Bloggers, NOT TO BE TRUSTED

Alcohol might be the magical key for getting my children to school on time.

Hear me out...

Every night I drink, I fall asleep by 1 AM. Because I'm so rested, I have the energy to wake up at first alarm's calling. Then I can pester the crap outta my kids to get out of bed and still have time to pack lunches and put a bra on! WIN.

In other words, it was an early morning for us today since I had a date last night with some longtime friends.

There is a reason this guy was in our wedding and his wife is my girls' Godmother... Ed and Teri are hysterically funny and they feed me and give me alcohol. They're smart and nice and I'm going to make them into a pair of matching lampshades someda, err... um, going to have to visit more often.

And they have 15-month-old adorable twin girls. Which puts them immediately up for Sainthood.

I left Mikey home with the babies even though I knew he would be asleep before the girls would. Girls, make sure you're in bed at eight o'clock. Oh, and lights out. Oh, and NOT on the couch... Have I ever mentioned how much easier life is now that they're this age? (For people with young multiples, read that sentence several times and soak it in... it WILL GET BETTER.)

It was a bit like travelling back in time, then, when I saw the two girls toddling around Alan and Teri's livingroom, playing with boxes and snuggling with Mommy before bed.

We laughed about carpet-sniffing for milk spills - which sounds way dirtier than I mean it - and how having just one baby would be a piece of cake. Bwahahahaha... And the logistics of feeding several babies at a time. And how this is still so surreal that we have five kids between our two families, and almost no one else we know even has kids and can understand the rule of: if it's not stinky or hanging down to their knees, the diaper stays on for 3 hours.

And since they're churchgoing Catholics, ahem, churchgoing liberal Catholics, we had a lot to talk about. Like how Catholics are quick to condemn lust but only in regards to non-married couples, a very important distinction. (I never realized it, but he's right.) And we've decided that Catholics want married people to bang a gong and get reproducing to take over the WORLD! Okay, maybe not. We're losing that battle to the Duggars and the combined countries of Mexico and China, anyway, so I'll just close up my uterus shop for now.

You know it's true... those Duggars are breeders. There's just tons of people in China, and Mexicans are, well... Catholics.

Ed also refused to let me take any incriminating photos because: You're a blogger... I don't trust you.

Whatever do you mean? .......

I couldn't resist.

It was fun, and Alan I'm sure is still mad that the amazingly delicious chicken he'd prepared just Wouldn't. Get. Done. and we had to eat asparagus and drink (damn) for a couple hours before dinner, which was maybe the yummiest thing I've eaten in quite some time. Is that what spending a collective 3 years in France does? Gives you culinary skills? Because I can overlook the language barrier and move there any time...

Homemade shortbread and whipped cream with fresh berries. Oh my god, why do I not live with these people?

I'm most likely going antiquing with them in a few weeks, and while I'm really stoked about that, I might use this opportunity to move some of my things into their house without them noticing...

*I just noticed that I may have used Ed and Alan interchangeably. It's the same person. I call him Ed because I've always called him Ed. I can't remember why...*

On my way to becoming a lesbian

Just because lesbians can't choose not to be lesbians doesn't mean that I can't choose to become a pretend lesbian. Stick THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Limbaugh.

Here are my future wives.

I like to mix it up. Korean, not Korean. Pregnant, not pregnant. Married and single. Tall, and well, not as tall.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I'm also going to dabble in polygamy. And I'm gonna throw this out there now: it's going to be a sexless marriage. But what we lack in sex we'll make up for in sushi and drinks and poor picture taking.

You know, because gay marriage is legal in Iowa now, and that is making me turn lesbian.

Okay, I lied. This is just the crew from the jewelry store from 7-10 years ago. HOLY HELL. I have been an unemployed beotch for quite a while now.

My pervy bitches. Mwah.

I managed to insult Jews (because what's dinner without some accidental anti-semitism, but in all fairness, it was a compliment that came out wrong, while I purposely insult Catholicism on a weekly basis... so there's THAT...), spill soy sauce on myself and the table, and piss off the waiter who told us he was "too busy" to come back again to take our order.

I am truly disappointed that Sara didn't use the word cooter once the entire night, and I'm even more disappointed that I didn't realize it until now. She would talk dirty to Mike on the phone when he'd call for me at the store, telling me ten minutes later, Oh yeah, it's your husband. Mike misses her phone calls and I'm thinking I'll have him call her at work. She offered instead that he could go live with her now that she's single. I might take her up on that.

Obviously, you all know Malea, my Hottie of the Asian Persuasion. I was tempted to bring along some Nad's for a quick touch up. I'm growing a beard and I think my arm hair is braidable. Then I thought, It would be funny, but Sara would be mortified. The same Sara who asked Malea in front of the waiter if she waxed my "vahjayjay." Just like old times...

Hannah. My sweet Hannah Nanna. I have things to say here but I will wait until later. Oh, but I will say that I love her Great Dane, Ebony, and am going to dognap her. That's how you know you have the right house - a giant black horse comes barking and skidding up to the front door.

We picked up a few stragglers who worked with Erika at Aegon, Kelly and Rosy (I think that's how they were adopted... I don't keep track of where people work anymore. I'm too busy keeping track of if the toilets get flushed post-contamination and where Mike put his phone and keys because I know he's going to ask.) They fit right in. And every day I'm shocked that there are more people like us out there in the world.

People are poppin' out kids left and right and we've already decided that when all of us are NOT PREGNANT, we're going out to "get hammered." Those were not my words, Mike, for the record. I'm thinking: hospital nursery? Or would that be awkward? I gave Stephie a bottle of strawberry margarita mix in her hospital room after she gave birth, so it wouldn't be a first for me.

In the meantime, we settled for Sushi. I called for a reservation and got the stereotypical broken English that sounds exactly like Emma's Angry Chinese Woman impersonation at age 3.

We no ha' reservation on Saturday. What time you come in and how many?

We'll be there around 7, and there's going to be eight people.

No, we busy you call back tomorrow.

Um, okay thanks?

We showed up anyway and got a seat in 20 minutes.

Unfortunately for my girls, we tried to get a seat at the Fancy Nancy Tea Party at the local library this morning. Not happenin'. The lady forgot that that was today but said - after checking - all the seats had been filled.

Boo.

So we had our own tea party. The girls threw on their Alice In Wonderland outfits while I made Butter Dips.

Have too much self confidence? Finally feel good about your weight? Flat abs gettin' you down? Try BUTTER DIPS. Guaranteed to add inches to your ass.

They're delicious, though. I posted the recipe on Facebook, but let me know if anyone wants it.

Maybe not as fun as going out with other kids to a tea party, but the rabbit didn't seem to mind.

Time to get back to work. I've got a lot to accomplish before heading to my neighbor's 39th birthday party tonight.

And I am NOT staying sober.

People are falling apart up in here

My sister called me late last night to share some exciting news: The Iowa Supreme Court now consists entirely of white males. Fifty-two, shmifty-two percent of the population what now? Because if you reversed that to all women, I guarantee there'd be complaining from men that they weren't represented. They would call them a bunch of angry, bra-burning lesbians. And TV execs would call it The View...

Sigh.

I don't 100% agree with Affirmative Action (like everything else in my life, right?). But this is ridiculous. Not a single one? You couldn't find ONE qualified woman? I've already been irritated enough over it last night, so I'm not going to relive what I can't change. (I would like to add one last point: THIS is why people blow shit up. Just sayin'.)

In more important news, Alison lost a tooth last night.

It could be said the tooth was EVICTED. After Emma lost her tooth, Alison has been all drama. She's been harassing me and was a day away from knocking it out with a hammer.

Mom, I think my tooth is ready. Can you take it out with the door?

Surprise, Alison. Pulling a tooth kinda hurts. And bleeds. And creeps Kristin out, who promptly declared that all her teeth were staying put.

I wonder how many gum holes the teacher has had to inspect in her lifetime while smiling at how absolutely not disgustingly purple and squishy tooth-pockets look the next day.

I just wrote a huge blog post about how our Parent Teacher Conferences went last night. Then I read it back and realized that even I don't want to sit through it.

Condensed version.

Alison: Happy. Tested well. Numbers to 100. Letters, big and little. Words. Loves her teacher to death but is mortified to hear us talk about her.

As we left Alison's classroom, Emma walked up to and hugged Alison without saying a word, then they continued on to Emma's room.

Emma: Also happy. Apparently NOT shy and has lots of friends. Loves frogs. Loves games. Loves getting picked to paint with the leader of the day, hence the bazillions of paintings she brings home. Blew DIBELs tests from last time out of the water. Tested well enough to move ahead in groups but we're keeping her where she is. Leader of the group. Always paying attention and knows answer consistently.

Kristin: Also tested fantastic on the DIBELs scores. Is probably being moved to advanced group next week. Teacher overheard her reading the teacher's portion of the phonics readers. Shocked. Me? Not shocked.

Me = Pleased.

As one last bit of redemption, remember last conferences when I told Kristin's teachers that she is a pattern whiz kid? Well, the teacher brought it up last night. She said, You weren't kidding. She is going to be some kind of scientist or mathematician when she grows up. Win one for the Mommy.

But the biggest victory came with the teacher's final sentence of the conference: Kristin has so many friends - she gets along great with her peers.

Phew. That girl is a little over the top anal-retentive at home, so that's a relief.

As a funny aside, the teacher told me that every single morning, Kristin shakes her hand to say hello.

Ohmigod. This kid cracks me up.

So I think you could officially say that the children got my IQ and Mike's personality. I can't tell you how happy I am. I am SO SO SO SO happy.

The only "homework" we have is to get the girls to stop talking in 3rd person. One of those pesky identical triplet side effects, I suppose.

Well, Loren has to get off the computer before the chair forms to Loren's ass...

Time for the ages

Parent Teacher Conferences are tonight. This is going to be a blast, I can tell.

Yesterday, I spent my entire morning with Alison's class. One of the teacher's aides didn't show up, so I took his place for 90 minutes. Then I spent an hour making petrifyingly evil-looking swan masks with the kids.

In between all my do-gooding and artsy-craftsying, I kept my eyes peeled to see how Alison measured up to her peers. I also practiced giving the principal my best googly eyes since he is just the cutest thing.

The teacher explained that there were three groups. One group had 10 kids, another had 4, and Alison's had 6. I started to worry when I saw that the boy that picks on all the kids in class was in her group, since he was also a bit on the angry violent frustrated uncooperative side.

I waited for an opportunity to ask, but it didn't take much explanation to figure out which group struggled.

The group of 4 did self-guided reading out of their workbooks. Alison's group of 6 read words and did sound blending. Little Mister Who Likes to Stomp Fingers was sitting next to Alison and quietly reading off the flashcards. WOW! Who knew?

On the other hand, the group of 10 was learning their letter sounds and to keep their hands to themselves.

Holy. to the moly. It's February. In reality, only half of the kids in that group had behavioral issues. The other half probably couldn't catch up because the teacher spent so much time getting the group to sit still and listen.

What's your job right now? Everybody, eyes on me. What's your job right now? To LISTEN. And to ANSWER. I can tell when you're not paying attention. Now let's start again. The M says...

(We have an excellent school district, and small class sizes. I can't imagine the districts with 30+ kids in them, or the teachers who are crucified for kids not performing. It's pretty obvious to me that some kids do NOT have support from parents or have underlying issues impeding their learning. /soapbox)

I can't wait to hear if the girls are speaking up in class more. We spend so much time reading (at the girls' requests) that the girls are reading books on their own. Kristin is more interested in her Leapster, but that tiny machine has taught the girls to add and subtract. Thank you, Madagascar Penguins!

We get Book It sheets every month, which means that two weeks later, we're getting our free Pizza Hut pizza coupons. I have a stack of them in my wallet. I wonder if they could make a pizza club for cleaning their rooms...

I love volunteering at the girls' school. I dread it all the way up until when I walk into the classrooms and the kids rush up to me and hug me.

And yesterday, even though I had on a sweatshirt and had my bangs pulled back into a bobby pin and then threw the rest of my hair into a Samurai top knot, I was complimented twice. Once by a neighbor - also volunteering at school - who must have been delusional because she said I looked wonderful and she was amazed I had time to "fix" my hair while getting three kids ready. Ha!

And the second compliment was from a 6-year-old boy, Dallas. He's a little sheister, but he adores me. Mostly he's a sheister because he adores me. He runs from his classroom to talk to me and he ends up getting into trouble.

Anyway, he asked me: How old are you?

I told him I was 30, and he looked stunned, like that was so ancient. Then he said, You don't LOOK 30. You look 20. You look really young like my mom.

Well, a-thank you, sir.

I chose to ignore the math that would have made his mother FOURTEEN if she was 20 now. It's the thought, right?

Speaking of ages, doesn't this kid look like he's about 8 years old? He drives over from the high school every day. This can't be legal.

Can he even reach the pedals? He's gonna kill someone. (As I plow over a dozen school children while struggling to snap a picture of him...)

Titillating Tuesday: Sweet tooth

Emma lost her tooth. Hallelujah.

It started with a bowl of popcorn and some tears that her tooth hurt. I peeked in her mouth and it was bleeding, so we decided it was as good a time as any to rip that sucker out.

Fingers didn't work. Neither did a paper towel and a kung fu grip.

We resorted to Alison's method of floss and the closet door. POP. Thanks to our coffee table, a bad bite, and this latest tooth loss, we can finally enter Emma into the crooked-est, smashed-upped-est, holiest, broken-est smile contest.

First place! She's still cute...

Which meant that Alison immediately started asking, Can we pull MY tooth out?

---

The tooth came out two days ago, and we've decided that the Tooth Fairy only makes visits on Thursday nights through Sundays. We're having trouble coughing up the coin.

We have no dollar coins - I supposedly gave Mike permission to take them all to work a few days ago, but in my defense, I must've been asleep at the time and I am retracting anything I said to him when he KNOWS I am not reliable in that condition.

Emma is just excited she gets to hang onto her tooth trophy for a few more days.

---

I never mentioned it, but we signed up for snacks on Valentine's Day.

At Kindergarten meet-n-greet, the teachers hit you up for volunteering opportunities. And because I feel guilty with all this free time, I thought I'd do my good deed for all three classrooms on the same day.

And because I was also apparently in the middle of a mental meltdown, I signed up to be in all three classrooms that day at the exact same time. Let me tell you how swell THAT went.

(Not swell at all, in case the sarcasm didn't make it through translation. Turns out there really IS only one of me.)

---

Since we had the class snacks to cover - $45 in Jell-O - I thought we'd do something EASY and CHEAP for Valentine snacks.

Instead of 75 suckers and little cards, we went with 75 homemade pretzel/karmelcorn/cheesecorn/PB M&M/pretzel M&M snack cups covered with pink saran wrap and stickers.

Is it possible to be drunk on exhaustion? Because in what world is this easier or cheaper or at the very least healthier than suckers?

Sometimes, I have no effing clue what I'm thinking. At the time OR later on when I slap myself.

At least I didn't do my original plan of making 75 old-fashioned popcorn balls. Oh good lord, I think Martha Stewart has injected my brain with some kind of false sense of culinary capability...

---

Because my sister loves spoiling my children (I keep reminding her she already IS the favorite aunt because she is the ONLY aunt) she bought them Valentine clothes. The girls insisted on wearing them for their "Heart Parties."

They love the shirts, Untie Stuffie, but they told me what they'd REALLY like next time is perhaps a nice pair of Minolos, or Sartos, in size 9-1/2. Ya know, to grow into.

---

Happy Tuesday-Wednesday, everyone!

This year's challenges

Stephie and Elliott came over last night for... I'm not exactly sure why. To visit? Anyway, while we were half-comatose on the couch, she chastised me for not blogging.

Sorry!

As of tonight, our computer is up and running (again). For weeks, the only reminders that we once had a working desktop was this sad little note:

and the constant harassment from Mike of Have you fixed the computer yet?

I am becoming an expert at installing, repairing, and updating hard drives.

(And you wouldn't believe how many programs you use every day until you have to hunt them down and install them, then install the updates, five or six times over three months. I'm desperately wishing for this computer to work fer realz this time.)

So I've discovered I'm not dying of some weird cat disease. It's just a coincidence that the cat tried to kill me.

I have pain in my left arm from - get this - holding my phone up so I can surf the interwebs. Today, I made a point to avoid using my phone. My arm is miraculously less annoying. Go figure.

Okay, so more revelations.

Turns out my child's eyes really are green and it took several months and another photograph for me to realize this. They're almost gold in the middle with a ring of blue. Which makes me wonder who her father is, since we both have predominantly blue eyes.

I'm also giving in on the hair. It's curly. I'm coming to terms with it. This is what happens when I do nothing more than spritz it with hairspray just after a shower.

Yes, I live in that Wisconsin Badgers hooded sweatshirt, if you must know.

I. GIVE. IN.

I'm also trying out giving the girls chores. Like vacuuming.

Emma did a fine job until she got in front of the TV. Then she vacuumed the same spot over, and over, and over again while watching something wholesome like Family Guy.

Since I'm the queen of using my time wisely, after fixing the computer, I wasted 20 minutes turning my uggo-assed front of our house:

Blech. He's just a wee guy! Look at how little and boring our house is.

To what we hope to have finished in the next couple years:

Thanks, Windows Paint! Copy. Paste. Drag. Copy Paste. Paste. Paste...

THIS IS HAPPENING. I can't stand looking at this modular-home-looking box. I'm so excited to finally start on the basement this Spring. That is, if I can keep Mike from using all our money on guns.

I'd really hate to have to kill him.

Especially since I want to see how far he's going to take this Growing My Hair Out phase.

Playing catch up

You people complaining about having one kid are whiners. There, I said it.

I have had - since last Wednesday - only ONE DAY when all three kids went to school. That makes ten days of sick kids.

One of those days, Mike was on nights, so I left the two sick children to sleep and dressed, fed and ferried Alison off to school. It was just delightful! The day that I took two girls to school, the door-opening-child-hoisting lady at the school entrance said, Are you early or is it that late already?

And then I cracked up.

There's something about the number three that brings chaos. Isn't there a Mark Twain quote, something or other about triplets amounting to nothing short of an insurrection? Because that's what it feels like every morning. Mutiny.

As Alison quietly talked to me in the car, all by herself, I thought: Is this what it's like? The gloriousness of singletons? Wowwee.

Kristin is home sick again today with the fluish non-flu, according to the crackheaded pediatrician. I've heard from at least a dozen people in the area who have been diagnosed with Influenza A and were given Tamiflu. Did you know that they are no longer calling Swine Flu "H1N1"? It's because we've moved on to subtype "H1N3." Ah, the power of Google. So they've decided to lump them all together under Influenza A.

Didn't we go through this last year? We went to the doctor, the doctor did nothing, then we found out the next week that we were all suffering through the symptoms of H1N1. Hmmm...

Kristin is home once again. I'm not worried about her missing school, since she picks up on things so quickly.

She cracks me up with her fridge art and her strange food requests, so we've been having fun in between taking naps. Her, not me.

To add to the fun, Emma's tooth is terrifyingly loose.

I've used cloth to try to pull it out, to no avail. I asked Emma if she'd like her tooth to come out. I explained that we could do the old Tie It to the Doorknob and Pray It Doesn't Bleed All over the Place trick.

Then Alison decided she wanted to join in the fun. About 20 minutes later, Alison had rigged her much less loose tooth to the coat closet doorknob using floss and pure ingenuity. She was unsuccessful, probably because she couldn't stop giggling to shut the door fast enough.

The girls are in a race to see who can lose it first. Emma has been eating anything crunchy she can get her hands on. Mostly apples and pickles.

As I've promised, I'm bringing you my medical mystery today. A few days late, I know. (My computer will be back on its feet soon, I hope.)

About two weeks ago, I picked up my cat and wound up with some pretty nasty scratches on my inner arm and the little webbing between my fingers. No big deal. I'm used to cat scratches, since I spent nearly half of my childhood dressing up our cats Gus and Scruffy in Cabbage Patch Barry Barlow's caps and sailor outfits, then watching and laughing as they played incapacitated before lashing out at their captor.

A few days later, I saw a huge black bruise forming around the one on my inner arm. It went from black and purple to green and yellow with a lighter area surrounding the scratch. Freaky. Here it is, almost gone.

Then I noticed my arm, starting at my shoulder, was aching all day and night. It still aches. It hurts from my shoulder to my fingertips and down to the inside of my left boob.

Add that to some bowel issues - let's just leave it with the word of the day (cough*mucus*ahem) - and my mom was trying to convince me that I had blood poisoning or something.

I always knew that cat was Satan's Mistress.

Hopefully we can kick this crap soon. The weather has been beautiful. We've gone from snowdrifts four feet deep and mornings so cold my speedometer doesn't work,

to grass and 50* days.

Ah, summertime is coming. Project season. I'm so excited.

Medical malice

The girls are in the basement playing a little game I like to call "If Hitler Ran a Zoo."

Alison is the zookeeper and Kristin is playing the oppressed and socially awkward yet loveable armadillo.

Zookeeper: Back in yer cage! You didn't bring your marker! Come on! Walk faster!

Armadillo: But I'm an arpadilla. *cough*cough* They walk slooooow.

Zookeeper: I think our armadillo isn't feeling so well. Time to kill it.

(We've been having lots of conversations about where food comes from, namely chicken. Everything is "time to kill and eat the animals" now. Oy vey.)

But I guess that's a step up from the last couple days when Kristin was lethargic on the couch.

I've had more luck talking to people online and flexing the Google than speaking to actual doctors, so it takes a lot for me to call and make an appointment. For the kids, I'm a little more cautious.

Kristin has been sick since Tuesday night with a dry, hard cough and a slight fever. On Thursday, she complained of chest pain and had a HR of 180. Her HR dropped to 134 within the hour, but with her precarious lung and preemie history, I made an appointment for the following morning.

We couldn't get in to see our normal pediatrician since he is a neonatologist (he was the girls' doctor in the NICU and is beyond FANTASTIC) but we could get in to see another doctor.

Me, to Fabulous Nurse who checked us in with a smile: Kristin's had a hard, dry cough, and a bit of a fever. Nothing too severe, around 103 or less. But she's lethargic and isn't eating, and yesterday I checked her chest and heard wheezing in her lower lungs. Her heart rate was 180. I don't know if that's fast or not, but she'd complained of her chest hurting less than an hour earlier.

Fabulous Nurse, to Kristin: Yeah, that's pretty high. Okay, sweetie! The doctor will be right in.

Putting aside the long wait even though we arrived 20 minutes early and Kristin's huffy Why are we waiting so long?, I was in a good mood. Then the "doctor" walked in with an apparent chip on her shoulder. She was dressed like my third grade Catholic school teacher, and I thought This is going one of two ways: either she was going to be the sweet grandma type, OR the angry school marm type.

Doctor, looking at her computer: So, I see you're here for ear pain and sinus drainage...

Me, completely confused: Um. Actually, no ear pain or anything, just a hard dry cough. No drainage at all.

Doctor, looking in Kristin's ears: Your ears are... completely clear. And your throat... looks good. It's most likely Influenza, but she's probably already on the downswing.

She then went on to ask me about the girls' lack of flu vaccinations while Kristin sat reading her book about cats.

She told me how horrific Influenza can be. And that it's very serious. And that I should take my girls immediately to get them vaccinated, regardless of adverse reactions in the past. Unless I wanted them to "die from pneumonia."

I could already gauge that this was going to be another worthless venture into the medical world. I asked her about getting Kristin tested to see if she had Influenza.

Doctor: All the kids I've tested lately have been negative.

Sounds like a good, scientific-based decision... Especially since the girls have had RSV twice and my child had CLD and RD and was on oxygen and untold numbers of medicines as an infant, and I'd just told the doctor that our neighbors had Influenza A as well as several kids in her class who were out for days. I told her about Kristin's heart rate and asked her if I should be concerned. She said no, and said Kristin was too young to have heart problems.

She's mostly right. MOST kids don't have heart problems at age six. And Kristin isn't showing any other signs of heart problems... to my knowledge. But MOST kids also aren't born underdeveloped at 28 weeks gestation and MOST kids don't spend several months on ventilators, oxygen and monitors.

Also, MOST people don't give birth to identical triplets.

So we're not real big on playing the odds around here.

Me: At what heart rate should I be concerned then, you know, for in the future. (Heavy in the sarcasm.)

Doctor: No. No. She's too young. I'd never be concerned about heart problems at her age. She was probably having pain from something else related to the flu.

Wow. I was flitting between stunned and amused in my internal dialogue.

Me: Is there anything I can do to make her more comfortable?

Doctor: It's viral so there's not much you can do. Just get her vaccinated.

Then the doctor sat quietly at her mini desk, typing away and ignoring us.

Me: So.... I guess we're done here? Kristin, it's time to get your coat on.

We packed up slowly with no sign of reaction from the doctor.

Doctor: You said her name is Kristin?

Me: Uh, yeah?

Doctor: Oh. I've had the wrong file pulled up. I saw it said she was two years old, and I wondered since she would have been a big two year old.

At which point I assumed she was joking and looked back to see a stone-cold serious face as she madly deleted her comments.

Are you fucking kidding me? When the woman walked in, Kristin was reading her book "Oh, Cats!" aloud. Maybe she thought we owned the My Baby Can Memorize series. Not to mention she's 4' tall.

But go ahead and collect your $100 and keep on keepin' on.

So is it any wonder I don't want to go to the doctor for my most recent Medical Mystery? To be explained tomorrow...

Four tickets in exchange for my soul

The Packers won Superbowl XLV last night. Needless to say, I'm as happy as a leetle gurl in Spreengtime today.

Before I celebrate, I would like a moment of silence for all of my Steeler fan friends who have been exceptionally gracious at the loss. We'd been invited to a neighbor's house to watch the game, even though they were cheering for Pittsburgh. I ended up staying home to finish the baked chicken and half-ass-mashed potatoes (I played the "Mashmashmash run into the livingroom and back to the kitchen MASHMASHMASH" game) and by the time I had the food ready, I was so nauseous with anxiety I decided to stay home and rock in my chair.

It's probably for the best because I fell ill with a severe case of verbal diarrhea.

In my quest to swear less in front of my children, I found myself yelling much more wholesome things like Hooker! Hooker! Hooker! Hooker! Hooker! while jumping up and down.

Mike told me to sit before I injured myself.

He's one to talk... he was more anxious about the game than I was. He refused to go to bed until after the post-game wrap up even though he had to be up for work at 2:30.

In other news, I got a report from my parents, sister and Jeff. They drove down to Texas in hopes of getting 4 tickets to the game. They walked the parking lot for hours looking for sellers with no luck.

Unfortunately for them, the stadium crew wasn't able to set up over 850 of the "additional seats" that they'd pre-sold for $900 a ticket, leaving half of the stranded fans to be relocated throughout the stadium. That's 400 extra seats they had to pull off the regular market, which might explain why the Stub Hub had never seen such a large crowd waiting for tickets to come down to the "reasonable" price of $3600 each right around the time my family packed up their signs and went to a bar to scream with other shunned fans.

Other exciting points: the city seemed to be overwhelmed. No garbage receptacles for blocks. Few port-a-potties. Beer tents running out of beer at noon and shutting down rather than restocking. Cabbies rear-ending other vehicles and breaking the sound barrier. But I'm sure they've had a fun time and will remember this weekend forever. If they can survive the drive through ice-covered Oklahoma.

Since they're still out of town, I've got my parents' dog at my house for a few days yet. The dog is extremely lazy and sleeps all the time. Nonetheless, I can't wait to get her back home.

Our cat HATES sharing the house with the furry barking monster and I can hardly stand their drama.

They sleep the entire day away - the dog in her bed and the cat across the room in the chair with one eye keeping watch on the dog - but at night it's a showdown of hissing, barking and bleeding. I've already had to stop the dog's ear from bleeding where the cat clawed her for getting too close. Then I spent the next 30 minutes cleaning blood out of my carpeting and off the wood floor.

It's safe to say I'll never commit a murder in my own home and expect to cover it up. I'm still finding blood droplets and smears two days later, and we all know I never clean my floors properly, so I'll probably be finding more over the next couple weeks.

Um yeah, so if Mike ever goes missing, that's DOG blood spatter... for the record.

Although Mike's definitely added a few years to our marriage by his dedication to the Packers, even as a "Cowboys fan," if those still exist. I know deep down he loves the Pack. (Right below the layer of his subconscious that is his post-menopausal woman.)

It wasn't until the game was over that I realized the kids were still running around the house... and today is a SCHOOL DAY.

It was worth it.

Animal planet

I'm hoping this isn't a sign of things to come today, but I woke up this morning with a swollen lower lip. An hour later, I reached up to rub a tickly spot on my neck and came away with a blood-covered hand and collar bone. Then a woman cut me off in town and we both slammed on our brakes before I drove around the nose of her SUV, leaving her car parked in front of three oncoming school buses. Have I told you lately that people drive like morons in winter?

Can I curl up in the fetal position and wake up when it's tomorrow? I'm skeered...

I've been a busy busy girl taking care of all my animules.

Yesterday, I took the girls grocery shopping (and met an aunt to twins, of course... every parent/friend/coworker of twins comes out of the woodwork) before making my rounds.

First to Grandpa V's to take care of his kittens for the night. I made the girls stay in the truck.

Then to Auntie Stephie's house to take care of her kittens for the night and get the house key. I made the girls stay in the truck.

Finally, to my parents' house to steal their dog and her supplies. You guessed it. Girls in truck.

Of course, I was distracted locking up shop when the dog headed down the street and around and around my parked truck with flashers on. Alison was crying because she thought I'd lost the dog and I was screaming and stomping my foot while pulling the door knob to try to get my keys out, and the damned deaf dog was frolicking around in traffic.

I'd thought we'd gotten it all out of our system.

When we got home, it was cold and dark. Alison had to pee. Everyone was irritable. The kids got out first, and the dog was supposed to follow behind. She had other plans. The dog hopped down... then made a bee-line for the road and up the street. Trot, trot, trot.

So I was yelling to Alison, Go in the house and go potty. Just GO IN THE HOUSE! as I ran up the street chasing the dog in high heels and swearing at her under my breath and trying to make a happy voice at her like I wouldn't cut her once I got ahold of her collar. You're welcome for the profanities, neighbors.

As a bonus, the eventually-captured dog ran through our house chasing the cat and pissed on the carpet. Ya know, because we're all sorts of fun-having like that. I sent my parents a text message: The cat is following the dog around trying to intimidate her. Pretty sure this is gonna end in fisticuffs.

It did. Moochie did a flying wolenda leap, claws out, onto Indie's back with a hiss and a growl.

But I sure hope my family is having fun on their trip to the Superbowl...

I am so excited for this weekend and the big game. My neighbors are huge Steelers fans, and obviously our family is mostly Packer fans (we don't count Mike and his silly Cowboys which I think he does in part because he likes to irritate me), but we're getting together at their house for a Superbowl party.

I'm thinking of Green Bay-esque snacks I can bring. Any thoughts? I'll ponder my options while I curl up for a nap with the smelly dog.

Forecast: Death by snow. Or probably not.

See, this is what pisses me off about weather.

First off, it's just snow, y'all. We're not gonna die. Although from the crowd at our normally quiet local grocery store, you would've thought we were stocking up for the World's Biggest Frat Party. I was there to get supper for three days. Little Granny in a Plastic Hair Net was there to play Supermarket Sweep in the toilet paper aisle.

Secondly, Gran Turismo should be a required course in driver's ed. It was the many late hours into the mornings when Mike and I learned how to slide rear-wheel vehicles around corners. That's a skill that most people seem to lack. As is: going anywhere near the speed limit at the first mention of the S-word.

No, it's not the snow.

It's the ass-puckering cold air.

Our yard is FULL of delicious, fresh white snow. But can I throw my kids out there for a couple hours to play so I can get some peace and quiet? Not a chance. It was -285* last night. (Give or take.) I heard a weird noise ten minutes in and peeked out to see Emma standing in the middle of the yard crying for no apparent reason other than she was too cold to make the trip to the front door.

And it would be the perfect time to get the kids outside. Mike stayed at a (work-paid) hotel room the last two nights so he could make it back and forth to work. Even so, he said he got stuck twice in the parking lot. Karma!

Our cat is convinced she wants to go outside. Two days ago, I threw some recycleables into the garage, and as I was shutting the door, Moochie tried to dodge out. She didn't make it. Well, the first inch-and-a-half did... After getting her skull cracked, she didn't give up. So finally I plopped her into the snowbank just outside our front door.

She froze, all except her tail which poofed out like a raccoon's. No sudden movements! This snow bank will stop freezing my kitty-melon if it can't see me.

So instead of trying to sneak out of the house, she's begun mrrowing all through the house and attacking my laundry. Like she's pissed off she has to be inside. Newsflash, cat: you're not the only one.

The kids are back in school and I'm getting my husband back this evening... oddly enough, I'm glad it's business as usual. Especially with this here wonderful site. I haven't been online much since I've been staring at my dad's resume reading and rereading every sentence saying That sounds like total bullshit and A little too corny for the opening line. I'm nothing if not a perfectionist, after all.

And by the way, I had a laugh when Dad handed me the job posting, like that was sufficient to whip up my magical resume-writing powers. I need to know what the hell you DO all day, Scooter...

Did you know that resume writing is an actual job that people get paid for? Food for thought, to no one in particular.

It's alright, though. They're allowing me the honor of having their dog at my house to leave steaming doggie treats in my white, snow-covered lawn while they're at the bloody SUPERBOWL. But I ain't mad atcha.

I'm going to spend the next four hours in blissful silence. Unless, of course, Alison comes home from the little cough she had this morning. I'm crossing my fingers it was just from the dry air in our house. Or that she'll do anything in her power to stay in school since I told her that sick children do NOT get to play with Leapsters, and they have to spend the entire time in bed while reading or sleeping. Mwahahaha.

(She didn't cough once after that.)

Well, crap. Time to go do something productive...