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.

I am The Punisher

As you may have figured, I've been busy trying to find my zen place the last couple days.

My kids were grounded for a whole hour. I didn't even tell them, but I said I swear to God in my head at least a dozen times yesterday, vowing to punish them to within an inch of their lives for... well, everything they've ever done.

I was so stressed out that I fell asleep last night at 6:30AM this morning.

Which is kind of funny since I can't say I've been dreading sleep. In fact, I've been having the most obscene sex dreams about ex-boyfriends whom I hardly even dated (and certainly never slept with, if that's what you're thinking). I'm guessing it has something to do with me watching the trainwreck of The Bachelorette and one of the guys looks like him.

When I told Mike, he said: I've been having weird dreams, too. Last night I dreamed that I dropped Kermit the Frog off at some hot young chick's house, and it was a Chris Hansen sting operation. He even brought the Mike's Hard Lemonades.

I think I laughed for a solid five minutes.

So there were some bright spots this week.

Like finding three apples between my two apple trees.

And getting three more sections of fence stained. Huzzah! I think that fulfills my quota for the year.

Yes, it is DARK in these pictures. I stained until the very last possible moment. Until the mosquitoes and spiders had me so creeped out I couldn't take it anymore.

I was determined to get something accomplished. I actually spoke these words aloud to my children: Do not talk to me until I talk to you. Unless you're bleeding. Then you can talk to me. Otherwise, I want 10 MINUTES without interruption.

Forget insects, the real pests are offspring.

They played on the swingset and I heard Emma shout out: I see a shooting star! What should I wish for?

To which I responded: How 'bout a nanny.

Halfway through staining, the girls decided they were going to fly a kite. Only they didn't know how to put it together. And they made sure to "read" the instructions right next to me, talking about how much they love flying kites. Guilt trip, anyone? I guess the Catholic runs deep.

I listened to two minutes of it until I caved in. We had fun for a while.... until Emma decided to stomp on the kite as it swooped low, and Kristin let go of the string to watch it take off over the garage and get caught permanently on the roof. Because no good deed goes unpunished.

It wouldn't have been a big deal, but I pushed through the 100-115° heat index all day, finishing the driveway edging and staining, and the girls were all I'm thirsty and I'm hungry. Every. two. minutes.

And I don't think they're growing taller, and they're NOT growing fatter, so I don't know why they're hungry all the time. Yesterday morning, I made them egg/bacon/cheese sandwiches and decided to fry up the rest of the package of bacon. An entire PACKAGE.

I figured Mike would want some for sandwiches or snacking. No more than 10 minutes later, I heard giggling and the words: bacon napkin. By the time I made it back to the kitchen, it was too late. The girls had run off with the entire plate of bacon and engorged themselves on it.

(I gave my first spankings in months, and I definitely think it was worth it. No one gets more than their share of bacon in this house. NO ONE.)

It was quite gratifying later that day to watch Mike hose down the children with cold water.

Yes, I realize they were having fun, but I can always pretend their screams weren't of delight but of pure terror.

Bacon-stealing baby-squealing terror.

What makes this week EXTRA special is that Mike told the girls NO MORE MOVIES until their room is clean. Newsflash to Mike: Their room has NEVER been cleaned solely by them. I've been cleaning it for the last 6 years. I've just STOPPED cleaning it since school ended. Because I have no will power left.

So this is really a punishment for ME.

I'm playing a new game with the girls to try to derail this out-of-control mess in their room. I call it: Five Minutes and then Nose to the Wall.
I'm betting you can guess the rules.

I tell them which part of their room to clean, and five minutes later when they haven't done a single thing, I have them step out into the hallway and put their hands and noses to the wall for two minutes.

Then I give them another "opportunity" to clean. It usually gets finished the second go-around, and my blood pressure doesn't feel quite as high.

Yesterday, their first task was to empty their room of toys into garbage bags.

POW. The Punisher strikes again.

Is there any question why they keep asking to move in with my parents? The people who give my children grape pop and popcorn after every meal?

And yes, I've already asked and my parents said no.

The mess

I'm always in awe when I walk into a person's home and it's organized. Especially when they have children. And when the visit comes unannounced.

I'd like to do a TV show involving me and a camera crew showing up at people's doorsteps with a wad of cash if they'd only show us what their house looks like at its worst. Like Hoarders but not as depressing and where the people would more than gladly pitch their junk if they could only find the time in between wiping asses and unclamping teeth from their ankles.

While my house isn't always messy, there are things about my home that make me cringe.

Usually involving the old standby of our toxic couch - a piece of furniture that has been disinfected with piss more times than a urinal cake, yet we for whatever reason haven't replaced.

(And people wonder why we don't host parties.)

I'd cover it with plastic, but we like to live dangerously. It's been a while since the last fecal contamination, and I figure the half life of shit has to be, what? 10 years? Definitely longer when covered in saran wrap.

Then there's the girls' toilet that I don't bother scrubbing anymore. I squirt the blue Clorox goo in it three times over the course of a day and let the chemicals eat away the disease.

And their bedroom. The place from which the mystery smell eminates, no matter how many times I steam clean the floor. I'm convinced they're hiding dairy products somewhere... the heating vents, perhaps?

Yes, their room - the place that I ask them to clean lest I put their tooth pillows out in the evening (and we all know that the Tooth Fairy bites ankles of naughty children with dirty rooms, and yes, I'm saving for therapy).

And I try, oh I try so hard.

Yesterday was a prime example. The house was gloriously clean for the first hour. Then the kids hit it like a fucking freight train filled with markers and dry cereal hits a cement wall...

Oh, there are things I love about the messes.

Like stickers.

A small, silver heart sticker glitters up at me from the oak kitchen floor. It's a reminder of the times the girls would strip nearly naked and paint and sticker the bejeezus out of giant sheets of paper.

Or Lego creations that I find hidden away, tucked into bookshelves and in the middle of the hallway where one might walk to the bathroom at 3AM in the dark.

They're resourceful in exacting revenge.

So it never dawned on me to investigate into what was holding Emma's newest pumpkin artwork to the hallway wall.

I figured they'd found some tape.

And I was all, Whatever I don't care because it gave me an hour when I didn't have to answer the questions: Are we gonna have a tornado today? and I'm hungry, which isn't really a question but a demand, yet it requires putting immediately down whatever object I'm relieving of day-old pizza sauce with my fingernail in order to fetch food that I'll find encrusted to the floor or furniture the next morning and thus we have the Circle of Life.

Then Emma came up to me, proudly using her Vanna Hands to show me her gallery du jour.

She exclaimed: I licked it to the wall!

Of course you did, honey.

Of course you did.

The next phase

Things around here are pretty fantastic, as always.

My beans and peas and corn and other late-seeded veggies are poking through the ground...

and my main garden is full and growing "fuller" every day.

Holy cabbages.

My shelves are done in the garage, and my gardens are in.

So of course that means it's time to add a new project.

I spent the last two days - hence the lack of blogging - working on my Fall schedule. I'm going to finish my Bachelors Degree in PoliComm and Psych Minor. I only have 32 credit hours left. I can say "only" now because I've decided that I'm graduating this next Spring even if I had FIFTY GAZILLION hours. I'll be the first in my family to get a Bachelors, so this is important to me. Important enough to go back on a Caffeine Only diet if need be.

(For those who are unfamiliar, 12 credit hours is full time. Usually 3-4 classes.)

I'm currently signed up for 16 credit hours for Fall and aiming for 3-6 more as Independent Study.

I can hear your doubts.

I am READY for this part of my life to be over. I enjoy going to school, but I hate hate hate driving 45 minutes each way and HATE juggling my children and housework and schoolwork.

Because I'd prefer not to spend every moment with them cleaning, but they do not cooperate when it comes to limiting their damage. Even when they're not rubbing mud on my walls or plugging my toilets or stashing dairy products under the furniture, they're constantly moving stuff around. Or creating hazards. Every time I open the dishwasher, an alphabet soup of letters clatters to the floor.

They hide my stuff from me.They reorganize and redecorate.

It's a miracle if I can find stuff, let alone put it back where it belongs so I can start to clean.

I call it Square One.

I haven't seen Square One in months.

After getting the house at least in the vicinity of Square One, I reach the phase of my cleaning called: I Stopped Giving a Shart Two Chores Ago.

I shiver at the thought of what my house might look like in August.

In fact, I'm considering asking for slightly more in Student Loans to hire a maid for the duration.

In other late-breaking news, my father-in-law is getting married in two months to a lovely woman he met at the end of last year. Proof that lightning can strike at any time. Mazel tov!

I would like to take this opportunity to tell my sister that he's 60 this year, so it should give her hope that she won't always be a cat lady. Even though she tells me she prefers the cats...

Mike will also have a new 15-year-old step-sister.

Whom I've never met, but I'm sure she's lovely as well.

My new goal? Graduate before my step-sister-in-law-to-be.

---

My sister called me this morning saying she's pretty sure Elliott's been having seizures again. They go in to see his ped (also our girls'... he's a neonatalogist and FANTASTIC) this afternoon. Keep them in your thoughts, if you could.

Working in circles

Did I imagine all of April and May because I thought the rainy portion of this year had passed us by?

For the record, I hate being one of those people who bitch about the crappy weather, but c'mon. THIS:

is the best day we've had all week. Everything else has been Hotter than Satan's Ass Crack - and just as gritty - or Tornado.

But at least our beans and peas are poking their little heads through the dirt!

Okay, I feel better now.

Today, the sun peeked out in the latter half, so I threw the girls outside with threats of me locking them out of the house if they kept letting the cat loose.

(I should note that I also hate being that person who lists all of their daily tasks as a blog post, so let's get that out of the way now so my brain can think.)

Hung the leftover insulation, cut the shelves, put shelves in place, filled more storage bins, cleaned up the garage, and retrieved the cat a half dozen times since the children never ever EVER listen to me. Phew.

This is where I'm at.

You could say it's getting there... slowly. (And can anyone help me with this little problem? The corner spaces aren't 16"OC but more like 9. Is there a trick to putting pre-faced insulation in without doing a hack job on it?)

Mike drove up a bit earlier than expected today and he watched me "at work." He finally stepped in when it looked like I'd lost my sense of direction.

You've been moving around a whole lot the last 15 minutes but haven't done anything. Like, you're REALLY moving around.

I wish I could say that pissed me off and we fought, but I laughed because it was true - I'm literally one of those people who becomes broken when I have too many tasks to complete. I am Spanish Buzz Lightyear. Except I default to going through the motions. Usually that means walking in circles. It's my take from that famous When Harry Met Sally line: Do SOMETHING that resembles ANYTHING!
Anyway, I think my brain is broken after trying to navigate UNI's Course Catalog.

I'm going back to school for what I can only hope is my final year - pray to Jesus and Buddha - this fall.

And if you want the perfect example of what is wrong in bureacracies (and I should mention that I'm a fan of a functional government, not the LACK of one), look at this school's catalog.

On Degree Requirements, courses are listed as such: 100:345. Department:Class#. It works.

But on the Class Schedule, the same class is listed like THIS: COMM PC 5345.

This requires another book to figure out which classes belong to which codes.

Then you have to figure out which single class to take because 95% of the classes this semester are from 10-11AM, MWF. And unless I can clone myself before August, I doubt they'll let me enroll for all of them and only show up once a week.

Total mindf*ck.

Also on my mind:

I'm in total panic that my dryer is going to burst into flames because I'm a paranoid freak whose dryer exhaust hose has started drooping into curly-cues conveniently the same week that I read an article about the danger of dryer lint.

I'm trying to coordinate dropping off Mike's car to get fixed. He nailed a raccoon doing 75 on the interstate and screwed up his radiator and condenser along with his bumper. I have learned that hitting a raccoon is not considered a collision, thus leaving us with only a $100 deductible. I'd dare the insurance company to ask the raccoon if he felt it was a collision...

I feel the summer slowly slipping away from us and we have no camping vacations planned. Yet again.

Where is Alison's damned Leapster so they can stop fighting over them?

My lawn needs to be mowed and I'm wondering if I missed my only rain-free opportunity today when I jerked off with insulation* in the garage instead of baling the hay-grass.

I fed my kids TWO processed meals today. TWO. I'm going to hippie hell.

And on.

And on.

And on.

It might explain why it's 3AM and I'm still awake, watching The Bachelorette online instead of sleeping.

(By the way, whothefuck does that Bentley guy think he is and why do I totally want to see JP naked?)

So yeah.

Maybe I should go back to pacing my house in circles. At least I looked busy...

*itchy!

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.

Titillating Tuesday: Pool Day!

In a plot twist which is sure to reveal my lack of mental soundness, I have scheduled, nay insisted that we go to the pool today.

If you happen to be out on the town, look for the only adult to be fully clothed and wearing a Phantom-of-the-Opera-esque mask.

---

This is a special message to my neighbors:

You may have heard some children screaming this evening.

I can explain.

We're having a bit of a communication/separation issue in our home.

The kids feel the need to keep tabs on me - they think I'm going to run away (which tells me my kids are more in-tuned to my mental well being than I thought) - and I'm having a hard time communicating to them that I'm not leaving. Mostly because it's still illegal to leave them alone.

This means they come outside to check on my construction progress every 5 minutes.

Why not just let them go outside and play? you might ask. Great question.

I do. And then they run off to the neighbors' house to beg for snacks out of their pantry. Or they whine to me - as I've got sweat running down every orifice in the World's Least Sexy Way - that they need food, even if they've literally JUST EATEN. Because everything revolves around food.

Then they go in the house. And out of the house. And in. And out. And they run to tell me that so-and-so has let the cat out for the umpteenth time in the last 20 minutes. And I sigh and hunt down our not-outside cat who is just as obsessed with killing birds as the girls are with food.

So I had had a revelation tonight. I told them if they didn't stop letting the cat out, they'd have to go to their room while I worked.

Out I went to the garage. Out came the kids and the cat.

I followed through but told them I was locking their door shut. (Something I can't do, but I held it shut for about 15 seconds.)

Which would explain the screaming.

Alison had the most god aweful noise coming out of her in the moment it took to realize her door wouldn't open. Sobbing. WAILING. It doesn't even describe it. She pulled on the door for about 5 seconds, then through her screams I heard her say, Kuh-h-h-hri-ri-sssstin!!! I *ahhhh* have *ahhhhhh* an idea... and the sound of her blinds raising and her little fists banging on her window.

At that moment, all of the speeches I'd given them of what to do in a fire came crashing down.

Bang on the window.

Keep yelling and banging.

And if you have to get out, take a toy and smash it open.

I opened the door at the 15 second mark and held back my laughter at the thought of my daughter going from zero to insane in less than 2 seconds. I pulled her back from the window and hugged her sad little face.

I have no idea what happened to her, but she hates the idea of being left alone. Nothing happened, it's as if she just realized that people can die and leave forever, so she wants to keep tabs on me.

Desperately.

---

In case you're keeping score, it is 4 AM. (And a-thank-you for noticing.)

I had texted Mike after he left, asking what I would get if I had both the shelves built and the house clean.

His response: Something.

I told him he really knows how to set a low bar.

Regardless, I've decided to find out if he really is bringing something home for me.

Besides the obvious jokes of: a weiner in my ear or all the other things a 13-year-old boy might say. Because I married a husband who is perpetually 13. And likes to pretend his body parts can change size as if they were props on Alice In Wonderland.

I set my alarm for 2:30.

Obviously I just woke up.

Time to get cleaning!

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

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!!!

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!

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.

Harden my heart

It's garage sale weekend.

The time of year when garbage bags and tears are flying.

Mine are from joy.

Theirs?

Not as much.

Although I turned Alison around. She was so mad at me for throwing away a couple pictures she'd drawn - only to leave lying them around her bedroom floor. I explained that we "only want to keep the best of the best toys" and when their room is a mess, they can't even play with their favorite toys.

She nodded and said it was a good idea.

Me = Master Manipulator.

With every toy that goes in the give-away bucket or trash, I mutter to myself a maniacal, sadistic...

I win.

Ships in the night

Mike and I went to town yesterday for groceries and miscellaneous stuff that we probably didn't need. (I bought $50-worth of garnet chips... yay me!)

While leaving Barnes & Noble - the girls' favorite store - we heard a siren from what I assume was a police car.

And since the neighbor's house burned down, the girls equate sirens with trouble.

Emma: Listen! I think someone got into an accident!

Kristin: Or maybe they're going to jail.

Alison: No, I think someone got their feelings hurt.

(Because cops are on-call therapists. Didn't you know that???)

It was after Alison's comment that Mike burst out laughing. I forget that he's not around very much to hear all their interesting perspectives on life.

Mike's off work this weekend, but I doubt we'll spend much time together.

Today is the first day in over a week that it's not rained (yet). Mike woke up at 2AM and watched movies all morning, and he's climbed back into bed while I'm getting ready to WORK. That sounds fair, right? But I can't pass up the opportunity to get some housework done around here.

I'm hoping to see the sun for a few minutes in between gusts of wind.

If I'm lucky, I'll become a human tumbleweed and roll on down to the local tavern...

Valuable lessons of life

1. I am not to be trusted with alarm clocks.

Somehow, I managed to not only turn off FIVE alarms Friday morning, but not remember any of it, only to wake up at 8:02. (I'm beginning to think that number is significant somehow since I always default to waking at 8:02.)

I called Carol in the Office - this time to tell her that I would not be bringing the girls in at all, as opposed to pulling them from school at 11 to leave for Milwaukee. Then I laughed and told her we were having a hard time getting motivated since I overslept and the kids were still in bed.

Carol in the Office didn't seem amused.

2. Road trips never ever ever go as planned, especially when you're trying to get somewhere for dinner reservations.

We left our house promptly at 1:05 on Friday to drive up north.

We encountered torrential downpours.

And neverending construction.

And idiot drivers who must've thought I appreciated being blocked behind them and a delivery truck doing 10-under for 15 miles. (Mike and I played Pick Your Pony. I chose the UPS guy. Mike chose the white-knuckled lady. I won.)

When the girls weren't sleeping, they were begging us for food or to pull over for the 5th, 6th, 700th time to use the bathroom.

The trip that normally takes me 3-1/2 hours (I speed) took us over 6-1/2.

When it became obvious we weren't going to make it to dinner at 6:30, we told my cousin and her husband to go ahead without us (they had other family there as well).

3rd potty stop and more construction. We're on the neverending car ride from hell.

Sorry!!! We just ordered a pitcher of margaritas so there will be alcohol when you get here.

Thank Jeebus.

3. Swimsuit karma is a bitch.

Back in high school and before the days of mix-and-match swimsuits, I used to swap out the bottoms from a large suit for mediums. I can't even count how many times I did it. I should have figured it would bite me in the ass someday.

After dinner on Friday, we walked over to Justice to buy the girls swimsuits.

We found three of those weird 2-piece suits that cover the kids like 1-piece suits. I'm sure they have a name, but I don't know it.

It wasn't until I was at the hotel that I realized karma had struck... my tiniest little monkey, Kristin, was stuck with a size 6 top with balloon-underpants-sized 7s. FARK.

4. Always slide-lock your hotel room door.

It was about 9:30 by the time we hoisted all our luggage and toys and crap out of the car and into the hotel lobby to check in.

Everyone was tired and the girls were pissed that they couldn't swim because the pool was "closed." For those who aren't yet parents, any time you don't want to do anything, it is "closed," or "broken," or "the batteries are dead."

We took our key and walked into our dark hotel room and...

Someone's already in here.

What do you mean?

I mean SOMEONE IS IN HERE. Look at the bed.

I peeked in and sure enough, the sheets were all over the place. Not only that, but the room smelled like armpit.

Thankfully, the person who was staying there wasn't in the room for the shock of their lifetime when five strangers threw their luggage on their floor to rest before trekking back down to the lobby only to have to turn around again and head up to the third floor.

5. Barnes & Noble is a good time had by all.

Mike never stops making fun of people. He held this up to me and said, It reminds me of your sister.

I'm not sure why, but we all congregated toward the children's books. Uncle Ryan gathered all the kids for storytime. Knowing him like I did, I figured he was causing trouble.

I asked: Is it about poop? Did I call it or what?

6. Balloons are awesome. I realize this should be a given, but sometimes we forget just how incredible balloons really are. Especially at the age of almost-3. And especially when they're tied in huge bundles bigger than your body.

7. Swimming should strike fear into the heart of every child. Sunday rolled around and the kids FINALLY (FINALLY!) had a chance to swim at the hotel at 9:30 at night. I have never seen those kids move so fast in and out of elevators and down the hall. Emma and Alison were fighting with Mike that they "knew how to swim."

They don't.

Emma showed us her super-fast lightning splash swimming technique.

Which is ironic because that's exactly what she did when she walked herself into the deep end and over her head about 30 seconds into swimming, flailing her hands to signal Holy shit this water is hard to breathe through!

Mike was waiting for just such a moment and was in there about 10 seconds later to pull her out by her armpit, but Emma made sure to stay in the 3-foot-deep end for the rest of the night. I should mention that both Kristin AND Emma needed to be fished out of the pool, whereas Alison was "diving" underwater for fun.

And stickers. Always stickers.

8. No matter how much you clean your house before leaving for the weekend, something will always smell funky when you come home.

Mike thought it was a little bit of broccoli left in the garbage disposal.

It was when I walked into the girls' bathroom this morning that I found the culprit.

They'd shut the door, so it was especially foul to walk into the bathroom and see the murky turd soup waiting for me, screaming Welcome home!!!!

Nothing says "home" like unflushed turds.

9. Kids can shorten anything.

Like a combined 11-1/2 hours on the road, plus a swimming adventure, and some shopping, and some partying, and playing on a huge playground set, plus a little bit of visiting with family, and lots of food.

Hey Emma, what did we do this weekend?

We went to a restaurant.

Anything else?

Um... nope.

Memories that make you want to burn your retinas

It's been a while since I've showered with the kids.

The constant finger pokes to the rear and comments on my sizeable butt crack were a major deterrent. (Hear that, Mike? I don't even let the KIDS get away with those sorts of shenanigans.)

Plus, they're getting to the age when - unless we're in a Northern Wisconsin campground shower and the hot water is limited to 1/2 a pint - it's best if they don't feel so comfortable around Mommy's saggy naked skin.

I didn't have time this morning for a bath and the small tsunami that ensues, so I let the girls get in the shower with me.

Mom, I love your jewelry! That looks like FUN.

Yep. THE END. You have officially figured out the one thing that will banish you from my showers forever.

They still talk about how mommy got a "shot to her butt" in the doctor's office.

Which makes me wonder which traumatizing Mommy Moment will be burned into their brains as their first vivid memory...

Better save for therapy.

Alas, I'll ponder that another day. It's time to get moving. We've got another load of laundry to finish and two rooms to clean before leaving for Milwaukee.

Are you ready for us? Mwahahahaha.

Thursday Blursday

I didn't volunteer at school yesterday because I needed to start cleaning out the basement.

I didn't volunteer today because I'm tired, I'm cramped, and the girls are getting out of school at noon tomorrow so we can drive to Wisconsin and I figured I may as well just help out then.

So what's my excuse going to be tomorrow? Anyone have any good ones?

I've gotta keep it short today since there's the second half of the basement storage calling my name: Come and sort me! Time to throw out Mike's Polo shirt from 1995! You'd need a tetanus shot to wear any of this Claire's jewelry... chuck it! Loooooorennnn.... Where arrrrrre you????

And it takes every ounce of energy while packing these totes not to constantly say out loud Totes m'gotes.

Every. Ounce.

Mike is at a meeting after 2 hours of sleep last night, so he'll be coming home nappy. The kids I'm sure will be just as "entertaining" as always, if you think it's entertaining to have Emma announce to the world that she farted on Tuesday. Several times. Then proceeded to make fart noises with her mouth.

Other than that, nothing much is happening today. I think I'll lock Mike in our room to sleep, lock the kids in theirs with games, and dig up a bottle of wine at the end of today.

Or drink Mike's PBR.

A girl's gotta do...

Bugger off, cobwebs

It's supposed to rain today. Again.

I know this because Emma begged to take her Hello Kitty umbrella to school this morning. I of course caved in. I don't put up much of a fight after dragging their sleeping baby carcasses out of bed with 30 minutes to get them all awake, fed, dressed, brushed, de-stinkified in the mouth-al region, and in the car.

Which is also how their favorite stuffed animals went to school with them today. The teachers can deal with that.

I thought I'd spend my morning folding laundry and making jewelry - two activities that require minimal brain involvement.

Dear, God. It's me, The Mom. I don't want to use my brain today. Can't it get a vacation? I used up all my energy pulling apart that damned turkey breast last night and pretending to care about the girls' Lego creations. Isn't that enough? What do you want from me?!? Sincerely, The Woman Falling Asleep While Standing

I already had my day planned out, but I really don't feel like packing up totes in the basement today.

Especially after the bed bug dream I had last night. Ick. I want to stay far, far away from any place that might house spiders or anything creepy crawly. I was scratching all night and freaking out about spiders. Lucky for Mike, I wasn't sleep-spider-fighting so I could keep my arm thrashing to a minimum.*

*Edited to Add: Mike says I was yelling in my sleep last night: Get it! Get away! So I evidently wasn't as lucid as I thought.

Speaking of creepy - and completely out of left field unless you watch Ellen - does Ralph Macchio give anyone else the heebie jeebies?

I saw him on DWTS and when he went over to his wife and white-Urkel son, I felt a little vomit rise in my throat. Some child actors should never ever ever grow up to be adults. We should freeze them in their cute tiny kid bodies.

Like the kid from Sixth Sense.

Who, in this picture, was arrested for possession of marijuana and drunk driving resulting in an accident.

Crime doesn't pay. Unless you can write a bestselling book about it.

Okay, so back to MY life:

Duh duh dunnnn.... (cue ominous music)

I got a happy little letter in my mailbox yesterday from the IRS.

Dear Sucker, You owe us $600 from 2008. Thanks and you're welcome. Love, the IRAss.

Well, crap. It was my mistake and I kinda wondered if they'd ever catch it. (They did.) And I don't feel that bad about paying it since it's state and local school district taxes they need in order to pay for our brand new high school. But our tax return this year keeps shrinking, and shrinking, and shrinking...

Which completely puts a damper on the theory behind hiring a maid since I apparently "suck" at housework.

Then again, the spiders don't seem to mind a little dust here and there.

I need to find a poem my mom had had hung in her house for the longest time that went something like Quiet down cobwebs, Dust go to sleep, I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

So there you have it. Bugger off, cobwebs. My kids might not be babies, but that doesn't mean that I couldn't use a nap.

Hopefully one that doesn't involve creepy crawlies OR Karate Kids.

Spending time with the ones you love to lock in their room

I'm playing the Twenty Minutes To Clean Until I Come In With a Garbage Bag and Throw Everything Away game with the kids. To add to the fun, I've taken away their Leapster Explorers and am holding them hostage. Good times... I figure it'll give me enough time to blog this all out on my phone since - you've guessed it - my computer had a nervous breakdown.

In other news: The girls didn't have school yesterday, so I used that opportunity to teach them stuff. Like who George Washington and Abe Lincoln were. And why our current president has slightly different colored skin. Not that they asked, since they think we're all shades of tan, anyway, but I'm trying to open their eyes to history. And I'd like for them to stop yelling, "Mom! Look! A BLACK guy!" every time they see Darth Vadar. (Or, on the opposite end of the token, calling Storm Troopers "white guys.")

I'm not sure how it happened, but "school" lasted nearly SIX HOURS. And then I was spent. And I realized I had to clean yet and start the roast for supper. I have no idea how teachers do this every day without killing someone.

I probably shouldn't joke. I cracked Emma in the head with the Wii remote today. I would like to say now that I do NOT abuse my children... on purpose. Just accidentally when they get in the way of my exercise programs.

UPDATE: Their timer just went off. Many tears as I stuffed everything from favorite sleeping buddies to books and Lite Brites in the garbage sack. Fortunately for them, I am a merciful god mother, so after they wailed and cleaned their room through sobs, I brought the bag out. I have never seen them put stuff away faster in their lives.

The Honeymoon didn't last long... I can hear them jumping off their bed, pretending they're on a pirate ship about to be eaten by alligators. And, countdown to injury. 5, 4, 3, 2...

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...

Titillating Tuesday: A birthday and a pee stick

It's NEGATIVE. I know this disappoints some of you, and I'm pretty sure that includes my husband (he's teasing me that my excitement at the minus sign "crushed" his dream of another baby... wait a second, let me cry a tear for you - nnnnnhi UGH - one tear).

Now you can go back to your regularly scheduled program of wishing horrible things on other people...

(And for those of you who hilariously mailed me pee sticks - or the people who immediately told me how Up and Up brand pee sticks have false negatives or whatnot - if Mother Nature doesn't get movin', I'll be using every damned one of those things if I have to drink water nonstop for days. Today is TEN DAYS, people. TEN FREAKIN' DAYS.)

But thanks! I finally caved in when Tammie sent the last update request over Twitter...

---

So, it's my kids' sixth birthday today. Yay... I just spent the last three hours constructing the world's weirdest 3D cupcake creations for their classrooms. Because they just HAD to have a dog, cat and frog.

I'm hiding them from the cat in the computer room.

I learned my lesson this morning after eating a piece of bacon that had been Moochie approved via licking.

---

Mike told me tonight - as he wound up his fifth hour of racing Gran Turismo 5 - he knew that our marriage would last because, and I quote: I act like a child and you like taking care of children.

To which I responded: I like it? Or "it's legally required"?

I jest. I love my kids.

---

And since Mike is on a roll in sensitivity, he told me I'd better start putting in 40 hours of work a week. When he asked me what I do, I started listing off the basics.

Cook for 90 minutes.

Drive the kids every day for an hour.

Do the dishes for 15 minutes.

Do the laundry for a couple hours.

Flush toilets for at least 5 minutes a day.

Pick up the garbage that everyone else miraculously doesn't notice around the house.

Teach the kids stuff, like, oh... where the sun goes and how plants grow, or how our heart works to create circulation. You know, stuff that they ask about.

Un-crash the computer every other goddamned day.

So really? Not much.

But it'll seem like I do a lot more once I make his butt spend three hours whipping up a little batch of cupcakes... about 72 of them. Only to drop them off for other people to eat.

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

And Merry Non-Pregnancy Day!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you fix the computer?

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

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

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

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

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