When did Thursday become the new Saturday?

I certainly can't keep track of my days of the week when the girls aren't in school, but I was pretty damn sure before I left the house yesterday that it wasn't a SATURDAY.

But you couldn't have guessed that from the level of crazy at Target.

My favorite was the guy in the cookie aisle. He looked "rough" (aka: "homeless") and was pulling Fig Newtons off the shelf in bunches of four. Then he'd carefully eye them from every angle, pick the best two to put into his cart, then put the other two back. Grab four. Inspect. Put two back. Rinse. Repeat. He was stocking up like the Apocalypse was coming and Fig Newtons have the antidote.

Also unusual for a Thursday? (That's what it was yesterday, right? All my calendars are already on January.)

The amount of comments.

I don't mind them so much since they give me an opportunity to build my creative sarcasm vocabulary.

As a token of generosity, I allowed the children to walk instead of ride in the cart. And before I get any hate mail, I should point out that they PREFER to ride in the cart. And who wouldn't? There are days that I want to hook them up to the back of one of the Target go-carts and cruise around instead of hoofing it.

The girls like to pretend they're baby ducklings and follow me around in a line. I usually check back to make sure they're still there...

We passed a middle-aged couple in the toy section where the wife nudged her husband then commented to us: "You have some adorable girls! That is SO CUTE."

I looked behind me. "Oh, those! I don't know WHOSE kids they are, but they've been following me for a while."

The lady paused for a second to take in what she'd heard... and then burst out laughing.

She yelled a few quick remarks of her own after us and we both had a laugh.

In the produce aisle, the employee handing out samples was a twin.

A few yards away, a mother trekked over with her cart and two kids just to say she thought my girls were "adorable."

In the cat food aisle, the elderly sales floor gentleman patted Alison on the head and told the girls that they were just "beautiful... and so neat." Then he warned me that I would be in trouble when our girls got older. (Newsflash: I'm already in trouble.)

The lady in the checkout aisle told us, "You have the most well-behaved girls... I was just telling my friend here that I would take triplets if I knew they'd be so good!"

I told her to give it a minute.

It was actually three minutes later when Alison started crying because I wouldn't let her play with her drumset and Kristin had nudged her foot, then Emma was mad that part of her hat was covering her eye. Every thirty seconds, Emma reminded me, "Mom, I'm STILL HUNGRY." As a bonus, a bottle of Mountain Dew had come unsealed and was leaking all over our groceries. The lady laughed, "You must be exhausted every day!" Think she changed her mind about wanting triplets?

Having multiples is kinda like being a rockstar. You get a lot of attention. You can't just "slip into the crowd" in a pair of pajamas and grab a few items... the gawkers will find you and make you regret your clothing choices-slash-inability to cover that pre-pubescent zit you have on your chin. But as a recompense, you get a "pass" for a lot of unusual behaviors.

Example: Swearing in front of children is unacceptable, right? Hypothetically speaking, of course? In the Target parking lot, I muttered some not-so-kind words (okay, I called the guy an asshole) when a man driving a Cadillac slowed and then tore through a stop sign as we were getting ready to cross. Instead of looking on in shock, the other patrons applauded me.

Or when I joke with strangers that my girls are only well-behaved because they're "just thrilled to finally be let out of the closet," they laugh and pat me on the back.

I bet if I'd stood in the cookie aisle for ten minutes, examining Fig Newtons in batches of four, people would point and say, "Just look at how responsible that mom is with those triplets over there."

I'm so glad I had multiples.

It allows me to be a smartass, every. single. day.

and though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Christmas Break

We've had a lot of fun over the last decade known as Christmas Break... painting nails, running around the basement wearing superhero costumes, and eating ice cream pizza for breakfast (don't judge; we're food-poor this week).

But looking around at the holy terror of a mess this place has become, I remember why I love school so much.

My children are allergic to having fun in the snow, so we have to force them out in 15 minute increments. I have no idea what's wrong with them. My mom used to give us butter knives and we'd stay outside until we lost them all - only to be found by the lawn mower the next Spring - or until we lost function of important snowball-fashioning fingers.

Instead, I'm locking the door and shooshing them away from the door when they ring the bell frantically to come in.

It's the only time I can have a little silence because when they're sleeping, it's my cleaning time. Last night, I was up until 3 AM changing the cat litter, sorting laundry, doing dishes, etc, etc, and the first thing that Mike asked when he walked in the door?

Did you fix the computer?

Sorry. Between cleaning and trying to diagnose our child's bizarre full body rash, I forgot to fix "The Precious."

It's hard to come to terms with the old idea that nothing gets accomplished with the kids here. There are way too many fights to be broken up (my favorite is the Come Here Or I'm Gonna Kill Your Legs Off threats) and recreation of Lego masterpieces to stop the flow of tears caused by Godzilla Sister Syndrome.

And I'd forgotten how often these kids "snack." God I hate that word.

So as long as I can mentally endure the never-ending toy chasing and screech level volumes in our house, we'll be okay.

Only... 7 more days. Oh my crap, is it really that long still? I shall fear no evil...

Blind, broke and bedlam

I WISH I could say I'm typing this comfortably from my computer chair, but in reality, I'm tapping this message out, one note at a time on my cell phone.

Turns out my computer hates me. It's crashed AGAIN. I could strangle it.

Surprisingly, that's not the worst thing to happen this week.

---

Mike had left for the gas station on a "beer run" when I got a call: "There's a horrible sound coming from the back of my car." Thirty minutes later and the local car shop had diagnosed and estimated. $730 for new struts and housings. (Trying to look at the positive side of things, I called around and brought them down to "only" 600. I'm convinced Mike was trying to show up my $170 garbage disposal present to myself last week.)

---

The bad luck doesn't seem to end there.

You know how we're the family destined to catch or be afflicted with the World's Most Unusual Ailments? Emma came inside from playing in the snow with one side of her face slightly pink. She was only out there for a few minutes, and it wasn't that cold. Within the hour, she had a line of blisters from her eye to her jaw.

Pleaseohpleaseohplease don't let her be allergic to anything weird. We already have to deal with the MOSQUITO allergy.

---

When discussing possible Christmas presents with my mother, I'd mentioned getting scooters and a skateboard. Mom asked, "You must want to visit the ER this year."

It would be funny except we've already had one child give herself a bloody groin and another was shot in the eye with a Nerf bullet. (Mike apologized, but later spoke proudly of his "kill shot"... I've had to enforce the Don't Aim At Faces rule.)

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Sucked into the black hole known as Post-Christmas Cleanup

What day is it?

And what the hell happened? I feel like I lost a good two months somewhere in there.

Shortly after my poo water in the mouth incident, I contracted what I'd wager is the "Poo Flu." I was most deathly ill for about a day. Never threw up, but I think that's only because it's against my proudly held belief system... of not puking.

Of course, I woke up sick Christmas Eve morning. We first spread our germs good cheer with Mike's Dad. The girls got a bucket of Legos each and Mike got a Nook. I got a third pastel picture from a local artist that I collect.

I was saying, Wow! Thank you! while thinking, Please don't barf ohgodpleasedon'tbaaaarf...

And because Mike's new obsession is guns, he got his father a range bag and two boxes ammunition - one for "Blasty" and the other for "Bam Bam." Go kill 'em, Al!

Next was Mike's mom's house.

It's one of those situations that you have to brace yourself for... you know what's coming, but you never know exactly how it'll be delivered. Mike joked, There's always one racist comment, one inappropriate sexual comment, and then she brings out a bunch of pictures of me drinking at high school parties.

Good times...

The girls have to see that their father gets his sense of humor honestly through years of exposure to crazy.

After we contaminated Mike's side of the family, we went to my parents' house where Christmas gets downright obscene. There are way too many presents (although there are also many more people, eleven to be exact).

But it's like something out of a Christmas Carol...

...or perhaps more like Poe.

The girls were spoy-ulled.

Emma lost it when she got a guitar. It's exactly like the one I saw and wanted and it has a skull and heart and STAR and I can play music on it OH MY GOSH I LOVE IT.

(Except she's lying. We've never seen that guitar before. I'll let it slide.) Kristin got a keyboard and Alison got a drum pad... it's like a regular Partridge Family at our house.

Alison even got her scooter.

We ended up getting Elliott a Buzz Lightyear "Snuggle" or whatever they call the off-brand Snuggies. Jeff loved it.

He looked a little like the Chef from the Muppets in the apron set I made for him. Shmorgy borgy.

My favorite presents were (wait for it...) the George Bush memoir Decision Points (gasp! I know!), the first season of SNL on DVD, and a game of Shut-the-Box. We all claim to have played it at Grandma Cole's house, but the 90-something-year-old swears that she's never owned it. I'm gonna raid her cabinets next time I'm in Wisconsin.

Speaking of dysfunctional families, I would like to point out that Mike bought me a stainless steel salad spinner, and my sister bought me a couple pairs of risque' panties. Because why not?

At about quarter after 10 - at night - we finally threw the exhausted kids in the car and headed home on Christmas Eve. Keep in mind I still had the flu and we needed to play Santa yet.

Instead of doing any of that responsible parenting stuff, I crawled into bed and went to Coma Stage 1. When I woke up three hours later, Mike had all our gifts unloaded, unboxed and piled neatly in our livingroom.

All we had left to do was put all the girls' Santa gifts under the tree and into their stockings.

And why does it seem like after months of preparation and hours of wrapping that the volume of presents shrinks and shrinks and shrinks...

until BAM! The next day, there's shit everywhere. Wrappings. Boxes. TOYS. And the kids can't just play with one thing, it's like a dozen different themes happening at once.

Alison ran around the house dressed like Glinda in anticipation of watching the Wizard of Oz for the first time ever. They loved that movie... until they actually watched it. Then they were scared half to death.

So after a couple days of that, I can't understand why this flu hasn't left my body. You would think those germs would be screaming to get out of this house.

I threw the kids in their snow gear again and chucked them outside, just to get a few moments' peace.

And wouldn't you know it? As soon as I did that, Mike put in his Star Wars series... a gift from my parents.

Torture. Pure torture.

Do they make a Pink Eye app?

Whoops! Got lost in my new Droid phone and all the apps for a few days... Sorry 'bout that.

In my defense, they have a fart app. And light saber app. And Antoine Dodson soundboard app. And oh, the coupons!!! Mike and I spent five minutes laughing and dueling our light sabers with Star Wars music and all, and the girls watched in horror.

Mike and I held out against the touchscreen/smartphone revolution as long as we could. Even two years ago when I asked for a regular old flip phone, the cell guy looked at me like I was high.

So when Dad called me two days ago and said We're all upgrading to media plans and all their phones are free, it was too good to pass up. We picked out our $500 everything-enabled monstrosities and went on our merry way.

Except I couldn't even figure out how to set up the speed dial.

And Dad called me today to ask how to change the ringtone off of vibrate.

I have a feeling we're in for a world of trouble.

By the time the guy switched over our five lines and phones, the girls were starving to death. We headed over to Granite City - a restaurant that specializes in their own line of beers and waffle fries.

Also on the menu?

Pubic hair.

Mike had a "friendly invader" on his loaded mashed potatoes. I have never seen him so torn... Do I EAT the steak? Do I ditch the whole meal? He ended up salvaging anything that was outside of the 3-inch pubic hair radius.

(He wouldn't want to make a scene and ask for new food, God forbid.)

We told the manager not to worry about a discount, but when we got our receipt, they'd given us money off next to the code: "Food Product: Foreign Object."

We thought that would be the most disgusting thing to happen to us that day.

Wrong.

While we were at Barnes & Noble, looking for presents we didn't need to buy, Kristin broke into her I-gotta-poop dance. I hoisted her up and made a mad dash for the restrooms.

As I walked around the huge handicrapper stall, Kristin looked concerned. I think it's stuck.

What's stuck, honey, ohh.... no....

So I tried to "help" her any way I could. And if you're a parent, you probably already know that if you put pressure on certain areas of a person's bottom, it make-a-da-poop come out.

It was the biggest cannonball turd I ever saw, and as I encouraged her to push while I was bent over her...

KER-SPLUNK.

SPLASH.

Poo water. In the face.

Two minutes later, I was in front of the sinks, rubbing anti-bacterial soap foam on my face.

And THAT'S how you get pink eye.

I wonder if they make an app for that...

Titillating Tuesday: 'Twas the Night Before Tuesday

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Let me tell you a story...

'Twas the night before Tuesday
and all through the house
Kung Fu Cat was rampaging
attacking all but her mouse.

The stockings were hung
from the front window with care
because thanks to 3M's removable hooks
you can hang that crap anywhere.

The children were nestled
all snug in their beds
while I carefully tracked down
our undelivered Pillow Pets.

I heard a noise on the lawn
and pulled the blinds out of my way
just in time to see FedEx deliver
some random contruction company's mail to my neighbor's driveway.

(Seriously, I think they're all drunk.)

When it finally came to light the post office
had - for a week - kept our gifts hostage
I considered going in,
using knuckles to "buy postage."

Instead I worked out my rage
fixing our computer that had crashed
for the third time in a month...
one more time, it's The Trash.

Finally with a reboot
but still no working printer
I wondered if our Christmas letters would EVER
get mailed this winter.

Out of nowhere the phone rings
and the plumber's on his way
to fix our garbage disposal,
one more thing that's in the hay.

"It's not the gasket,
it's cracked in half," he said,
and I counted the dollar bills
to replace it in my head.

Two hundred dollars later
I told Mike we would be
best to count that as my present.
Merry Christmas to me!

Fully in the Christmas spirit
and counting others' gifts,
I realized I needed to make yet another
shopping trip.

Poor Elliott - tough to shop for - was
getting only a Buzz Lightyear Snuggie and blocks.
Unfortunately, unlike his grandpa,
you can't just throw in some socks.

Nothing's more maddening
than buying your presents in July
only to STILL fight the crowds Christmas week...
when it's Do or DIE.

Either way, the kids probably
know what they're getting.
I've been hiding the presents in our room
for months under our bedding.

"Surprise! That blanket-covered monstrosity
in my closet creating a plastic stench
ISN'T there for decoration...
it's a kids' Black 'N' Decker workbench!"

Oh well, next year I'll try harder,
start sooner, work faster.
Who am I kidding?
Every year, it's a DISASTER.

On that note, I've got to get going...
lots to do today,
so I'll leave it at this:
Have a Fantastic Tuesday!

Holiday shopping, aka Punishment for procrastination

Only six more days until CHRISTMAS!!! AHHHH!!!!

I wish Emma was making that face because she realized how much work goes into this holiday and how little time we have left.

Alas, it was just Mike and her being mental and making "shocked" faces at each other until Emma was in hysterics. But I thought the face was fitting.

Have you dared to wander out in public this weekend yet?

It is insane. I finally understand why they're making Collins Rd (the main shopping thoroughfare) into 10-billion lanes... the project that I've been bitching about all through the summer construction season.

Thankfully, I took the tank Suburban last night on our way to dinner or I never would have made it around some bozo who had caused a tangleturd of cars at a series of parking lot stop signs. (If you're familiar with CR, I'm talking about the intersection between Ginsberg's and Red Robin. Worst. Parking Lot Design. EVA.) Heft! Here we go... OVER the curb, across the snow, and back down the other side...

It was worth it.

We ended up finding only one of the four gifts I needed to buy last night and - because I was apparently on some kind of spending kick - three more gifts for the kids that we hadn't planned for. But who doesn't need a dragon pirate ship and matching castle??? I dare you to answer me THAT.

We were out shopping which meant everyone and their mothers were out shopping, too. In fact, we SAW my mother (and father) at Target. I yelled at them as I shuffled out the doors to the truck to drop off my secret dragon spending spree, Mike's in the toy section with the girls, so avoid going THAT way!

When the three of us caught up with Mike and the kids, Alison was moping with her nose three inches from a Thomas the Train boxed set.

I have never seen such sadness in a child.

Mom leaned over Emma's shoulder to surprise her. It freaked Emma out so badly that even when she turned around she didn't recognize her own grandma. What Mom doesn't know is that we have a lot of strangers who do that exact same thing to our kids when we're in public - part of the reason they hate crowds.

I can only imagine how she feels, since I can't stand most of these strangers and none of them are trying to hug/talk to/groom me. If they tried to pet my head, I'd turn around and BARK at them.

WOOF!

I don't hate everyone, just the stupid people. Thought I should throw that little disclaimer out there.

My favorite people to run into are the couples expecting babies. There is nothing funnier than watching a man nudge his pregnant wife and point at our kids...

with a "shocked" face of his own.

Forks!

Wednesday - while I ate lunch with the girls - I noticed something strange.

There were no forks.

All the children were picking their Canadian bacon-esque meat circle up with their fingers and chomping away. The one utensil they were allowed - a spoon - was used for the rest of their "Christmas Dinner"... potato mounds with brown gravy and lime applesauce. Even the ice cream treat was devoid of its popsicle stick!

Then I thought back to all the lunches the children talked about: tacos, pizza, breaded chicken on a bun, corndogs, more pizza... They're ALL finger foods.

Kristin informed me that they're not allowed to eat with forks. Ever.

Isn't that just WEIRD???

I can understand no knives, but I thought forks were a must. Hell, my children have been playing with kitchen knives for as long as they could hoist a sister up on my countertops... forks are no problem-o.

I think I'm going to start sending lunches again. Alison keeps begging for me to send salad to school with her (I'm sure it's because of all the extras like strawberries and almonds and less about the lettuce itself). Or maybe it's because I send a FORK with her food... Hmmm...

On a positive note, Emma and Kristin can open their milk cartons with absolutely no problem, but Alison is dependent on her sister to do the work for her. I'm certain separating them in class was the best idea... I could absolutely see them tag-teaming assignments that are supposed to be individual projects.

Well, time to go eat my fork-and-knife-filled breakfast...

Totally non-denominational Christmas Winter Recital thing

We had the girls' "Winter Recital" today. Which was all nice and politically correct... until they started singing Christmas carols. I got a kick out of that one. (Our school embraces a bunch of different traditions; I saw today that one class was making dreidels in art and another classroom was putting together a Christmas tree.)

The girls were only on stage for a total of eight minutes, but they had fun. Even from across a crowded gymnasium, I could tell Emma was singing really emphatically and making intense facial expressions.

I didn't realize Snowmen Marching was such a "thriller"!

Kristin was chosen to be a snowman and melt onstage. (She's third from the left, wearing a tie.)

Alison was all the way to the right in the front row, along with the half of her class that isn't dying of fever. She and Emma were picked to play bells for one of their songs.

I went in for my mandatory volunteer time this morning and saw that Alison's class was missing 1/3 of the kids to what the teachers have seen as a mystifying and long-lasting fever. Most kids are up to 105* and sick for at least five days.

One kid tested positive for strep but the antibiotics aren't helping. I assume this is the start of Plague Season?

Alison has been a little bit feverish in the evenings but completely fine by morning, then she completes the cycle again later that day. Since Saturday.

Have I told you all how much I love my girls' teachers? Because I do. They are hard-working and earn every penny and then some.

As I was last-minute re-checking the girls' backpacks this morning, I saw a note with Emma's "Star of the Week" papers that I must have missed earlier: You may invite a guest to dine with you at lunch today.

Aw, crap. I had hoped to get in and get out of Volunteerland today so I could clean the house in preparation of Mike getting home from Louisiana.

Instead, I ended up pulling Kristin from her class, eating lunch with all three kids (and a random little girl who sat with us and told us repeatedly that she "had the flu"), and then leaving two hours later after losing all hope of accomplishing anything at home and figuring I would be more useful working on the teachers' projects.

So I was completely sideswiped when Emma's teacher pulled me aside tonight at the recital and handed me a plate filled with cookies and a wood and canvas picture frame as thanks for helping out every week.

I don't help out to get recognition as much as help out so they don't have to scrap fun projects with the kids, but it really made me feel good.

Well, that, and having all the Kindergarteners yell Hi, Mrs. V! as they walked past toward the stage. And running into random kids in the grocery store and feeling a little tug on my coat sleeve when they try to get my attention to say hello (along with the parents' awkward hellos when they're trying to figure out why their kid is talking to some random lady).

I've said it before and will say it again: You should try to volunteer even if it's for one day. It's fun and the kids love it! At least at this age... get back to me in three years when my kids are mortified to know me.

So after all that fun, we took the kids out to Olive Garden, their favorite restaurant.

And of course we behaved ourselves... kind of.

You know you have too many kids when the hostess seats you in a party cove and automatically adds gratuity to your bill.

I hope this place never goes out of business because we - even the girls - love their calamari. Mmmm.... delicious!

By the end of the night, Emma was getting so giddy she could hardly stand up while laughing about what I can only assume was a barrage of fart jokes whispered between the kids, and the snow was really coming down. We high-tailed it home where everyone passed out.

Correction: Most everyone passed out in the car. Alison shamed Mike by showing him what real snoring sounds like.

Titillating Tuesday: Terrifying Tuesday?

Yes, Mother, I have heard of an iron. (Just getting that out of the way...)

I'll iron them when they're FINISHED.

These are the full-sized kids' aprons - much cuter when ON the child, but my minions models are in school currently. Left (garden variety) has two large pockets on the bottom and is reversible with a 3-D button-flower on the chest. Cap is short. Right (cowboy variety) is made from canvas and denim and has a pocket and spoon holder. Cap is tall. Both have adjustable velcro fasteners on hat and neck strap (makes it easier for the kids to play without needing Mom's help all the time to put them on). Size? Approx 4-7T (ish).

So, this endeavor is taking a lot longer than I'd planned. I suppose it doesn't help that I'm making my own patterns and am a perfectionist and am constantly interrupted by my children who think all these aprons are theirs and They must play with them immediately lest they perish!

---

Speaking of minions, Despicable Me is coming out on DVD today. I am PUMPED and I'm not afraid to admit that I like this movie way more than the kids do.

---

Alison is having night terrors... part of our new program of Interesting Things to Put Mommy Through While Daddy's Out-of-State.

The first was on Saturday night. She was clutching my neck and flinching as if someone was trying to attack her. And sobbing. And wailing. And freaking me out.

When I finally got her to stop wailing, I asked her what was wrong.

I'm scared! *Sob sob sob WAIL*

Scared of WHAT, honey? It's okay, I've got you, you're safe. Can you tell me what you're afraid of?

YOU!

Ten minutes later, she was smiling at me but her eyes looked like nobody was really home. Weirdest thing ever.

I wrote it off as a side effect of having a fever that evening.

The next day? Perfectly fine.

That night? More wailing. This time she was sad that no one wanted to be her friend. So I talked her through it and she eventually stopped crying, then went back to bed and passed out.

Last night was the same deal. Except when it was all over, she told me You're really tall. Someday I'm going to be tall like you, before wandering back to her room and passing out. I'm running out of steam, dealing with all this crying.

Let's hope tonight is better.

Oh, and as a fun little tidbit, night terrors are often genetic traits passed on from parents with parasomniac disorders. I suppose all those times I woke up shouting about spiders and fires and something in Spanish and trying to cook and get frisky in my sleep would qualify?

---

I'm doing the last of my Christmas shopping tonight with Stephie and the girls, so if you expect a gift, now's the time to suck up.

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

O, holy windchill

Alison was yelling from the back seat this morning: Mommy, go faster! MOMMY! Go FASTER!!!!

Honey, I'm trying to keep us on the road and alive, could you please stop yelling? I'm going as fast as I can.

Weeeeeee!!!! It's a big slide!

That was MY mistake for not taking the interstate this morning. Had I known the back roads were still ice-glazed toboggan runs from hell, I probably would have opted out of that little field trip today.

This weekend has been a complete friggin' disaster.

The girls had to stay inside because Kristin left her boots at school - during the first major snowstorm of the season, of course.

Not to mention it's about -148* outside. My car was so angry with me this morning. Wha?!? You want me to START? And DRIVE you somewhere??? The audacity...

Wub. Wub. Wuuuubwuubwubwubbarrrummmmmpumpumpumpum... WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!!!!!!!

God, I love winter.

Quarantine + 3 Petri Dish Kids = SICK MOMMY.

Have I mentioned that Mike is out-of-state for work?

I know it was only a 2-day weekend, but I was counting down to today. And crossing my fingers that school would remain open and on time, and the girls would stay healthy. They would have to have blood coming out their eyes for me to keep them home from school this week.

I'm missing Mike already, but it's kinda nice to know I can let the house go to shit and focus on finishing up all these kids' apron sets... they take a surprisingly long time to make, especially since they're so little! You'd think I could whip these out as fast as a 9-year-old Chinese girl makes Kathy Gifford's sweatshirts.

I'll be posting pictures today on both http://www.madmama.net/ and http://www.sweetenedtaters-shoppe.net/ for adult and children's aprons. I'm aiming for 3 PM to have one of each style online. Which might mean sometime this evening. Or tomorrow morning. Everything takes so damned long!

This is why I need an assistant.

(Who works for free. Or hotdogs.)

Any takers?

I'm taking a day off

Most importantly, I want to announce that I am offering FREE SHIPPING on ANY purchase at Autumn Vine Jewelry.

I am taking a "work" day today and making kids' apron and chef hat sets. Also on the list: adult aprons. I hope to finish enough and have them on my Mad Mama site by Monday morning.

We'll see how long this lasts before Mike snaps....

If you see anything you like, remember you can post it to FB/Twitter and email it using the buttons on my site! Thanks, and see ya tomorrow :)

Can we start counting down yet?

I feel like I'm overlooking so many things on a daily basis.

I overheard the TA talking to Kristin the other day at school. Color the picture to look like you. Your eyes are kind of a greenish, so color the eyes on your picture green.

Do my kids have green eyes?

I really don't know. What do you think?

Regardless of eye color, Alison is a ham, obviously. I'm a reindeer, Mom! Take a picture of me! Pleeeease... take a picture take a picture!!! Now can I see it?

I took quite a few pictures tonight... one while I was laughing hysterically after Alison successfully "nailed" her bubble wrap to the wall. I had just moments earlier joked with Mike, Ah, the 5-year-old brain, and wondered how long it would take her to realize it wasn't going to work.

Less than a minute later, check out what we saw:

That girl makes me laugh every. single. day. And I have to admit that opening her backpack is the highlight of my afternoon, just because I want to see what amusing things she's brought home for me.

Today was her C picture. It's pretty apparent what her assignment was. Cat. CAOO. Cob.

CAOO. Sound it out. It's right. Just like her Snoflak and Scootr that she wrote on her S picture.

But the best is the Christmas tree she colored, then accented with a witch taking flight through the snow and a ghost hanging out with the gingerbread man.

I'm guessing it has something to do with our Christmas tree being decorated right next to the half of our patio door that is painted with a spooky tree and tombstone for Halloween.

She is always drawing. THAT is why we Santa brought Alison a ream of paper plus markers and twistable crayons of every color and alphabet stamps.

(In case you're wondering, my grandma is buying the girls scooters, thankfully, but we had to find something else to get Alison since her only other wish list item was a Pillow Plague. I'm going to make copies of all Alison's artwork for the last three weeks since every picture has a SCOOTER in it, just to show Grandma how much she's wanted one. Subliminal messaging, perhaps?)

Sigh... What will I ever do for amusement once the rugrats are gone?

After sending the girls to bed at their NEW and FABULOUSLY EARLY bedtime of 7:30, I got a wild hair to do a project. I figured after yesterday's little freak out, I should drag out all the presents we've accumulated thus far, minus the girls' Pillow Pets (in the mail) and the Tag Reader my sister so kindly picked up for us.

The girls have a nasty habit of waking up and wandering into the livingroom at all hours, so I set up a noisy obstacle course that would slow them down and give me time to dash the hallway and scare them back to bed.

Why does it seem like we have hardly enough presents for three kids??? Maybe because half of it is clothes and books?

It feels like a LOT of stuff to me because this is the most we've ever bought for Christmas. Every other year has been lean, simply because they received so many presents from other people and there wasn't anything they needed.

In fact, this year I'm hauling most of their current toys down to the school this next week to PURGE and make room for new.

On the shopping front, I only have one more present to buy - a rainbow umbrella for Emma - and I'm done.

In a moment of pure genius, I assembled the workbench and wrapped all the rest of the presents. It only took me until almost 4AM...

I'm on a caffeine high now, but I feel a crash coming on.

---

By the way, I want to point out how important it is to get in your child's classroom for at least a day if you can. Our girls say the craziest things (like: I got to sleep in the bathtub today, and I was chained in the room after class) that make complete sense since I have been in the room and seen - for example - the bathtub that the daily leader gets to sleep in at rest time, kind of like a throne.

Also, I was in charge of getting all the kids to dress up in a Santa hat and take pictures to give to the parents, probably in an ornament, and it makes me appreciate all the little projects that might not mean much when they come home at the end of the day but take a lot of time and effort!

Dear Santa, please bring me Xanax.

Don't Miss Out!

Everywhere I go, the ads are screaming at me. WHAT am I MISSING??? Please, someone tell me, quick!

I'm pretty much done shopping, but these sales and ads and one-day specials are making me feel paranoid like I'm forgetting something important. I am always late to the table on shopping deals, too.

Like that BOGO free sale on Tag products and $5 off coupon? The books went from $10 to $2.50. Missed it.

Oh, I got the memo, just two weeks too late.

I'm out-of-the-sales-loop, even with my sister moving past Mr. Bernard Winkley from Nigeria in the number of emails sent to my inbox. She is a sales-finding genie. Just ask her where you can buy 10-cent cans of kidney beans... I bet she'd know.

I usually do most of my shopping online to avoid the crowds.

I guess my stress might be coming from my inability to rely on the packages actually arriving to my house. One of my neighbors was nice enough to set my recovery disc package on the front door step, probably after opening it and going What the hell are THESE for? Whoops...

(I've learned by now that you always have to see if it's even your mail before bringing it in, since I am a pretty regular delivery spot for my neighbors across the street. Apparently the numbers ETCHED INTO BRICK ON MY FRONT PORCH are not obvious enough that it's not the correct house. Two or three years ago, we ended up not getting the girls one of their bigger Christmas presents because the truck driver "lost it" aka someone got a free gift on our block.)

And now I've been stressing about the Pillow Pets' arrivals.

When I was spelling it out to Stephie the next day after ordering, I freaked out on the phone: I know I got an F-R-O-G and an L-A-D-Y-B-U-G, but I can't remember if I got a P-O-N-Y or a D-O-G, and she didn't want a D-O-G. She wanted a P-O-N-Y! I can't remember what I ordered!!!

Of course, Mike yelled from the kitchen, That's because she was D-R-U-N-K.

I was N-O-T.

It was just really really reallyreallyreallyreally early in the morning and I was a little tired, hunched over my parents' laptop like I was plotting to take over the world, one Pillow Pet at a time.

So now it's a Christmas surprise for Mommy. I'll see if I ordered the right ones... if they ever arrive.

I am so grateful we never removed the child locks from our bedroom door (remember that our girls have the locking master suite... ingrates). So our tiny bedroom has become Christmas Central. There is crap EVERYWHERE. I have to tiptoe around presents in the dark when I go to bed every night.

And yet, I still feel like we're MISSING something or someone.

I might have to drag all the presents out tomorrow while the kids are in school, just to make sure it's all there.

Santa's gettin' old and can't remember everything, ya know?

Speaking of being parent of the year, I scolded two of the girls for losing a hat and two sets of winter gloves on the way to school. About halfway through my lecture, I remembered that I'd shoved them in my purse the day before when we went shopping for supper supplies.

Oops.

Guess I'd better get shopping for more presents after all... I need to buy them something as compensation for the emotional scars of being raised by such a mean mommy.

Let's go break a hip

I had a great day yesterday, so thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes. Having a birthday in early December makes me feel a little Jewish... the holiday season seems to last FOR-E-VER.

It's a month-long game show and I always leave with a lovely array of parting gifts.

My parents bought me a gorgeous bomber-style jacket and accessories, my husband bought me some harnesses for my chest weapons, and the girls decorated my birthday cake.

They kept scolding me not to set them on fire. They're psychic, because that was my intent the whole time, mwahahahaha. Where do they come up with this stuff? I realize they've never seen so many candles on a cake...

Let's see... what else?

I got hilarious cards from friends and family, and my aunts gave me much-needed decorations for my house. Yes, needed.

My father-in-law bought me a gift certificate for a spa day. Do you think it has anything to do with how many times I've mentioned I want to hire a professional body landscaper? Nah...

Then Stephie took me out to lunch today. Shortly after I ordered my mandatory alcoholic beverage, she passed over a box with this on the cover:

Funny enough, it looks just like our grandmother.

We always joke we'll be like Grandma Janet and Violet (her sister) some day. They call each other daily to ask You alive? and we already know who we're assigned to become. Stephie gets Grandma and I get Violet, I'm guessing partly because of our body shapes and also because I can be quite gassy...

Anyway, Stephie asked if I'd live with her someday since she doesn't plan on marrying. It would never work unless we had some sort of padlock system so she couldn't sneak into my food and take half-bites out of everything.

When I opened the box, inside was a Brighton charm bracelet with two charms.

A birthday cake and a car.

They both have significance, she said. The cake, obviously, because it's your birthday. And the car because we're going on a ROADTRIP!

She explained that she booked us a room at the Hard Rock Hotel in Chicago in January.

Wha??? You mean we'll actually be able to spend time together without rugrats? I don't compute....

Unfortunately this interferes with my plans to pay off our credit card debt by March, but I can live with a few more months of being indebted.

Too bad we can't go see Oprah. I told her we could try to get on some Judge show, but she said it needs to be a show where we can win free gifts. It's gonna be a blast. Plus I'm excited to see if my beggar friend still thinks I need to get right with Jesus.

We've gotta do this stuff before our hips get too old.

Pizza and shopping. Yes, please!

Titillating Tuesday: THIRTY

Kung Fu MoochCat say:

One who turn 30 now must perish!

---

Yes, it's my birthday. As I was made painfully aware of by my husband when he woke me at 3:40 this morning so I could "find" my birthday bras which he had wrapped around our Christmas tree.

Merry Christmas, Baby Jesus! Here are some watermelon slings for your coming out party...

I've been looking forward to turning thirty. I'm crazy. (I know, right?)

I figure there are some benefits.

- Oprah says I'm finally old enough to write memoirs that someone might care about.

- I can finally, as a responsible 30-something myself, complain about "those lunatics in their 20s" driving around chatting on their cell phones.

- The aches and pains in my joints are finally starting to make sense.

- My uterus is closer to retirement.

- I can complain about how bad things are compared to "back in MY day."

- My brain has finally matured enough that I might be able to figure out a Rubik's Cube OR challenge the current theories on Quantum Mechanics.

So really, I'm pretty pumped about this whole thing.

---

Everyone's been getting in the spirit for the holidays. Alison was distraught a few days ago because she'd been sent to bed without finishing coloring her Christmas tree picture.

Mike gave her 30 minutes at the table.

Did I mention it was 9:30 on a school night?

We've (read: I've) been getting too lenient with the sleeping arrangements and bedtimes around here.

---

Ah, St. Nick's Day. December 6. And WHY does no one else know about this tradition?

Of course, Mike was the one complaining that we should only give them one item... until he walked down the toy aisle and saw the Transformers. So now you can add to my growing list of talents: Can transform a dumptruck to a robotic man in less than 30 seconds. Usually when I'm trying to go to the bathroom and the kids decide their toy is more urgent than my privacy.

---

Isn't this the most adorable little Christmas village?

My aunts made them and painted them for their shop in Northern Wisconsin called The Living Room. We've been working on a website for them that if they don't get done, I am going to come up there and do whether they like it or not so there!

Notice the birthday cards the girls drew for me? Mike had them sit down and do that while I was out of the house for a few hours this past weekend, so every card says "Happy Birthday Mom in 3 Days."

---

I'm happy to announce that this post has been typed on my new hard drive. 100% completed on my own from crash and backup to this very moment. (Okay, clarification, Mike helped me remove a stubborn side panel.)

Watch out, thirty, here I come! But first, I'm heading out for lunch and a birthday drink with my sister.

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Who else

I've been checking on Mike hourly to make sure he's still alive. He took one Unisom, but I do NOT trust that crap.

Last time he took one, he went completely cold and unresponsive when I shook him.

(Does this rule me out as a suspect if he goes into a permanent vegetative state?)

He doesn't seem bad this time, though. In fact, nothing could beat how drained his face looked this afternoon when - after joking about me getting a job - I told him I would work 40 hours a week if he would do half of all the work around the house. The cleaning, the cooking, the kids.

He got awefully quiet.

I don't think he ever considered that part.

Could you IMAGINE?!? Me doing what I do now plus adding a full-time job? I would kill someone.

Er...

Anyway, keeping track of our lives and house IS a full-time job.

Who else would remember that tomorrow is St. Nick's Day? and that we need ornaments and candy to stuff in the girls' shoes tonight? Huh? Who would take the time to have the girls write out letters to Santa to leave by the door?

Yeah, like I said... this job is important.

If I was at work, who would be here to whip hangers at the cat when she climbs our Christmas tree to get to the knit bird ornament she so desperately wants to maim?

Who would be home to watch the UPS truck go by, day after day after bloody day, without dropping off my computer recovery discs? And who would have the time to call a week later to ask what the hell good "rush overnight shipping" is if it takes 7 days to get to me?

Who else would stay up all night to check their spouse's pulse after taking Coma Pills?

Who else????

Of course, the thought of losing my freedom to employment is a lot less thrilling than when I was 15 and getting my first job (i.e. my first real paycheck). Even the days back when the noise level in my house was causing me to hear humming sounds, I knew I was extremely lucky to be able to stay home.

So I'm working at working from home. Tomorrow is my first designated "work day." No major cleaning or house projects. Only working on business stuff.

I want to put color in my husband's face again and let him know I can actually earn a buck (or two) without ever forcing him to scrub a toilet.

I think I'm paranoid

Any one of us could be "diagnosed" with a psychological disorder. I might have a few...

That's probably the only valuable thing I learned from my Abnormal Psych courses.

I, for one, take paranoia to the next level. Borderline schizo. Okay, not so much borderline as residing a quick train ride away, but I like to use my paranoia to make my boring days much more exciting.

For example, there's an elderly man who drives his white pickup along the back roads at 10 mph under the speed limit every single day. No matter when I leave, he's right there, in front of me, blocking my path to a speedy school drop-off.

I swear he waits for me.

I have no idea where he goes, and he's obviously not going anywhere in a hurry. At first I thought he lived along that road and did it just to piss me off. But now I'm not so sure. It's on my list of things to find out.

Also, I think my children are alien terrorists.

On Wednesday, I thanked Emma for eating her pesto farfalle gone, but asked her to eat her shrimp.

Her answer? I can't... because I don't like the French.

Um, okay, but I don't see what that has to do with your supper...

Although, I'll know she's not an alien and just being brainwashed by right wing nuttos if she starts asking for Freedom Fries.

And Kristin accused me of leaving crap in the toilet. Me, the Master Toilet Flusher. The one who spends at least 15 minutes a day searching out and flushing other people's messes. I found myself getting really defensive as the three of them looked at me accusingly.

I'm pretty much paranoid that every store is trying to screw me or put me in a straight jacket.

Like the recent Gateway incident.

And don't even start me on how hard it is to find a freakin' FROG Pillow Pet at a reasonable price. Luckily, I went to their site and found one, then when I tried to leave, it gave me a code for a whole $3 off my purchase if I changed my mind. Since the frogs are evidently a rare species, I jumped on it. Three dollars off almost paid for half my shipping.

Is it paranoia if they really ARE trying to screw me? I might need a ruling on this one...

I sleep with weapons under my bed, mostly heavy club-type objects. Don't try to break in unless you want to be bludgeoned to death.

Then there's the monthly pregnancy / death scares.

Because my exhaustion can't be from only getting 3 hours of sleep each night for three nights. I've gotta be knocked up. It would be nice if Mother Nature would get back to our monthly scheduled "broadcasts" so I wouldn't have to worry anymore. How long's it been? Twenty months?

And the red raw patches on my breasts? Totally some kind of cancer or flesh-eating bacteria. Although I don't remember ever having a mani/pedi/breasti...

Who needs a hobby when you've got paranoia? It's a full time job.

The things we do for love. And to avoid weird people in public places.

It's just like the good ol' college days.

I'm hunched over a laptop in the middle of my livingroom floor with cables and cords running across the beat-down carpeting to phone and power outlets in other rooms.

I miss my computer.

But this must happen. I must shop online.

I can't handle taking the girls in the stores when it's this busy. And all the crazy people come out.

At Target two days ago, an odd woman zipped around the corner and immediately started petting Alison's head as she told me this little ditty: There was a girl in here a few days ago with long hair like this and she was just smart as a whip, here's a coupon for spaghetti sauce, just smart as a whip! and walked away.

(Wasn't it this time last year when the crazy chick in the bathroom ripped a butterfly applique from her K-mart purse because she thought my kids needed it? By the way, they had it for about two months before they lost interest.)

God knows my kids need more crap.

I made a list of all the kids' presents and they are getting WAY too much stuff. Okay, I admit that some of it is clothes and books, but they're also getting *GASP* Pillow Pets. Ugh.

I have to do it. I've interrogated Alison several times a day and she says the only things she wants are a scooter and a "pony" Pillow Pet. And my Grandma is getting her the scooter.

Game. Set. Match. You win, Alison.

And this is one of those times that I think - in fairness - they ALL have to get Pillow Pets. It's not a triplet thing as much as a mutually-shared-obsession thing. Because they would be CRUSHED if they got something lame like a cardigan while Alison had her precious purple pony pillow. (I feel the need to point out how ridiculously "not girly" these kids are that they don't even recognize a unicorn.)

Much like when my sister and I were younger, there are going to be a lot of shared gifts. So far, they have only three toys each that are going to be just their own, including The Pillows That Shall Not Be Named. Everything else will be public property - books, the Wizard of Oz movie, the Mr. Potato heads and Black and Decker workbench (clearance, baby!)

Unlike back in our childhood, though, we're going to tell them that most of the presents are from us and save the special, individual ones "from Santa." This is mostly because we aren't sure what Alison has already uncovered. I'm not naming names, but someone let the girls play under the bed as they slept... the bed that is in the baby-locked bedroom and they can only get in there when someone lets them in. Ahem.

I was frantically searching online for a cheap computer, too. The girls love their Fisher Price Keyboard from two years ago, but Mike never wants to cough up the main computer. Yeah, I went there, Mister Googlemeister.

Then it dawned on me. I turned to Mike today in a moment of sheer genius: We have our old computer in the basement!

But it doesn't work, said Ye of Little Faith.

Yeah, but a hard drive is cheaper than a whole computer... get where I'm going with this? I'll buy a hard drive that has the same specs as the one we just got and use the recovery discs on it when they arrive in the mail!

I am so impressed with myself sometimes...

*basking in it*

Okay, I'm over it.

Doesn't that sound like fun? Because what is life without mind-numbingly painful projects? And I'm also MAKING one of my sister's presents (thank you to Helene for posting something on your blog a while back and no I can't tell you what it is since she reads this) as well as my nephew's apron and chef's hat. He is a budding culinary artist with his Easy Bake Oven.

I might not be able to leave the house this month.

Well, except for my birthday lunch date with Malea... no hair-removal involved, I hope.