We’ve got El Derecho stuff!

Har. Har. Har. I crack myself up.

That’s about as clean as the humor gets around here.

Me: In your BUTT.

Mike: In your MOM’S butt.

Mike cracks himself up. He’s constantly making YOUR MOM references.

Which is why he had double the fun when my sister was here yesterday. It was a two-fer. Because we have the SAME MOM. (He had to spell it out for us, apparently.)

Stephie came up to tolerate Mike’s crude sense of humor and obvious butt-crack, coin slot jokes in order to help clean up the neighborhood after our Derecho on Monday morning before the butt-crack of dawn.

There’s no more relaxing way to wake up than at 5AM to Mike throwing his body up out of bed with a LOREN! Get the kids in the basement… NOW, then jolting upright only to hear what seemed like our house being sucked into the World’s Largest WetVac.

Mike – the lookyloo of the lookiest – was right there with us, huddled under the stairs. He didn’t dare go near a window. In fact, I was the one furthest from safety, perched on the edge of our “safe spot,” while Mike asked me from his prime spot: What IS that SOUND??? Can you see anything out the windows? No honor amongst spouses.

Instead of being tucked away, I sat and held on to a board that we’d – only a year earlier – bolted into the concrete floor for just such an occasion. It only ran to the upstairs banister, yet I could feel it shaking and snapping like our house was dancing around it.

Mike and I gave each other a look that said we knew we’d be lucky to have a house to go upstairs to.

Then came the sirens. Although we weren’t sure at first with all the noise of the rain and wind.

And a continuing bangbangbangbangbangbang like a crazed gaggle of woodpeckers which we later figured out was our Radon pipe that ran from below our house out to the top of the roof. Our house was twisting and popping against it.

There was so much rain and debris that we could only see alternating white and black smears out the window, depending how often the lightning flashed.

We sat down there for 45 minutes, thinking the entire time: Is this what it sounds like to be in a tornado? Or will it get louder? Why isn’t our house flying away yet? When should I dive into the corner on top of the kids?

I tried to call my parents but we had no signal.

I tried to get radar but we had no internet.

I tried to get our weather radio signal, but it was splotchy at best.

The winds died down to a dull roar at around 6, and we went up to assess the storm and damage.

I first noticed the neighbors had a flap of shingles missing. Then the girls pointed out that our mailbox was gone. Along with the horrified: How will we ever get our mail?!?

Mike peeked out the girls’ window and laughed.

Um… my bumper is off.

What do you mean?

It’s OFF MY CAR. IN THE STREET. OFF.

Sure enough. Mike’s car got hit by a roof. The new neighbors across the street had lost a chunk of their garage, and Mike’s car and our driveway FOUND it.

(Remember that the next time you complain about hail damage.)

We took a flashlight and found out we were missing part of our fence and had debris from dozens of houses on our lawn. On the way back in the house, I noticed that my hanging basket was also missing the mommy and baby birds that have been our “pets” for the last month or two.

I was devastated.

I’d heard the basket swinging and smacking the porch as we’d headed to the basement, but I was hoping they’d flown off in anticipation of the storm.

The weren’t the only fowl casualties.

The adorable ceramic chicken planter that Stephie had given me for working at her open house was in several pieces on my lawn. I took this then considered sending her a ransom note.

I heard the neighbor yelling for a dog, unusual since he doesn’t OWN a dog. Then I saw why. Only a house away, our other neighbors had lost their entire roof.

I jogged up the street and asked if they needed help, but it turned out a couple firemen had helped them out of the basement already and they were in a neighbor’s house.

We found fun trinkets all morning. This OSB came with a side of 2”x6”x12’ that scooted right up to the house. I am incredibly grateful it didn’t IMPALE anything.

Thanks to starting at 6AM and the help of a random (unknown) neighbor who happened by with his daughters and a wheel barrow, we had all of the shingles, siding, plywood and plastic out of our yard within two hours. We also found his decorative pillow.

I couldn’t figure out how my newly planted tree could snap off at the base then fly over our house but end up pushed underneath our deck. Or how our bricks had thrown themselves OVER our fence and broken in half with just straight line winds and not a tornado, but that’s what the news kept reporting.

I finally understood this morning when they reported that the Derecho had had sustained winds of 110-130 mph. The storm lasted for NINE HOURS in totality. Holy hell.

No wonder.

Mike spent most of the day at the neighbor’s house, and Stephie and I helped a little in between fetching him ice to salvage his groceries and making phone calls to our insurance.

The only positive side to this whole story (other than no people being injured) is that I noticed the mommy dove had come back to her nest. I was so sad for her. There was no way those babies survived.

Then I wondered… and I started searching.

I finally found them, huddled underneath our downspout, 20 feet away.

I scooped the fluffy babies up, one at a time, and plopped them carefully into the nest.

I’ve never seen such a happy bird in my life.

She immediately cleaned them up then sat on their heads.

Another neighbor and I found three of her baby Robins on the ground, but there wasn’t a mother bird in sight. We put them back in the nest and hoped she’d show up.

She finally did this morning.

(I’m an intervener, if you haven’t noticed.)

Watch the price of corn this year. Acres and acres and acres of corn were snapped off at the base, all across Iowa. This crop is TOAST. Even if it stands upright again, once the corn grows and puts weight on it, it’ll blow over in the first wind.

Luckily we like our neighbors, so while yesterday was extremely tiring, we’d spent the day with people we enjoy.

We finished it off with some time at the neighbor’s house, grilling out and discussing insurance deductibles and the Beastie Boys.

At least this happened on a Monday. Tuesday is garbage day, and I'm betting they'll have a few truck fulls.

People without children, AKA: Politeness*

Regardless of how this post might be taken by people trying to conceive, this was NOT meant to bash my children or gloss over the fact that I love them and realize every day how lucky we are to have them.

That said...

Every. single. bloody. day I have revelations about the odd predicaments Mike and I get in because we have small people in our house.

Here we go.

People without children:

• might wonder Where did that stain come from? on their favorite blouse, carpet, wall... But I never do. I know where it came from.


• might actually own a blouse. That still fits. And isn't just a hopeful reminder of how agreeable your boobs used to be.


• might plant a garden to eat food. Not me. I plant a garden so I have a place to send my children when they ask Can I have a SNACK? the 1000th time that day.


• enroll in college to get an education or get a promotion. I enroll in college so I have an excuse to lock myself away in a quiet room while napping perusing Failbook doing "homework."


• never have to wonder: What's getting destroyed in the house right now? as they mow their lawn.


• rarely have to keep tabs on where bathrooms are at all times. Unless you're 80. Or have eaten questionable burritos in the last 12 hours.


• probably haven't imagined yelling Will everyone just shut the f*** up and pay attention! while playing a board game.


• can poop in peace.


• don't keep a stockpile of ear plugs, Advil and alcohol as "emergency supplies."


• have never turned to your spouse and said: That one's yours.


• don't set bowls of dry cereal out the night before and pre-set the TV to the cartoon channel so they can sleep in until 8 on the weekends.


• have never told someone that blood is just paint and to nevermind that movie why aren't you playing in your room?


• have never analyzed why Caillou doesn't have hair or why Max & Ruby don't have parents.


• don't spend 20 minutes before making supper convincing people that they might like eggplant if they'd just TRY it.


• rarely find turd submarines in their toilets, and certainly not several times a day.


• don't flip out at the sound of water running for more than 20 seconds.


• might ask: Who's Sandra Boynton?


• think Leapsters and other handheld games are contributing to the demise of society.


• never sort their laundry according to which items most likely have fecal residue on them.


• have never had a conversation to reassure someone that they're not bleeding to death, and that tampons are just like "toilet paper for mommies" now get out of the bathroom!


• don't have to share their popcorn lest someone cries.


• can have a phone conversation without locking yourself in a bathroom/bedroom/basement.


• can make it through the grocery store without having a dozen conversations with strangers about your plans to have/not have more children and how they feel about the issue. Okay, that one might be just for multiples.


• - speaking of sex - will never have that horrifying moment after Nighttime Activities when you open the door to see two silent silhouettes of blanket-covered children, posting guard just outside your door because they're afraid of "funderstorms."


• won't giggle the accompanying conversation with your spouse: "I wonder how long they were standing there." "At least they were polite enough to wait."

People without BLOGS have also never had their spouse say after such an incident: Politeness, the topic of today's blog post...

And since he *named the post, I'm taking that as permission.

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.

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!!!

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: 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!

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.

School cancelled. Apocalypse imminent.

It's days like this that reaffirm I am not cut out for a real job. Insomniaisamutherfucker.

I'm running on 90 minutes of broken sleep and coming down off what had to be a near-fatal high of caffeine yesterday. I thought I was vibrating because I was tired, and then I checked my pulse. Tachycardia, much?

I told Mike several times over the phone that I was headed to bed, only to wander around and clean. Exactly how I'd imagine a meth head.

All because these kids are trained to kill me on the weekends. Their idea of "play nicely so Mommy can make supper" is chasing the cat on their scooters until she scrambles up into the ceiling, at which point I have to take a ten-minute break to convince the (still-claw-sporting) cat to come down. Then Emma pesters me at least a dozen times a day because she wants chicken and pea pods for supper, and we don't have any chicken to speak of.

Nothing wears them out anymore. Playing outside. A game of Simon Says. Animal Action games. Artsy crapsy. Bathtime. Movies. Stories. Singing and dancing.

If anything, I'm freakin' exhausted and the kids are doing circles around my lifeless body lying in the fetal position mid-livingroom floor.

By the way, if you ever want to find out how not in shape you've gotten since high school, I highly encourage you to jump on one foot for as long as you can. Three times, ten times, I don't care. I thought my ankle was going to snap just thinking about it. Note to self: practice jumping on one foot.

So last night, there I was, wiped out and in the middle of a disaster. I gave up on anything resembling cleaning, gave the kids baths and haircuts, then painted all 40 of our toes and 40 of our fingernails. In rainbow colors, of course.

Once they were in bed, I started downing the energy drinks... then agitated around the house for six hours. I fell asleep for half an hour after the second airing of World News Now. Just long enough until the school folks loudly sent a text saying that school was delayed and then cancelled.

I live for Mondays. I was more than slightly disappointed.

So much for sleeping after the kids went to school. I would have gotten them to school if it required I strap a couple neighborhood dogs to a sled and mush our way there. I need my ALONE TIME!

Back to the makeovers...

Since long hair is SO not cool according to my 6-year-olds, Emma insisted she wanted her hair short "like Alison's." And I'm not sure if it's me being overtired or if they really do look that much alike, but I'm having problems telling them apart today, at least at a glance.

Even Kristin is hard to pick out if she's in motion, which is pretty much nonstop on the weekends. (I would like to apologize in advance to their teachers and classmates for any confusion.)

To make up for it, I gave the girls a very short but emphatic speech tonight that they DO NOT HAVE TO DRESS ALIKE. Let's see if it works, since tonight, I insisted they pick out their own clothes from now on.

Is it weird that they haven't cared to speak up too much on that front? I thought for sure by now they'd have shut us out of the clothes-picking process, but no, they still expect me to do it.

So far so good. Tomorrow we have one going in a Packer jersey, another in a fleece hoodie, and a third wearing layered Hello Kitty t-shirts. Let's just hope that they didn't genetically receive any of my father's fashion sense. (Sorry, Dad. I promise to step in if they mix plaid and stripes.) I have a feeling Kristin is going to be our "accidentally creative" dresser.

Finally, to answer Anon's question and mortify any male readers who have made it thus far, yes, I got my period. Yes, it's aweful and drawn out, but I am NOT complaining.

Could you imagine adding another child to this insanity? As I type, the girls are running down the hallway laughing hysterically because Emma hiccoughed so hard she let one rip. It's times like this I'm grateful we never removed the child locks on the doors...

Sucked into the black hole known as Post-Christmas Cleanup

What day is it?

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

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

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

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

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

Next was Mike's mom's house.

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

Good times...

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

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

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

...or perhaps more like Poe.

The girls were spoy-ulled.

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

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

Alison even got her scooter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Torture. Pure torture.

Totally non-denominational Christmas Winter Recital thing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Titillating Tuesday: Terrifying Tuesday?

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

I'll iron them when they're FINISHED.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

I'm scared! *Sob sob sob WAIL*

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

YOU!

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

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

The next day? Perfectly fine.

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

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

Let's hope tonight is better.

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

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

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Who else

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

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

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

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

He got awefully quiet.

I don't think he ever considered that part.

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

Er...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who else????

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

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

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

Freddie Mercury, watch over my babies

Move over Ozzy... the girls have a new favorite.

Queen.

Mike has been looking up all kinds of crazy stuff online for the kids, like the Crazy Frog videos, and he stumbled upon the Tap Tap Clap Song (as the girls call it).

So now they call it The Spongebob Song.

There are so many things wrong with that, starting with I Hate Spongebob and ending somewhere around the defilement of a national treasure.

Then Alison serenaded us at dinner last night with We Are the Champions and an unusually accurate whistle-slash-hum rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody - their favorite song that I play on the piano.

Time to remake the girls' CD collection: Ozzy, G'N'R, and Queen...

BUT, my children are not as "bad ass" as they pretend to be.

Two nights ago, I couldn't sleep. I laid down in bed and began having flashes of my parents' house going down in flames with the children trapped inside on the second level. Obviously it's because they're going to spend an evening there soon, but for some reason it was incredibly vivid and my mind just would not stop.

And with my history, I started to worry.

Then Alison woke up the next morning and told me, I had a dream that the house was on fire and we needed to get out, but we couldn't.

Sweet Mother of Mercy.

So last night, we had ourselves a fun little fire drill. I taught them to feel the door. Stuff a blanket along the bottom if it's hot. Go to the window and yell and pound on it. If no one comes, break the sonofabitch open and get out. Because Mommy will be outside waiting for you, and the only thing keeping us apart is breaking that glass.

The tears started ROLLING.

Emma was sobbing and holding me, and Kristin sat on the bed, I'm sooo SAAAADDDD.... *sob*

Alison was the only one excited and babbling about what to do.

Before bed, Emma told me at least twenty times, I don't want to play the fire game again, okay?

Me, either, Emmy. I hope we never have to play that game for real.

Burning in Hell on a sugar high

Who knew there was so much waiting involved in Trick-or-Treating?

Waiting for Mommy to sew the outfits.

Waiting to get dressed and for Emma to squeeze into her too-small rabbit skin.

Waiting to leave the house.

WAITING.

And all we wanted was to continue our 72-hour sugar high.

FINALLY! We're leaving for Grandma and Grandpa's house to watch the Packer game and hopefully get some candy.

And they'd BETTER have candy, or it'll be OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!

Hello? Do you have any sweets for us?

What's taking her so long to answer this door?! We're FREEZING to look so cute.

No candy? BUT... they have Glo Doodles! Even better.

The Packers won, and Mommy seemed pretty happy about that. There weren't as many "naughty words" yelled during the game. Grandpa gave us orange cupcakes when we left but we still didn't want to go home yet!

At the store, we couldn't find any crowns or red hair for Kristin since they've already changed Seasonal over to CHRISTMAS, so she got a new pair of Dorothy shoes for her Red Queen costume. But Mommy says we all get to share them at home, just like the other two items we bought: broccoli and milk.

By the time we got home, Daddy had cleaned most of the house because his daddy was coming over to help hand out the candy.

Grandma thought we'd be too old to enjoy the Glo Doodles, but our other Grandpa proved her wrong. Glo Doodles are for every age.

We were so excited to hand out candy! When people walked by on the street, we knocked on the door frantically to gain their attention. We offered to stand on the sidewalk, waving candy at them, but Mommy said no.

We ended up going to five houses tonight, but got plenty of candy and political pamphlets. Mommy said At least we didn't get any Jesus pamphlets this year telling us we're going to Hell, but we weren't sure why that's so bad since that's where Daddy says Mommy is going to live someday. We sat on the floor with our bounty and ate it all immediately.

That might not have been a great idea since all three of us have tummy aches and can't fall asleep.

Halloween is the best!

BUSY

That's the only word I can think of to adequately describe last night's Pumpkin Carving Party.

BU-SY.

I did a little addition this morning and it turns out we had about 50 people in our house for nearly two hours. Half of whom had "weapons." And no one died. And only one kid cried... Elliott. And only one kid spilled his drink... Elliott. (I want paybacks in snuggles.) And everyone seemed to have a good time and eat lots of food.

It was our first non-relatives party, and I must have had some This-Is-My-First-Party-So-Please-Ignore-Me-If-I-Burst-Into-Crazy all over my face. A few parents high-fived me (totally rad, man) when they left and a neighbor mom told me: It was like right out of a magazine!

Sure... if the magazine focuses on parties held in plywood-covered dungeons with a faint smell of cat litter. But thanks!

The room that was STORAGE and JUNK no more than 2 days ago became our pumpkin party playground after the forecast called for "below freezing temps" last night. Yay.

On the second day of cleaning, Mike came down to the remaining storage totes - about three in total with a few extra bits of junk strewn over the floor. He looked around in disgust: I think we're hoarders.

Um, not. HE might be a hoarder (most recently he wouldn't let me throw away a $70 Fuji Film camera from 1999) but most of that crap was our decorations/furniture/pictures from our dating years over a decade ago. Buh-bye. I hope he doesn't look too closely at anything in our garage garbage pile.

All our basement spiders are wandering around down there going Where did all my favorite hiding places go?!?

We transformed the junk pit...

after a night of staying up until 3:30AM and a few anxiety sweats...

into something resembling a kid corral. This is only 1/4 of the people. One. Quarter.

Alison was so excited that her friend "Norgan" (that's "Morgan" for anyone over the age of 3) could make it. She'd been in her class last year and insisted we invite her.

Norgan was the only one Alison hugged when she left.

I should have gotten more pictures of the kids or of the food, but I was BUSY. Here's three-quarters of the finished pumpkins and a handful of kids eating food and watching How to Train Your Dragon.

About 20 minutes into the party, I realized that Noah didn't have an adult with him. My sister "adopted" him as her carving buddy and we laughed when he was the last non-neighbor, non-relative kid just hangin' out with us. My sister said, You might have an overnighter!

He made himself at home with us and at least seemed to know the guy who came to fetch him since I'd never laid eyes on the parents. He is adorable and definitely won the Cutest Pumpkin award!

Last night, after all the guests had left, Mike and I plopped down in the livingroom and laughed at how BUSY it all was, but how much fun the girls had had.

I thanked him over and over and OVER again for helping so much (he did the dishes and put away laundry and helped prepare the floor for carving and carried all TWENTY-FIVE PUMPKINS downstairs and was basically my bitch assistant when I needed more apple cider and help keeping the peace upstairs when children escaped from the dungeon). Thank you thank you thank you. I couldn't have done it without you and I will pay you in food or kinkiness or hours on the PS3.

And at the risk of continuing on like Julia Roberts...

Thanks to my sister for bringing all her awesome decorations - her tombstones, her hanging bats, even the mange-y cat-squirrel that the kids keep saying "doesn't feel well" - and for pointing out that my cat had snuck outside through a hole in a window screen downstairs. Oh, and for cutting up all the fruit since that seemed to be the big hit of the night.

And thanks to my parents for coming up to help my children carve their pumpkins since from the word GO I pretty much neglected them.

Phew!

To all the parents: thanks for sticking around and letting your kids come to our first, very full, very BUSY party.

I'm so glad no one lost an eye.