Who knew there was so much waiting involved in Trick-or-Treating?
Waiting for Mommy to sew the outfits.
Waiting to get dressed and for Emma to squeeze into her too-small rabbit skin.
Waiting to leave the house.
WAITING.
And all we wanted was to continue our 72-hour sugar high.
FINALLY! We're leaving for Grandma and Grandpa's house to watch the Packer game and hopefully get some candy.
And they'd BETTER have candy, or it'll be OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!
Hello? Do you have any sweets for us?
What's taking her so long to answer this door?! We're FREEZING to look so cute.
No candy? BUT... they have Glo Doodles! Even better.
The Packers won, and Mommy seemed pretty happy about that. There weren't as many "naughty words" yelled during the game. Grandpa gave us orange cupcakes when we left but we still didn't want to go home yet!
At the store, we couldn't find any crowns or red hair for Kristin since they've already changed Seasonal over to CHRISTMAS, so she got a new pair of Dorothy shoes for her Red Queen costume. But Mommy says we all get to share them at home, just like the other two items we bought: broccoli and milk.
By the time we got home, Daddy had cleaned most of the house because his daddy was coming over to help hand out the candy.
Grandma thought we'd be too old to enjoy the Glo Doodles, but our other Grandpa proved her wrong. Glo Doodles are for every age.
We were so excited to hand out candy! When people walked by on the street, we knocked on the door frantically to gain their attention. We offered to stand on the sidewalk, waving candy at them, but Mommy said no.
We ended up going to five houses tonight, but got plenty of candy and political pamphlets. Mommy said At least we didn't get any Jesus pamphlets this year telling us we're going to Hell, but we weren't sure why that's so bad since that's where Daddy says Mommy is going to live someday. We sat on the floor with our bounty and ate it all immediately.
That might not have been a great idea since all three of us have tummy aches and can't fall asleep.
That's the only word I can think of to adequately describe last night's Pumpkin Carving Party.
BU-SY.
I did a little addition this morning and it turns out we had about 50 people in our house for nearly two hours. Half of whom had "weapons." And no one died. And only one kid cried... Elliott. And only one kid spilled his drink... Elliott. (I want paybacks in snuggles.) And everyone seemed to have a good time and eat lots of food.
It was our first non-relatives party, and I must have had some This-Is-My-First-Party-So-Please-Ignore-Me-If-I-Burst-Into-Crazy all over my face. A few parents high-fived me (totally rad, man) when they left and a neighbor mom told me: It was like right out of a magazine!
Sure... if the magazine focuses on parties held in plywood-covered dungeons with a faint smell of cat litter. But thanks!
The room that was STORAGE and JUNK no more than 2 days ago became our pumpkin party playground after the forecast called for "below freezing temps" last night. Yay.
On the second day of cleaning, Mike came down to the remaining storage totes - about three in total with a few extra bits of junk strewn over the floor. He looked around in disgust: I think we're hoarders.
Um, not. HE might be a hoarder (most recently he wouldn't let me throw away a $70 Fuji Film camera from 1999) but most of that crap was our decorations/furniture/pictures from our dating years over a decade ago. Buh-bye. I hope he doesn't look too closely at anything in our garage garbage pile.
All our basement spiders are wandering around down there going Where did all my favorite hiding places go?!?
We transformed the junk pit...
after a night of staying up until 3:30AM and a few anxiety sweats...
into something resembling a kid corral. This is only 1/4 of the people. One. Quarter.
Alison was so excited that her friend "Norgan" (that's "Morgan" for anyone over the age of 3) could make it. She'd been in her class last year and insisted we invite her.
Norgan was the only one Alison hugged when she left.
I should have gotten more pictures of the kids or of the food, but I was BUSY. Here's three-quarters of the finished pumpkins and a handful of kids eating food and watching How to Train Your Dragon.
About 20 minutes into the party, I realized that Noah didn't have an adult with him. My sister "adopted" him as her carving buddy and we laughed when he was the last non-neighbor, non-relative kid just hangin' out with us. My sister said, You might have an overnighter!
He made himself at home with us and at least seemed to know the guy who came to fetch him since I'd never laid eyes on the parents. He is adorable and definitely won the Cutest Pumpkin award!
Last night, after all the guests had left, Mike and I plopped down in the livingroom and laughed at how BUSY it all was, but how much fun the girls had had.
I thanked him over and over and OVER again for helping so much (he did the dishes and put away laundry and helped prepare the floor for carving and carried all TWENTY-FIVE PUMPKINS downstairs and was basically my bitch assistant when I needed more apple cider and help keeping the peace upstairs when children escaped from the dungeon). Thank you thank you thank you. I couldn't have done it without you and I will pay you in food or kinkiness or hours on the PS3.
And at the risk of continuing on like Julia Roberts...
Thanks to my sister for bringing all her awesome decorations - her tombstones, her hanging bats, even the mange-y cat-squirrel that the kids keep saying "doesn't feel well" - and for pointing out that my cat had snuck outside through a hole in a window screen downstairs. Oh, and for cutting up all the fruit since that seemed to be the big hit of the night.
And thanks to my parents for coming up to help my children carve their pumpkins since from the word GO I pretty much neglected them.
Phew!
To all the parents: thanks for sticking around and letting your kids come to our first, very full, very BUSY party.
Let's see if I can type... my hands might be glued permanently together from the papier mache projects we did for 90 minutes at school today. Kids have no concept of "just a dab of glue."
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My mother is no longer answering my phone calls, and I'm pretty sure she's blocked my number at work.
Stephie warned her yesterday that I'm putting her on Game Duty at this Friday's Halloween Party. Mwahahaha... To be fair, though, I plan on giving her plenty of food and alcohol for her trouble.
Things are just going swimminglyand if you know me you already figured I was being sarcastic.
I'm stuck on Alice. I keep changing my mind on what I want to do with her dress and now we're looking at something that is nothing like the Alice from the Tim Burton movie they love so much.
I'm almost done. (I realize the sleeves aren't attached, or the buttons, or the ribbon, and pretty much nothing is sewn together, but yeah... I'm ALMOST DONE and will continue to tell myself that.)
Have I mentioned I'm saving the Red Queen for last? Deep breath.
We had parent teacher conferences last night and I found out that MY CHILDREN DO NOT TEST WELL. Sad that I know that already.
They've known their letters and sounds since the age of 2-1/2, so why did they score so low on the DIBELS tests? (What sound does cat start with? Cuh.) Because they're TIMID and know the answer but sometimes can't understand what they're asking for. I'm SURE the girls gave the letter instead of the sound on half of those since that's a game we play every single day.
At least I know these tests do not accurately protray what my kids know... only what they can express that they know. Both important, but not entirely fair. (I should add that I know this is "only" Kindergarten, but it's been obvious to me for a long time that my children were going to have problems with reading comp and verbal tests. Also, I love all 4 of their teachers. Awesome, awesome, awesome, AWESOME people.)
On Kristin's report card, she scored a (P) In Progress on "recognizes and extends patterns," and I thought for SURE the teacher had smoked some crack before grading her. I made sure to tell her that I disagreed with that grade. The teacher explained that they haven't done any pattern exercises, so she just put everyone as P. (Same thing with Ps on "writes on demand" because she said they had no idea what that meant.)
Then as we moved along to her journal, the other teacher pointed out something unusual.
Pink. Brown. Green. Orange. Blue. Gray. Black... Pink, brown green orange blue gray black. Pink brown green orange blue gray black ohmygosh!
All the way around the outside of her journal, Kristin had colored an elaborate pattern over and over and over again. I made sure to give Kristin an extra hug when we left.
And the other two girls? All (M) Meets Expectations except for a handful of (P)s on "uses time wisely" because they take too long to color their projects. Sheesh. I told one teacher that was MY fault since I let them sit at the table for hours at a time coloring and cutting.
I was told by all four teachers that they're very quiet kids and very respectful, and when the girls were in the background (during conferences) playing and chatting and giggling, every one of the teachers said, This is so neat to see them like this!
One teacher told me that Emma sits at a very "social" table, and while Emma doesn't really talk that much, she thinks she's "listening" and getting distracted. At least Kristin sits nearby Kyle who is such a sweet and quiet and SMART little turd. (He's invited to the party and apparently his mom said he's SO excited since he's normally really shy.)
I'm a little stressed about this and not sure what I need to be doing to help them. Ugh.
And keep in mind that I see them in action once a week and it's crazy that Emma - the mute - seems to have grown self-confidence out of thin air, and Alison is in the most advanced reading group in her class. And Kristin is the "smart one." (Not kidding and yes, I know I shouldn't compare. But holy crap if Kristin could just EXPRESS HERSELF. The girl is Rainman smart.)
It's part of the reason I'm having the party... they need to get to know their classmates better so they'll speak up in class, even if that means getting in trouble a little for talking TOO much.
Mike came out of the bedroom a few moments ago, at about 2:30AM. Don't stay up TOO late...
I replied, I think we passed "too late" a few hours ago.
And I still barely have anything finished on the costumes. I added a vest to the White Rabbit. Woooo.... hoo.................
I still have some accessories to deal with - like finding a pocket watch, dead or alive, in the 21st century - but I think it's about time to move onto Alice. The Red Queen I'm saving for last... a final, adrenaline-driven hurrah.
Why, oh why, does the school have to schedule TWO half-days AND parent teacher conferences this week? WHY, God? WHY????
I literally have tomorrow and Thursday morning and night to finish these. But I'll do it, damn it. Just watch.
Mike pointed out this happens every flippin' year.
And I didn't think he was paying attention!
(My only redemption will come if I have enough time to whip up a Mad Hatter costume for Mike. For the record, I'll be dressed as: The Woman Who Made All These Fucking Costumes. Also known as: Glassy-Eyed Lady in Sweat Pants. I'll take pictures.)
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I've got nuthin' else. Have a great Tuesday, everyone! I'm going to bed..........
In all fairness, it's not exactly easy to accomplish anything - let alone creating costumes using mental power - during a Packer game like the one tonight.
Jesus, I thought when my legs and arm went numb: 'This is it. THIS is how I'm going to die. This has to be the onset of a massive 4th-quarter-induced stroke.'
Fortunately I survived to watch Brett Favre (better known as Pistol Pete to Jets fans) throw away a victory. Literally.
My hands were so shaky by the end of it, I decided it was better NOT to sew on Emma's bunny tail. It might end up in the wrong place and begin a line of questioning about bunny reproduction, and I really don't want to go down that bunny path right now.
I'll sew the tail on tomorrow when I make her blue corduroy vest and jacket.
And is it just me or does it look a little lambish?
Who effing cares at this point... if it had taken any longer to get the pants made, I was just gonna staple a tuft of cotton to a pair of white pants and call it quits. (I should add that she is now requesting PAWS for the godforsaken outfit. And all the while Kristin is asking, Where's the Red Queen? I NEED the RED QUEEN.)
Kill me.
For FUN, while Mike was off drinking and man-playing with friends (watching something infinitely educational like UFC), the girls and I painted the patio window. A week before Halloween.
Yay for procrastination!
Also late? Some of the invites to our party. I'd already called all the parents (except one) so they know they're coming. And they ARE coming. I spent too much damned time making them to throw them away.
Here's what they see...
... then they open it and POW!
Invite.
So creative, fer shur.
I've decided to run around the neighborhood tomorrow morning (after school drop off) and take the invites to each of the remaining houses. RUN. Like with my feet and everything.
Then again, I can't really trust any decisions I make right now. I'm hopped up on caffeine and aspirin and I can't decide if I should clean the house some more or bleed to death internally. It's a tough call. Truly.
Mike has taken off with the kids to get the truck washed and run a few errands, while I'm home, sewing Halloween costumes.
So far, I've got a one-armed rabbit and a big bloody mess.
Hopefully this'll go smoother with the midgets gone, since they have a tendency to run over my piles of drawings and materials to show me the latest list of sea-faring creature names that they've drawn up.
Blast the day the School Nurse gave Alison a pack of "Go Fish" cards. She's obsessed with spelling octopus and then telling me about it. There are only so many times I can be excited about this...
The girls figured out how to spell their Halloween characters, too, except when Kristin sounded hers out, she came up with:
RED QEN
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The invites went out today to the party, so there's no turning back. I scrapped the idea of writing in there: I will gut anyone who drops their kid and runs, and went for a more subtle: Any parent who could stay for the first 30 minutes of carving would be greatly appreciated... AND I promise not to lock your child in my garage.
In other words, things are looking up!
Actually, I joke. I'm looking forward to this. It's my own children who are driving me crazy. They can't stop talking about who's invited and who's NOT invited (Jack because "he says he is naughty at parties so I told him he couldn't come") and when are we gonna paint the tree on the window, Mom, and are we gonna have our party TONIGHT???
If we ever do this again, I'm not telling them about it until the day before.
And as a small favor, could anyone tell me how soon before carving I can gut the pumpkins without them turning all funky? Thankssomuch.
The little plastic latchy-thingies (try not to be scared off by these technical terms) inside the handle have busted off while the door was shut. Inside? My favorite knife. This might just kill me.
And until you no longer have a working dishwasher, you don't really appreciate having a working dishwasher.
We'll be performing a very delicate dishwasher front panel surgery sometime this afternoon.
There is no better time that this could have happened. Definitely wouldn't have been better if it had happened any other time than when I'm preparing for the 22 children coming to my house to carve pumpkins and eat and play games.
And the kids are coming.
I made phone calls to 15 or so homes last night, informing people of the party and getting addresses to send the formal invite. Every single person RSVPd yes.
And then someone threw me a curveball: "So it's drop off and pick up?"
Ermmmm..... "I guueess that would be fine, but it's a pumpkin carving party, so only if you think she won't stab her eye out if she's left unattended for a few minutes."
Mayday! Mayday! Need to immediately re-assess!
It never dawned on me that these parents were so happy about the party because they were GETTING RID OF THEIR CHILD. How did I not think of this? Especially since I've been in the I-don't-care-where-we-go-as-long-as-I-can-have-a-few-moments-without-my-child-shrieking-at-me camp for the last 5-1/2 years.
So I'm preparing for the worst-case scenario, which is ME and MIKE and my SISTER left alone with TWENTY-TWO 5-year-olds, stabbing their pumpkins' faces to bits.
I'm going to bribe the parents to stay with alcohol and food. (Not kidding. After all, you've gotta get my sister just a teeeny bit drunk if you want her to be at her best.)
Mike and I have already come to terms with the fact that we'll but decapitating and gutting all the pumpkins next Friday while the girls are in school. We can do this! We CAN. We'll be fine, and no matter what, the kids'll have fun carving with their little scoops and ziggy-zaggy "knives."
Thirty is rapidly approaching. Is it time for my mid-life crisis? (As I sit here, odds are that either my sister or I or BOTH of us have cancer growing somewhere, so I figure it's only a matter of time... it's the Cancer Lottery! Except everyone can be a winner. Or maybe I'll live to be 90 and fulfill my lifelong dream of being struck dead by lightning. Either way, 30's comin'.)
And regardless of what Oprah thinks, I feel I'm entitled to write my memoirs.
I've been mulling over some titles that really embody me.
Slow Old People on 2-Lane Roads and the Journey Behind the People Too Afraid to Pass Them
I Have Free Will... AKA: Don't Give Jesus ALL the Credit for This
Showers and How to Live Without Them
The Sound of My Voice
Hmmm... what else? Oh yeah:
No, Thank You. I'm Not Interested in Your Penis Enhancement Pills... and Other Emails I Delete Daily
To Do: My Love Affair with Lists
and finally
What's That Smell?
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Thoughts? Suggestions? In a mini-Tweet session with a fellow (ex)-blogger, we came up with one of the most apt titles... Pool Boys and Cocktails. But I told him HE could use that one.
You have most likely heard the story of Kristin's late-night febrile seizure that happened several years ago... the waking to sounds of suffocation and spit, watching Kristin's eyes roll back into her head and not being able to do anything for her except talk soothingly to her and stimulate her by rubbing her chest as she fought for several minutes to cry and breathe and STOP SEIZING. Then picking her up and realizing her head was flopping over because she was incapable of holding it upright.
After all that... you want to know what I think about most?
That I had left chicken out on the counter.
At the time it was happening, I wasn't worried about things like that... I was trying to remain calm and figure out what the hell do I do since NO ONE is answering their phones at 3AM and Mike is an hour away while I'm here alone with three infants, one of whom is having a massive seizure and is turning BLUE and do I call 911 or drive my own ass to the hospital 25 miles away?
But now? Now I have the luxury of thinking all the things I couldn't before.
Were my legs shaved? Oh, Sweet Mother of Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus, I hope I had the wherewithall to put some mother-loving pants on. Because I don't remember if I did... I know at some point I did, but was it before the EMTs arrived? I am never sleeping half-dressed again! How weird did the new neighbor think it was when I cried on his shoulder in my front lawn and asked him to take my two small children with him. And WHY oh WHY did I leave the chicken scraps on the counter for everyone to see???
It says something about how wonderful my life is now that my biggest remaining worry from that night comes from poultry scraps.
I thought about that tonight.
WATCH OUT... I'm gonna get all GEEK on your ass now....
There's this theory that I'd been throwing around with Mike - that our planet/universe acts predictably, and if we could collect the impossibly enormous amount of data from every particle and person and fart momentum, we could predict the future of EVERYTHING. And I was saying that some people might be more in tuned to that ability subconsciously, hence the Psychic Network Hotline as a real scientific phenomenon.
(Turns out Isaac Newton thought the same thing. About the prediction part, not the PNH.)
My point? What WAS my point.... Oh, yeah!
There is a pretty good chance that if something smells terrible, looks disastrous or is covered in laundry in our house, someone will come over.
Chicken guts? EMTs.
Socks all over the livingroom? Friend stops by.
Garbage reeking to high Heaven? Hello, neighbor girl selling wares.
Stayed up too late? Guaranteed that one of the kids will vomit.
It can be PREDICTED.
So when I made chicken dumpling soup from scratch tonight, I was left with two giant chicken carcasses and the whole kitchen stunk like boiled poultry. I had to do the dishes and clean up. I couldn't stand the smell, but I knew if I didn't do anything now, the entire house would be chicka-fied by morning.
And Mike dangled a carrot in front of my sad horsey-face. Just come to bed. Leave it for tomorrow.
Ugh, how I wanted to go to bed....
But the universe is unforgiving, and I knew a chicken carcass or two would mean a visit from a hot ex-boyfriend or the Pope. Both equally likely.
After all, it's not just ONE but TWO chicken carcasses.
Tonight I was thinking about that as I brushed my teeth with paste from a tiny tube.
Mike loves miniaturized ANYTHING.
No matter how many times he tries to justify that we NEED tiny toothbrushes and down-sized shampoos and cute cotton swab holders "for camping," no one - and I mean no one- needs fourteen itty-bitty tubes of toothpaste. (I went and counted them just now.)
I've been frantically racing through them before next Spring when his miniature shopping sprees will once again commence under the canopy of "camping expenses."
It's one of the things I love most about him...
I'm sure there are things I do that drive him crazy, er... make him love me, too.
Like my collection of winning lottery tickets.
I don't know why I even play scratch tickets (the two or three times a year that I play them) because I win almost every time but never cash them in. I think it's fun just to scratch them off... maybe a reminder of being a kid when my dad would hand me a ticket and a nickel.
As I type, there is a $2 winner on the coffee table that will probably become part of Emma's confetti collection.
(I also forget to cash checks, and I would like to apologize to everyone whose bank accounts have been in the black by $20 too much here or $50 too much there over the years. Sorry! And you're welcome?)
That's what marriage is about... loving the quirks.
I cook extravagant meals almost every night, but Mike would be just as happy with Mac 'N' Cheese and Ramen Noodles. And some nights - like tonight - Mac 'N' Cheese is the right amount of non-work for me.
He makes me be "the BIG spoon" when we snuggle, but I kind of like draping myself over his side.
And after I finish this, I have every intention of moving up behind him in his sleep for a bit of a snuggle... then it's back to work on these party invites. Mike found out tonight that we're having a kids' Halloween party, so I'm sure he needs a snuggle.
He's got to be thinking: This was not in the vows.
To have and to hold, to help with the bean bag toss...
Number one reason I love working for myself: If I don't wanna do nuttin', I don't gotta do nuttin'.
I roamed the house in my underpants and a sweatshirt yesterday, and at the risk of sounding like some kind of perv, it was very freeing.
Try and do that at your job...
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In case you haven't been following, check out Michele's story regarding her 12 day cruise 2 day cruise and being homeless in France and then Italy. And I think we're only on Day 4?
I'm following intently because Mike and I have been mulling over the cruise concept as a really poor way to spend our tax return this Spring.
And then I made the mistake of opening the forum at Cruise Critic. I spent over an hour reading through the drama over this and other recent cruises.
It sounds like rudder/propulsion systems break down a lot and end up with people stranded from cruises entirely or missing ports with little to no assistance from the crew because they're trying to rush the repairs in time to get the next cruise underway.
I thought cruises were supposed to be carefree???
I'm sure when they have no hiccups, the cruises are a blast. But it makes me wary of spending so much money only to possibly be abandoned in a foreign country with little more than a word from the Captain and a useless recitation from the 20-year-old seasonal crew.
---
Mike left the girls' favorite movies (after Alice in Wonderland and any movie involving pirates or witches, of course) on the table during "art time" on Sunday.
Alison:
I quizzed Mike over and over if he'd helped her draw it, but even I know that Mike can't draw that well.
Kristin:
The difference between the two amuses me so much. While Alison tries to duplicate minute details in drawings, Kristin knows a dog has ears and hands and feet, and she doesn't need to know any more than that to draw it. Her pictures are always an interpretation or minimalization of what she sees.
I know I'm getting all psycho-babbly about it, but I laugh at how much their drawings suit their personalities.
Someday, Kristin is going to be a rocket scientist, while Alison will be painting a mural on the side of a building.
And I think - during this whole time - that Emma was chopping her page into fine white bits of confetti.
She's the future roller derby girl... destruction and mayhem on wheels.
---
I'm throwing a Pumpkin Party in something like ten days. I just decided last night - on a whim - to do it. I have the guest list. Four 5-year-olds from each of the girls' classes, plus six or seven neighbor kids.
That's 22 kids.
And I'm making the CUTEST tri-fold pumpkin-shaped invites.
Because I'm bored and I need a challenge... er something.
And cutting and gluing construction paper doesn't require pants.
It's October 17, and I have yet to begin sewing my girls' Halloween costumes.
And while my mom and sister are trying to convince me to cough up the $99 to buy the Red Queen and Alice costumes ($99 EACH), I'm holding out. Or we'll all just end up dressing as famous fast food icons.
Like The Colonel... using Rice Krispie treats.
Also, exciting news on the Fireman's Pancake Fundraiser Breakfast. We (read: I) screwed up and thought the fundraiser was last Saturday. Whoops!
Well, we showed up yesterday morning at 10:30AM to find that there weren't any firetrucks in the parking lot. Or cars. Or people in the firehouse.
Because it wasn't yesterday.
Again.
We realized our mistake - thanks to Mike's $30 rubber made-in-Taiwan Timex and its date feature which I hate - and headed to the Farmer's Market instead. The kids were disappointed (again) and Mike said, This is becoming extremely funny. Mostly because I've now announced excitedly TWICE on Facebook that we were going to ogle visit the firemen.
But also: I've been a total brainfart with dates. Every single day (in MY mind) is Tuesday or Wednesday. Every. Single. Day. And the further I guess from the correct day is equal to the amount of anger in my sister when she growls: I hate you.
Amazingly, we went back to the breakfast today and it was the correct day.
Hallefuckinlujah.
Because the girls were beginning to think I was full of shit. We're going to see the firetrucks today! JUST KIDDING!!!
See them making the moose antlers? It's because Mike has them convinced that there is such a thing as a Christmas Moose. And they are PUMPED about it. They talk about the Christmas Moose and his friend the Easter CHICKEN.
Mike has a whole line of pretend holiday animals. He says his make more sense because have you ever seen a Rabbit lay an egg? Exactly.
So today he told them there is a Thanksgiving Squirrel.
And Emma went Awwwwwwwww!!!! in delight.
Every day is an adventure with Mike for a father, I'm sure.
We spent the rest of the day playing in the leaves at Grandma's house since the Packers played today which is why you will see my children in these exact same outfits Every. Single. Week.
Kristin desperately wants to wear her green and gold jerseys, but the only ones we have are FAVRE jerseys. That is blasphemy.
We are now taking donations for Packer jerseys in size 5 or 6T to correct this horrendous situation...
While pretending to watch the game, the women crafted. My aunt was down from the Nort' Woods, so we whipped out some glue guns and got to work. My mom bought a bunch of supplies and a fake squirrel (not kidding... I should ask if he is the Thanksgiving Squirrel) and I threw together something that looks like the cuter version of this:
It looks so much better in real life, although my mother does NOT approve. She used to do floral arrangements for a living and she heckled my wreath for the first 15 minutes until I promised she could fix it once I finished playing.
But then I glued the squirrel in place and hid it from her.
Because I'm an asshole and I like to mess with her. Bwahahahaha....
We took breaks to play in the leaves (Mike enjoyed ramming mulched bits of leaves down Stephie's pants) and haul a couch down a skinny flight of steps. We sat around and talked about Aunt Lori hiding from two bats last night by slipping behind a door with her hoodie pulled around her face.
Then my mom sent me home with lasagna, three cute apple baskets, and a Matchbox car for Mike (?) while my aunt carved an intricate design into a foam pumpkin for us and put a light in it to decorate our kitchen. Between feeding us and filling the kids with juice, Mike with beer and me with pop and all the freebies... my house and our bellies are getting too full! What can I say? My family is pretty awesome.
Mike goes back to work on DAYS for a few weeks, so this should be interesting. I'm going to be less sporadic with my posts. I hope. I can't function when he's home in the evenings.
And if he reads that, he'll probably offer to stay out with the guys to "do me favor."
Little does he know that the garage needs cleaned and is just far enough away that I'd forget he's home...
I got an apology from the little boy who tried to shishkabob my eyeball on Wednesday.
Two, actually. One in person yesterday and a letter home in Kristin's backpack.
And then Kristin told me that the-sociopath-that-shall-remain-unnamed is her friend and she wants him to be invited to the Halloween party.
Aw, hell... now I'm kind of torn.
But I've got more important things to worry about. I'm on the final stretch of getting my businesses up and running, and I only have two weeks to make the girls' costumes. At this rate, I'm going to be making them - once again - staying up the night before, sewing for 10 straight hours.
Because what's a holiday if it doesn't require a post-holiday cocktail/Xanax?
Did I mention today is Flag Raising Day at school? Or maybe that's a national holiday? I have no freakin' clue anymore. Between all the Awareness Months and colorful ribbon car magnets supporting troops and pet neutering, I can't keep anything straight.
I have less than three hours to finish my "work" for the day (I must continue to use quotes around the word "work" until it becomes a profitable enterprise... Mike can only roll his eyes so many times at my "work" before I get the hint that this is just playtime).
If today is Flag Raising Day, it makes me wonder which flag they're referring to: Old Glory? or the white flag of surrender?
I might have some white cloth and a stick around here somewhere...
I taped a maple leaf to a chunk of construction paper today, and Emma now thinks I'm a god. If that's all it takes, I've got a lot more paper where that came from.
It was a rough day today... fun, but rough. Can you tell? I mean I'm only first getting around to doing this at suppertime. I blame not getting enough caffeine. That's usually the culprit. To help you understand how much I need caffeine, I can't even remember that I need caffeine when I don't get caffeine.
Anyway, it was volunteer day at school, and only one little boy looked down my shirt. We're making progress. Huzzah!
I also managed to almost get stabbed in the eye with blunt-edged scissors, have a child removed to the principal's office, and tell the teacher that she should be on Xanax if she isn't already. And that was just one classroom.
There are some kids that are so sweet and cute, and then there are the kids who - let's face it - are either going to be Jiffy Lube mechanics or recreating the movie Jackass in a parking lot near you. I hate to say it, but I have already crossed several kids off the potentially-invited-to-the-Halloween-party list.
BUT...
(*and before you send me hate mail or bad Karma vibes*)
I was nice to all of them. I hugged them and read to them and told one boy he could chat my ear off as long as he sat and colored his Friend Book the entire time. I now know that he really, really likes a classmate named Grant and he wants to buy a T-Rex.
I redirected like crazy. I have to admit, though... we had fun!
And I certainly had more fun than the teacher's aid, who I think hates children. I have never heard so many sighs and Stop that!s and Don't do that... does that look like a lower-case N to you??s and audible eye-rolls. She erases like she wants to erase the children from her sight... with vengeance. HATES CHILDREN. I'm pretty sure she rotates classrooms, spreading the joy wherever she goes.
How long before I try to get her reprimanded for chastising 5-year-olds? Should we start a betting pool?
To be nice (and to continue on my quest to never become a guest on Hoarders), we're donating about SEVENTY BOOKS to the Book-in-a-Bag program at their school. When I asked if it was okay to bring them in, the teachers nudged each other and said Did you hear what she's bringing in?!? Books! Dozens of books!
You're welcome?
I love Wednesdays now. I volunteer at the girls' classes, get myself a nice little smoothie from McD's at lunch (I'm playing Monopoly and am determined to win... don't judge), and then treat the girls to Subway or ice cream after school. Delightful. Except I'm wiped out all afternoon.
Before I move on, I'd like to point out that I love all of the girls' teachers. All four of them. They are genuinely interested in teaching these kids.
I'm so glad our girls get to experience such wonderful teachers...
I probably couldn't handle this job every day, but I can't wait for next Wednesday....
I realize this comes a bit early as Tuesday is but a glimmer of bad intention in Monday's eye. But if you want this post to happen, it happens now... before I pass out from under-exertion.
---
My sister bought two cats yesterday. She's moving on to Step 4 of ABC's Old Maid Extreme Makeover Home Edition.
The cats are adorable. Two orange tabbies named Charlie and Buddie - brothers soon to be filling empty laps.
Imagine the snorts and snickers that came out of my face when watching that new show Mike and Molly and Molly's mother said:
We've gotta get her a fella before she fills this place up with crucifixes and pussy cats.
Oh gawd, I love ya, Stephie. And if you ever start collecting crucifixes, I'll make sure to come visit you. My presence alone should cause the house to burst into flame and snap you out of it.
---
I'm throwing the girls a Halloween party this year in lieu of a birthday party. Because from one winter birthday mommy to her winter birthday girls: WINTER BIRTHDAY PARTIES SUCK.
And they always involve bowling, something my children have yet to master since the balls weigh half what they do.
Back to the party...
I figure it'll be fun to scare the crap not only out of my children but other people's children as well. A little haunted walk through the garden, some pumpkin carving, a bit of Pin-the-Hat-on-the-Witch-or-something-along-those-lines... fun, right?
I asked the girls for the names of three of their "bestest, bestest friends." (I had to speak Child for them to understand I wanted the BESTEST friends, not just the first ones they thought of.)
I got 7 boys and 2 girls.
So I asked for a fourth from each.
Two girls. Another boy.
Since we're talking about 5-year-olds and not college girls, I hope the parents won't think three girls having an almost all-boy party is weird. I can't help it if my kids are anti-girl-social like their mother.
Do you think I should make it BYOB?
---
I've got my schedule down - my rough, sweat-inducing schedule.
*HA!*
I start "work" at about 11. (Save your hatred for me... you're going to need it in a minute.)
I sew/bead or work on sites/business stuff until about 1:30 while watching old SNL sketches and snacking on homemade breakfast burritos.
I spend about 30 more minutes fucking off online. Hey, just being honest.
So we're at about 2-1/2 hours of what we'd call questionable work so far... Then during the hour from 2-3:00, I clean frantically... everything from dishes and vacuuming to making beds, scrubbing toilets and floors, laundry, etc, etc.
After picking the kids up, I do homework with them for an hour (I wish I was kidding - I timed it today) and then start supper so it's done right around 6 when Mike walks in the door.
Here's where we spend time together and Mike teases me with touchy-huggy time during commercial breaks of whatever random show he's watching until he falls asleep on the couch with children crawling over him like termites.
I spend the next two hours picking up dinner plates and getting the kids ready for bed and asleep. If my math is correct, that's about 6-1/2 hours of actual work time. Although in my defense, when I work, I'm hellefficient. Dishes in 4 minutes flat. Just enough time during commercials to get back for either SNL or The Good Guys, because those are the only two shows I actually remember to watch.
Glamorous? For sure.
Let's see if this "schedule" is enough to avoid the J.O.B word for a few more months...
I'm feeling particularly feisty this morning. How do you feel about 13 over the speed limit? Fast enough?
Do you think maybe that would be fast enough that some cell-phone talking chicky wouldn't try to hook onto my hitch on a 2-lane back country road?
Apparently not.
This morning has started off with a bang. As a women veered around behind me and frustratedly made gestures at me to pass the semi already, I found myself shouting back to her that I had three kids in the car and I'm going fast enough and even though I didn't have my makeup on, I could make HER look like a mess if she stepped out of her car. Like she could hear me. Ah, Road Rage.
And when I passed the semi truck then slammed on my brakes so she could pass, she either waved or gave me the Screw You Salute, but regardless I made sure to plainly give her the "Have a Fine Day" Finger.
Then I realized this woman probably lives in my town - my town of 500 or so people. Howdy, neighbor!
---
Yesterday, I had my parents, sister and nephew over for the Packer game. It was the first time in NINE MONTHS that the parents had come to visit. Wow!
I was in charge of picking up pizzas from the gas station (turns out they're afraid of my cooking and would opt for some grubby stranger touching their food over risking their lives on mine) and when we got there, my truck started to ding. Low Fuel Level.
What the hell? I had just had 1/4 tank when I parked it the night before, and now it was on E. I filled up, but I started to question in my head every questionable person that I'd seen around the neighborhood.
Which one of you bastards cyphoned off my gas???
And after two hours of stewing about it, Mike informed me that he'd used my truck that morning to run errands.
My apologies to Tuesday Dumpster Diver Man... I'd had you pegged as the culprit.
---
Emma has been such a little turd lately. All she wants to do is goof off and make faces with and snuggle Mike.
She's making up for lost time perhaps, since she never really paid much attention to him as a baby.
Mike is just happy to have a snuggle buddy back. Cat excluded.
---
We went to the Ron-Da-Voo this weekend with the girls. It's a hole-in-the-wall bar, and it makes me wonder if the people who named it were trying to be cute or really couldn't spell rendezvous.
The trip opened my eyes. I'd forgotten how much attention the girls bring when we go to small towns (not only that, but I really need to invest in three completely different jackets... think that would help?)
I whispered to Mike in a giggling hush: I just don't have the energy to deal with all the questions today. And then HE shushed ME.
Seconds later, the cook came out from her grease-covered perch to "get a look" at the girls. I didn't dare laugh, even though the ridiculousness of it all was pretty funny. She asked us a bunch of questions and never took her eyes off the girls like they might attack her if she did.
I know people (especially other moms of multiples) think I'm weird or oversensitive for not liking the "special status" that this whole situation affords us. My egg got crazy weird and split twice (or as Mike likes to think: his sperm was all kachow! pow! and blasted my egg into pieces). So what? I don't look at my kids every day and think: You are so much more special because you shared a uterus.
I love my girls, but I want to be normal again. Well, as normal as I can be. I want to walk into a restaurant and not have to pay the Triplet Toll:
How many kids' menus do we need? Oh wow, are those... triplets?
Yeah.
Cool... are they identical???
Yep.
I bet that's pretty rare. Did you know you were having triplets? orDo triplets run in your family? or Do they have different personalities? all while my girls are getting antsy because they're hungry and Mommy's getting the third degree.
Then we're seated. Then two minutes later, the hostess is pointing to us and whispering to her coworker. Rinse and repeat with the server. And add a dash of stares and whispers from other patrons.
Sometime, I'd love to be able to go to a grocery store in my sweats and no makeup and just blend in with all the other people you don't notice when you're buying your bulk beverages and frozen meats.
Because I've done it. I've left the kids at home a few times and gone out on errands and it is weird. The difference is astounding. No one says hi to me, no one points at me, no one stops me in the tampon aisle to ask if my children are clones or individuals.
It's kinda niiiiice.....
---
Later that same evening, we took the girls to a work-sponsored bonfire. I think it was an excuse to play with matches under the guise of getting rid of wood pallets from the mill.
There was only two other little kids about the girls' age there... one of whom was named Spencer.
And Spencer was desperately trying to attach himself to the gaggle of kids. He was excited to have so many friends to choose from. He told his mom (when she asked what he thought of the girls): Mom, there's THREE of them!
Then he showed my girls how to put sand down the slide and plow through it with their butts.
Yesterday morning, I dropped the girls off at school and ran home to call the nurse.
Hi, this is Alison's mom... I thought I'd let you know that she has a fever again today and was up quite a bit last night. I called the doctor last night and he said anything up to 105* for three days was normal for her shots. So I sent her today. She's tired, but she should be fine.
You see, yesterday was their Black and Gold party. The whole day was PLANNED CHAOS and FUN and SUGAR. There was no way I was keeping her home with a non-contagious ailment yesterday, especially since there were moms sending their children to class with seal barks and huge green snot-rockets.
My child was not sick. She was suffering from vaccine complications. (I should mention that Emma also had a huge red rash on her injection site. Yippee.)
The nurse laughed and said that was fine and she'd give her Tylenol if she wandered her way.
I apologized and asked, You must see my kids a lot then?
Not really, what do you mean?
Well, I hear from the girls all the time about how they went to see the nurse. And they tell me nearly every day about some injury from blocks, or getting hit, or getting hit with a book...
What I didn't mention was that I'd counted up all their injuries. They've only been in school for two months. It's about one injury for every three days.
Just this last week, Alison has been in there for her fever twice and to get a pencil tip dug out of her palm. Kristin went to the nurse on Wednesday (she was getting back to class with an ice pack as I was helping Alison's classmates paint) and I think she was there Monday, too.
I guess I see them occasionally, but I feel bad that I can't tell them apart. Are there any tricks you can tell me? (Seriously, I take back everything I said about the vaccine stuff... I love this woman.)
Emma has long hair, so that's the easy one. But I'm guessing you won't see much of her. Alison is REALLY outgoing.
Yeah, last time she was in here she chatted my ear off all the way back to class... once she was feeling better, all she wanted to do was talk!
I told her Kristin has a more nasal, "Munchkin" voice, and she is more particular. Another way of saying: retentive. (This girl is borderline OCD - not in a haha funny way, but a truly clinical way. She's been getting better the more I work with her to just let shit slide sometimes.)
I'm sure we've used up our nurse passes by now. Each time, the teacher sends the "hurt" child plus a classmate as a buddy system to get them to the nurse's office, not exactly an easy place for even me to find some days. The two 5-year-olds get to trek across the school together and hang out in the office, then they trek back 15 minutes later.
No wonder my kids like to go to school. They're playing hooky in the nurse's office with their friends all day.
Not only that, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the toys they've been coming home with lately - I thought they were for good behavior - are coming from the box by the nurse's office, handed out to make the sick kids feel better. Sheesh.
So yesterday passed until 3 PM. I was getting ready to leave to get the kids when I got a phone call.
Hi (chuckling) it's Sue W, the school nurse? I have Alison here. After the parade, she came in here complaining she felt "freezing" even though it was 84* outside... I checked and she has a fever of 103.6*. So I gave her Tylenol and oh! Yep! She's already asleep.
Thank you! I'll be right there...
When I walked in, all three girls were hanging out in her office, excitedly telling the nurse about the parade and school pride etcetera etcetera... Sue smiled and pointed to the back room where my child was burning up under her coat and blanket. I scooped up my sleeping child and told Sue to thank whoever came up with the idea to round my children up for me. She said, Oh, no problem! I thought it would be easier... plus they seem to like hanging out in here.
I wonder if she can prescribe something that holds off sleep... I'm gonna need it if I have another night of 1-3 hours of sleep, watching steam rise off my sleep-talking and crying child's body.
This is SO much better than the Chicken Pox. SO much better. That's what I'm going to keep telling myself so I don't kill someone.
*I just realized something... this might be genetic. Mike was a terrible kiss ass in school to teachers and the office folk. Mostly I think he needed an adult to have a normal conversation with (he was living with his mom at the time). Also, I used to hang out in the counselor's office during lunch and would swing by to chat with the office people. Turns out they let you get away with a lot of stuff if they like you! Right, Emily? Hahahaha....
Two years ago, the CDC decided (and I am NOT making this up) that they didn't think the current immunization schedule was working as well as it should for keeping adults immune. They were finding that 1/3 of the adult population* had lost its effective immunity to some or all of what they'd been vaccinated against as kids.
*This was not a study done by the CDC but they're using its findings to justify the added shots.
Their solution?
Slap another shot on. Any child born after 2003 would have to get another round of vaccinations on the big guys: MMR, IPV, DTap and a bonus Varicella. (Which, to tell you the truth, doesn't make me feel very warm and fuzzy since the FIRST four rounds of shots didn't do the trick to begin with. But this fifth round? Like magic and unicorns... it'll make all our vaccination dreams come true.)
So of course I was pissed. I'd read enough to be relieved that our "shot days" were behind us, and now this? Our school nurse was sending us letters saying If your child is not in compliance, he/she will not be able to come to school beginning Thursday, Oct 21.
Because apparently my children are only in danger AFTER October 21st.
Well yippee yahoo. So I called today for an appointment and the nurses could get us in this afternoon. No need to miss school, which is essential. At least if you ask my 5-year-olds.
I was met with the girls' usual questions when I picked them up from class. Where are we going? What are we gonna do? Can we have a snack?
I told them we were going to McDonald's for a snack (mommy needed a smoothie fix) and then off to the doctor's office for shots and a sticker. Afterwards I promised them dinner at a restaurant.
Emma looked nervous, I don't need a shot... I already have a sticker. And she pointed to the nametag her substitute teacher had given her. (She worked that angle over the next hour, nonstop. Even as the thing was bent at the corners and failing to stick to her shirt.)
So of course we get to the doctor's office and have new nurses - lovely gals, but they were all set to give us the FLU shot. No, the school shots. Not the flu. MMR, stuff like that.
She seated us in a room and came back in with our immunization charts. She looked confused and apologetic. They're going to need FOUR shots today. FOUR. I asked her to point out which ones. She pointed out the ones I expected, along with an added Hep B shot.
It looks like your girls received the second and third one too close together, so they'll need a fourth one of those.
I gave her a look and said, I'm really not comfortable...
Unless you'd like to just skip that one.
I think that would be best.
Hep B? Seriously. All because the peds office didn't realize we'd already had the first shot when the girls were NICU newbies. Gah. I guess I'll have to keep my kids away from needles and sexpots.
For whatever reason, it took 20 minutes to round up 9 needles and another nurse. The girls were singing Fifty stars on a field of blue, stripes of red and white... over and over. (You're welcome, other patients.)
Emma was the first to get her shots. She sat there quietly and I held her hands as the nurses jabbed simultaneously into both legs. Then she stared down at her legs in astonishment. It was fine until the nurse stuck the third needle into her leg.
Horrified wailing.
I hugged Emma and scooted her off to the chair. She was hysterical. Then I looked back to see a wide-eyed and crying Kristin. As I tried to pick her up for her shots, Kristin slapped my hands away - slap, smacksmacksmack slap - and shook uncontrollably, sobbing and screaming at me.
Just imagine how much she cried after her shots. Hug. Set aside. Last child. They had NEVER been this upset about shots before.
By now, all three were wailing and Emma was covering her ears because she was convinced I was coming for those next (we'd had an ear piercing talk earlier).
Alison got her shot, then as the girls huddled around me in one screaming, shaking hug on the floor, the nurses exited, leaving behind the paperwork without bothering to say goodbye. After 20 seconds of crying, I clapped my hands and said Okay, that's enough. And they stopped crying. Just like some kind of weird Pavlovian experiment.
(My sister said, Boy, have you got THEM trained! when I told her the story later.)
We got our stickers - along with a bunch of stuff that our usual nurse threw at them as we were leaving because she loves us - and went to dinner at Olive Garden. You have never seen such a sad and sorry bunch of girls eating calamari and pasta in your life.
I had planned on grocery shopping, but it was clear from the saddle-sore way the girls were walking that it wasn't going to happen. We went to Target to pick up Bedknobs and Broomsticks along with a few essentials like ICE CREAM (who says you can't buy love?) and jelly bracelets.
Then we snuggled on the livingroom floor where I realized that B&B is a lot scarier than I remembered it! Halfway through, Alison gave me her ice cream and said she wanted to go to bed.
I should have realized then that she wasn't quite right.
I laid them down in bed, and about an hour later heard talking and soft crying. It was Alison. She was burning up and talking in her sleep. When I woke her to give her Tylenol, her arm was shaking so hard she couldn't hold the cup.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
After WEEKS of fighting with myself to just give them the stupid vaccines, and now my child is sobbing in bed because she feels aweful.
And unfortunately, you can't unshoot the shot. You've gotta just ride it out and hope that her immune system does whatever it's supposed to do and keep my child safe... from the vaccines. I've been waking her up every hour to take temps, check her body for rashes and check her motor skills. (Kristin has also been waking up hourly to ask if the bed has "turned magic" yet and where we'll be flying to.)
I hope the school nurse appreciates the little addendum to our immunization charts where I tell her that my child needs to be watched for more signs of vaccine reaction.
Should I mention that I was up until almost 5 AM watching my child to make sure she doesn't start wheezing or swelling up?
When you walk into a home office or small business, you often see those motivational sayings or posters on the wall reminding us what makes success, saying things like "Perseverence Catches the Worm" or some crap.
I've decided to order one that reads: For the love of all that is holyStopClenchingYourJaw.
Because while embroidering for two hours straight isn't that terrible, ending it with a massive headache is.
I'm going to order a leather bit and write it off as a business expense. It'll be fun to explain that one to the tax auditor.
It's been a fun week. I'm finally getting into the swing of things business-wise and I have a lot of ground to cover. Thankfully, we got the BIG computer monitor so I can watch Iron Man 2 while making owl tooth pillows and (spoiler alert) ohmigodhekissesPepper.
Not only did I get work done but I fulfilled my Robert Downey quota for the week.
I'm HOPING to get my sites up and functional within the next week or two at the latest. And then the fun part where I have to mass produce all the ideas that have been popping into my too-busy brain while doing my other job as Domestic Engineer. You know: Housewife. Cleaning. Cooking. Doing homework with the girls for 90 minutes every afternoon.
And since Mike has worked nearly every day for two months, I've become an unemployed single mother of three. I swear in the last ten days, I've seen him less than an hour every day except for twice when I saw him for three or four hours. For his AND our sake, I'm kind of excited they're putting him on all days for a few weeks...
As a welcome back present, I've decided that Mike is in charge of teaching the girls to tie their shoes because as much as I hate velcro shoes, I use every ounce of patience sounding out words like "is" to a child who can write words like "spoon" phonetically and backwards. And why does one child always have to choose a book from school that is a freakin' novella? Huh?? Do we really need to read Lady and the Tramp? We've SEEN the movie... Anyway, I'm thinking Mike might enjoy the one-on-one time with the kids, even if it involves shoelaces. Yes?
So back to my point.
Which was something about my business... ohyeah we're making progress! Yay! Now how much profit do you think I'd have to make so that Mike won't make me get a real job?
On another note, you may have heard that I was fighting some charges a few months back. Here's the short version:
- Ordered a "Rebate Millionaire" DVD online for giggles... it was free, I just had to pay for shipping.
- Got DVD. Never opened it because I'm mental.
- Noticed I was getting charged $9.95 and $19.95/month.
- Called bank to dispute charges. Charges were from a "common scam-like business" that signs you up for trial membership to a site with purchase of DVD. Then after 14 days, they charge you.
So the charges stopped late this spring and I thought the bank had taken care of it. Then I got another charge under a similar name for $19.95 this past week. I immediately called the 1-800 number on the charge.
I spoke to "Alex." He was a GEM. I told him he was much more helpful than I expected. The more I sweet-talked him and told him how nice he was, he went from cancelling my service and giving me $19.95 back to giving me back 3 months of $29.90 each to giving me back every penny... a total of $200.
I'm playing a little game with the trashmen, but I don't think they're aware of it yet.
One of the many, innumerable benefits of living outside the sweaty armpit of society is that you can get away with weird crap here that you couldn't elsewhere. Like riding a golf cart down the street. Or better yet: a trailer with a campfire pit and lawn chairs on it.
Or borrowing a skidster and stealing boulders off an undeveloped lot, then driving them back to your house. You know, who doesn't need a boulder from time to time?
Or most importantly, getting rid of vast quantities of garbage.
I used to laugh at the people up the street who would stack pile upon pile of cardboard on the curb alongside their boxes and trash cans. There is NO WAY the garbage men are going to take all that.
But they did. And then we put out our shampoo-and-lotion-drenched futon mattress, and they took that, too. So now I'm seeing what kind of random things I can get rid of. (I really, really don't want to pay to go to the dump... 25 minutes away.)
Today's gem? A full-sized metal garbage can.
Next week will be our 4-foot-tall cat scratching stand.
Other items in wait: A 6-foot-tall lamp, a full-sized swimming pool, and a small child or two.
---
Yesterday morning, as I drove the girls to school, an interesting car pulled in front of us and sped off down the winding, hilly back roads.
It caught my eye because it was neither a minivan nor a Suburban - standard issue podunk vehicle. And it was shiny.
I sped up to catch him. He was flying. I couldn't keep up with him even though I was going 12 over in a 45. I decided our lives weren't worth the closer look and didn't dare to go any faster.
Then an interesting thing happened... I turned the corner to see him pulling into his driveway.
And I immediately recognized him as the State Trooper who lives near the school. He turned and looked at me, realizing I must have been speeding to keep up with him.
He knows I was speeding.
But then again, I know HE was, too.
---
It's funny how often people tell me: Don't you dare put that on your blog.
Like this past weekend. My sister stuck her (censored) in her (censored) and pulled out a big green (censored), and when I didn't have any (censored) in my vehicle, she told me she was going to (censored) it up and (censored) it out my window. Then she said, And don't you dare put that on your blog!
Your wish is my command.
But really... I don't usually think "Gee, that's blog material!" until someone tells me it's NOT.
And yes, I have filters. Filters with really big holes in them, perhaps, but filters nonetheless.
Holes juuuuust big enough you could flick a big crusty nose goblin through 'em.
---
Happy Tuesday, everyone! It's time for me to get to work and make a little moolah!
One of Mike's and my favorite games for the last 6 years has been guessing who our girls will grow up to be.
Hello, preconceived notions? Prepare to be blown out of the water.
We've been wrong a lot while playing our little game. When Emma karate-chopped her frog legs up and over the NICU bumper, we thought she might be an active and outgoing baby. Then as she grew into a timid little peanut, we changed our minds - she must have been scared at the openness of the real world. She was surely going to be the shy child.
When Alison would spend all her time bullying her sisters for sport, we thought she would be a handful without empathy. Surely Alison was going to be trouble.
When Kristin was a baby, she was so small they warned us of disabilities. Kristin was surely going to have problems in school, but we would work through it.
Boy were we wrong.
About six months ago, if you'd asked any of my girls to draw a picture of ANYTHING, they would always come back with the same finished product - a square blob with a face and stick legs. (That could be a table, a person, or a raincloud with lightning.)
Then I noticed something. Alison - our child who wouldn't sit still for five minutes quietly unless she was asleep - was sitting at the table nearly every day for at least an hour, just drawing. She was going through so much paper that I asked my mom - and her coworkers chipped in - for any paper they were recycling that had a blank side for drawing. We go through inches of it every month.
Not only that, but Alison went from blobs that even SHE couldn't figure out to things like this:
It's a dream she had about beavers coming to visit her in her sleep, and then when she woke up they went back to the river where they live. (That's a fish in the second picture. And it looks like Jason gave us that batch of paper from the writing showing through...)
And the most fascinating part? She whips out hundreds of these every week in less than a minute each. Mike says on a near-daily basis: Even I can't draw as well as my 5-year-old.
She loves art. The problem is, she's smart, too, but she likes to hide it. Sometimes she pretends she doesn't understand English, usually when I'm working with her on her homework. I pointed to the word puppy yesterday and asked her what it said. Her half-hearted answer? Jet.
I told Mike she is so creative and self-aware (she watches herself in the mirror so much Mike says he's going to remove it to the dump) that I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to act some day.
And then Miss Kristin.
She was so goofy as a baby, and suddenly turned neurotic (in the most endearing way). She HAS to follow rules. If she's caught "breaking" one, even if I nicely point it out, she breaks into tears.
And she is SO smart. She's already reading 75% of the books the teacher has sent home for ME to read to HER. She sounds out words like hospital.
I've always thought she was a little Rainman-ish. She used to sort blocks according to colors and patterns... as a toddler.
She could care less about being creative. I have to force her to draw. Usually she draws pictures of me telling her NO (which I think is sad and funny at the same time since she's hardly ever in trouble!) or strange scribbles of things dying or being on fire and self-portraits. Here's her latest...
I asked her what the things were on her knees, and she said it's where she got "ouchies."
She likes to be in control. My mom said that's why Kristin likes to be the "bad guy" when we dress up or play... she's not as scared if SHE'S the Wicked Witch or the Red Queen.
So getting her to think creatively or take a risk is hard. But ask her to do a math or spelling problem or a chart?
No problem! Alison? Not so much...
One, two, three, four five six... aaaand... color color this is so boring.
They are quite a bunch of characters.
But the hardest to peg has been Emma.
I think she's going to be our charmer. (She's there on the left.)
She used to never make eye contact with ANYONE. Now? She is the life of the party. She giggles constantly and pounces on people. She smiles coyly at the camera. She tells the funniest stories but immediately blushes if I catch her dancing. She sings in the car.
This is a girl we thought was mute for the first two years of life.
I never thought I'd say this about Emma, but I'm considering putting her in karate or dance classes. Did I just type those words??? Emma? Of all kids!
They've changed so much, and I couldn't be any prouder of them!
(Hold on to your hat, you're about to get a glimpse of my parenting techniques.)
We're on our second week of our chore charts. They are working GREAT.
Mostly because my girls love stickers. But also because we've added an ALLOWANCE to the game.
Funny timing, but the school sent home green transparent mini piggy banks. They're learning about the value of coins and money.
So I've decided to give them one cent for every sticker they earn during the week. We count up the stickers then translate that to coins. (I know what you're thinking... one cent? But my girls don't care about the money as much as the coins.)
I'm hoping it teaches them: patience, money counting skills, responsibility, consequence, and saving.
Alison and Kristin have 26 stickers and Emma has 25... we'll see how upset Emma is over that penny she won't get with her shiny quarter. A teaching moment for sure.
*I have to add that I've adopted another mom's technique to get her kids to make the bed before school. If they don't make it, they have to lay down for a nap or quiet time after school. We did that on Friday when the girls didn't have it made before class... I had some peace and quiet and the girls learned that they need to do their chores! They weren't upset or angry... just tired and they laid down for 45 minutes then happily made their bed when I woke them up.*
Speaking of preconceived notions... Mike and I watched Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil this morning. He disappeared into the office for ten or fifteen minutes. About an hour later, he confessed he'd been looking up the statue from the movie. He wanted to buy me one for my garden.
I was completely surprised and agreed that, next year when our garden is finished, we can celebrate by adding our little Savannah Bird Girl.
He's determined to buy me presents this year since I've outed him and his non-present-giving ways to the world.
Love you, too.
Just for fun, I added a video of my mom playing with the girls. Is it any wonder I'm so strange? Look who raised me...
They're "riding brooms."
About 30 seconds after filming this, Kristin said to my mom: I'm going to be like Grandma, too. She wanted to be the scary one.
The last few years, we've taken the girls to the Pumpkin Fest Parade in Podunk, Iowa. (Surprisingly, even less podunk than our own town.)
And every year, the weather has been bipolar.
I'm hot! I'm cold! I spent all your money! I need a naaaaap...
This is one of the benefits of being a triplet: same-sized body warmers to huddle with.
It took one sound of a distant siren before the blanket was ditched.
The day started slowly. The kids around us kept snagging the candy as it hit the blacktop. Kill or be killed. I made the mistake of telling the girls that if they waved, the people might throw candy at them.
Once they realized candy was involved, their arms never rested.
Hello, giant pumpkins! What? No candy for us?
Smile! Our girls' one and only cousin, Shmelliotteriferus.
Elliott was getting scuh-rewed in the candy department, so Jeff told him to hang with the girls (whose bag was getting filled rather quickly from all the arm-waving and heckling at the passersby). So what does he do? He boxed out Emma like a basketball player. You would think kids like candy er sumthin'.
The infamous tractor man:
The girls had so much fun. I hope they don't think every day is going to involve this much sugar.
If you listen closely at about 28 seconds in, you can hear Alison complaining about the man who just walked by and said hello without giving her any of "the good stuff."
My kids are NOT normally this outgoing.
When her arm got tired, rather than stop waving, Alison would resort to the full-body hatchet chop.
As the parade passed, the girls yelled hello to every single float and car and band and tractor. And about half of the people in the parade nudged someone and pointed to our girls (dressed in their Denim Dan finest, I might add). Funny that we were amusing the parade that so amused the girls.
On a scheming note... we spent $12 to buy the kids four mini squeaking animal balloons, and it was then that Stephie hatched the idea of setting up a stand next year selling useless but irresistable JUNK for children. She might have a point... that stand was the only hopping one at the whole place.
And they'd BETTER have candy, or it'll be OFF WITH THEIR HEADS! 
What's taking her so long to answer this door?! We're FREEZING to look so cute. 
We were so excited to hand out candy! When people walked by on the street, we knocked on the door frantically to gain their attention. We offered to stand on the sidewalk, waving candy at them, but Mommy said no. 
Elliott was getting scuh-rewed in the candy department, so Jeff told him to hang with the girls (whose bag was getting filled rather quickly from all the arm-waving and heckling at the passersby). So what does he do? He boxed out Emma like a basketball player. You would think kids like candy er sumthin'. 