Mom, interrupted

People keep asking me what I'm going to do once the kids are in school.

That's 19 days from now.

My answers: Survive? Try not to lose my sanity over figuring out school lunches? Clean my house without someone chasing me, undoing everything I just cleaned? Sleep on the couch with Maury on in the background?

Hows abouts we GET to school and THEN I'll figure out what I'm going to do?

I'm pretty sure they expect something more along the lines of "go back to school" or "get a job." Which WILL happen. But probably not until I can slow down for a minute to finish all the crap I've been working on for half a decade without being interrupted every ten minutes by my heathen hoard.

Let's face it - Mike makes a great living. The people at the mill have been constantly giving him crap that I - like their wives/ex-wives - will NEVER get a job because we've learned to survive on his income alone.

That once a woman is "unemployed" for that long, she's too lazy to work again. Because when I think back over the last five-and-a-half years, the first thing that comes to mind is: VACATION! Or maybe: JACKPOT! Or: THERE IS NOTHING MORE RELAXING THAN LISTENING TO CHILDREN SCREAM/BEG FOR SNACKS ALL DAY.

Really???

Getting a job would be a FUCKING HOLIDAY.

The thought of those smug assholes ripping into Mike pisses me off and makes me want to get a job at the local gas station just to prove them wrong. (I realize this could all be an elaborate plot by Mike, and then I realize we're talking about MIKE.)

Of course I was pondering my life less than a month from now while spending "Mike's" money on clearanced shoes at Target.

$3+ for velcro tennies. $4+ for men's white tennies. $17 for women's Converse tennies. $1 (yes, one dollar) for girls' shorts.

Not only that, but I've been getting deliveries every other day with my online clearance purchases for the girls' early Christmas presents. A $60 Black & Decker kids' workbench for less than $30, now hiding under our bed:

Everything from Mr. Potato Head kits ($18 $4) to Zhu Zhu 3-packs ($38 $17) hiding in our game closet:

Gee, it's so much fun spending Mike's money! You know - ON MYSELF. I've always WANTED a pink soccer ball.

You know what's even BETTER than spending Mike's money? Spending Mike's money while dragging two carts full of children with me. And answering the cashier's questions about the girls even though I've been through her aisle a hundred times. Why, yes! I would love to talk to you about my c-section in front of 30 other Target patrons.

Is it any wonder I enjoy working outside, by myself, in the heat? It's better than the alternative of having to talk to someone or being talked to.

In fact, I think I'll head out there right now... get a few more boards stained before I head to visit Mike on RAGBRAI.

Like living in the lap of pampered luxury...

No more screwing!

At the risk of making some kind of innuendo, I have an announcement:

Yesterday afternoon, I screwed the LAST BOARD to my FENCE!

I thought the day would never arrive. Oh, and now that I'm looking at it, I realized I should have continued the fence around the rest of the lot, but I'm not going to dwell on it in case it makes me homi/sui-cidal.

Plus, it's hard to see a downside to finally getting the fence built.

Well, except for the 7-hour "tan" I got yesterday.

You like that? A little burnt "almost boob" for your Wednesday?

Yesterday's heat index was a balmy 100 degrees. It didn't feel THAT bad. I just consumed my weight in Crystal Light energy drinks so I didn't pass out, that's all. And I'm pretty sure that's the reason I couldn't sit still until 1 AM this morning...

Anywho...

By the time I finished, I was practically in tears - the good kind. I can't believe it's over.

(Probably because it's not.)

I spent the evening sanding down hundreds of picket tops in preparation of the next phase: STAINING.

I only got about 50 boards done.

I had to stop around 9:30 when - in the mood lighting of my garage - I could've been staining a tree or a small child and not known. Plus I'm sure the neighbors were really excited about my DeWalt boombox playing "I wanna be a billionaire, so frickin' bad" while their kids were getting into bed.

(I would like to point out what my girls did that entire time. You might be able to see in the picture... they drew the World's Smallest Hopscotch. Perfect for midgets. Not as good when they wanted Mommy to try it out.)

Since it's supposed to rain today, we're opting out of staining and heading instead to Target to check out the Clearance racks. I'm crossing my fingers that stuff has hit 90% off.

As if finishing the fence wasn't great enough, I ran across a Target giftcard last night. I figured it was empty, but I called the number just in case. $40!!!

And when I was digging around in my wallet, I ran across ANOTHER Target giftcard (Mike gets them at the mill for safety milestones). Another $35!!!

It's a sign. Go forth and spend.

I deserve it.

Titillating Tuesday: Blechsnarfleflabblebarf

In retrospect, I'm not sure how to rate today. Maybe you can help me?

---

I woke to the kids still sleeping at 9:30 this morning.

(In case you haven't noticed, I sleep until I am forced to feed my children breakfast. I'm not fit for a normal work week, unless that normal work week is the work week of a stripper or night janitor.)

To make my day seem even more manageable, the neighbor boy offered his services to mow the lawn. And before you get too excited, that's not a code word for "pool boy." He's fourteen. I'm more interested in grown men and less interested in kids whose most adorable feature is his freckled forehead.

To celebrate, I cleaned the kids up for a trip into town. We sang in the car and talked about how hot it is outside and I told them we could stop for ice cream.

Ice cream?!?

Yes, ice cream.

Wouldn't you know that as soon as we stepped up to the counter, FIFTEEN other kids and parents waltzed in behind us. And we all know how quickly 5-year-olds can narrow down the infinite combinations of toppings and ice cream, especially when we only go out for ice cream twice a year. (Emma and Kristin settled on chocolate ice cream with chocolate chips. They have a very complicated formula to reach maximum chocolate potential.)

And wouldn't you know that as soon as I got the first two kids' ice creams ordered, Alison death-gripped herself to my leg and started bawling about something that was incomprehensible.

Blaaaah waaaaah ahhhuhuhuh... Maah staaaahhhhhh haaa.

What is it, Alison? What's wrong???

And wouldn't you know that as soon as I figured out Alison was saying My stomach feels sick and I shuffled her five feet down the counter, she barfed her scrambled eggs all down my pant leg and into my waiting hand.

She no longer was upset or sick, just surprised.

Did I mention my children almost NEVER PUKE? I'm pretty certain Alison is the only one to puke in the last three years. Ever since she got heat stroke at 2 years old, she gets car sick and heat sick.

(And I was all I'm a rockstar mom and won the heat war yesterday because the kids made it through hours and HOURS of being out in the heat with minimal breakdowns for the FIRST TIME EVER.)

So there I was, with a child strapped to my leg in the center of ColdStone Creamery, me looking like a jackass with my hand full of vomit juice and scrambled eggs and 15 bystanders wide-eyed at the spectacle.

Alison immediately went back to 100% perky while the too-nice manager and I cleaned up "breakfast."

I looked down at my wet pant leg and thought, To hell with it. I drove 30 minutes. We are STAYING here and EATING this ice cream. (We also blessed Menard's with our post-vomit presence. I'd be damned if I'd let a little heat puke stop me from finishing this fence. Take one for the team, Alison.)

Needless to say, they're staying inside while I work on the fence tomorrow.

Have I ever mentioned I hate hot weather?

---

Alison, do you remember what we did today?

Yeah, we played at Gage's house on the swings and I swinged and hit my chin and it was so fun.

What did we do before that?

We went to the store and bought wood.

And what did we do before that?

We got ice cream and I had blue ice cream and maybe my sisters can have some next week!

And what happened at the ice cream shop?

I, um... spit out lots and lots of eggs!

More or less.

---

Here's what our yard used to look like:

Here's the updated game plan for what our yard is going to look like:

Kind of. I drew it at 2 AM Monday morning, so plans are subject to change.

---

Mike called me today with his RAGBRAI update.

I rode with Dad today, but after yesterday's headlight incident, I wasn't going to chance anything so I rode behind Kurt instead. And then Kurt's headlight fell off his bike and almost took me out in exactly the same way.

It's a bike-slash-headlight anti-Mike conspiracy.

---

This evening, I shipped the kids off to the neighbor's house for her husband to babysit (awesome, I know!) while the womenfolk went to a jewelry party. I know that probably seems weird to most people since I own a jewelry-making business, but if I'm going to let that keep me from hanging out with my awesome neighbors, I should probably start selling jewelry from that business again.

It was fun.

And I spent money. And ran into an ex-coworker. And a new neighbor I haven't seen in a while.

And I politely asked to take a catalogue and even admitted that I had malicious intent to use it. (Mostly I wanted to make some of these $120+ necklaces for $10 so I could laugh and laugh and laugh... or sell them and make money. That, too.)

Can I write off those expenses as entrepreneurial espionage?

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Get lost

It only took one day, but I'm back to being excited Mike is gone for a week.

All five of us woke up somewhere between 4 AM and the buttcrack of dawn on Saturday. We drove Mike to his RAGBRAI bus and wished him good luck on his "big bike ride."

(The girls are so jealous. It's hard to explain to a 5-year-old that - sometimes - riding a bicycle can suck hairy dog testicle. Specifically when Mike's dad's headlight falls off his handlebars and under Mike's tire, causing him to get road rash up his right side... you know, like today. Al should watch out for some kind of retaliation. And probably shouldn't fall asleep within a nautical mile of a permanent marker.)

We waved, said our goodbyes and drove into the sunrise. Out of self-loathing, we then spent the morning at my parents' house, helping attach soffet-work on the garage and playing with the giant Barbie house. I'll let you figure out who did what.

By the time we left, the kids had burned through all their energy, even the popcicles my mom force fed them.

Emma made it five feet in the door before falling victim to exhaustion.

I have never seen such angry children as when I attempted to wake them for the neighborhood block party. Rarrrr. When we got there, they disappeared off to the swingset and I didn't see them but for their hourly snack request.

Some teenagers arrived to the party and my children wandered off with them to watch Star Wars Episode V, and all the way home they talked about how it was the best movie EVER. Is it possible they inherited Mike's dork gene?

We all slept like babies that night.

Today wasn't nearly as much fun (barring the visit up to the neighbors' birthday party where Emma proclaimed "I got cake and a tattoo!" ... sounds a lot like my 18th birthday).

I am convinced if Mike stayed away for a month, I could have this house in pristine condition.

Day 1 and I am almost done with the f*#cking fence. I need six more boards and that glorious bastard will be FINISHED.

While working on the gate, a couple walked by. I waved. They waved. The husband yelled, That fence looks nice... (sigh) really nice. It was like my fence made him sad. (This project has gotten some WEIRD reactions from people, and I'm almost sad it's coming to an end. Ah, what the hell am I saying? No I'm not.)

I did a bunch of other crap today, but just thinking about it makes me tired.

And yes, this picture was taken in the dark because that's how long I was outside today. I'm so glad I wore work gloves because nothing's sexier than pasty white hands and hairy red gorilla arms.

The kids are asleep and I'm lining up tomorrow's exciting agenda.

A trip to Menard's?

Maybe I could buy some paint for the kitchen?

Oh, and the shrubs need a trim.

That reminds me... I should probably trim up my "shrubs" AKA facial hair. And arm hair. Can I get a full body dip?

Mike will think he arrived to the wrong house and family at the end of the week.

Surprise!

Mike jolted up in bed. Is there someone here? In the house???

Mike, we do have three children.

No, I think someone is in the house.

He jumped from the room while I continued to think he'd lost his mind. Then I heard a female voice from the livingroom. An adult female voice.

Malea!

I had totally forgotten she was stopping by today to drop off the Twilight books she'd borrowed, then I realized my phone was beeping with a text - presumably Malea saying I'm on my way or some kind of warning. You know, since most people are UP before 10 AM...

Turns out the kids won't let the Schwans man in, OR the neighbor girls, but they like and know Malea well enough to unlock the door for her then recommence watching "cartoons." (By "cartoons" I mean "whatever is on the channel that comes up when they turn on the TV," which was some kind of 1970s movie punctuated by infomercials.)

I stumbled out of bed to chat for a minute or two and throw together her next installment of reading material.

I'm still shocked the girls didn't wake us up to beg for food - the usual way I wake up in the morning. Except it's normally THREE HOURS SOONER.

In our defense, it was a long night. Alison was up until almost 11:30 because of a thunderstorm to the north of us - she could hear it, and that was enough to freak her out.

I finally let her lay down on the couch with Mike.

Ten minutes later, this is what I found:

Relocate to OUR bedroom.

That seemed to do the trick. She snuggled up with my stuffed kangaroo and was fast asleep.

I spent the next hour or so waiting for the Target sale to start online. I gave up and woke at 5:30 to the sound of Mike hoarking on the toilet. He assured me: Don't worry, it's just sinus drainage. That plus his Flinstone vitamins made for a lovely display, I'm sure. He says it's his cold; I think it's his nerves from starting RAGBRAI tomorrow.

We were both awake at that point, so I grabbed the debit card and headed for the computer.

There wasn't very much for selection, but I managed to find (what I thought were) two good deals. I bought a 3-pack of those godforsaken Zhu Zhu pests and a kids' workbench/tool kit for half off.

My Christmas shopping for the kids is almost done. In July.

I'm so excited I could vomit.

Titillating Thursday: Where do I start?

Public Service Announcement: Back in Black Friday tomorrow on Target's website.

---

Mike is leaving soon to start RAGBRAI.

If you don't know what that is, think of the longest you've ever ridden a bike, then multiply it by 10, do that in one shot in the heat and rain and wind alongside several tens of thousands of other crazy assholes, and then multiply THAT by seven days.No hills, of course. Absolutely NO hills.

Pfffftt! Yeah, right.

I have done this ride twice before, and my poor, sensitive, pale white skin can't handle that kind of sun damage. But have fun, Mikey. We'll see you at the overnights.

---

As I had mentioned, my cousin Chelsy auditioned for American Idol in Milwaukee yesterday.

There were over 10,000 people.Chelsy was in the last 8 to audition. FIFTEEN HOURS of being trapped in the Bradley Center - no one allowed to leave, no one allowed to bring you anything, on top of being "anally raped" by the vendor prices.

She practiced and Stephie said she knew Chels would get through just in comparison to the people who made it through before them.

Then it went bad, like a glass of milk sitting in a window.

Chelsy got a case of the giggles. And she forgot the words.

Stephie said it was surreal and a huge disappointment for Chelsy. We're trying to convince her to come to Iowa this weekend and try again in Cedar Falls.

This girl has the talent... except I'm thinking we should get her a little drunk next time.

---

Don't you just love the internet? A friend from middle school read yesterday's post on Facebook and told me about an awesome recipe site: SuperCook.com. Before you go thinking this is just an ordinary recipe site, check it out.

You enter the ingredients you want to use or have lying around your house, and the site pulls up recipes from a bunch of OTHER recipe sites and tells if you have everything to make it or what you'd need to buy.

Try it out. I'm hooked.

I might start buying really weird shit at the store just to see what recipes it brings up... First up? Eggplant.

---

Before bed last night, the girls and I sat around a bucket in their room and filled it "with toys to make other kids happy." It was amazing to see what they put in there. In fact, several times I had to ask Kristin Are you sure you want to give away your butterflies?

That girl has not a selfish bone in her body.

Which is odd because she's a hoarder. I keep finding green Army men stuffed into random bags and socks around our house.

Squirrel.

We're only halfway through their toys and have filled a 2'x2' cube with everything from play jewelry to Littlest Pet Shop animals and cars.

Now I have to figure out where to take it all.

---

Yes, I realize it's not Tuesday. Titillating nonetheless...

Me want food.

Mrs. Hubbard's bare cupboards? I'm giving them a run for their money.

Back in the day, I shopped for groceries via the "I'm starving... this looks good" method. I never had a plan for those scallops or the two giant tubs of vegetarian baked beans. I was HUNGRY. And most of the time, the food would sit there until I was desperate.

In a quick inventory, I noticed we have food in our freezer from a year ago or longer. (And really? The chicken nuggets? Who was I fooling when I bought those?)

This last week, I've resisted the urge to shop. Instead, I'm trying to use up all the weird crap in my cupboards in an effort to NOT WASTE FOOD.

I hit my breaking point today.

I have a plethora of noodles and freezer-burned green beans and eggs and Icee pops (and of course the chicken nuggets), but not much else that's useful. The worst part? I told Mike to take the last of the caffeinated non-pop beverages to work today in a 4AM-stupor.

Haven't I told you not to believe anything I say that early in the morning?

I am so hungry. So, so so sosososo hungry. I would never have survived in Ethiopia. I already have a bloated gut.

Watch out, Target. We're coming in for a crash landing.

Titillating Tuesday: What happens when you die?

I don't mean Is there a heaven? or How many virgin pool boys will I get if I strap myself to a pipe bomb?

I mean: How do people celebrate your life when you're gone?

I, personally, want a parade - no horses, of course. I want a parade, and since I'm not famous and there aren't too many other reasons to have a party in my honor - being married already and not planning on any more breeding - I'd like to be roasted Dennis Miller style. Talk about the time I tried to wax my mustache in middle school and ended up with a raw upper lip for a week.

Oh, and no black at the funeral. Or even solid colors. I want an all-paisley audience. I want it to look like a clown school vomited on the church.

Yes, I said "church." My last bit of irony in this world.

And I swear to god, no crying or I will haunt your ass.

I've been thinking about this a lot since Mike's grandpa, Papa Grande, passed away. I am in charge of putting together a mural of pictures over his lifetime.

Every time I see this picture:

I think Jack Nicholson:

Sell crazy someplace else; we're all stocked up here.

And then it makes me laugh.

I think he'd be okay with that.

---

Want to know how quickly plans change around here?

As of yesterday, I was sure I was headed to Milwaukee with the kids and my sister to cheer on my cousin Chachki at the American Idol auditions.

As of 8:30 this morning, I'm staying home.

Give me a few hours and I might be headed to Mexico. It all depends when this caffeine kicks in.

---

Speaking of my cousin, we have been hounding Chelsy to try out for Idol for years. She's been singing in front of people her entire life, and for being such a midget, she has a big voice.

I was trying to think of a fun sign to draw up in case we could get on TV.

Maybe: Tiny hands, big ticket.

Or: Small but fierce and hygienically conscientious. (If you have ever waited in line behind Chelsy for a shower, you know what I mean.)

So - if you could - please wish Chelsy luck tomorrow! She has talent, she just needs a little luck to get in the good graces of the judges.

---

Just a reminder to keep your eyes open for the Target sale... they're marking down huge sections of the toy and other departments to 75% off. (It usually happens the end of July and January and they go entirely on word of mouth, so don't expect a big announcement.)

I already have my eyes set on a Spike the Dinosaur hand puppet.

And I might get one for the kids, too.

---

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

The moral: Never fall asleep near Mike and a marker

Like any good holiday, we celebrated Elliott's 5th birthday twice in one week.

I love the safety glasses, Shmelly! (That's short for his full name: Shmelliotteriferous.)

Stephie thought it would be fun to invite every little person she has ever met to play on the inflatable water slides they rented. The tally was over 60 RSVPs.

After a while, I quit counting heads and just assumed my children would make it out alive.

It sucks that they live 45 minutes away (their house is gorgeous and it has a concrete tornado shelter... all we have is a stairway with 2x4s embedded to the floor. I would SO be over at their house every night to sleep if they lived closeby.)

My sister has spent the last few months working her ass off to make their house gorgeous. Remember back when I said it didn't feel like a "home" because there was almost no furniture and nothing on the walls and everyone got pissy with me? Yeah, well, I complimented Stephie on how much things have changed and it felt like people lived there now and she laughed in agreement.

Or she laughed because she was losing her mind with five hundred children running through the house in swimsuits and not nearly enough beer to make it through the night.

Can I live in your entryway, Stephie?

When we reached the point that even the 100 degree heat index couldn't keep the kids from becoming shivering prunes, we rounded up some of them - whichever ones we saw first and grabbed before they could hide - and threw some alien hats on them for "the cake ceremony."

Yes, I wore one, too...

It was a fun little party, and I think Elliott now owns every piece of Toy Story memorabilia that they sell.

Through all that, I had a secret: I pulled a reverse-birthday-party and brought the germs. I just hope I didn't collect any new ones to add to this cold I'm fighting off.

So when my sister asked, no begged, to keep the girls overnight, Mike urged me to take her up on it and use the night to recover.

We had a date night.

Which of course meant we went to Wal-Mart, bought Shooter and 30 Rock Season 3, and stopped by Culver's for ice cream and junk food before heading home to lounge and pass out from NyQuil.

Steph didn't seem to mind having the girls over... she painted their nails, fixed their hair and let them play on the slide the next morning.

And she didn't seem to mind when - while napping after bringing the kids back in town - Mike drew a smiley face on her nose in permanent marker.

Some things never change...

Proof of love

It's settled... my family must love me.

(Which is a good thing for Mike since he just called and told me that the waterpark he and his friends are going to today doesn't allow his type of swim trunks, meaning he needs to spend my bra money on a second pair of shorts. But I figure: What's one more year of wearing my nursing bra? Right? Anyway...)

We tried something new last night for supper, and as I was finishing making it, I told Mike There is no way in hell the kids are going to eat this. Be prepared for a back-up plan of NACHOS. For all of us.

It was a meatless Pasta e Fagioli. While it smelled good, this recipe called for Cannellini beans, and man, did those pasty white kidney beans really gross me out just from looking at them... like miniature rat babies with tails and all. Have you ever seen one of those things up close? Ich.

By the end, I'd bypassed the recipe and threw random vegetables in just so I knew the kids had something they could pick out to nibble on.

I gave the kids a scoop each of the finished product.

They ATE it. They actually ATE it.

That's when I turned to Mike: I suppose if the kids are eating it, I should, too...

It wasn't bad! Surprisingly.

I like to try cooking new things, but I get a little anxious about eating it ever since the Lemon Carrot Incident of 1999. (It's a long story, but it boils down to a health cookbook that had a misprint on how much bottled lemon juice to use... my lips are puckering just thinking about it.)

It took Mike an hour to work up the nerve to eat it, then he filled up his bowl with a second helping. Well hoo-damn. Either he liked it or it was a pity meal. I'm okay with both of those scenarios.

We brainstormed over how to make it better next time. This is what we came up with (notice the Cannellini beans are GONE):

4 T olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
2T dried parsley
1 t dried basil
1/2 t dried oregano
salt, pepper and red pepper flakes to taste
8 oz mezzi tubetti pasta (that's just what we used)
1 16 oz can diced tomatoes (drained) or 1-1/2 C of diced fresh tomatoes
1 ~15 oz can green beans or equiv. cut fresh (if you use fresh tomatoes/green beans, it will need to be cooked a little longer to soften the veggies)
1 ~15 oz can corn kernels (drained)
+/- 1 lb stew meat or steak meat, cubed

* cook the pasta
* heat 2T EVOO in lg skillet over med heat; add garlic and cook until it starts to brown
* stir in tomatoes; cook 5 mins
* brown meat in small amt of EVOO; season with salt if desired
* season tomatoes with parsley, basil and oregano; turn heat to med-low and simmer for ~10-15 mins
* add beans and corn; heat through ~5 mins
* season w/ salt and pepper and add beef
* stir 2T EVOO into pasta and mix with the veggies/meat
* finish w/ red pepper flakes as desired

If you feel brave enough, have at it. (I should add that this dish tastes suspiciously similar to my dad's Corn/Hamburger/Noodle Casserole that he made up.)

Also, feel free to add those rat baby Cannellinis back in there if you need a little proof that your family loves you...

It'll blow over someday

I committed a Cardinal Sin of Identical Triplet Parenthood tonight. Well, possibly several, but only one that I'll document here.

I dressed my children in identical outfits. (imagine dramatic music playing)

Let that news settle in for a moment...

Of course, I'm just teasing (and know quite a few people who like their kids to match), but when we're chased through Target by stalkers with camera phones going *ka-chink* *ka-chink* on a regular basis, I started to hate dressing them alike.

So how did this happen? My cheapness overcame my anti-identical-clothingness because these shirts went for something like $1.80 each.

*Ka-chink* in my PIGGY BANK.

The only people who get to witness these matchy-matchy days are my neighbors when I send the kids outside to play in the mud, and possibly the dump truck driver stranded across the street for 5 hours with a flat tire who seemed quite amused once he realized there was a whole herd of children dressed alike running through the yard shooting each other with Nerf guns.

Occasionally, I'll make an impromptu shopping trip to Target, and if I forget that I've dressed the kids too similarly, I'm quickly reminded by all the stares and waves and chatter before I even hit the doors. That's usually when I mutter something to Mike or myself about my stupidity and stuff one of the children down into the bucket of the shopping cart, Please don't talk honey... here are some cookies and an apple juice if you pretend to be a couple bags of bread and a sweatshirt.

Tonight, the girls were alike down to their purple-painted toes and fingernails that I cut and polished today, leaving my hands smelling sunshiney, toe-jammy fresh. Mmmm... nothing like cutting 60 kids' nails to make you smell FRESH.

Let's see, what else is happening tonight?

The cat is bugging me for tuna, since Mike's been throwing some of that stinky freakin' crap in her dish every time he makes a sandwich. As I'm typing, she's zig-zagging between my ankles, rubbing her ass on me. Which makes sense, since that's what I do to Mike when I want something from him... Honey, could you get me a glass of water? (rub my butt on his foot)

Other than that, I'm just awaitin' for these thunderstorms to roll through. We're playing a game called How Long Will These Plastic $1 Kids' Lawn Chairs Stay In Our Yard? (Please see tomorrow's follow-up game of How Many Blocks Away And Wedged Into What Kind of Shrubbery Will We Find The Lawn Chairs?)

Well, I think my toe-jammy fingers are all typed out for the night. I want to spend a little time reading the Percy Jackson "novels" (?) our 14-ish-year-old neighbor boy loaned to us because, and I quote: They are really really good. And apparently I'm not an asshole, so I need to get off the computer and get reading.

All that, plus I need to prepare for this storm...

Just a little wind storm, right?

Landfill toys and cupcakes - Happy Birthday!

Here they all are... our eggs in one basket - post hatching and 5 years later.

Between my sister and I, we went from childless to a herd of 4 within 6 months. Pop bang holy shite.

Today was Cinco d'Elliott which we celebrated at Happy Joe's (Elliott has a tiny bit of a lisp so it comes out Happy Hoes). We got together tonight partly because my dad is boycotting the actual kids' party this Saturday. Something about dozens of children running amok and squealing while sliding down a gigantic water toy? Gee... not sure what would turn anyone off about that...

(Mike has threatened taking overtime.)

But of course I'm looking forward to it. The kids and I need an excuse to get the hell out of this place.

Plus I can't wait to see Elliott's dance moves when Stephie plugs in his last birthday present -

Lady Gaga.

Have you ever met a boy who loved tractors and animals and roughhousing as much as Elliott while also enjoying a good purse and wearing his mother's high heels? He's a riot.

The highlight of the evening was Emma playing some game in the arcade - probably some kind of ghetto Skeeball where she stood on the ramp to knock down the clowns. That friggin' thing would shoot out 40 tickets at a time. She'd zip around the corner yelling Look! My "took-its"! with two streams of paper tickets flying behind her.

Then Kristin would proudly tromp toward us with her THREE or FOUR measly precious tickets, hand them over, then smile and head back to get a few more.

When I peeked in on Alison, she was chucking basketballs over the net, then pausing to jump and cheer for a few seconds while the game told her to "hurry up."

All that work for a couple of plastic monkeys and stretchy rings (or "landfill toys" as Jeff calls them), but you would think they'd never had a more exciting present.

Most importantly, Mommy got a much needed break.

Titillating Tuesday: Has my hero arrived yet?

Today was Day #2 spent in the hellhole known as "The Den."

I'm not sure if any of us will get out of this project alive. I need a hero to tell me it's going to be okay and that I can finish this because holy hell it's taking forever and I am so stressed out I can't sleep and my digestive system is on strike.

Along with a lot of the usual chores and sorting paperwork today, I put this business center together...

while Mike was out golfing with my father and some coworkers. (I'm not bitter.)

I'm not sure what the children did while we were absentee parents, although in the course of the afternoon, a huge block of Velveeta individually wrapped cheese slices disappeared and I cannot find any trace of them.

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I should put that in quotes anyway - "golfing" - since the boys spent more hours in the clubhouse than they did on the course. Doing his part for the local economy in hotdogs and beer, or something?

But, ya know, what can I do except cover him up with a blanket when he comes home and passes out like a hobo on a livingroom cushion on the floor falls into sweet, sweet slumber from such a long day? I still kinda love him and all.... maybe...

It all hinges on one important question: does this mean he has to make us breakfast again this morning? Yay! Bacon!!!

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In more important news, my nephew turns 5 today. FIVE.

Happy Birthday, Shmelliott! Love you!

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Happy Tuesday, everyone! Make it a good one.

Making Mommy proud

Mom, you need to share your rubbers.

There are times children say things that make you say Whaaaa.a.at was that??? and then you figure out it was something completely innocent.

Like Emma, who won Most Awkward Comment of the evening with that little gem. She was talking about PAPER TOWELS to "rub" the fingerprints off the windows and sweet baby Jesus I need to start telling my kids what things are actually called, like Nerf guns instead of "shooters" before the teachers think I'm handing out condoms and shots of alcohol to my 5-year-olds.

She also pulled in the Silver Medal while playing in her room with Alison, yelling what I thought was You're the hooker! (Turns out it was "cooker" or chef.) Mike calls me a dirty hooker - in love and respect - about once a week, so I wouldn't have been shocked.

And the Bronze Medal while playing with Mike who had her "pet" frog: Give that back, you cracker! I think Mike nearly wet himself before pointing the finger squarely at me. (I take full blame for that one.)

Speaking of race relations, my dear husband taught the girls the names of excavation equipment after a few rather nasal pronounciations of "digger" that sounded a whole lot more like Hey, look, Mom! A N*GGER! (Which is when I dragged the children into the house and prayed that no one heard their midget voices screeching racial slurs at the construction equipment.)

I guess that's the least of my problems. I've sworn Jesus Christ so many times at the cat getting out of the house, Mike says we should change her name to just that: Jesus Christ. That way, instead of Jesus Christ, the cat got out, it would be Jesus Christ - the cat - got out. Much better!

At least it might not make me feel so bad when Kristin clasps her hands together and repeats it, exasperation and all.

Sarcasm runs deep in these here veins.

I've discovered that no matter how low and mumbling my voice becomes, the children pick up on those phrases like they're magnetically drawn to their underdeveloped sense of morality.

Now before people get all up in arms, I do teach my kids to say a lot of good things, like Thank You and Excuse Me and May I have a glass of water, please.

I figure they can build up a few bonus points of manners before they knock them down with an Excuse me, I farted. I think it smells like hotdogs.

Off with my head!

My children figured out how to turn on and play movies in their Disney TV (not an easy task, even for me some days).

I walked in this morning to see all three of them lying down, watching the lengthy Bonus Features on the new Alice in Wonderland. They're so strange sometimes.

But I'm not one to complain too loudly about gifts such as this, so I spent that time cleaning out crap from under my bed. And unearthing a dozen Nintendo game cartridges which have hidden the final lost sippie cup from three years ago. And reorganizing my underwear drawer.

Let me tell you this: if rummaging through your negligee makes you laugh so hard you start choking, you probably have attended too many Surprise Parties.

I'm almost done. My house is almost clean. Oh my god I can taste victory. (Under the bed is one of the last places I clean since A) no one can see it so why clean it, and 2) I'm afraid of what's under there. See: Lost sippie above.)

One more room to tackle tomorrow.

I'm already planning what I'll do in all my "spare time."

Halloween costumes.

I want to get a head start since - although absolutely envigorating - I'd like to avoid staying up last minute until 8 AM sewing again this year.

I asked the girls if they'd want to do an Alice in Wonderland theme. (Duh, stupid question.) Kristin - the child who was the Wicked Witch of the West two years ago and everyone kept saying how mean I was to make her dress up as such an evil person - Kristin raised her hand and said:

Can I be the Red Queen???

Suck on THAT, all you doubters. I told you the girl was a tad bit evil.

Alison shouted out that she wanted to be Alice, of course...

and I pretty much expected Emma wanted to be the White Queen.

Nope. The White Rabbit. Which is fine with me. I'd rather sew a waist coat over another dress anyday.

Then in Mike's scheming tonight, he figured we could dress up, too. I could be the White Queen with my wedding dress (you know, since who cares if that thing gets dirty dragging around on the street?)

And Mike said he wanted to be the Knave of Hearts.

Only because he wants to wear leather pants.

Notice how everyone in that movie looks a little coked out? I think I can pull off the red around the eyes with a few more weeks of going pop-free...

I have lost my mind completely, haven't I?

Item 1: Be crazy. (Check.)

Mike is taking sleeping pills, and I'm the one having the psychotic dreams.

Last night, I dreamed that Jason Segel was my brother and trying to kill me to prove how awesome his Droid phone was since he could upload his confession video to YouTube in less than 2 seconds. I broke two of his fingers and locked him out of the house, only to find out he was "just kidding," and there really was a killer in my house but it wasn't him. Go figure.

(There was something else in my dream about being back on the high school volleyball team, but I can't remember most of it except we can assume it was also a nightmare. Spandex shorts. Shudder.)

So of course I was exhausted and napped on and off until 9:30 when the kids decided they had waited long enough for their all-too exciting breakfast of cold cereal and fruit.

I'm not going to be up for any Mother of the Year awards anytime soon.

I started off my day with retyping my To Do list - the list I keep current so I don't forget to do things like change the cat litter until the cat claws my leg because she's pissed that her box has become one huge petrified clump. Seriously. "Change Cat Litter" is pretty much standard on that list.

As is: "Clean EVERYTHING."

And: "Type To Do List Until It Becomes 2 Solid Pages of Sadness and Sends Self Into Black Hole of Depression."

In fact, I'm going to add things to that list right now that I've already done, just so I have some things to cross off...

One thing I crossed off was something I'd been hounding Mike about for a few weeks: Clean off and Bring in Gigantic Ugly Dresser So We Have Something To Put Our Underpants In.

Mike worked today, so I gave in and took to sweeping live and dead spiders and crickets off it, scrubbing the stains off, and dragging it's 5,000 pound frame into the house and bedroom.

Note to all who visit: if you sit still too long in our house, you too will end up covered in books. (And while unearthing this beauty of a dresser, I discovered two huuuuge boxes of books to add to my already massive collection in storage. Please, God... build me a fucking library. Thank you. And peace to the Earth.)

It's been a busy day... a day full of cleaning and rolling underpants into tubes just the way Mike likes them. Even after all that, at 11 PM, I'm still full of Can Do attitude.

Is it possible? Have I turned the corner on this no-sodey-pop-energy-loss tragedy?

I can only hope so, for the sake of that To Do list and all the petrified kitty clumps in our basement, just waiting to be scooped.

The red means it still needs a few more minutes on the grill

I am so sunburned right now.

Mike let me sleep in this morning then nudged me awake - promising a trip to the pool and a chance for me to get a jump start reading this 766-paged monstrosity somewhat lengthy novel The Passage while he waded with the children in the water.

About twenty minutes into my blissfully quiet, umbrella-covered vacation, I made the mistake of walking up to Mike to ask how the girls were doing.

I can only find two... oh there's the third one. Would you want to stay here and help me watch the kids?

Then he blinked his Bambi eyes at me and I gave in. I asked him if he realized he was dooming me to roasted pink flesh.

He said yes.

The girls loved the slide. Except for the time another girl slammed Kristin in the back and she ended up with a mouth full of pool water.

She made up for it by washing her butt in the fountain before we left.

That place was huge. Mike kept asking when they were closing the pool for "adult swim."

I said, Erm... I don't think they do that. Most adults don't come here to swim. They come here to make sure their spawn doesn't drown.

During our two hours there, I realized that my children will never, ever pee in a pool. (It's a long story, and it goes back a few weeks to a lake and a child who refused to pee in it.) I also realized that it's hard to watch when a lifeguard points out to a young overweight boy that he must take off his t-shirt to swim. I also realized that some people have no concept of personal space when it comes to lawn chairs.

After our pool adventure, we packed up to go to Mommy's playground...

TARGET!

We bought all sorts of exciting things like LUNCHBOXES! and 3-RING BINDERS! and THOSE LITTLE ANIMAL ICE PACK THINGIES! and whatever else we bought that cost $200 which appears to be a whole lot of liquid (juice and more juice and iced tea and milk and lemonade oh my god I have to pee just thinking about it... is there a pool nearby?)

Unfortunately, even a trip to Target couldn't perk me up.

I've been ready for coma sleep since 8:30.

Let's hope the sandpaper-against-flesh sunburned feeling doesn't keep me up tonight.

I'm making a citizen's arrest for stupidity

I'm starting to have my doubts in Darwin's theory of evolution.

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A few weeks ago, I was waiting for a light to turn green when a crappy, rusted-out sedan pulled up next to me. I glanced over and saw two small children - no older than 4 - gripping the top of the opened window and peering back.

No seat belts. No child seats. And there was an infant carrier sitting sideways in the front seat.

Before I could shut my mouth, the mother pulled her car through the busy intersection and went on her way. I'm not usually one to judge poor parenting decisions, but the mom was too busy smoking to realize her child's body was 1/3 outside the vehicle.

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I've seen such stupidity before.

When I was 18, I was the proud owner of Bessie... my parents' old Buick Somerset.

Oh, Beautiful Bessie!

The last time I drove Bessie, I was parked at an intersection, getting ready for the light change so I could drive past my ex-boyfriend's place of employment and flip him the bird properly. Hey, I'm honest. (I had just met a cute guy named Mike and felt it would be a fitting day to give my ex a "farewell.")

The light turned green so I pulled forward. That's when I saw the giant grandma car coming toward me at 40 mph. She nailed my car dead center, sending me flying into the oncoming traffic.

(Another fun fact: the same lady then backed her car up and nailed the truck that had stopped behind her.)

Even with my seatbelt on, my head hit the door. When I got out, I went over to their car to make sure they were okay. The driver was an older lady, her middle-aged daughter was in the passenger seat, and her granddaughter of no more than 5 years was sitting between them on top of a laundry basket.

I kept asking how they were, and all the driver could mutter was My light was green? Wasn't it? It was green!

(The guy whose car was totalled in the oncoming lane came to my defense and seconded that her light was indeed red.)

Regardless...

How about worrying over the small crying child next to you?

I saw that lady, driving that same car with that same daughter a few months later. And that granddaughter was sitting on that same laundry basket. I wonder how bad the injuries would've had to have been so they'd make her ride in the back seat - at the very least.

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Last week, I walked through the parking lot to Barnes & Noble. In the very first parking space was a Chevy Blazer with the back window popped open.

What I saw inside just blew my mind.

The owner had removed or folded down the back seat, and there were no less than six little kids crammed in that little rectangle. They were aged infant to pre-teen.

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So I've started paying attention.

And these idiots are everywhere!

I'm not talking about on some back country road, or on your farm, or whatnot. I'm talking in-city driving where half the people act like they'd never taken the road test at the DOT.

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It makes me wonder how these people have survived to this point.

And why they haven't been arrested.

Last time I checked, it's not legal to drive down a busy city road with a block party of children in your trunk.

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Which brings me to my main point: Are humans devolving as a species?

Titillating Tuesday: ...

What do I do all day?

When my kids "play," it's practically a riot. I spend most of my time saying The cat doesn't enjoy her tail being pulled/stepped on/tied in a knot...

or Stop shoving that (toy) into that (small space) before you break it...

or Quit hiding food! Just eat it at the table...

or most recently: Please don't "dance" on your bed.

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Are anyone else's children obsessed with playing dress-up? My girls love playing pirates and indians, with a Fancy "Ancy" princess/pirate lady thrown in for good measure.

And are anyone else's normally mild-mannered, well-behaved children obsessed with pretending to kill each other for gold?

And how much in therapy is this going to cost me?

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I don't really have a whole lot to say today... I'm tired from all this gloomy weather. Plus I'm reading Child 44 - not exactly an uplifting book, unless you find Stalinesque oppression and a child-targeting serial killer "fun."

I think it's time for a nap. For ALL of us.

Happy Fireworks Day!

To my children, today is known as Fireworks Day.

Regardless of the fact that today is our country's Independence Day, our 234th birthday, the day our Founding Fathers committed high treason and proclaimed our nation free from the rule of a distant monarchy.

But - you know - we have fireworks.

I hadn't told them today was the 4th of July, but they instinctively took a 2-1/2 hour nap this evening to prepare for the loooooong night of watching bang-booms.

And even though we stayed home due to a rain storm, we were lucky enough to have TWO neighbors putting on their own fireworks displays, along with the Boston Pops on TV.

Of course - me being the "prepared parent" - I had an action plan involving a hose and our extension ladder should one of the uncomfortably close pyrotechnics land on our house. Is that a parent thing? or a paranoia thing?

All evening, Alison waved to me excitedly, Happy Fireworks Day, Mom!!! then shouted WOW that was a big one at every shiny explosion in the night sky.

Happy Birthday, America!

And to the rest of us young at heart... Happy Fireworks Day, as well.

Brick wall? Meet forehead.

I need a "containment cap" over my ears before the steam starts shooting out.

Alison: Mom, can you clean my room? I don't want to clean this mess.

Yes, child, because there's nothing in this world I desire more than to hunt for tiny rubber Polly Pocket shoes ground into the carpet.

Heh. Yeah, right.

All three of them avoid cleaning like it's poisonous.

Even when I promised them we could go visit my aunt and uncle - they drove down from Wisconsin yesterday - and they were excited and squealing and my only stipulation was that they put their dollies in the bucket and make their bed?

And even when my mom told them over speakerphone to clean up and listen to mommy?

And even when there's three of them cleaning one little pile of toys?

Yep. They sat sadly on their floor like I'd asked them to kill a kitten.

Finally I snapped and grabbed Alison by the wrists and scolded her: All you have to do is make the bed. Just MAKE it! And then it's done! And when the bed is made, you don't have to clean anymore. Do you understand?!?

She nodded and started to cry. I felt bad but MY GAWD they don't listen. Two hours just to get five minutes of work out of them.

And now I'm sweating from being pissed off and pushing it way, way, way down in my gut so hopefully the only hint of it is the red gleam in my eye.

After all that, my child runs up to me, tugs on my shirt and says: The bed is made! Can you come see? I did it!

I walk in to see her bed is finished... with every stuffed animal they own tucked securely under the sheets - just their heads peeking out.

I have to laugh. Another reminder that they're kids.

I have no idea what to expect from a 5-year-old, I guess.

Time off = Better than hair dye

This morning, I found a hair on my head so miraculously silver that I was sad to pluck it.

Pluck her, I did.

I wonder if it's the culmination of the last 3 weeks. I've been so stressed out I can't sleep. Maybe that hair answered the call and POOF! turned grey.

Things are slowly returning back to normal, and that's a huge statement considering how bloody aweful this month has been.

I'm taking the day off before my whole head explodes into silver.

I'm going to sit on the couch, eating Cheerios with the kids, watching crappy cartoons. I'm going to curl up on the sofa and finish reading Little Bee - probably a 2-hour read that I have been reading on the crapper 5 minutes at a time.

I'm going to snuggle up to Mike one last time before he goes back to work this week.

Starting... now.