry if you get motion sickness... this video is terrible, but I had to get a few seconds of the girls playing amongst the wild animals.

Just after I put the camera down, Kristin yelled excitedly, Look at these BIG ones!!!

Two Canadian geese were trotting toward us and the girls were heading toward them.

Time to go, kids! I used to work on a golf course where a family of geese had "adopted" one of the fairways. Those suckers can be mean and they bite and hiss. They chased us all the way to the road.

Today promises to be less exciting.

We had planned on going camping tomorrow, but now that I've told Mike his room smells like a dirty shoe, he's convinced we should stay home and clean. You know, because I would never do a thing like clean while he's at work. No no no never.

Today we de-stink. Tomorrow, we camp.

At least that's the plan.

Titillating Tuesday: Suck it up, wussy

When Emma was a toddler first learning to talk, she sounded like an angry Chinese lady.

No! You don't play nice! You stay out my house! Go now.

It was hours of free entertainment.

But suddenly the girl has turned British.

She says things like biscuits instead of cookies; wish instead of would like (I wish to see that movie); I can't see a thing! out of exasperation at her sisters standing in her way.

Mike says they must be watching too much Postman Pat.

I think it's all the hours Mike spends watching Harry Potter and Pirates of the Caribbean ("Daddy's pirates") with them.

---

I decided a few days ago - when I conveniently ran out - to wean myself off of Pepsi Crack.

And the fact that when I cracked open my last can, Emma mocked me: Sweet nectar of life... It's mommy's juice!

Heh. Oops.

Now we've all seen how I crash and burn when I go cold turkey, so of course I kissed Mike on the mouth for bringing me a 2-litre of Diet Pepsi (it's not a 12-step program, but it'll do) after the first day.

Turns out my cluster headaches are triggered by changes in caffeine intake.

I'm on Day 3 today.

I am SO TIRED. I've been checking my ass for tranquilizer darts, just in case.

While that might seem ridiculous, I once got a chunk of wood stuck in the side of my butt from my wheelbarrow, about an inch long and 1/4 inch thick. It hurt but I didn't realize I still had something stuck in my leg for a good 15 minutes or more. So a tranquilizer dart? Absolutely possible.

I actually feel okay today. I've kept the aspirin handy and have had one of Mike's energy drinks to keep me alive, at bare minimum.

How long will it last? Probably until I can't get away with taking a daily nap anymore.

---

Emma, eating her chocolate-and-strawberry-covered treat at the table: Ice cream is my vice.

Mike: Where did THAT come from? That's a pretty advanced word for a 5-year-old.

Sure, unless her imaginary friend is a Mensa member.

---

Since today is Tuesday, do we want to place any bets on if I'll get the recycleables out this week? Or should I go for week #4 of missing the truck. I probably have ANOTHER garbage can I can turn into a recycle bin...

The garbage guys are gonna hate me tomorrow.

---

I rarely bitch to Mike about my life as a stay-at-home, work-at-home, slave-at-home parent. (I save all that for you. You're welcome.)

I have my reasons for it... I know it's old fashioned, but I don't see Mike being over-the-moon pleased with his life if he comes home to a bitching, nagging, pleading mess of a wife. I'm still a mess, trust me. I just hide it well.

Except for this past weekend.

I've been having nightmares all night long for weeks, and not the same lovely nightmares about world disasters. They're nightmares about horrible stressful anxious moments that haven't even happened between Mike and I.

Weird stuff like trying to tell him I'm pregnant with an inbred genetically-freakish baby and Mike's passed out dead drunk, locked in a stock room and I can't get to him. Or how about watching a kid get hit by a car and waking up as you're trying to lift the car off the body. You know, normal stuff like that.

I've been waking up physically ill, having to run to the toilet at times.

I think the stress has finally gotten to me.

So on Saturday, I looked at Mike for a few seconds, thinking, then looked away and sincerely asked, Will there ever be a day - ever again in the future - when I can have one day off? When I can sit in my house and not have to do anything? Because it feels pretty bleak right now. I don't feel like it's going to happen, ever again. I'm so anxious all the time.

There was silence.

Then Mike said, Yes, there will. It might not happen for a while, but it will. When the girls go to school full time this fall, it'll get a lot easier.

Hearing that made me feel like I can do this, at least a little while longer...

Just a little while...

Until then, I need to give myself my own advice:

SUCK IT UP, WUSSY!

Pixar stopped just short of starting the toys on fire. Literally.

After Alison lined up eight or so apples on the bathtub ledge and shot them down with her Nerf gun, Mike decided it was time to get out of the house.

That, and we discovered our window wells filled high enough with dirt that the rain was being forced into our basement through the windows. Awesome.

Time to get out of the house, indeed.

We ended up going to Toy Story 3 last night, even though it cost us a small fortune.

Of course Mike had to go to the bathroom just as we stepped up to order our ungodly amount of popcorn and pop, so I returned the favor by abandoning him with the cashier upon his return to wait for the food and listen to her gush in her Valley Girl voice about our kids.

During the movie, two of the kids ended up on my lap when they got too tired, and Kristin was at the other end of the row with Mike where he gave her the entire tub of popcorn to snack on at her discretion.

I'm surprised she hasn't exploded like a little pigeon.

Alison squeezed my arm tight when Big Baby came on the screen,

but the girls were otherwise unshaken by a substantially SCARIER movie than the previous two. I'm not gonna lie... there were parts that reminded me of fears I had in childhood of my mom's weird doll with the creepy lazy eye and all her other beat up toys that she refuses to get rid of.

The only other squeamishness we had was from Emma during the flirting scenes with Buzz and Jessie. She'd bury her head in my neck.

The best part was looking over at Mike - five seats away - smiling and laughing at the movie.

And I was worried the flooded basement would put a damper on our Father's Day...

It's not abuse if they laugh

Sorry for my absence the last two days.

Between fighting Mike for the computer and losing power / hanging out in the basement, I haven't had much time to update.

Here it is. Update: we didn't die.

Although lightning struck so close that the girls' talking phone started freaking out in their bedroom and the house shook like it was an earthquake. Dial a number! Dial a number! Brrrring brrrring!!! Dial a number!

Yesterday was hot and humid as hell, meaning it was our one "good" day for getting outside. I now have only one requirement for going outside - NO TORNADOS.

Mike went on a bike ride or whatever that's code for, and I put the slip-n-slide out for the first time. My kids fall down even when they're not trying... how hard could this be?

I said "head first," Emma. Like Superman.

Ah, forget it. Do it however you want.

Who says my kids are awkward and uncoordinated?

Kristin's control issues came out when she ran up to the slide, came to a dead stop, then army crawled from the top all the way to the bottom. And her sisters had the patience for it, surprisingly. I think they "get" Kristin's quirks. Maybe more than I do.

I did what any mother would do - I picked them up by the crotch and armpits and threw them down the slide head-first. You know, to show them how to do it. Not at all related to relieving frustration.

Even then they couldn't grasp the concept. Or maybe they were afraid of diving forward. They're kind of control freaks (wonder where they got THAT from...)

So I started pushing them.

Run run run run run PUSH sliiiiiiide.....

Surprisingly it went over well. Lots of laughing and squealing.

Ten minutes later I was tired and hot, my jeans were wet, and the girls weren't getting any closer to figuring it out. Plus I was a little concerned that the neighbors would see me chucking my kids through the air and pushing them to the ground, and I really didn't feel like getting a visit from CPS.

I can only hope today brings opportunities for sun, fun, and visits from the local authorities.

Kill or be killed

I woke up this morning with my neck in knots. I have been sleeping terribly since Mike went back on nights.

Mostly I had nightmares about the Mr. Magoo look-alike who followed the girls and I conspicuously through the Target produce section last night.

(I had to pull a switcheroo in direction to finally ditch him. People without multiples have no idea what it's like being stalked through the grocery store by complete strangers. We-ird.)

I needed my rest, too. As always, I have way too much to do this week.

Like work on my fence.

Or perhaps not.

I busted butt outside to at least put in one of my gardens before the severe weather hits. I threw together this 12x12 monstrosity right over the top of the circular weed patch where our swimming-slash-cess pool sat last year.

I could potentially have vegetables planted there within the next week or so. Huzzah!

It's always nice to have new plants to try to kill. I've moved on from trying to kill my irises and roses, since they pretty much thrive on neglect.

Yay, me.

Busy, busy, busy.

As I was standing in my yard a few hours ago, mouth agape and my brain stumbling to figure out where the other garden should go, the dog-walking neighbor approached and yelled, You should have a reality show: The Wife Who Does Everything.

That could have a double meaning. Ahem.

I packed up the crying kids - it was too hot outside to have fun, according to them - and my tools and headed inside and away from my freshly mowed, newly fenced yard to await the 80% chance of severe thunderstorms.

And wait.

And wait.

It's been 3 hours.

When is this crap gonna hit?

Hopefully it's right in the middle of the night because nothing says "rest and relaxation" like having three children run scared down the hallway with blankets over their heads in Mother Theresa fashion yelling, I want to sleep in the basement!!!

Our unfinished, concrete-floored basement.

Yep.

That sounds way more fun than nightmares about Mr. Magoo.

*I feel the need to add that Mike said there have been a lot of earthquakes lately. It's really rare for me to wake up once I fall asleep, so when I mentioned to Mike I've been waking up all night long, he checked the news and sure enough... earthquakes. What is the deal???

It's only 9 AM and I want someone to sedate me

I woke up while arguing with Mike over blueberries.

You can assume he was laughing his ass off, and I was desperately trying to explain why I wanted blueberries... to crush them up and draw on the floor with them, of course! Duh, Mike. (Sleeptalking does not a logical argument create.)

The only time I argue with him like that is while I'm sleeping. He deserved a tongue-lashing today, but not over blueberries. Last night I noticed something horrific. Mike drank all but one of my bottled alcoholic beverages - drinks that I only buy 6 of every couple months. Oh, but he left me plenty of Ice House.

Jackass.

(Love you, honey! So much.)

I took my lone bottle of alcohol and stayed up late last night sorting thousands of beads in tupperware according to color and organizing finished jewelry sets into drawers. Sounds like a rockin' good time, right?

(Note to self: Add "stain the deck" to my continually expanding To Do List.)

I was up until 2 AM working. I thought I could keep working, but I woke up at 3 AM asleep on the livingroom floor with no recollection of deciding to lie down in my pile of paperwork.

And then I woke again in bed at 4:30. Only to have Mike wake me up two hours later to chat about the many uses of fruit. Then he made a huge breakfast.

We woke the kids up and fed them, then talked about Israel and the history of the region. Seriously... I know what you're thinking; anyone who knows Mike knows he's not usually "politically opinionated," but he's been really interested lately and follows the news more than I do. I can't tell you how often he says "Did you hear about the..." and I have to go check the news.

Although sometimes it's: "Did you hear about the (something that includes two half-naked women)?" and shows me a picture while cracking up. You never know what you're gonna get with Mike.

We did all that before Mike went to bed for the day.

Since the girls also went to bed at an extremely late hour thanks to weeks of rainy mornings and sleeping in until noon, we're all being lazy.

I don't foresee much getting done until this caffeine kicks in.

Certainly no blueberry painting in the near future.

Titillating Tuesday: Trashy

I wish my child would let me know when garbage day is. Because for the third week in a row, I didn't get my recycle bin out in time, and I was running out in the rain with my stinky garbage bin.

Alison slept through it.

When she finally decided to join the rest of the civilized world at noon, she drew me this picture:

and said It's garbage truck day today.

Too little too late, kid.

---

I can hear thunder.

I'm trying to time my shower between thunderstorms, only because I am deathly afraid of lightning.

Less the lightning and more the being fried to death in an instant.

So yeah, I really need a shower, but I really like being alive.

Hmmm...

---

Since we're stuck in the house for the 20th consecutive day (at least it feels that way) due to daily thunderstorms, we're having art project afternoon. Today's projects consist of the girls getting their own paper and glue and markers and making pictures.

Here are the rest of Alison's beauties...

A pirate ship:

A community of houses where the five of us can afford our own homes:

(keep dreaming, girl...)

And here comes what I call the "eyeball" collection:

I'm the one with the ragin' green afro, Alison's in the middle, and Daddy's on the end.

All of her people used to look like this (Alison licking a lollipop):

and they've suddenly morphed into this (Alison walking her pet cat):

I wonder if it has to do with her pet Pigeon - pronounced Pee-zhawn (he's French)...

OR from the girls watching too much Nightmare Before Christmas.

---

And now I'm going to float away down the river that's formed through our yard.

I've always wanted to own a house boat...

On the 8th day, God hired me an assistant

I work better when Mike's out of the house.

Don't tell him that, though, or he'll never come home.

When Mike left for his California non-vacation last week, I was excited at the thought of everything I could get accomplished.

I can mow the lawn and finish my jewelry, organize my business materials and update my inventories.

It was like Chore Christmas.

I made my list...

...and checked it twice.

It grew. And grew. And GREW.

I stopped adding things once I realized the list would never, ever end. I finally saw how delusional I am.

THREE DAYS. I got a lot of stuff done, but just as Mike was calling to tell me he was 30 minutes from home, I looked around and the house looked almost exactly the same. It's pure torture.

Back in my pre-child, working woman days, I would carry around a planner with my little daily tasks written neatly on each page. (I also owned a Palm Pilot which I used maybe five times.)

I'd write down things like: vacuum. Or: pick up stamps. And when I didn't get it done because I decided to go out to lunch or some other non-important task, I'd strike it and move it to the next day. Or maybe the next. Or how about next week?

Because there was no rush.

It's not like I had anything else to do! Besides write in my planner, that is. I was just exhausted at the end of the day... all that day-planner reorganizing of when I was going to pick up a roll of quarters for laundry.

Now, I'm so busy I've had neither the time nor the memory to buy a planner, let alone write in it.

Do you know there are still some days when I can't remember if I've showered? I thought that was supposed to end once the baby stage was over.

There are some days I get so busy beating back the housework that I forget about making supper for the kids until it's almost bedtime (no worries... they usually remind me).

I am so busy that when I sit still, I feel anxious because I know there is no way I can afford to take time to relax. When Mike and I watch movies, I have to fill out Sudoku puzzles just to keep my mind from wandering to the growing chore list.

And now I'm starting up my business again. I've got the pictures taken, inventory updated, and all my jewelry repairs and backorders in the mail. I'm even making plans to expand to a housewares and children's line. (You'll have to wait to see, though... I'm making some new stuff hopefully today. Or maybe tomorrow. Who the hell knows?)

On top of that, it's hard to keep in touch with friends and family. I'm doing this pretty much on my own, and it's a five woman job.

It's like I told my sister: I need to magically add an 8th day to my week.

Because I'm way more stretched and ambitious than there are hours in a day.

Now who wants to buy me a planner and some caffeine?

Mike: Making power outages fun since 2005

Mike came home from Southern California last night.

Since the girls have been born, Mike has joked that he couldn't afford to leave me unless he escaped to Mexico. There was a 50/50 chance that he would break for the border yesterday... being only 15 miles from child support freedom Tijuana.

At the beginning of his trip, I hurriedly threw in a Please don't bring home any shlock! Talk to you tomorrow. Remember, no shlock, at the end of a phone conversation.

Mike is the king of shlock.

He is the person gift stores dream of. And gas stations. And the checkout aisle at the supermarket.

And airports lock you into shlock paradise.

He promised.

One of the first things out of his mouth after he came home: So.... I DID pick up a little bit of shlock for the kids, but I promise they'll like them.

He whipped out three keychain LED flashlights. He bought them at the San Diego airport, which means he almost made it out of the state without buying anything.

Almost.

The girls have been playing with them all night and all morning with only a break for sleep. The ironic part is that it's been storming on and off for a week, and the odds we'll lose power are growing. The flashlights might be the best gift ever.

Welcome home, Mikey. We missed your shlock, your paychecks, and your sparkling personality.

Now how long can he use the timezone excuse for sleeping in?

Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

I'm so glad I got those two hours of sleep before waking up in a sweat. Gasp. I'd forgotten to re-extend the sump hose into the yard.

(Sump pump = machine in basement that pulls moisture from under the foundation and dumps it into your yard via hose. You're welcome, non-Midwesterners.)

Let's just say that this was not an "emergency, jump-out-of bed" situation, but I dutifully went out and fixed it. I thought - silly me - that I'd be able to get back to sleep.

As I was outside, I saw lightning to the south. Hmmm... that's odd, since the radar was completely clear before I went to bed.

Yeah. A huge storm cropped up and we're gonna get nailed at about 4:30AM.

What better way to finish the week I've had?

So now I'm debating... laundry and dishes? or lie in bed waiting for this ever-expanding storm to hit?

Here's your complimentary ceramic kitten!

Mike reminded me several times that while he is in Southern California, free from children and nagging ball-and-chain wife, he is NOT on vacation.

Repeat.

No children. No wife. NOT vacation.

Okay, so he went there for a funeral. And I love and will miss Grandpa Troll probably as much as he will...

But then Mike starts sending me pictures of things like a SuperTarget with a cart escalator.

(Apparently La Mesa is where they installed the first one. Awesome, and absolutely worth every penny of the plane ticket.)

Then Mike sends me pictures of the aircraft carrier he and his dad are carousing around on.

You want to know how MY lovely day has been?

I woke up at 8, realized a huge thunderstorm was on the way, and busted my ass outside to get the lawn mowed.

But alas, the mower ran out of gas.

The storm crept closer so I said Screw mowing and grabbed the weed whacker. At least something could get accomplished. Thirty seconds into whacking away, the string ran out. Thanks to Google, I managed to find instructions on restringing the freakin' thing. Recommence whacking 30 minutes later.

I think I ate lunch at this point because I was shaking from too much Pepsi and exercise and not enough sustinence.

And then because awesome things like to happen to me, power went out for three hours due to wind. (Of course, I called the neighbor and asked if their power was out, too, or if I'd just forgotten to pay the electric bill.)

Because I didn't have to do laundry or dishes or anything important on my 2-page To Do List, 99% of which requires electricity.

I gave up and decided on a nap. The kids were playing dress-up anyway... harmless, right?

Then I heard Alison yelling from her room, I'm a PRINCESS in my dress. Except I don't have a crown so I'll just wear a hat instead.

And Emma was yelling to Kristin, Arrrgg, matey! I'm going to kill your Glinda (Alison) and steal your gold!!! ARRRRGGG!!!! Kill! Kill!

Kristin was pretty much squealing and laughing the entire time.

When the fight scene progressed into the livingroom, I made them pose for pictures.

I told Mike since we weren't able to join him on his non-vacation, it was HIS job to talk to his dad about acquiring mementos. I told him it didn't have to be expensive, just not shlock.

Me: Our kids have NOTHING from any of their other grandparents to pass along. And please try to find something sentimental, not just something like a ceramic cat or whatever...

Mike: It's funny you mention that because I'm looking at a whole family of ceramic cats as we speak.

No!

Yes.

Oh my god! I have to have them now.

I will be supremely disappointed if we don't get at least ONE of those ceramic cats.

I've been having weird crap like this happen the last few days. It has to be a sign from Grandpa. It has to be.

Hoping they've got trains in Heaven...

Mike landed about 40 minutes ago in San Diego with his dad. They're there for Papa Grande's funeral on Friday.

I hope they're at least able to have a little down time together. Mike keeps reminding me that this 4-day venture is NOT a vacation. I'll chant that to myself as I'm checking off the 40 items on my To Do List...

(I've had anxiety and nightmares all week long - not about plane crashes - but you never know with me. Is it weird that I watched their flight status for nearly the entire last hour, cheering it on with "Go. Go. Go"? Because I totally wasn't doing that. I also wasn't talking to the computer asking if the plane should be descending so quickly and so soon....)

Here's Papa Grande (a.k.a. Grandpa Troll) with three other generations back in 2008:

I had been searching for this picture for the last week with no luck. By chance, someone reading this site mentioned my NICU links, and out of boredom I scrolled through them. What are the odds that this picture was in those 7 or 8 posts?

Every time Grandpa came to visit, we suspected it could be the last time we would see him. He would drive from San Diego to Minnesota every Spring and back again in Fall. Ironically, he was on his way to see us when he slipped away.

I told Mike he couldn't have passed away at a better time: he was driving cross-country, with his son, on Route 66 with trains (his favorite thing in all the world) passing them by.

Honestly, as I write this, it's strange and sad to think that he's not around anymore.

He was always so quiet, but he had sent me a birthday card every year addressed to Rojo Grande and signed by Papa Grande, and it made me laugh every single time. (People used to call me Red because of my coppery hair in middle school, and Grandpa thought it was a fitting nickname since I called him Papa Grande. It stuck.)

I'll never forget how awkward it was when I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek for the first time as he was getting ready to leave - years ago - and how he always made a point to hug me every time after that.

I know Mike misses him terribly.

I feel sad knowing that I won't be there for the funeral, but the girls and I will go up to Minnesota for any gathering they plan up there. I feel like I owe it to him to do at least that.

Too bad we have breasts AND brains

Look what my uterus built all by itself!

It had help from a few other body parts, but my point is: I wasn't hindered by my lack of penis.

I'm far from bragging, though, since I still have FOUR sections left plus ONE gate. And things aren't looking so hot since this gate took me three hours to finish this afternoon after I sent Mike off on a jet plane.

I have planted gardens, built retaining walls, run wiring, knocked down walls, BUILT FENCES (or at least ONE fence), and done things most men consider their territory. I never saw it as a gender-redefining moment. I figured that crap needed to get done and Mike is always at work. So I put on my big girl panties and did what I had to.

I guess I'd thought we were past the age of "Women Can't Do Man Stuff."

A few weeks ago, I had several middle-aged men looking at me funny as I carried a couple 2x4s out of Lowe's. (Did I have TP hanging off my shoe? Did I have a booger? Oh wait... I had TITS. That's supposed to handicap me somehow in the Home Improvement department.)

There is nothing that makes me more angry than male egotism.

Or the Get-Your-Ass-in-the-Kitchen-and-Bake-Me-A-Pie Syndrome.

Men "think" women are better at cooking because cooking is hard for them. Guess what, a-hole... it was HARD for me, too, until I got off my lazy ass and taught myself how to do it.

Do you think I enjoy standing in that freakin' sauna of a kitchen cooking food that I'll be so sick of smelling after 90 minutes of hovering over it I won't want to eat it by the time it's finished?

Yeah, I think not.

Do you think I enjoy staying up all night to feed three infants or that it's easy for me because I lack testicles? Or maybe I looove folding laundry and doing dishes until I break a sweat.

I'll let ya think that one out.

Mike and I had a "breakthrough" a while back. I think it was when he wasn't sure how to do laundry. He innocently figured I should just do it since I already knew how.

Mmm. Hmmm.

I told him I learned how to do my laundry when I was 11, and while I'm pretty smart, I'm sure if an 11-year-old girl can figure out how to dump in detergent, a grown man should be able to.

(I'm happy to report Mike is now a laundry PRO.)

So yeah. This sort of knowledge doesn't come automatically with the uterus. EVERYONE, tits or no, has to learn it. But I think our culture has so ingrained that women are better at this stuff genetically, when all it is is our moms pulling us aside for 10 minutes as kids and showing us how to pour in the Downy. You know, to prepare us for marriage and womanhood and domestic bliss.

I'm so tired of the men who complain that they're not wired to step up and help out. I wasn't "wired" for it, either. I was about as tomboy as they came. But because I am a GROWN UP, I worked on it.

Not only can I build fences, I can cook a mean fucking stirfry.

Sad to say, I have yet to conquer an ironing board.

Titillating Tuesday: The long weekend

As I frantically threw clothes for four people into suitcases last Thursday - conveniently forgetting to pack any of my underwear, of course - the girls crowded next to Daddy. I'm sure he was watching something kid friendly. Maybe the new Alice in Wonderland that makes Alison whimper.

About three hours into our 6-1/2 hour drive to Northern Wisconsin, Mom got a call from Aunt Lynn Ann, asking if we'd like to go to a fish fry.

Have I ever mentioned that I get car sick? Just the mention of "fish fry" and I was nodding my head frantically NO, COUNT ME OUT.

But of course there was a miscommunication with Stephie who also decided against fish grease spending the evening with our entire extended family, so guess who filled in the reservation...

I saw horror on the other guests' faces when they realized there was an entire kids' table nearby.

Surprisingly, theirs was the quietest in the restaurant. (Probably because Megan took the kids to the bathroom every ten minutes. You know, just in case... Mom walked in and saw Alison laughing at her butt crack in the mirror, so I'm pretty sure the guests were impressed with their good behavior.)

We spent the next morning at another of my aunt's hoop house. Don't ask me what that means. It's like a greenhouse shed.

I spent the entire time talking with my aunts, highlighted by yelling to the girls, Don't pick any of the flowers off the plants!!! Thanks, Mom, for teaching them that flowers are for picking, by the way.

That night was the party. Of course there was a scuffle over whether or not to change the girls into dresses, but thankfully it turned cold and started raining. Because THAT shouldn't hinder the dozen or so cotton-headed, walker-toting guests in getting to the party without breaking a hip...

On the kid front, I had to do almost nothing all weekend, thanks to the Adopt A Triplet program.

Here are the girls with their new guardians: Left to right Jeffrey with Alison, Lexi, Emma next to Megan, and in the back Jake with Kristin. I swear I didn't pose this. Those kids would wait for my girls to filter out of the camper/truck/house and claim their adopted triplet like baggage.

It was AWESOME. Thanks again for the free babysitting services from your children, JaNae and Jen!

And because I can, I have to include a picture of Elliott on time out.

All of Grandma's great-grandchildren (the ones who could make it):

There are at least 12 who weren't there.

I forced the girls to sit away from their new best friends at dinner so I could make sure they were eating and not just spending the entire weekend in the restroom. To show the level of supervision, Alison - while sitting right next to me - picked up the remains of a chicken leg off my plate and ate it down to the bone. I noticed and stopped her just before she pulled the cartilage off the end.

She asked for another "chicken on a stick."

I figured What the hell and gave her another one. She ate TWO MORE chicken legs down to the bone.

After we showed off our caveman skills, there was the cake with the obnoxiously green frosting...

Before dinner, my uncle Dave had gotten up and said Grace and a few words thanking everyone for coming.

Thanks to the friends who were able to make it.... and thinking of the ones who have passed and aren't able to make it tonight, ... yet...

I decided not to stick around to see the zombies.

Well, I left because of that and because my intestines spent the evening reminding me why I shouldn't have gone to that fish fry the day before. I curled up and died in the CougarCamper.

Wisconsin had a few flowers in the ground yet, so we spent Sunday at my relatives' house out in the country where the kids managed to pick the rest of them. Emma and Alison concentrated on picking daisies while Kristin held up her weed she'd pulled up by the root.

Those jeans are CAKED with wet sand. CAKED. (Now do you understand why I hate sand?)

When the weather turned cool and windy, we had to strip their jeans off to wash and dry them. Ah, I really missed those days of having to bring a change of clothes...

It really is gorgeous up there. We stopped so the girls could laugh at the buffalo "looking at us."

On our way home we saw a turkey crossing the road, rabbits, birds, and the best one of the night - whitetail deer in a field.

I can see him! I see his deer twigs!

Erm... "antlers," girls.

So much to see, so much to do....

I told Mike he'd better get some sleep because the girls were coming home high maintenance after all the excitement and playing with the other kids.

If it wasn't for missing Daddy, I don't think they would have come home at all.

And of course they were much more willing to leave once my cousin Jen gave us all their Nerf guns aka "shooters" that they couldn't carry onto the plane. Bribery is the best.