Titillating Tuesday: I don't get paid enough for this gig

Today was our first day of "Summer School."

Thankfully, I've seen the teachers in action and picked up a few of their tricks to getting kids focused.

It was still fairly chaotic. Is it too late to buy the girls' teachers a present for everything they've done? Or a vacation? Or a yacht? They've earned it.

Mom? What color does this need to be?

I put the wrong shape here so I crossed it out. Is that okay?

She didn't put her name on her page.

She didn't color in the lines.

She's doing the next page.

Mom.

MOM.

MOM!!!

---

In case anyone cares what we're doing, I bought this Math workbook times three:

Three hundred pages of telling time, counting money, patterns, measurements, math equations, counting... it's totally worth the $12 I spent on it. They love it. They did five pages this morning and I could've doubled that with no complaints.

Then they took turns reading for 5-10 minutes in front of each other.

And spent literally 60 seconds learning where Middle C is on the piano (it's a start).

I'm going to do weather journals with them before lunch, give them a quick geography lesson, then toss them outside to the wolves wind.

Alison was struggling with her reading, mostly because she was looking at the pictures and not the words, but five minutes later she was whipping along. They shock me with how fast they pick things up. Mostly I look at Kristin and wonder: Was I EVER that smart???

I was a pretty bright student, but she could surpass anything I've ever accomplished. And I'm saying this realizing that yes, she is only six years old and socially stunted. (She wore her bike helmet backwards last night then left it on while she played on the neighbors' swingset. It was super special, but at least Cami and I had a laugh.)

Smarty pants. Emma isn't far behind, and Alison is SO artistic. She definitely has a different kind of smart that involves people and entertainment and viewing the world through an artistic lens.

Yet when they took a break to watch How to Train Your Dragon - while I sit here blogging before my shower - all they want to talk about are turds.

You're a turd!

*giggles*

How to Train Your TURD.

*more laughter*

You smell like a kitty turd.

*hysterics*

Sigh...

---

It's not just academics they're learning.

They're learning the valuable lessons of life.

And death.

Kristin is obsessed with my Grandpa Reuben and talking about his death.

Did Grappuh Reuben DIE, Mom?

Yes, honey.

But WHY? Why did he die?

I don't know, honey. He had cancer, and it made him very sick. Remember that we talked about this?

But what IS cancer?

Hmmm... Okay, well, your body is made up of little tiny itty bitty pieces called 'cells.' And they're everywhere. In your blood and bones and skin and hair... they're usually really good.

Cells?

Yep. And every once in a while those cells don't form right. Like how we get weeds in the garden and we have to get rid of them so they don't hurt our pretty flowers? Cancer is like a weed in our body, except it's not a plant. It's a bunch of cells that grow and grow until it takes over the good cells, like the weeds can take over the flowers. And we use medicine to help people like Grandpa, but he was too sick and the medicine didn't help him. That's why we need to take care of ourselves, so our bodies are nice and strong. Okay?

Mmmhmm. (long pause) But what COLOR is the cancer?

It never ends. The worst part is she understands most of it and launches into even more questions. She's worried because she knows that grandma (my mom) had cancer and that smoking causes cancer, and my dad's a smoker.

In fact, they keep telling me that "Grandpa needs to stop doing his 'smokers'" so we don't have to go to Church and turn him into dirt.

(I spared the kids the details of cremation and went with the dirt analogy for Grandpa Reuben's funeral. Plus it's so much nicer to think of someone turning into dirt... the material to grow the Earth's plants and trees and flowers.)

Questions. Questions. Questions.

We never had a "Why?" Phase with the kids, and I told Mike this is my punishment. I have a sinking feeling this summer will be long and arduous.

Maybe I should cave in and buy that swingset so they'll leave me alone.

If Kristin starts asking about AstroPhysics, I'm going to tell her it's above my pay grade.

---

We have another - possibly TWO - T-ball games tonight. I wish I could say this made me happy, but this severely cuts into my construction and drinking time. I'm thinking they might frown on it if I rolled up to the field with an open bottle.

I guess I could sacrifice for the kids, just this once. Happy Tuesday, everyone!!!

Where have I been?

If someone could message me with the start date for the CPU school year of 2011-2012, I'd greatly appreciate it. I'm starting a countdown survival calendar.

Emma: Mommmm!!! Alison pulled off a heart on my new princess bike!

Alison: There's still one left...

Me: It's not your bike, why are you breaking things off of it?!?

Alison: But there's STILL ONE LEFT.

Me: I don't care if there are FIVE left, it's not your bike, LEAVEITALONE!

That was on Day #5 of summer vacation.

There's no way we'll all come out the other end unscathed or without severe psychological trauma.

Just one day into vacation, I was yelling at the kids, Keep your hands to yourselves or I'm gonnapulloverthisgoddamnedcarandbreakthemOFF.

Then I started laughing.

And the kids started laughing.

Okay, so there's a chance we'll make it through, but we might all need therapy come August.

If not from the constant fighting and breaking it up, from the storms. Oh, the storms. I love having a random Tornado Warnings roll up on us.

In between "fire drills" to the basement, I've spent my time in Perpetual ProjectLand.

I'm determined to wrap up some long-awaited jobs. Like painting the fairies on the girls' bedroom wall that I started to do 100-kajillion decades ago and never finished.

I can only get that stuff done with the kids preoccupied, so Mike is in charge of them. Which means Movie Time or Computer Time. Here's Kristin staring patiently at the microwave timer:

When the weather's nice, I've been using my power tools and getting picked on relentlessly by the passing neighbors. (One of whom told me that I'm "the hardest working person" she's ever seen. I offered her $10 to repeat that to my husband.)

And up went the storage unit...

I have to rip the OSB out of the basement - since we're now doing an acid wash directly on the concrete floor instead of carpeting - and cut them to make the shelves. That's for another day...

Right after that picture, we had to drag the kids off to their T-ball game. It should have been their fourth, but it's been so crappy and stormy that it was only their second.

We got there.

The other team got there.

No one else from our team showed up, not even the coaches.

Mike ran back to the house to grab my phone (I'd forgotten it in the mad dash) and I called the coach 20 minutes after the game "started."

He said that there had been a change in location and it was now at the other town, 10 minutes away, and that the other team and my family should pack up and high-tail it to meet the 4 kids over there so we could play for 20 minutes in the ensuing rainstorm.

(The T-ball season has been a scheduling NIGHTMARE. With all the makeups and this being the organizer's first year of being responsible for it, it's been all over the place. There was no apparent reason for the location change since our field was free. I had checked the details on the league site before leaving the house and made sure which field was listed, so it's not like I didn't CHECK.)

We said SCREW IT.

We stayed put and played Adults vs. 6-year-olds. (We lost.)

Mike had decided to come with at the last minute, and I'm sure he's glad he did. He had a lot of fun trying to outrun small children.

We took a "team picture" of all the kids since they'd had such a blast. In fact, we were playing so hard we didn't realize we'd played for 90 minutes in the rain. (There are 2 sets of triplets in this picture... the boys on the ends and the girl 3rd from the left. All of those kids are adorable!)

They asked us to play with them again on Tuesday if we're able to make it. We're trying to figure out our schedule because the girls would love to.

Other than all that craziness, I've been spending most of my time at my sister's hoop house, Bloom. It was CRAZY this weekend for her open house. I know nothing about flowers, so I spent most of my time chasing my sister down with questions or flat out guessing how big plants would get. Of course I explained they should take it with a grain of salt since I have a black thumb.

We had a lot of visitors, mostly human. Some? Not as much.

I told Stephie they were there to flirt with my chicken.

The kids spent some time with my parents while camping this weekend. They'd been begging to go with them, so I finally caved in.

Of course this meant that a couple huge storms rolled through and scared the bejeezus out of them.

Dad told me: I went out for a cigarette and it wasn't even windy, then I went in to make a pot of coffee and Mom was yelling, Scott, the awning is lifting straight up!!! We went to pull it in and the girls - Alison and Kristin - were at the door screaming and screaming and trying to get out. Things were blowing everywhere and a couple branches landed on campers and tents, and we were yelling at them to stay put.

Mom: We put pillows around the kids and had them sitting by the couch, so they were kinda protected, but the wind was so strong the camper was rocking and I thought for SURE we were gonna flip over.

Emma asked me later if we'd had a bad storm at our house, too. I told her we did. She said, It was scary. Mom, you should have come and got us. When the storm came, you should've drove over and GOT US. Maybe next time, dear.

Elder care

I watch a lot of late night infomercials.

More accurately: they're absorbed into my too-tired subconscious as I lay comatose on the couch. It's the bane of my insomniatic condition.

I am fascinated by Hoveround commercials... the one with the old ladies shouting into the Grand Canyon, especially. I can't help but wonder what would happen if her Hoveround shorted out and sent her catapulting over the edge. Weeeee...

Anyway, elder care is something we don't hear much about aside from AARP commercials.

Unfortunately, this is something that SO MANY FAMILIES are dealing with. How exactly do you choose what path is right for your parents once they've lost the capacity to do for themselves?

My grandmother - or mother's mother - has lost substantial parts of each foot due to Diabetes. Like half of each. She usually sits in a wheelchair and has to be driven around her house and yard and anywhere else she might go that requires standing for more than 10 seconds. She also needs medications, insulin, and a healthy balanced meal.

She needs help.

Which makes it especially difficult since my grandfather - her husband - passed away last week. Grandma has been ill for decades, and cancer swooped in and took Grandpa in just a few short years.

Luckily, my uncle lives at their farmhouse with Grandma.

It worries me, though, that she might decline quickly if she's left to shuffle herself, step by painful step, around her house during the day. I asked Mom if she might be able to get a Hoveround. Hell, those things practically sell themselves!

She could cruise around like a teenager.

That's when Mom reminded me that Grandma can't see. And she can't hear.

What on Earth do you do???

She lives over five hours away, so it's not like I can zip over and visit every day.

And then there's my other grandmother, Grandma C.

Grandma C is a sassy little thing. She's been a widow since 6 months before I was born and is stubborn as hell.

There's been some debate in the family over what to do with her driver's license.

It started a year ago-ish (I'm not 100% sure on that). She went to City Hall, and as she was leaving, she jumped the sidewalk and rammed her car into the side of the brick building.

A cop saw the whole thing, but since there wasn't any damage to the building, and being a small town and all, he let her go without taking a report.

My first thought: What if a small child or elderly person or ANY LIVING CREATURE had been walking on the sidewalk? Remember the old woman who killed a guy in the Cedar Rapids Wal-Mart parking lot by parking her car on him?

So maybe it was a one-time thing. Shit happens.

But then Grandma fessed up to an aunt that she'd had some work done on her car after backing into a pole in a parking lot.

And another aunt - on the other side of the family - was cut off on a busy main street by Grandma C. Even though Grandma claims she never would have done that because she would have seen a car coming.

And she got lost on her way to buy 30 cent bread (since she drives 20 miles to get it).

What's the responsible thing to do here?

The woman is 92 years old and had her license extended a few years ago for another 8 years. EIGHT! She's a cute, fragile little cotton top, but behind the wheel she's a killing machine.

Mom and Dad spoke to her doctor, then wrote a letter to the DMV.

The DMV contacted her that she was going to need to retest for her license.

It didn't go well. She had to call a friend to pick her up from the DMV.

Grandma refuses to ride the beautiful city buses that will pick her up and drop her off wherever she likes because "it's not [her] style." And she doesn't want to ask someone to pick her up because, well... she just doesn't.

I love her, but she's no Spring Chicken anymore.

And her memory is going something terrible. Normally, I would laugh and say that it must be genetic since I can hardly remember what day of the week it is, but we stayed with Grandma and I'm not sure how much longer she can live on her own.

My parents leave their dog with her when they're in town because she seems to like the company. She spends most of her time shuttling that poor dog from room to room and sending her outside.

Last Saturday, I picked up some pizza at *ahem* 10 at night (it was Queenie & Ron's... it's excusable). As I walked in the door, I let the dog out to potty.

A few minutes later I dragged the dog back in and told Grandma, I let the dog out so she should be good for the night. She responded and I walked in the next room.

Grandma headed to bed, then turned around and started dragging the dog by the collar out to the back door. The dog was doing everything in her power to resist.

I asked what she was doing, and Grandma said she was sending her out to potty.

Of course, I was surprised, but told her that it had just been done. Grandma was confused, then let go of the dog who went right back into her bedroom.

No more than 20 seconds later did Grandma turn around and ask, Did someone let the dog out to go potty? Stephie looked at me in disbelief and nodded Yes.

Then there was the funeral for Grandpa... she kept asking what time the services started. 1:00. 1:00. 1:00, Grandma. 1:00.

She absolutely has the right to live in her house and die in her house. I'm just sad that she's declined so much and is so angry with my parents for getting her license revoked (something that she seems to think can be given back to her with a signature from my parents or her doctor, even though she'd never pass a driving test). It's not that I'm afraid she'll hurt herself - she's lived a long life - but that she'll hurt someone else. I could never forgive myself if she gets on the highway going the wrong way and kills someone, or pulls out in front of a car and causes an accident, or hops another sidewalk and hits a child.

It's times like this I wish we lived in a tribe or some kind of primitive community that keeps everyone close by. And both of my grandmas are not the type of women who would move out of their homes. This is one conundrum that cannot be fixed via Hoveround or AARP membership.

I told my mom that if the time ever comes to lose her license, I'd better not get any guff from her.

She said, It's okay... I'll be glad to not have to go anywhere.

Touche'.

Unicorns in the sky with diamonds

As you may or may not have noticed (and as previously mentioned), the world did not come to an end this past weekend, and I didn't see any white unicorns swooping down and riding off with Harold Camping or any of the Westboro Baptist lunatics.

My disappointment runs deep.

But don't you worry. They've already changed the date to October 2011.

Why is it that all the preachers who claim to know the timing of the end of the world are 800 bazillion years old?

This is all so tiring.

It's no better in the capitol. Certain groups of politicians complain that we need God (or "Gaaawd" as Mike would say) in government.

I agree.

If politicians acted like Christians, we wouldn't have all of these anti-rights bills going to a vote... the legislation that disappoints the human race.

Odds are, the world isn't going to end in October. Or 2012. Or whatever the next doomsday date is.

And I want my great-grandchildren to know that I never - NEVER - agreed with anti-gay legislation. Or anti-health care legislation and repealing things meant to protect the poor or uninsurable. Or anti-FACT alterations of curriculum and textbooks.

And I want the great-grandchildren of these politicans and their supporters and the people who voted them in to feel a heaviness in their heart to know that their ancestors spent so much time and money and energy to oppress a group of people, or save a few pennies, or change history to suit their egos and feel justified, and when it came down to it, it didn't change much except the feelings of moral superiority of a few.

I want their great-grandchildren to FEEL the sadness. I want them to REMEMBER how wrong this legislation was and is.

Maybe it'll create some compassion.

And compassion is the sort of thing that gets you a free ride on a white unicorn.

The legacy

When my family met Mike for the first time, my Aunt Janeen couldn't remember his name to save her soul.

Speaking of saving souls, so much for that Rapture on Saturday. Girls, take note that when you're older, people will try to scare you into a lot of stuff with fear of hell, and it probably won't come true. Although, I was in Wal-Mart at the time that I realized 6PM had passed, so maybe by being in some kind of double hell it kept me safe?

Anywho, Janeen - and everyone else shortly after - began calling Mike Bill about 12 years ago, which he loves, of course.

They still call him Bill to this day.

Well... until this past weekend, when they saw his long locks and began calling him Jesus.

Bring on the Turn water into wine jokes.

As you may know already, we were in Wisconsin because my grandfather on my mom's side passed away from cancer and the complications of fighting a long, grueling battle with an injured ticker.

He was conscious when he passed and had his wife by his side.

The entire family gathered at the Hunting Shack the first night we were together and at the Maple Syrup Shack the second. The maple syrup woods are just up the road from their Wisconsin farm. We made that trek many, many, MANY times as kids (and even further where Great Grandma Maria's house was - the adorable woman for whom Kristin Marie is named who fed us cheese slices and dry wine at every visit).

Needless to say, this land brings back a lot of good memories. I even glanced over to see if any of my forts had held up over the past two decades.

The girls were in heaven. They picked flowers... ahem. These may or may not be legal to pick.

We reminisced. I heard stories about people getting run over by the Stump Jumper and drinking so much as to almost drown in a 3"-deep puddle. Good times.

Pictures surfaced. I think Uncle Jeff - on the left - looks a bit like Harrison Ford here.

At the end of it all, we were happy, sad, and a bit exhausted. The girls didn't want to leave. Mike only left (regretfully) because he was afraid of finding another wood tick on his body.

We were all there, where Grandpa would have wanted us all to gather, singing and laughing and telling stories. This is what our family has always been about.

My grandfather left a legacy of respect and family. He had 9 children, 6 children-in-law, 17 grandkids (not including grandchildren-in-law), and 10 great-grandchildren so far - one being born on Wednesday, just two days after Grandpa passed away.

My aunts and uncles even led one last prost in his honor, with most of us gathered around inside the Maple Syrup Shack:

For everything Dad has built, how hard he worked, the man he was, and what he left behind… for the memory of him, raise your glass in a moment of silence. Take a drink and let everyone know he’s in a better place and how much he is loved. Here you go, Dad. We’ll miss you, we love you very much, and we will always remember you.

I can only hope to be loved that much in my lifetime.

Rest in peace, Grandpa.

Warning

We're heading to Wisconsin in a short while for Grandpa Reuben's funeral.

Take note, stalkers and would-be underwear sniffers: I've formed a posse of neighbors who may or may not be armed and drinking. I've given them permission to shoot first, bury the body in my garden later.

Wanna see something gross?

That's a dangerous question.

Also scary?

When my children say: Look what I can do!

Or anyone in Wisconsin says: Hold my beer.

Back to my point... I was on a roll this week with my gardens. Certainly not a fast roll, but a roll nonetheless. I painted the blue portions of my bridge and the 3rd garden (not yet filled) and had plans to put it together before leaving tomorrow morning for Grandpa's funeral in Wisconsin.

Lots to do yet, but we're getting there.

Then THIS happened:

Ka-zow!

That came out of nowhere, I know!

Gross, right? (And not just because it's a big toe, which is kind of weird looking and gross anyway, but who are we kidding, it's nowhere as gross as a pinky toe which could be removed completely and I'd be a happy 4-toed sloth.)

I had sandals on when I stepped into the Suburban to fix Kristin's seatbelt this morning. I then slipped and subsequently taught Alison the new phrase: Fuck a duck. Of course, followed by the Honey, please don't say that word, I'm so sorry.

It made for an interesting shoeless drive.

Hi, Mrs. S... I won't be coming in to volunteer this morning because I tore open my toenail and am bleeding like a sonofagun all over my car. Thanks so much!

So now I have to decide.

Do I go outside and try to shovel dirt with my foot all bandaged up?

OR

Do I stay inside and nurse my injury with a beer and a couple of mid-day judge shows?

Life is full of tough decisions.

Fuck a duck, indeed.

Titillating Tuesday: A certain level of understanding

People die and animals die, but we shouldn't play with dead squirrels. They're stinky.

Not everyone feels that way, Kristin.

---

Mom! There was a loud BANG! And then we saw FIRE! And the lights went out!

I walked up to their house to check on the kids after dropping off a few things at Stephie's place. The girls were really excited, and my first thought was that my father had knocked out the power with some kind of home "improvement" project.

Auntie Stephie walked in behind me, and Alison explained:

I saw a fire, and it was a circle, and it looked like a TRANSFORMER.

Questions raced through my mind. Are we having a battle? Am I an Autobot or a Decepticon??? Can someone please help me find a place for these groceries?

Turns out a transformer exploded on a nearby utility pole, sending out a ball of fire with a bang.

Reason #9278 that children should not be allowed to testify in a court of law.

---

Dad, can I have a strawberry?

Oh, honey... look at the container, they have mold on them. Loren? All of these strawberries - the whole container is covered in mold. I'm sorry, peanut. They're yucky.

Guess what I found sitting on the counter this morning, NOT in the garbage? You guessed it: molding strawberries. The garbage can is exactly three feet away.

It never fails to amuse me.

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!!!

Birth, death, and a little bit in between

My mother's father, Grandpa Reuben, passed away from cancer today.

Mom got the call as we stood in front of over 100 Kindergarteners in a lunchroom. It just so happened that Mom had her 3-month cancer check-up today, and she'd taken the day off to spend the morning relaxing. Of course this meant that she wanted to visit the girls' school before the year was over.

We'd had track 'n' field day (Mike opted to stay home - he's been in their classroom only long enough for PTCs and one Readathon). The girls ran.

And ran.
And jumped.
And tried to stay warm in the cold.

And switched classrooms just to be by Grandma. And no, I would NOT like to sit on your lap, Mommy... I'd rather sit on the hard cold metal of the bleachers if it meant snuggling with Grandma.

I knew when the call came in it wasn't good news. Grandpa Reuben had been sick for a few years now, but over the last few weeks, his health had rapidly declined. Mom had gone back to Wisconsin several weekends over that time, each trip wondering how long he had left.

Last night, my cousin asked when the next time was we'd be back. I hesitated to say that I thought it would be for a funeral.

I told Mom she was more than welcome to leave school if she needed to, but she decided she'd rather eat lunch (hotdog buns toasted with cheese) next to the girls than go home.

Before leaving, we toured the classrooms and saw a flock of chickens, newly hatched. There was one little guy in there, shivering and hiding from his bigger, meaner brothers.

I know I'm all over the place today, but I've got a lot on my mind.

I just had the How Chickens Are Made and Why the Eggs on My Plate Are Different from the Ones in the Incubator conversation with Kristin.

And today we had the Everybody Dies conversation with the girls.

Kristin kept asking Why? She looked concerned.

So I took it to a level they'd understand.

We'd found a dead rabbit in our garden before we filled it with dirt. I told them how everything dies, but then it becomes something else. Like the rabbit. It will turn into dirt, and feed the carrots, and we'll eat the carrots, and when we die we'll become something else, too. Just like Grandpa Reuben.

Kristin seemed content with that explanation. She told me she'd like to grow into an apple tree.

And Alison chimed in, I want to be a LEMON tree!

Emma decided she'd like to become a carrot.

I think I'd like to become a flowering plant in my mom's garden.

Or maybe some poison ivy... just for fun.

Ye olde sex cover-up

I imagine someday - sitting with a bunch of cottontops - sharing how we came to acquire our prosthetic joints the way old men sit on porches discussing their war wounds. Most will tell a story of slipping in a parking lot, or getting knocked down by the family dog.

Not me.

My old sex injury has been acting up lately. Got my first new hip at the ripe old age of 30, and I'm thinking it might be time for an upgrade. I remember the day I took that shot to the hip... I was only 23, but I haven't been the same since.

It's a joke between Mike and I that's not really a joke. I'm going to be the world's youngest old-lady hip transplant patient. Try to explain THAT one to your friends and family.

Um, grandma? You know that surgery you've been asking about? And your elderly lady friends were asking why I need the surgery?

Yeah, I don't see that one going well.

While I've always had bad hips (I even wore the bar between my feet as a child), it's never been bad enough to require surgery. Over the last few years, the pain has gotten worse and it's felt as though my hip is a hinge attached at a 45.

I might have to fake a fall down the steps, just to make things less awkward at family reunions.

I'll tell everyone Mike shoved me because he thought I could fly... THAT'S believable, right?

Summer excitement

I can't believe Summer and the ensuing heatwave is upon us already.

As much as the children love school, it's definitely wearing on them. They weren't used to waking before 9 until this year when we have to wake at (*gasp*) 7 in the morning.

It's killing me, too, kids.

The only incentive that can get these kids out of bed is the promise of ten whole minutes of Qubo cartoons. Always the Magic Schoolbus. They're just PUMPED to be alive and awake.

Alison is a spitting image of her father at that hour of day.

Also getting the children excited?

Ice cream. Hell yes. Ice cuh-ream. The vegetable of Summer afternoons. I'm not usually a big fan of junk food (just ask the children who currently have stockpiles of Easter candy throughout the basement and away from my prying eyes).

Of course my mother is on the opposite end of the spectrum who feels that a meal isn't complete without a meat, a veggie, a starch, a sauce, and a dessert.

Even if it means walking to Dairy Queen.

My mother ALSO believes we should buy that house that's for sale... she points it out to me every time it goes back on the market. She told me it would be so convenient. I told HER it would be convenient in the sense that I'd never cook supper again. It'd be like Everybody Loves Raymond, only my husband is the one getting pampered by MY mother.

I couldn't possibly move there. Not after I put in this magnificent beauty of a garden. Just look at those twelve plants not die!

Yet.

Plus the storms are much more exciting around here.

The "flash bangs" - as the girls call lightning and thunder - seem to echo through the empty expanse of Iowa cornfields surrounding us.

I tend to get nudged out of bed quite a bit by three squirming people puppies with ears clamped over. My shoulder thanks you, girls. I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping on the couch.

Things could be worse... it could be a school day tomorrow. Instead, I'll be sleeping in until my children alarm clocks fetch me for breakfast or whatever cereal I can round up the fastest before climbing back into bed.

Yay for PJs until noon.

Season of death and construction

Mike electrocuted himself last night.

That's not really all that relevant to anything, but I wanted to throw it out there for the world to know. Simply because I saw the outlet, knew he was probably going to shock himself, and thought Meh.... I'm gonna let this one play out.

Ten minutes later I heard the YELP and the Why didn't you tell me not to be stupid?!?

I love my husband.

So, back on topic...

Tuesday night, Mike told me the house was so messy he was going to help me clean the next day. Yay!

Wednesday rolled around and Mike slept until 2PM. Oh well.

When he finally woke up, I mowed the lawn with my gimpy hip while he shifted all our house vomit out of the garage. I can't believe we have so much CRAP going into storage.

And isn't it just like home improvement projects to take a detour? We started hanging the 2x4s on the wall for our shelves and realized we had to drywall the adjacent wall. So we hung three panels of drywall. (And learned that neither Mike nor I can count-slash-measure.)

Then stood at the fence to play Suburbia while chatting with neighbors.

Until it was dark.

Then we figured we should at least put our unused supplies away before the storm rolled in.

And rescheduled our project for today.

Which should be interesting since I'm here by myself and am sufficiently crippled with back pain... enough that I had to play the "hook the toe" game to get dressed - the game that really fat preggers women play when they can't reach their feet. Yup. I am bringing the sexy back.

And for the record: I'd rather be in pain than pregnant.

Let's start taking bets to see who gets seriously injured first - me or Mike. It's going to be a long season of death and construction if we keep moving at this pace.

If nothing else, we got some of that pesky beer finished off. Mission accomplished!

Titillating Tuesday: Cook me up a winner

Where, oh where do I even begin?

There are moments in our marriage that make me laugh from equal parts silliness and exhaustion.

I was woken from my sleep at 12:40 this morning by a phone call... Mike was on his way home. He'd taken a half day of vacation to spend time with me.

Translation: He would spend the next 20 minutes drinking beer, playing with his iPod, then subsequently abandoning his iPod in exchange for singing loudly and off-key to old CCR videos on YouTube. Until 5 in the morning.

I went on my way this morning, letting him sleep off his musical escapades, and I ran to swap vehicles then pick up a bunch of lumber. Surprisingly, Mike was awake when I returned at 11:30. He was chipper. And giggly. So of course I gave him an incredibly hard time about his intoxicated state of the early morning hours (even though, in his defense, he hadn't had a drink to celebrate his 30th birthday yet).

We drove back to switch our vehicles and stopped for lunch.

Before anyone worries because I know my parents might read this, I have two accounts - one that I keep a minimal amount of money in so it keeps our budget in check, and the other where I keep 99% of our cash, hidden from Mike's sticky fingers. I knew I'd spent most of our one account down on wood and accessories, but I was still surprised to find out my card was declined.

No big deal, I paid with the other.

Mike pressed the issue. Check the account on your phone. Find out why it was declined.

I scrolled through the purchases of the day. Gas. Lumber. Food. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Suddenly, there it was.

Mike had decided a sing-along wasn't enough this morning. He bought himself a few things online.

What did he buy? you might ask...

A beer goblet. That holds 32 oz. Basically a punch bowl with a kick stand.

But that wasn't the best part.

He bought himself a chef's coat.

My husband - the guy who, at most, cooks Mac N Cheese - felt he needed a chef's coat.

Mike apologized for an hour straight...

...through tears of laughter, of course.

Mine and his.

A quick little tale of Mother's Day love

Can you do something for me? Consider it a gift for Mother's Day, instead of that slap on the butt you gave me earlier? Could you get the laundry for me out of the dryer?

Sure.

You're gonna need the bucket... the basket.

Where is it?

In the livingroom.

I don't see it. It's gotta be in the basement.

It's NOT in the basement, so turn around and look one more time in the livingroom because if I have to get it for you, I'm gonna chuck it at you.

Guess where the basket was. A-thankyouverymuch.

(as he's carrying it into the basement) Look, it's in the basement!

Happy Mother's Day to all the women who roll their eyes at the fathers in the world.

Happy Slave Labor Day!

Just kidding... or am I?

I'll give you ONE GUESS what I'm going to spend my morning scraping off my floors, carpeting and walls.

I let the girls play in the dirt while I planted my garden and shoveled around them. Little did I know that when it got suspiciously quiet, they were inside my house "decorating."

MUD MONSTERS.

Emma was armpit deep in mud when she held her hands up to me and said I think I need to wash up.

What was your first clue, little monkey?

I'm not sure what today holds AFTER clean-up, except to probably work on Mike's birthday present. He turned 30 yesterday, and what better gift than a handwritten Hans Christian Andersen story about drinking too much beer?

What you see there took me an hour. Mike asked: Is it going to be my CHRISTMAS present?

To which I answer: Don't make me kick you in your old man parts.

Flores y margaritas, margaritas y floors

Let's lead off with what matters - I went to Stephie's hoop house yesterday for her opening weekend, where we drank margaritas and rearranged tables to my OCD-liking.

Nothing like gettin' buzzed at work...

The kids loved it out there. Loved.

They ran and rode bikes and threw rocks and picked flowers (some of which off of plants that we now OWN) and drew with chalk. It's their own little girly fantasy land.

I was pretty excited, too. I bought a ton of vegetables and herbs.

Speaking of which, NOTE TO SELF: Plant those ASAP.

I wish I didn't kill things so easily. I would scoop up every single plant she owns if I thought they might survive a week at my house.

I'm SO bad with plants, that I actually questioned whether or not we should have children. I've killed a cactus. Possibly two. I'm not sure because my mother swoops into my house and rescues them while they're in their death throes.

I tend to overwater.

I'm heading back out there this afternoon to pick up my children who voted me off the Aunty Stephie Island. The joke's on THEM. I loved having the house to myself last night. Loved.

Multi-purpose

It's 9:45 in the morning on a Friday, and I'm drinking.

Don't judge.

I just finished cramming the last of Mike's resume into his document protector. Who knew that 24 pages would FIT?

This last week has been hunting down performance appraisals and copying sign-off sheets and finding new and interesting ways to write I'm a freakin' brown noser who will slap on some knee pads and do whatever is asked of me if you promise to give me more money so I can buy my gun next year. At least that's what I wanted to write...

In all honesty, Mike is more than qualified for this promotion.

Have I mentioned he was just promoted in September? That was only (*counting*) EIGHT MONTHS AGO.

If he asks me to write another resume any time in the next DECADE, I'm going to chop my hands off in protest.

Anyway, what a lovely Friday this has turned out to be!

I'm heading over to my sister's brand new flower shop in Anamosa to drop off a jewelry order and toting some alcohol with me.

Because if I know my sister as well as I think I do, she's going to need something to wash down the stress as well.

She - somewhat jokingly - asked me if I'd like to build her a fence at her hoop house.

Sure thing, after I finish spraying our lawn to stop the dandelion invasion, plant my garden, build storage shelves in the garage, finish the basement, paint my kitchen, and throw together curriculum for my kids who only have fourteen days of school left. How does NEXT YEAR work for ya?

I told Mike I should be labeled: MULTI-PURPOSE.

*Not for children under the age of 3.*

Next time, I'll remember to bring my pimp

I had to take a blogging break to write Mike's resume. Again. Not that anyone noticed since I'm sure you were all busy chasing down links to fake Osama death pictures, right? That's what I'll tell myself...

Anywho, we're having a bit of Kindergarten drama.

Emma - over the last several weeks - has occasionally been complaining and bawling over an "ear infection." This "ear infection" miraculously jumps from ear to ear and disappears once I drop her off at school.

Yesterday before going in to MY school duty, Emma climbed in bed with me and professed that her pain was too great to go to school. She needed to stay home with me. Something I wasn't completely against since I was feeling LA-ZY and would have welcomed an excuse to stay in pajamas.

Instead, Emma finally confessed that someone was being mean to her.

Aw, hell no. Alison? I could understand. Even Kristin 'cause she's kind of a know-it-all. Emma is my sweetheart. She's also very sensitive, so I made sure to interrogate extensively. Turns out it's the little (using little liberally since she's the tallest kid in class) girl who wears low heels and long, braided ponytails to school. A real diva. I wondered what she could possibly be doing to Emma. Saying naughty words and making mean faces at me, is what I gathered.

I decided not to go to the teacher right away and figured I could handle it.

So I ditched the usual sweatshirt and went for a full-on get up: hair, makeup, my big-ass ring and matching necklace, heels and my fancy Von Maur coat. Of course my sister used that as an opportunity to tease me. You dressed up nice to intimidate a 6-year-old! Hell yes, I did.

Unfortunately, their classroom didn't need me. But don't worry, SOMEONE appreciated my look. The other triplet mom came up to me and asked if I had a hot date.

I looked INCREDIBLE, like a high-class hooker, as I helped Alison's class glue beads and glitter to their turtle shells... I'm sure I'll be finding green glitter in crevices for months.

Anyway, I spoke to Emma's teacher and she knew exactly whose name I was going to drop. She has a whole string of victims.... I'll talk to her.

You know in movies and Maury Povich shows they have those teenage angst moments when the kids are being mean to someone and the girl always says They're just jealous and I'm thinking Bullshit because sometimes people are mean just to be MEAN?

Well sometimes it really IS jealousy. Huh. Who'd have thought?

The little girl said that Emma is playing with her ex-best friend a lot and it made her mad.

If nothing else, Emma didn't wake up with an "ear infection" this morning.

A cold day in hell

Osama bin Laden was killed yesterday.

Also yesterday: team t-ball pictures and practice. The latter being more important to a 6-year-old.

(Yes, that IS Mike hitting the ball off the tee with a pretty pink bat... and mocking the kids as he runs to 1st base in slow motion. Notice how the kids battle over the ball like it's a gazelle carcass on the Serengeti.)

There comes a time when a person doesn't even have to confess that your children don't know what baseball is... simply because people can tell.

And lucky for our team, our baseball-y challenged girls make up half of the group.

It's only the third week (I think) and I'm already tired. How do you people do sports who go from field to field to godforsaken field???

I hate to whip out that old phrase that every parent of multiples loves to hear, but I REALLY WOULD FREAKIN' KILL MYSELF if I had them in more than one sport.

The girls' team had their first game tonight. It was suprprisingly chilly and went surprisingly well. The assistant coach was on the field, prompting the kids to run the right way, at the right times, and throw the ball to ANYONE instead of just standing in place with a grin for stopping it on their third try.

Mike and I watched from the fence and yelled out to our kids Stop playing with the sand and watch the ball! every. single. play. And tried not to crack up as Emma pranced merrily to 1st. Or hid our surprise when Kristin threw the ball straight as an arrow. More than once.

I asked the assistant coach if Emma was building a sand castle between 2nd base and the outfield.

Her response: No.... just a moat.

Emma and Kristin complained about the temperature, asking WHY it was so cold (ever heard of the Earth's axis?) but Alison opted for her usual SNACK requests. That girl's stomach is a bottomless pit. She asked to sit out her turn at bat in exchange for a hotdog. Really.

I assume it was a tie because both teams were wonderfully terrible and amusing. A girl from the opposing team picked up the grounder for Emma who was on first base, then politely handed her the ball so Emma could tag her out. Good stuff.

As we left, the girls asked: Can we join soccer tomorrow?

Only if you want Mommy to start packing beer margaritas in her sports bottle...

Remind me of this next year when I'm debating how many sports to let them join.