Losing it

An update on my "cleanse." Day 4 is done. (Days 3 and 4 you drink only water and the cleanse drink which I lovingly refer to as fruit-flavored vomit water. I had 160 Calories Tuesday and yesterday.)

I'm down 10 pounds thus far. I think I may have lost a few brain cells in there, too, because before bed, I clicked the volume down on the TV remote... while aiming at the front door (the TV wasn't even on). I was trying to make sure the door was locked.

I am sooooo looking forward to eating real food today at lunch. I only get 450 food calories, but that's a freakin' FEAST compared to yesterday. The hardest part has been making supper without tasting and eating it. I made swiss steak over noodles for the first time, and by god it smelled absolutely delightful. I'd scoop a noodle out, look at it longingly, then put it back in the pan.

Because Mike is so supportive, he called me yesterday to send me on a food run for his team. He wanted me to pick up 22 dollar cheeseburgers from Burger King and 16 Buster Bars.

I told Stephie, Nothing except sheer will power is stopping me from pulling over the truck and eating every one of those fucking bars. Every single one. I could do it, ya know.

I'm glad that it made his day better. Worth it. He even asked for a kiss when I dropped the food off. (Of course, this prompted me to say: Ooh, food in exchange for a kiss? What do I have to buy you to get a piece of ass?)

I gave the girls my protein meal replacement bars this morning. Mmmm... peanut butter. I stared at them as they bit into the bar. Then Miss Emma looked up at me with her innocent smile and her chocolate bar: It's gonna turn into POOP.

And there went my appetite.

So now it's time to keep busy and forget about my cravings. I ordered six yards of dirt this morning, which can only mean one thing:

Project Season has arrived.

I am beyond excited.

Last year, all I got to do was build The Thing That Shall Not Be Named, Because If I Name It, I Can't Help But Call It 'The Fucking Fence.' I dug the post holes in April, which means that somewhere around May it started to suck and summer through October was ruined.

This summer is going to be so much better. I'm calling it now.

I get to put in my gardens. I'm building storage shelves and a workbench in our garage. I'm finishing the basement. Then I'm planting a few more bushes and trees and building a stone patio in our fenced-in yard. As a bonus, when I'm done with all that, I'm tearing out our ugly half-wall heading down to the basement. Squeeee! I'm as happy as a leetle gurl in Spreengtime.

Oh yeah, so please buy some stuff from me so I can afford to do all of this and keep you entertained. Otherwise Mike would make me get a real job. Or sell a kidney. And I'm quite partial to my kidneys now that I've taken a liking to alcohol.

I wonder how many calories are in a glass of wine...

Titillating Tuesday: Scrumptious

Do I have any clean underwear today?

That's how I've woken up at 4 AM the last two days: Mike searching for any trace of boxer shorts.

Because he comes home, sucks down whatever I throw in front of him that I call a "meal," then falls asleep on the livingroom floor with hardly the time or whim to wash his underpants.

Yes, they're in with the girls' underwear in their bedroom.

Why does that seem like a slam? I just might permanently store his underpants alongside the girls' Cinderella briefs.

---

Today was my first "Cleanse" Day. I had a total of 180 Calories.

I've decided that I can either be skinny and poor or rich and a bit on the chunky side because all I want to do is SHOP when I'm hungry.

Specifically for cookbooks.

Excuse me for a moment.

(asdlfkjaoihweverythinglookssofuckingscrumptious*)

I promptly went home and cooked up this lovely Inside-Out Chicken Cordon Bleu with greens and Lemon-Roasted Potatoes.

That I didn't get to eat. (Ugh, Ranch dressing. Why, Mike. Why.)

This is why you shouldn't trust a skinny chef. I have no clue if it tasted as delightful as Mike claimed, or if it tasted like donkey ass and he was avoiding sending me into a murderous rage just being nice.

I would like to point out that even if it was the latter, he nixed any good feelings when he asked me if I was trying out for next season's Biggest Loser. Fucker.

---

Dirty Pirate Hooker, aka My Sister called me this afternoon and I shared with her that I have lost 9 pounds since Sunday.

Wow! When you're done, I think I might try it.

You should. I'm not sure why - what's that disease called again? not Bulimia, but the other one...

Anorexia?

... yeah, why anorexia is getting so much bad press. That shit works!

---

I never keep cookies in the house. Ever.

And the neighbors delivered five more boxes of Girl Scout cookies tonight.

I licked the outside of the box of peanut butter sandwiches.

Yes. I did.

---

*The scrumptious was for you, Stephie.

---

$250

The girls go back to school tomorrow morning. Is that the light at the end of the Spring Break tunnel? or is my blood sugar so low I'm starting to hallucinate?

Today's events began a few days ago when I noticed a slight *tnk*tnk* sound coming from the back of our Suburban. I made the girls ride in silence day after day so I could listen for it. I asked Mike to listen for it. Finally, he heard it, and almost simultaneously, the pedal started shaking so fast it vibrated. This continued until yesterday when I took the truck to a shop where they offered to fix it.

It would only cost us $250.

Okay, I thought. Sounds reasonable.

Now, if I was Mike, this story would have ended there. I would have taken the truck in the next day and paid my $250.

But since I'm a pain in the ass, I took the truck to Sears and got a second estimate.

Only one U-joint needed to be replaced, and they were going to charge me... (drumroll) $85.

I okayed the work then wandered the mall, pondering what to do with the $165 I just saved us.

On our way to get lunch, we passed Claire's. Instead of their usual panicked and shrieking replies of NO! I actually got ONE child to agree to get her ears pierced. What the hell, I figured.

Kristin sat bravely in the chair, not saying a word to anyone, while her sisters hid behind the jewelry towers. Emma's hands were firmly clamped over her ears lest one of us sneak up and stealth-pierce them.

She cried for about fifteen seconds in between ears.

Then we ran into my best friend from high school and her mom. We chatted, then went to lunch...

... where Emma insisted on hugging Kristin repeatedly and holding her hand. Because something terrible had happened to Kristin, and she wasn't sure what it was. (Notice that Kristin, the child to whom the pain was caused, is smiling on the left while worry wort Emma is nervously watching me.)

(Also notice the outfits. I would like to point out that they dressed themselves this morning. I did NOT put them in matchy-matching. If I hear Are they triplets? one more time this week I'm going to vomit in my mouth. Although I had a laugh when the Claire's trainee said, Wow, I've seen triplets, but never, like, REAL triplets before! Note to all you non-identical triplets... you're fakers. Poor girl was nice, but that was a first for me.)

Then I sidetracked into The Children's Place, searching for sales. I saw nothing on the shelves, but asked the cashier if there were any good jean prices. She offered to go in the back and bring out stacks of clearanced size 6 jeans at $7/pair.

Score.

She rang up the six pairs of jeans and the three NOT-MATCHING SHIRTS I picked out for a measly $90. As she was telling me that triplet moms should get automatic discounts, someone's fingers pinched my ass.

At first, I wondered if it was the kids, but they're usually butt pokers, not pinchers.

Then my mind jumped to the image of the homeless-looking, Grizzly Adams wannabe that had been hanging out at the store entrance just a minute earlier.

It was neither. Turns out the Best Man from our wedding was out shopping with his sister-in-law. I was only thrown off because I would expect nothing less than a boob grab greeting from Timmy.

Also: Why is everyone at the mall on a Monday afternoon?

The girls and I wrapped up our trip by picking up our now close-enough-to-perfectly running truck and paying our $85 pittance.

I feel a bit like the mob. Take a little here, shave a bit off the top there...

Can't wait until next week when I plan to take Mike's car for an oil change and pick myself up something nice.

The Ethiopia Diet, Day 1

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

Or if you're like me, today is the first day of your low-Cal, 9-day cleanse and lead-up to an arrest for cannibalising the mailman.

The Calories have been tallied.

2 Wheat Thins, 1 tortilla/egg/cheese/carrot/lettuce/hot sauce wrap, 1/4 cup green beans, and 1 (yes one) York Peppermint Patty "piece" later, and we've hit our limit of 434 Calories for the day. HALF OF THAT WAS THE TORTILLA.

Fuckmylife.

I'm fine if I can sleep. Just let me sleep forever and I would be one skinny muther.

'Cause it's when I wake up to the children asking for their 500th snack of the day by 10AM, I start to lose it. And I've discovered that I eat to cope with my children. Not kidding.

If I get anything out of this cleanse, it's going to be that knowledge.

They've been "down" for two naps today already - mostly for my sake and they didn't sleep either time - and outside for an hour playing in the mud. As Alison painted the house with a brown-tipped baseball bat, I smiled because I couldn't HEAR them.

Only 8 more days. Tuesday, their first day of school, cannot get here soon enough. Until then, I've been repeating my mantra every time I feel hungry.

Suck it up, ya fat cracka ass.

Mike swore that if I stuck to my cleanse, he'd give up his bugaboo... Daddy's Little Beer Belly Maker.

I told him I was fine. FINE. I can do this.

Then the doorbell rang.

It was a Girl Scout, dropping off the devil's finest in peanut butter and chocolate.

Bitch.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I handed her a check and passed out the cookies. You can probably hear Mike's maniacal laughter...

Who's on first?

I have a strict No Drinking When You're Alone with the Kids rule... that I am breaking this morning.

Day 2 of Spring Break. Can you blame me? Thankfully there are only three more days until school is back in session. I don't know how five days qualify as a Spring Break, but I'm not complaining.

My prayers go out to the families of young multiples whose school districts give them TWO WEEKS. Bless their souls.

So far, it's been... something, alright.

The Wednesday before break, I was finally well enough to volunteer. The qualification was that I had to "have a voice to yell at the kids when necessary." I'm not kidding. Emma's teacher pulled me aside and told me there were certain boys who - lately - needed to be separated. She laughed when I guessed the kids she was talking about.

I told her, I might have been gone a while, but there are things a person never forgets.

It was a good day. I can tell because I was breaking a sweat but I didn't have the urge to grab my purse and run. I even got a hug from one of the little boys who gives me a hard time.

This is part of the reason I could never homeschool. Supplement. That's the word of the season.

(And I'd like to take a moment to talk about homeschooling. I like the idea of it. I think it's neat when parents take an interest in their child's education. And it can be a substantially better situation than public schools for some kids who are struggling or being bullied or aren't excelling when they're obviously gifted.)

(But there are times when parents should not homeschool.)

(Generally, it boils down to a handful of things.)

(The parent can't spell.)

(Or do simple geometry.)

(I'm on board if they know at least that much. I shudder when people type: I homeschool my kids because there school is horible and he got lots of bullied.)

So back to my family and off my Judgy Judgerson pedastal...

I'm trying to teach the girls something new every day.

- Where Asia is on a World Map.
- Which direction light is coming from as opposed to its shadow.
- How the heart and lungs work.
- Why it's important to flush the godforsaken toilet after dropping a deuce.

Important things.

(And if you DO homeschool - or even if you don't - and want a neat book for anatomy, get See Inside Your Body. It has flaps. It also lacks penises. I checked.)

Part of my supplementation is now writing journals every day. I pick a topic and let the kids write what they'd like.

The first one was What we did while Stephie and Elliott were over.

Two kids wrote about how Unty Stuffy let them eat junk food and pizza (spelled: pesu), and Kristin wrote that she slept next to Elliott.

I am such a ball buster for not giving them potato chips, evidently.

Also added to my list is to work with the girls on their communication skills.

They've started referring to themselves as "I" instead of talking in the 3rd Person, but they still don't understand the W words. The school brought in their in-house Speech Pathologist to help them. Unfortunately, the Speech Path only sent home one useful item - pages of questions to work on with the girls.

(I'm not sure how Association Bingo will do anything except make me wish they'd lined the pictures up straight for cutting-out purposes, especially when some of the items are so outdated or don't make any sense that even I had problems figuring out which one went where. It's been ten years since I owned a camera that required film. Or owned a boombox. My six-year-olds couldn't figure out that the shoes went with the umbrella.)

It might be getting blown out of proportion. I asked Alison, Who is in the office at your school. She answered: The Caught-Being-Good cards. But when I reminded her that Who means a person, not a thing, she laughed and said, The principal... and Carol... and the Nurse.

So now we have to start quizzing my children on it so we can move on.

I find great irony that my children - the ones who tell me He was impressed when I showed him my artwork, and I'm feeling forlorn today - don't know what Who means.

Time for another drink... don't judge, it's almost noon.

Titillating Tuesday: Who needs these arbitrary days?

Yes, I realize it's a Wednesday, but to me, since I haven't been to bed yet and it's only 3:30AM, it's still technically my Tuesday.

---

My lack of sleep probably has a little something to do with my high intake of sugar plus caffeine today. But that's NOTHING compared to what I discovered went down without my knowledge...

Don't ask why we had waffles for a late afternoon snack. We just did. But when I grabbed the syrup, I noticed there was a nasty, crusted ring of goo, gluing the syrup jug to the top fridge shelf.

I immediately held it up to Mike's eyes with a Sooo... whattayagottosay'boutthis? face. You know, because WHO ELSE would be using the syrup in such a reckless fashion.

After a few seconds of It wasn't MEs from Mike, I noticed the jug was awefully light. I looked inside it and could see the bottom.

I remembered looking in the jug a couple weeks earlier and thinking that we needed to find an excuse to use the delicious, homemade (my grandparents make it) pint of syrup before it went bad.

Ding. Light bulb.

The crusted ring of syrup from a messy person.

The missing syrup.

It was one of those crazy midgets!

It took five minutes and quite a few reassurances that they wouldn't be in trouble before Alison - crying - finally fessed up to DRINKING the PINT of syrup. A whole freakin' PINT.

I couldn't stop laughing.

When I asked her if it was yummy, she stopped sobbing and looked up with a huge grin.

---

Mike passed through the kitchen shortly after Alison's confession. Kristin made SURE to point out that she'd been cleared of any wrong-doing, and that she'd only WATCHED Alison drink the syrup.

Mike informed her that she was an accomplice for not talking sooner, and he could charge her with "Obstruction of an Ass Chewin'."

Can you imagine if that one makes its way to the teacher?

---

I wasn't lying when I said I'd be busy over this week.

I put little Chinese sweatshop workers to shame with the amount of jewelry I whipped together.

Then I used beads to make a Mother's Day banner...

and posted it on my brand new website (same old address) that I completely reworked until ten minutes ago. Check it out. Do it.

I only took breaks to catch up with the drama on MWOP (long story) and fight the urge to post in Chris Rock fashion an: I told you dat bitch crazy!

---

Wanna see something gross?

I've told you before that I cannot wear Chapstick. It's a burden I'll have to bear.

There's a reason... it fucks my face up. I wish I could put it any other way, but that's pretty accurate.

It gives me acne wherever it touches.

My lips have been so dry lately, and I was desperate for something, ANYTHING to make my mouth feel less snakeskin-ish.

Maybe just this one time, I can put Chapstick on my lips. Just ONCE....

Nope. Check out THIS pimple:

on my muther-effing LIP, muther-effers!!!!

Seriously. I am the queen of WEIRD AILMENTS. Where's my crown?

---

Now to end with a joke that's only funny because Kristin totally didn't "get" it:

Emma: Knock, knock.

Kristin: Who's there?

Emma: Catch up.

Kristin: (*crickets*)

Emma: CATCH UP and mustard on bread!!!

Kristin: But I don't like mustard on my bread.

---

Happy Tuesday/Wednesday!

Monday

The life of a stay-at-home mom is so incredibly glamorous.

Most mornings, I wake to my backup backup alarm - I have 4 alarms set every day, before you judge, remember I'm a sleepwalker so the 3' to turn off the alarm is child's play - and roll out of bed to the kitchen where I dump cereal in three little bowls before waking the kids.

I continue through the next hour of clothes, hair, teeth, food.

For the kids, not me.

Nope. I am still in my pajamas. I'm still in my pajamas when I drop the kids off at school. I'm still in my pajamas when I come back to the house, wondering what wonderful feats I might accomplish during my seven no... six NO... FOUR hours left oh my god half the day is gone and all I've done is vacuumed, run a load of dishes and blogged?

Whoops. So much for taking on the world today. Looks like I'll be spending the next four three hours - I'll have lost one to Facebook just after I've told myself to turn the computer off - folding laundry, scrubbing toilets and preparing supper.

Yippee.

In a nutshell, that's why it's so weird to have a morning like today in which A) I'm up by 6 with no alarm, 2) I'm getting dressed, and C) I have "work" plans for the entire day.

I need to update AV with the jewelry I made this past weekend and buy more material for the line of Tooth Monster Pillows I'm making for Sweetened Taters Shoppe today.

Busy, busy, busy.

Unless I take a nap instead...

Serious and then not as much

Wow, where to begin?

Some of you know Kevin (or K'man). Well, he saved his 2-year-old little boy from drowning this week. Kyle fell into a pond on the edge of their property when Kevin stepped away for a moment, then Kevin found and resuscitated Kyle while yelling for help (according to the news reports, so if any of that isn't right, feel free to correct me, Kevin).

They live even further out in podunk than we do... can you imagine if Kevin didn't know CPR?

Kyle is home now and expected to fully recover, thankfully!

Okay, so on to less important and much less serious talk.

Mike and I took a field trip to the local furniture store. The girls immediately gravitated toward the "doll house" bunk bed. All of you parents of multiples know what I'm talking about, I assume. The pink and green monstrosity that costs a thousand bucks without mattresses.

When it came down to it, the girls decided they would like to each have their own beds. Mostly because Alison wants doggy sheets.

The girls said, Maybe for Christmas! and I thought, MAYBE for Christmas... Get beds for the kids and use them as their Christmas presents! I love that our kids have no concept of toy greed yet. Mwahahahaha.

Mike and I also discovered that we do NOT have the same taste in furniture.

I like leather and interesting bold wood designs, and Mike likes furniture that looks like it came from KMart.

But we did settle on a gorgeous leather couch and a chair-and-a-half that I will get never.

Because we'll spend all our money on something completely frivolous, I'm sure.

Oops, out of time. I'm going to a movie with the girls to celebrate Kristin's homecoming day from the NICU. Rango. I hope it doesn't suck. This crap gets expensive with 3 kids and I don't want to waste money on movies that suck.

After all, I'm saving up for my KMart futon couch.

St. Patty's Day

Every holiday is tied to some shape. For Valentine's Day, the girls were NOT having a Valentine's Day Party, as the school might suggest. Oh, no no no...

It was a Heart Party.

For the last week, the girls have been telling me: We're gonna have a SHAMROCK Party.

(Shamrock Party. Doesn't that sound like some kind of weird sex party from the 1980s? And what is wrong with me?)

I'd forgotten what day it was until Emma shot out from under the covers and went on and on about the Shamrock Party and the popcorn the teacher was bringing and oh how we need to wear GREEN today.

(Of course, that means I'd set out clothes last night for the first time in months and none of it was green. Score.)

All of this boils down to one thing: I'm going to fire Mike as my Pretend Personal Assistant and hire Emma. I'm pretty sure it would work, as long as I tied in a food item with every important event.

Mom, you have a dentist appointment today, and you owe me a cookie.

I don't particularly like St. Patrick's Day. On the way to dropping the kids off at school, I nearly broke down when I heard some festive Irish music.

You have to understand that - six years ago - I still had one baby in the NICU.

She was only there without her sisters for two weeks. That doesn't seem right: two weeks. But at the time, it felt like an eternity. We'd already been there for months, so what was another two weeks?

(And isn't it weird to think waaaaaay back to their birthday this year in early January and then think about just how long the kids were in the hospital? No wonder it felt like forever. It WAS.)

I remember I wasn't able to get in to visit Kristin until the evening of St. Patty's Day. I'd been struggling through caring for two babies at home and waiting for someone to get to the house so I could drive up to the hospital and spend time with the littlest monkey.

I walked through the door to her room that night and saw her sleeping in her crib, all by herself, with wires and oxygen tubes coming off of her body.

On her head was a tiny green felt cap, made as a gift for Kristin by a retired NICU nurse.

It was at that moment I first realized it was St. Patrick's Day, and my baby was spending the holiday in the hospital, all alone.

Up until this year, all this holiday has been to me was a reminder of those two weeks and one of the worst, gut-wrenching moments of my life.

But now it's all Shamrock Parties and leprechauns who love Lucky Charms and all the fun things that come with having three 6-year-olds celebrating with us.

Her homecoming day is on the 19th... the first day we had all three girls home. I was so excited that I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, pulled up to a red stop light, looked both ways for traffic, and drove right through.

I don't think I've ever been so blissfully happy.

I should add that Mike was driving his car behind mine and teases me to this day about that maneuver, but I'll take the teasing.

Best, heart-bursting moment of my life.

So please excuse me if I save all of my energy to celebrate the fabulous 19th of March in two days...

I'll leave the Shamrock Partying up to my children until then.

Titillating Tuesday: You've got another thing comin'

Since we're going with the PMS theme this week, I'm going to talk about things that piss me off.

And no, I don't plan on starting with Daylight Savings Time. If I hear one more person, one more person, piss and moan about moving their clocks ahead, I'm going to dig up a loose 4x4 in the girls' mud pit and smack myself over the head with it until I pass out or die from blood loss, whichever happens first.*

*I should note that we've ALL been guilty of this complaint, mostly because of shifting kids' schedules. But I'm especially tired of the "blame Obama" or "just another gov't scheme" complaints. Really? It's as if people don't understand the Earth's rotation and how it causes a shift in sunrise and sunset. Gah. That argument is PLAYED OUT, Playa. Move on.

---

So I guess that was my first complaint.

My second...

Why do tampon companies think that the plastic applicators are a "step up" from the carboard ones?

Nothing says comfort like shoving a minitiarized version of an arcade claw up your lady parts.

I'd hate to see what kind of prize I could win.

---

I pulled my bangs back into a bobby pin this morning and realized that those nifty highlights at closer inspection are actually wirey white hairs. Egads. I'm 30. This shouldn't be happening yet, right?

Thankfully, my beard hair is still a lovely shade of sandy blonde.

---

Dear Hoardes of Teenagers at Target:

Do you not realize it's a Sunday? The day that all of Cedar Rapids shops for groceries? Please do not congregate in mass blobs of human trendiness in the front aisle. I appreciate the opportunity to practice evasive maneuvers with my two carts loaded with hundreds of pounds of child and edible cargo, but I must warn you that I might not be able to make the turns required and the backs of your ankles will take the brunt of the punishment.

Yours Truly, The Mother of Triplets Who Forgot it Was Sunday Until She Got to the Jam-Packed Parking Lot of Target

---

Did anyone watch The Bachelor tonight?

These women sign up to be one of 20-some ladies clawing after whichever guy they put up on the block, and then they get upset that he might send them home or be interested in some of the other women.

It's not like it's a guy you're dating who you find out is dating 20 other women on the side...

After Brad proposed to Emily, (oh yeah, spoiler alert and whatnot), Mike texted my sister: Stop crying you sappy b-hatch.

Can you feel the love? Mike lives to pester Stephie. He also congratulated her on "the baby."

She's not pregnant.

---

My child decided to eat half of her yogurt at school then "put the lid back on" and bring the rest home. I evidently forgot to tell Emma that yogurt lids don't stop the key lime slime from getting all over her lunch pack.

Lunch fail.

---

Kristin showed her teacher her "owie" at school a few days ago.

The teacher took a picture of it and laughed, then sent the picture to the office.

Did I mention her "owie" is on her middle finger?

Oh yes. My child said, Mrs. R... LOOK! and flipped her off.

Thankfully, the teachers know me and have a sense of humor.

---

In case you've been absent from my Facebook feed, Mike is "deathly ill." He's missed work two nights in a row - something that would never have happened in the past short of losing a limb.

But the boy could NOT fall asleep. He could barely breathe or eat or swallow (insert prison dating joke here). His lymph nodes were so swollen I thought maybe I'd followed through on my threat to punch him in the throat after all.

So when he finally napped for fifteen minutes yesterday, I went against direct orders to not call him in sick and spoke to one of the bosses at the mill. Boo-yeah. Boy got a day off.

The best part of it all: I've been sick for three weeks - coughing and hacking and him joke-yelling at me for waking him up while trying not to vomit. I slept on the couch so I wouldn't wake him up.

He was sick for TWO DAYS and you would have thought I was threatening to murder a baby kitten with how irritated he got at me for being in the same room as him. DY-ING. I thought for sure he had some weird plague.

We went to the walk-in clinic today and got meds for his horrific, life-threatening... sinus infection.

I was tempted to threaten the doctor that if he didn't give us some sedatives or elephant tranquilizers for either Mike or myself, I wasn't going to leave. Luckily, he prescribed antibiotics and suggested we carouse Target's pharmacy for comfort medicines.

The boy is now in a NyQuilly-induced coma on the couch.

I can't wait until he's better... he's "sound sensitive" and my DAMNED FLOOR NEEDS VACUUMED.

---

Happy Tuesday, Everyone!!!

I hope the cat's name isn't Sprinkles

I must be PMSing. I just downed three tablespoons of non-pareils. I couldn't think of anything to put them on, so I ate them straight-up, no cupcake chaser.

It was either that or scoop spoonfuls of brown sugar down the hatch.

Sugaaaaarrrrr....

I don't like candy any other time of the month, but I should consider keeping "normal people sweets" in the house before I hit up the decorative frosting tubes again.

Why is your mouth blue, honey?

Ummm... I ate a Smurf?

Well, as long as you weren't eating the non-pareils again...

(For the record, that's a made up conversation that I'm predicting happens before the end of the weekend.)

Also a sign that I'm PMSing?

I cried while watching this commercial yesterday:

Strippers and smiley fries

As promised...

I turned 30 in December. I told everyone I didn't want a party. Parties are so much work, pretending to be a happy smiling person, when really - deep down - I'm a sarcastic jackwagon. Even though I'm happy on the inside.

So I made people promise. No parties.

A few weeks before my birthday, my sister called Mike. That was out of the ordinary simply because Mike is about as talkative on the phone as I am succinct pretty much every second of the day... which is: NOT AT ALL. He usually grunts to get his message across, and you're very special if he manages a Goodbye.

Although I'm working on him...

Where was I? Oh yeah, the 30th birthday shenanigans. He wouldn't tell me why she'd called. Red Flag #2.

Because I can crack Mike in ten seconds better than waterboarding ever could, I eeked out of him that my sister and I were going on a road trip to Chicago for a weekend.

It wasn't until later I found out her best friend and my mom were driving with, and my cousin and aunt were meeting us by train.

It was only a four-hour drive,

past scenic landmarks like the tree air freshener plant,

but it was certainly long enough for things to get weird.

Between my mom giving her best seductive yogurt pose, and my sister giving her a lipstick makeover, we got a little slap happy.

Upon arrival, we immediately headed out in search of much needed alcohol.

(Mom: Oh look! Pee-zhawn! Take a picture for Alison. That's 'pigeon' in French, by the way. Alison's stuffed pigeon is French. Sometimes.)

We saw Egyptian protesters. Wow, how long ago WAS this trip? This was pre-oust.

We found a cute little restaurant on a second floor and stalked a few guys at the bar until they forfeited their chairs so we could drink our lunches with a side of fried vegetables and squid. (We'd tried Bandera, but it was a 30-40 minute wait... too long for booze!)

I remember Erin and Lynn arriving, but after that, it's a bit fuzzy. We went out shopping, I know that much because I distinctly remember going into Tiffany & Co and discovering that there's a whole second room filled with obscenely huge diamond rings and necklaces. And no one waited on us. Erin said They know we're not going to buy anything, but it made me cringe. I wished I'd had $17K on me right then so I could whip it out and tell them they're creeps for profiling me as being broke.

But their profile was right because I had about $200 to my name at the moment.

We went nearby to Swarovski, which was a little more my speed.

The six of us strolled through town. I heckled a street megaphone preacher for a whole three seconds when he bad mouthed promiscuity (hey, gotta do my part) and paid a street drummer and clarinetist for their entertainment.

My mother. Always the life of the party.

I suppose we might be related.

And my sister.

I'm beginning to think it's hereditary on my mom's side, since my aunt and cousin (from Dad's side) are clearly not as crazy... outwardly, at least.

We wrapped up our evening with a meal at Vermilion - amazing! - and a trip to the piano bar Howl at the Moon. That's the point my brand new hooker heels betrayed me and set my feet on fire. I can put up with a lot of pain, but I was literally dragging. So I switched boots with my mother and she rocked those stilettos.

I don't remember anything else, except that we went home the next day, my sister caused me to drive like a lunatic when she kept yelling at me that I shouldn't take an exit when really it was the CASH lane for the toll booths and holy hell I cut over last minute across four empty lanes of highway.

It was my idea of fun: relaxing, wandering and having a couple of drinks and adventurous foods. The only thing missing was our trip to Chippendales.

The next week, Mike had his Mancation in Kansas City for three days. I can sum it up: beer.*

*This is the amended version. Mike said that my previous description was too lengthy.

I teased Mike that he needn't spend money going out on the town to ogle girls since he could look at me for free, but that didn't stop him from giving me the play-by-play of the 40-somethings at the table next to them.

Note: I didn't find glitter in any incriminating crevices.

I guess we all have different ideas of what's "fun."

Take my children for example. Kristin was out of school sick for something like a week with just a cough. One of those mornings, we decided to get out of the house and have lunch with my sister at La Camelia's.

It's a restaurant where we usually drink our supper, so I wouldn't consider it "fancy."

When we picked her sisters up from school, Kristin was so excited to tell them about her day.

We had lunch at a fancy restaurant. I even ate smiley fries!

Low standards, but the highlight of her week, for sure.

Mini soda

Teaching kids about government and geography is a bit like playing Password.

He's like the teacher of the country. He makes sure we follow the rules. He tries to keep us safe and is, um... a very smart guy.

The President?

Ding ding ding ding!!!!

The kids still walk around saying President Obama is very smart.

I swear I'm not brainwashing them.

Anyway, we went to a wedding in Minnesota this past weekend. I figured it was a good opportunity to teach the girls just how BIG states are (measured by how long the drive is). I was in the middle of explaining Wisconsin is where Grandpa Reuben's barn....

Look at all those spinners, Mom!

We drove down the center of a wind field. Dozens and dozens of windmills, as far as we could see.

They're simultaneously scary and beautiful.

When I told the girls that the wind spins the blades around and turns it into electricity, they were completely awestruck. And they should be. What an amazing concept. Even more amazing than the super fun subject of geography.

At the wedding reception, the girls spun and spun and spun. I thought for sure they were going to burn out, but like the windmills, that spinning is self-sustained.

They only took breaks to eat.

We spent the night talking to our good friend Timmay and the groom, Booker T. When I wasn't escaping to help Brian's relatives decorate the hall so I wouldn't have to listen to Mike and Tim rehash Brian's inability to cook Mac-n-Cheese yet again.

Pretty much one thing was constant: People were shocked at how long Mike's hair has gotten. It's gotta be at least three or four inches long. (That's what she said...)

Anyway, in years past, I would've hounded Mike to cut or at least trim his hair up before going to a wedding.

But it's starting to grow on me.

Especially since everyone teases him for looking a bit like the shaggy-headed Aaron Rodgers.

Doubly fun is that he's a Cowboys fan.

I'm not sure why he's suddenly decided to grow his hair out, but I told him if I catch him wearing my bras, I'm kicking his ass out.

UPDATE: Thanks to Ryan, we now have another Mike Twin... Elliot Yamin from American Idol.

Here comes the reaper

Remember waaaaay back in January at the girls' birthday?

Well, this weekend marks two of the girls' first days home from the NICU.

It's no wonder leaving that place felt like we'd left a second home.

Anyway, we've marked another first today. The girls' first "long-distance" bus ride and field trip. They're driving 45 minutes to a college campus to watch a performance of Giggle, Giggle, Quack and other kids' stories, having lunch and coming back just before school ends. And they're going without me.

Because my computer is a bitch (you know it's true) and was down for repairs for a few centuries, I missed the Kindergarten newsletter offering spots for parents to chaperone. (I also missed the note mentioning making a Valentine box and sending it in, hence my children being the only ones to bring their precious candy home in a white paper sack.)

So I wrote my cell number on the back of each child's hand, telling them to repeat I'm lost. Please call my mom, before letting them eat breakfast this morning.

Of course this means Kristin got a little panicky because Why are we getting lost to begin with?

While the children are out enjoying their bus ride of death disappearance into a mob of pierced and bleached 20-somethings afternoon of theater, I'll be home. Trying not to die. From yet another plague.

Last night I blew out the blood vessels in an eyeball and gave myself a migraine in an attempt to stifle my hysterical coughing fits lest Mike wake up from his comatose sleep.

This morning?

I look like a sleep-deprived junkie.

I figure if I tried to drive up to the girls' field trip on my own and stalked through campus after the children, I'd probably be arrested under suspicion of trying to steal one of them to trade for smack.

I'll bid you farewell in hopes that I can stave off death for yet another day.

Plus Mike took the kids to school this morning.

Meaning I have only ten minutes to frolic through the house naked and eat bon-bons before he walks through that door.

G'day, folks.

Five-Minute Genius

Me: I'm sorry I missed your call at 2... I had the phone next to my head but I must have been really asleep if I didn't hear it.

Mike: What do you mean? I talked to you.

Me: Yeah, at midnight. I'm talking about the one after that. I saw I had a missed call at 2 this morning.

Mike: Um... I talked to you. Check your phone history.

*scrolling through phone log*

Me: What the hell? I must have been talking in my sleep. It says we talked for eight minutes? What did we talk about?

Mike: I dunno, the usual.

Where do I pick up my award for Best Performance by a Sleeping Person?

That happened a week or two ago, and he's been messing with me ever since. Like asking me to give him high-fives while I'm asleep. (I do.)

He said his favorite is when I do one of these: Quit laughing! I'm not asleep this time. It's not funny! They're gonna paint the lines BLUE down the middle of the road! Of course, I WAS asleep. Then I usually start to realize it and tell him to forget it and let me go back to bed.

Another favorite? When I whip back the covers, fly out of bed and jump up and down while giving myself an intense patdown like I'm on fire. Then he jolts awake and yells, What the hell are you doing???? before realizing I'm asleep.

This morning, I woke up with a chunk of flesh missing from a knuckle. I picked at it and wondered what had happened. Then I vaguely remembered getting kicked out of bed for coughing then being summoned back in, at which point I missed the door opening by a solid 10 inches.

BASTARD.

I'm afraid this kind of sleep craziness is genetic. My father used to sleepwalk (and even tried to climb the outside of his house in the middle of the night) and I sleepwalk, sleeptalk, sleepcook, sleep... well, just-about-everything.

It was a bit unnerving when Alison began having what I assume is some kind of night terror a few months ago. She would come completely unhinged and nonsensical, wailing and not remembering it the next day.

She's normally such a happy girl during the day. She brought home this drawing from school yesterday, and it was like looking directly into her lollipop-licking, hopscotch-playing world that lives only in her brain.

But during the nights that she sleepwalks? Holy terror. We need a priest to do some exorcising of the demons. I'd hate to see THAT drawing...

She's gonna have a lot of long nights ahead of her if she can't get it under control.

Not to mention the nights she'll have to deal with being pestered if she marries anyone remotely as naughty as her father.

Mike swears up and down at least once a month that I give him permission to do things that I would normally say NO to. Like taking all of the dollar coins for lunch money that I was saving for tooth fairy cash.

BASTARD.

I don't really mean that. I love him. And he's more like a dirty hooker than a bastard...

The one shining gem that comes out of this weird sleep disorder is a weekly occurrence where my mind becomes crystal clear and I almost feel like I do when I'm aware that I'm sleepwalking. The only thing I can compare it to is sitting in front of a puzzle and being able to visualize all the pieces moving - one at a time - into their correct places, without touching any of them. It's like Aha! everything makes sense now. Except it's not a puzzle. It's usually intangibles like Do we have a soul? or How do I thread this weedwhacker?

This last Aha moment was on solving the problem with high school drop-outs as well as the lack of WINNERS (not including Charlie Sheen, of course) in industries of science, math, etc, etc. Where have all the great minds gone??? What is the biggest hurdle to getting kids educated and into meaningful careers?

Turns out: IT'S SO EASY.

I have it all mapped out in my head.

Until I forget it completely, which I probably will.

This is the same person - moi - who just yesterday, pulled my keys out of my purse, hung them up, then stuck my hand back into my purse to frantically search for, you guessed it... MY KEYS. Those SAME f*cking KEYS.

And the same person who just now remembered that today's post was going to be my recap of our Chicago trip. Damnit.

My moments of "genius" are limited to five minutes every week or so.

Or less...

I should mention that I haven't had many "dreams" lately. I wonder what THAT'S about. End of the world, perhaps?

Seuss would have been proud

Wednesday morning. School time.

I went in feeling like crap... the teacher called in sick.

And I may have accidentally caught a glimpse of a little email to the other teachers and saw the first line and read it and laughed. She was sick and knew she wouldn't have the energy to deal with Wacky Sock and Whoville Hair Day.

Ahahahaha!!!!!

Can't say I blame her. It was a little chaotic. The teachers corralled the kids with Cindy Lou Who 'dos from room-to-room (they occasionally switch up classrooms for fun) where they read and sang songs and got unruly.

I, on the other hand, tore out and sorted paperwork in the quiet, shady center of the K pod. Yay.

See, Mike? I actually DO stuff.

And I spent nearly two hours constructing this book cover for her classroom door using magic marker and glitter.

Another hidden, useless talent that I possess, apparently. Isn't it funny that Seuss supposedly was a really crappy artist which is why all of his characters look so odd?

The kids were poking the poster and beating on the paper, so I figured I should get a picture before it's completely shredded.

Is anyone else just exhausted today? Seriously, my brain is shutting down. I need a nap. Tomorrow's post should be fun - I'm finally going to recap our Chicago trip - so I'll give myself a pass for today and go lie down... just for a minute... or two........

Titillating Tuesday: The crazy's so bright, I've gotta wear shades

I've refrained (for the most part) from commenting on this Charlie Sheen situation. Well, except for one Tweet this morning...

I promise I'm not going to continue to beat Chuckie's dead horse, but I must say there seems to be a kind of checklist for "going crazy" in Hollywood.

1) Have a hair catastrophe. Like growing a beard or shaving your head. Obviously.

2) Claim some kind of connection to another planet or superiority over mankind.

3) Whore yourself out for money and interviews while spouting your newfound zest for life.

Charlie Sheen is a goatee away from becoming the next Tom Cruise, though in all fairness, Tom only married his beard...

See how many nutties you can find using those three qualifications. I've got Hasselhoff, Spears, Travolta, Cruise, (soon to be Charlie as soon as the coke makes his hair fall out), Joaquin... any others?

The next step is usually court, then 10 days of rehab, and finally an appearance on a Funny or Die short.

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Does anyone have any good suggestions for romance novels? Stuff along the line of Jodi Piccoult or the guy who wrote The Notebook.

Not for me, of course. I can't read that he caressed her tender bosom stuff.

I am way too horny already.

Most of my friends prefer them so I thought I'd ask. Thankssomuch.

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As a sign of good faith, I've decorated for Spring. And that little woodchucking rodent had better be right that it's coming early this year because I need to get planting my gardens.

By the end of this year, I'd like to be fairly self-sufficient for vegetables and most fruit.

Mike and I have been discussing what it would take to get some solar panels on the North side of our garage roof, and I've been having conversations with my other personalities about getting a few chickens.

Between Mike and Alison and their boiled egg consumption, I'd easily be money ahead to have a few.

Note to self: look into using methane as an energy source.

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So it's been, what? Two weeks that my computer's been up and running?

I wonder how long before it tanks again.

We should start a pool. I'm guessing 8 days. Any takers?

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Have a fanTAStic Tuesday, everyone!