Embarking on what I hope isn't a sequel

My children have appointed themselves Holiday Greeters. Every person they meet gets a joyous: Happy Fireworks Day! Except they started shouting that four days ago, and no matter how much I try to explain that it's the Fourth of July, they wake up every morning asking Mom, is it Fireworks Day today???

Imagine their excitement when I sighed and told them that yes, yes it is.

I was hoping to sit down with them and show them maps of the colonies and tell them some of the more exciting points of the birth of our nation, at the very least to explain why we shoot off fireworks, but I'm having a bad case of I don't give a sh*ts today. Not that I don't care about the holiday and such - before anyone starts throwing out crazy labels like "socialist" "democrat elite" or "liberal ingrate," although really, aren't those the same things? - it's just that my energy is sapped from the mere thought of packing up to go camping tomorrow morning for FIVE DAYS.

This is one of those brilliant plans I schemed up when I panicked that we had absolutely no plans for this Summer. And I saw that Mike's only empty long off was coming up this week. And I came up with the brilliant idea of camping up north and going to the Mall of America but then realized that Minnesota had closed all its State Parks due to the budget impasse and holy crap wherethehellarewegonnagocampingnow??? So I freaked out and signed us up for the only remaining campsite in Prairie du Chien. (That's in Wisconsin, for any stalkers who might be taking notes. Let the underwear sniffing commence.)

I'm freaking out because I'm not sure where I'm going to find 18 pairs of clean white socks for the kids, and because I like to add to the pandemonium, Mike is working nights and will be of no use to me.

I don't know if you remember last year's camping trip from hell and did I mention that I packed unpacked and set up the campsite entirely on my own? I get to relive that nonsense. At the very least, let's hope the weather is better this time around... no one wants to see a Part II.

(Is it any surprise that we're bringing TWO TENTS? We've learned our lesson.)

My dad is home alone right now, so I figured I'd drag him out to the fireworks in downtown tonight, but when I called him, he told me he was having some, um... personal health issues possibly involving some moldy cheese he'd eaten.

So now I have to make the decision: Do I brave the crowds with the girls? or do I crush their dreams of seeing fireworks and stay home to search out socks and swimsuits?

It's a tough one.

Happy Fireworks Day!

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.

Titillating Tuesday: It's a trap!

As Mike logged his third consecutive hour carousing the internet last night, looking for guns and chef's coats (which, I might add, he is now claiming he should have followed through on purchasing), I realized a horrible truth: I would soon be fighting him for computer time in order to do my homework.

Oh, the terror!

I devised a system in my head in my typical OCD fashion, mostly involving a stoplight system according to how urgently I needed to kick him off.

He must've been feeling a telepathic twinge in his brain because he immediately asked how much money we had.

Go buy a laptop tomorrow. You need it for school.

Do I need it for school? or did you realize that your computer time would be drastically reduced and you're now panicking?

No matter the reasoning behind his sudden turnaround on buying non-gun things, I'm feeling like this is a trap.

And scheming up my next move.

---

On top of all the computer speculation, I talked Mike into buying some blocks for edging out my gardens. Actually, I didn't do much asking. I hijacked my dad's truck and ran off to Menard's for block, and Mike decided to come along for the ride and criticize my life choices (aka: having too many projects) the entire way.

You see, everywhere I went the past two months, it seems as though I was always coming home with free or nearly free flowers.

Work for Stephie? Free flowers.

Sit at the greenhouse and drink with Stephie? Cheap flowers with a side of free flowers.

And two nights ago, we visited my parents after their return from a long camping trip at the Lake of the Ozarks. A couple hours in, Mom turned to me suddenly, Do you need some flowers? I've got some flowers, but we've got to sneak them out the back of the garage!

She explained that the neighbor had given her some extra irises and Mom didn't realize until later that she already had them in her gardens. And Mom apparently has some kind of bizarro Flower World kind of Affirmative Action going on when it comes to plant percentages.

I hummed the Mission Impossible theme song as Mike, Mom and I tip-toed around the back of her garage, through another neighbor's lawn and bushes, and into the back of our Suburban with a couple boxes of what looks like tall grass.

People probably think we're nutjobs already, so I can only imagine what they thought of us "stealing off" with a box of grass.

Mike pointed out: I think we already grow this stuff in our lawn. I chopped it down with the lawn mower two days ago.

Touche'.

So the moral of this story is that I have a shitload of flowers. I didn't want them to die, which is why I've moved onto this Summer's project #482: Build gardens.

---

When Mike and I got to Menard's, I noticed something amazing! The block was 15c off! (Amazing, right? Well, amazing when you have to buy 400 of them...)

I started thinking...

and thinking...

and thinking...

I'd always wanted to run brick along the edge of our driveway, ever since I saw every single fancy house had it. And no one in our neighborhood did. (I like being different. Can you tell? I bet I'm the only 30-year-old you know with chin acne...)

Anyway, we filled up my dad's truck with mulch and block and headed home.

I immediately regretted not getting more block.

On comes Summer project #483: Edge the driveway.

---

I called Menard's the next day, and - even with my sister rooting against me - they agreed to give me the sale price even though it had expired.

Haha, SUCK IT.

We drove back and filled up with $100 more in block with great aspirations of having a beautiful driveway.

Two days later, we have THIS:

A half-finished garden and a quarter-finished driveway edge.

My favorite moment of the week was when the elderly gentleman drove past me, huffing and puffing and stomping on the shovel. He said, Hittin' rock there? This was the empty lot they used to dump the rock and dirt on during construction.

Seriously??? OHMYGODKILL.

We have every manner of sharp-edged tool on our driveway so we can have various methods of hackage to mix things up. Hammers. Ice-picks. Trowels. Shovels. Post hole diggers.

Summer project #484: Get a foot massage.

---

As I was sweating and no doubt sporting some lovely pimplage on my dirty brow, a lovely young girl from Estonia (Google it) ran up in a pair of short shorts and Russian-esque accent.

She was selling Southwestern books. I told her four times I was NOT interested, but was nice and chatted with her for a minute so I could get a break from kneeling on gravel.

As she ran away, I told Mike, That's your dream job, isn't it? Running from door to door in your short shorts, talking to housewives? I'm thinking you could make a career of it.

He's planning on growing his hair out until Christmas now, so I'm thinking he could pass for a really, really ugly German woman. And before any of you Germans protest, I AM that really hairy, ugly German woman.

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone! It's back to work for me...

Where have I been?

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

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

Alison: There's still one left...

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

Alison: But there's STILL ONE LEFT.

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

That was on Day #5 of summer vacation.

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

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

Then I started laughing.

And the kids started laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And up went the storage unit...

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

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

We got there.

The other team got there.

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

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

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

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

We said SCREW IT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elder care

I watch a lot of late night infomercials.

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

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

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

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

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

She needs help.

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

Luckily, my uncle lives at their farmhouse with Grandma.

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

She could cruise around like a teenager.

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

What on Earth do you do???

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's the responsible thing to do here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touche'.

The legacy

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

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

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

They still call him Bill to this day.

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

Bring on the Turn water into wine jokes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rest in peace, Grandpa.

Birth, death, and a little bit in between

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kristin kept asking Why? She looked concerned.

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

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

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

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

Emma decided she'd like to become a carrot.

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

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

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.

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.

Tornados suck

I called my parents last night, Do you know if those clouds were all we're supposed to get tonight? It didn't even RAIN.

I watched a front pass over us that looked like the first wall of a hurricane just before the sun popped out. Little did I know that as I was wondering where the storm went, a powerful tornado was blowing through my hometown in Wisconsin.

I'm still trying to piece together what happened from friends and family, but it seems to have started south of Council Grounds then picked up speed through the airport and across Hillside to the lake.

I grew up there. (Not just in Merrill, but right in the path at that orange circle. I lived half my life on Pa-Tray Lane.)

I have to laugh at the amount of video footage that's being posted to Facebook... leave it to Merrillites to forego safety for the sake of "journalism."

While the path of the storm seemed mostly rural, there were a lot of homes destroyed and damaged. One guy said he had just gotten to shelter when he looked up and saw sky - his house had been swiped right off the foundation. He thought there was no way they would survive the next few minutes.

And we're hearing stories of friends who lost houses and pets and vehicles. One is a family friend who barely got his daughter into the basement before the storm hit, sucking his house away along with their brand new puppy who'd decided to turn back up the steps. His truck is now in a swamp.

I just spoke to my Aunty Kritsy. She had me laughing so hard at how lucky they were... they'd gone to bed last night listening to the "wind" as it picked up and all the cars passing their house on their usually deserted country road. When she drove to work this morning, she noticed the tops of some of their trees were down, and further down the road, a whole swath of trees were gone, leaving a path through the woods at least 3/4 of a mile wide. The tornado had "hopped" over their house as they slept. Sheesh! I told her to sleep with her concrete boots on next time, just to be safe.

Businesses - one of which was a town staple for decades - were blown completely away or torn down to their metal skeletons.

I'm so sad. I find storms fascinating, but people are saying this one was a bohemoth that they'll be measuring using miles.

Here's video of the storm as it passed over Hwy 51 (just to the east of the lake) and appeared to rise back into itself.

I'm also grateful. This storm missed all of my family members and so far I've heard reports of damage to friends' homes but no injuries. My mother had just arrived home on Saturday after staying up in Merrill for over a week, so I'm especially grateful for that. My grandmother - who lives in town on the North side - only had a few things blown around on her porch, and I'm sure that'll be enough to keep her fretting to her card club buddies for the next week or so. I'm so glad nothing worse happened or she'd be inconsolable.

If anyone knows of a donation site or families who need children's items, etcetera, please let me know.

I've gotta stop Googling this stuff and take a nap. I stayed up so late last night worrying that I overslept my three alarms.

Strippers and smiley fries

As promised...

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

So I made people promise. No parties.

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

Although I'm working on him...

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

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

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

It was only a four-hour drive,

past scenic landmarks like the tree air freshener plant,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My mother. Always the life of the party.

I suppose we might be related.

And my sister.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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