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.

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...

Best laid plans

I could kill someone, specifically the quality control personnel at Swingset Manufacturers of China.

Just before dusk, I finished dragging the bloody corpse of a swingset into its 2-foot-deep grave. Once reasonably level and stable - me, not the swingset - I climbed on a ladder and plopped each of the chains onto the hinges.

Plink!

Plink!

Plink, plink!

Plink!

Five down, last one...

ERK!!!

ERRRRRRRKKKKKK....

It refused to drop in. Upon further investigation, the gap is about .5mm too narrow, and no amount of swearing, debating or plier-pulling was going to convince it to be otherwise.

The girls cared not.

They took turns last night, out in the mist, swinging and pushing. Pushing and swinging.

I couldn't get them to stop long enough to fill in the mud holes.

This morning, I threw cereal at them and watched Emma's monkey face as she realized the swingset was REAL. It wasn't just a hallucination after all! All three kids flocked outside where they spent the next hour in the spritzing rain.

MY children. The kids who are so deathly afraid of thunderstorms that I catch them watching the rain approach on the radar channel. They were outside in the RAIN.

It was almost too good to be true. I reached my arm outside to snap this picture:

(Notice the swing to the right not being used? I have the link wedged so fucking hard in there, it's gonna take a sumo wrestler sitting in the swing to pop it out. Nonetheless, I told the girls if they sat in it before I fixed it, they're going to lose swingset privileges. Which should tell you how desperate my kids are for a swingset of their own since they never listen to me.)

Now I have to decide how much I care if they have a play-pirate-ship on the east end. Which is not that much at the present moment. Maybe it's because I'm still pissed off at that link...

Also going well? My gardens.

In the realm of everything you really don't give a donkey's rear about: I have leafy lettuce ready to harvest. I noticed only after one of my very-much-not-a-head-lettuce plants bolted and I was all What the eff is going on with this lettuce that it's bolting, why haven't any of them started to form heads ohmygod I'm a moron.

(Almost that quickly.)

I chopped the sucker down and fed the girls and myself a 10PM salad "snack." This means I have about 18 lettuce plants ready or almost ready for harvest.

Salads, anyone?

I didn't think I'd be QUITE this excited to have my own garden, but as I rinsed the dirt off some head lettuce today, I realized we aren't eating chemicals. We're eating something that I planted and watched grow, leaf by leaf.

It's a weird feeling. I'm really not all that granola-y. I don't typically buy organic (I'm not anti-organic... I'm just too lazy to hunt through the products). I've rinsed off the store food and wondered if I'm rinsing it or scrubbing it hard enough to remove all the shit - sometimes literally shit - and what it's doing to our bodies. Not that I felt I had any real choice in the matter.

Now I do.

And it's making me feel like a gardening superhero.

In fact, I'm channeling some Veronica Corningstone today: Power... Powerrrrr...

We noticed our first Roma and Better Boy tomatoes sprouting fruit last night, and this morning I saw an itty bitty, teeny weeny bell pepper growing.

The excitement in our house is almost palpable.

Date night and the garden exchange

This past week, the girls and I drove to Stephie's shop to cover it for a few hours while she took Elliott to the doctor. The doc said he's having what are called 'partial seizures.' (He goes in on Thursday for an EEG... hopefully we'll know more very soon.)

My sister has since kissed my arse and bought me flowers and taken my children overnight. I haven't been courted this intensely since... well, never.

In case you're curious, Mike and I spent our Date Night at Zeppelin's where I had the most delicious Beef Foie Gras on top of mushrooms and asparagus with a side of parmesan potatoes. Ohmygodyum.

The food is delicious and the atmosphere is very museum-underground-tavernesque.

Plus when the "boss" took my drink order and got it wrong, he brought me a second beer even though I told them it was fine and I would choke down a Bud Light. Maybe not in those words.

Mike agreed they were trying to get me drunk.

Especially since we'd just come from a graduation party for our neighbor's son and I'd tied a few on.

Which might be why I found this funny on the walk home:

It reads: Get off the phone and drive.

And the car parked behind it:

Scrape!

Maybe it was just funny to me...

Anyway, the rest of our date night was spent at Best Buy, Barnes & Noble, my father-in-law's house to feed his cats, and then to MY parents' house to crash and watch Hall Pass. Funny but not a real feel-good movie if you're living in the world of Everyone I Know Is Getting Divorced This Year.

We're the lamest 30-year-olds EVER.

Just to prove it: I was more excited that my radishes were ready to harvest than I was to have a Date Night.

So excited that I immediately ran some over to the neighbors' house to share in my radishy wealth.

They, in turn, gave me a heaping handful of rhubarb. YUMMY!

I'm thinking we should work out some kind of crop rotation between the three of us neighbors who are gardening and have a garden exchange. We could mix it in with that game night we'd been talking about reviving. I'll see your garlic and raise you a head of lettuce.

We could knock out grocery shopping and Date Night in one shot.

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.

We're not in freakin' Kansas

I wonder why my kids are afraid of everything.

See those flags and lines in the yard? They tell me where the utilities are buried. They're so Mommy doesn't get e lec tro cu ted. Okay? So don't move the flags or Mommy will die.

I promise to start a therapy trust fund as soon as possible.

I had had bright bright hopes of going to Menard's to buy lumber and brackets to build the girls a swingset that they most desperately need.

Because if Mommy doesn't get that sonofabitchingodawful thing built to give the kids a reason to go outside, they'll be on me like glue all summer.

Here's Kristin from Tuesday's trip to the Aquatic Center. She spent 40 minutes in the pool and about 15 minutes with Mommy on the loungers before she realized I wasn't going to entertain her.

She's just happy as can be.

So when I discovered that they would end my life if it meant they could play on a swingset - a recent development - I went all HELLS YEAH and started shopping around for a really cool playhouse-slash-slide-slash-swing contraption.

Until I saw the dollar signs. $1800 for some of them at the cheapest.

Eff that stuff.

I'm building them a 3-seater swingset with braun and sweat, and it surely won't cost me any $1800.

Mike told me to "buy a kit," not to build it.

I explained that the kit IS essentially what I'm buying. That the swingset doesn't magically appear on our lawn and set itself. I still have to build it.

All this work in the 90+ degree ACTUAL temps (I say ACTUAL because of the heat advisories with humidity... holy hell. Literally.) should help me lose a few poundage.
At the pool, I noticed that a lot of women were cuties, but most of them were wearing mumus and weird see-through tarps. I figured if they can show off their bulgy parts, I might just have to whip out "the girls" for public display.

She's hard to see, but there's one fine specimen on the far, far left side. And I totally give her props for puttin' herself out there.
I was outside again today in the blazing heat, playing in the garden, when Mike texted me from the golf course:

How you feel about taking the pork chops and kids to Delmar's

Of course I thought bitterly back to our recent Date Night - a once-in-a-lifetime-year happening - which turned into watching UFC fights at Delmar's house instead of our romantic night at home, but then I remembered that I probably had more fun with Delmar's wife than I would have with my husband passed out asleep on the couch.

Okay, sounds fun!

We ended up at another coworker's house instead, and they hijacked the neighbor's blow up waterslide. The kids had a blast.
Unfortunately, I forgot to change out of my gardening clothes, so I'm sure we all looked like a ragamuffin band once the kids were drenched, Mike was slightly drunk and sunburned, and I looked like a Proactiv "Before" picture.
I have three phone numbers from women who pounced on me at t-ball to get the kids together with them sometime, and several coworkers who I'd love to spend time with their wives, and neighbors and family and bears, oh my! Is this what life is like for people with older children? I want to do everything and nothing all at once.

At least we're starting to get more fun people in our lives. It's hard going from 0 to 3 kids in 60 seconds flat at age 24/23. So this is a nice change... GAINING a few friendships.

One of the couple's children - a 3-year-old boy - kept calling Mike Jesus because of his hair. I told Mike to be on his best behavior lest he scare the child religiously for the rest of his life.

We had fun, and stayed longer than we'd anticipated because the tornado sirens started up. We weren't too worried until we headed for our cars and saw the black, lowering clouds and hail.

Whoops.

That's about the time my sister frantically texted me to give her updates.
I sent her this photo collection.
SE:
NE:

I hope it helped.
We got home at 8-30-kinda-ish and the kids insisted on popcorn. I told them they could have popcorn before bed if they did FOUR math worksheets.
They did eight. Gladly.
These kids love learning software, learning worksheets, learning exercises...
Which makes me wonder... If my three kids can get through eight 1st grade worksheets in less than an hour, why does it take a class of 20 all day long to do just TWO Kindergarten worksheets?
Is it the class size and the lack of one-on-one attention?
Is it the inability to keep kids focused on the task at hand?
Because - going to a Catholic school - as a kid, I was scared that if I didn't do my homework or pay attention, I was going to hell.
I also thought I was going to hell for any one of the following: kissing a girl, being mean to my sister, wearing pants to church, getting the communion wafer stuck to the top of my mouth, not showering in gym class, or thinking about naughty bits. As well as failing to recognize a prepositional phrase.
So maybe we need to lower class sizes after all.
Or let God back in the classroom and scare the shit outta kids again.
I'm thinking some one-on-one attention would work for MY kids, but I'm not above using the latter. Maybe I can convince them Mike really IS Jesus.
Fear worked for the yard flags... I see endless possibilities in its application.

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.

Wanna see something gross?

That's a dangerous question.

Also scary?

When my children say: Look what I can do!

Or anyone in Wisconsin says: Hold my beer.

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

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

Then THIS happened:

Ka-zow!

That came out of nowhere, I know!

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

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

It made for an interesting shoeless drive.

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

So now I have to decide.

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

OR

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

Life is full of tough decisions.

Fuck a duck, indeed.

Trouble's a-brewin'

Do you ever feel like there's so much going on in the world that you should document it for your children?

Like this guy - the one who puts up the anti-Obama signs along I380 that crack me up, mostly because they're usually witty and prove to me that no matter what a Democratic president does, a good share of Republicans will piss and moan about him. (Isn't the world supposed to have ended by now? Obama's been president for... just over 2 years.)

This guy's right... Obama has NO CLUE how many millions of people will be helped with his evil Obamacare. He's so evil, and Kenyan, or something... That evil Kenyan, always trying to get people to see a doctor for ailments and eat healthy foods. Oh wait, that's his evil blacky wife. Damn them and their healthy ways. I think obesity and debilitating Diabetes should be the wave of the future. That's just me being patriotic.

I would say this guy needs to get over it, but then who would put up those signs??? I would be devastated.

And this whole crazy ordeal with Africa? I told Mike weeks ago it would be a mistake for America NOT to get involved. We're looked at as hypocrites for not stepping up in humanitarian situations.

Then it happened, and I was all: Wow, that was MY idea! Thank me later.

I pointed out to Mike a couple days ago that Italy had officially "recognized" the rebel leadership in Libya. I asked if he understood the ramifications of such a declaration, and we talked for a few minutes about international relations, yada yada yada.

So what does Mike do?

He changed his shirt to his Italia soccer shirt... and I quote: In recognition of Italy's recognition of Libyan rebels.

Smartass.

Turns out we have much bigger problems than political discontent, in OUR house, at least.

We still can't get the shoe situation sorted out.

Look closely. That's two righties, two lefties, then a complete switcheroo.

I'm shocked they weren't walking in circles.

It's not like we were headed anywhere important - just the local fireman's pancake breakfast. We try to go every year to show our financial and emotional support for our firemen, and of course, snag a picture with a firetruck.

Alison wants to be a fighter-fighter when she grows up. Should I break it to her now or later that firefighters don't prance around with purses and glitter lip gloss?

They've been dressing themselves more alike lately. I don't know what the deal is, but I'm so glad we're running out of matchy matchy clothes. The outfits above have to be a size 4-ish, so hopefully this is their last summer. (Except for the stuff my mother keeps buying them... yes, Mother, I'm talking about you.)

You know what THAT means... time to do some more shopping for kids' clothes.

If I have any money left after finishing the garden, and the basement, and building storage shelves in the garage so we can EMPTY the basement, and Mike's addiction to everything duffle bag. I swear they get bigger every year.

I should have padlocked it shut while I had him trapped.

I told him he is NOT getting a new one next year. I draw the line at human-being-sized.

He's been kinda on "my list" lately since he scolded me for having too many projects. You know, the GARDEN, and the BASEMENT, and the GARAGE... my FUN projects. Because I do those things purely for FUN.

I need to remind myself how FUN it is as I shovel the last of the dirt into my garden this morning.

Fun, fun, fun, fun....

He'd better watch himself now that I have a duffle bag nearby able to hold a human body.

Trickery and alcohol

It's been nothing but a party at our house.

First it was Saturday Girls' Night IN at our place while we shipped all the men and children over to another house. All my kids survived, although I heard later that Kristin managed to lock herself into their bathroom and started screaming bloody murder.

And Emma helped herself to a bag of Ritz sandwiches for "supper." But what am I complaining about? This is the sister of the girl who drank an entire pint of maple syrup for a snack. This is NORMAL.

The women - child free - on the other hand, spent the evening sitting around my dining room table, complaining about lack of sex and how long Mike's hair is. Okay, maybe that was just me.

I had no idea what Mike was up to all night since he'd left his phone at home, but I noticed some of the other wives were getting text messages. They relayed that the men left the kids with an older neighbor kid in order to "taste test" another neighbor's hard liquors. There was a groan around the table. Especially me, since Mike had gotten a little ornery the night before and was still on time out.

One of them turned to me an hour later and read off her screen: Mike is passed out next to the toilet. Tell Loren she'll have to stop by to get the kids.

Oh my Christ.

Then another text from another husband: I can walk Mike home in a few hours. At least Mike's not as bad as C (the neighbor who'd never been privileged to hang out with the crazy hoard of men yet).

So we gathered our belongings and snitched the last of the food off the taco bar. I threw my hair up in a ponytail, slipped into a comfy sweatshirt and put on flat tennies in preparation of dragging a man-carcass across a few lawns. I was cursing him under my breath.

I walked in their door and what should my eyes see but a bunch of nearly sober men laughing their asses off on the couch.

Fuckers.

Aside from their joke, I loved spending time with everyone this weekend. It was a LONG winter.

In other news, the dirt pile I'd had delivered last week is being slowly whittled away. Mike's getting in on the action for fear that it will be there next year, just like our rock pile a few years ago (that finally disappeared once I told the neighbor he could use the rest at his church).

Of course, the kids find the dirt irresistable.

It's the first place they head to when we get home from school. I've finally convinced Mike it's okay that they get caked in mud because we have crazy inventions called bath tubs now. Still, he's less than thrilled.

And it took someone on Facebook to point out that someone (from the above picture) was "supervising." Emma made herself a 4x4 throne from which to shout orders at Mike.

On a final note: the girls chickened out at the last minute on their April Fool's joke. Mike was soooo disappointed.

April Fool's Day... aka Expulsion Day

I'm waiting for a call from the girls' school this morning.

Yesterday, we took the girls to the local bar for "chicken on a stick" (broiled chicken legs) and french fries. Of course, I enjoyed a lovely glass of ice water.

The entire time, the slightly intoxicated but sweethearted locals drunk-whispered about our girls.

Mike: Emma, can you lick your elbow?

Emma (trying): No...

Mike (laughing) : Keep trying.

Alison leaned forward and licked Emma's elbow for her.

Then - because we were already laughing and probably had quite the audience - Mike told the girls to try touching their elbows to their noses.

It was five minutes of pure entertainment. Afterward, an older woman brought over two quarters for each girls to get treats from the candy machine.

Mike decided it was so much fun messing with the kids, that he convinced them to switch classrooms this morning for April Fool's Day.

They dressed in each other's clothes, ate each other's favorite breakfast food, and carried each other's backpacks into school. Oh boy.

It's 9:30 and I haven't heard anything... yet.

I was hoping to get some yardwork done today, but it's awefully gloomy. Plus the dirt pile looks a lot smaller until you're shoveling it by the scoopful into a wheelbarrow.

At least I finished painting the garden yesterday and started laying down the newspapers. I also covered up the carcass of a rabbit that was butchered there, hopefully by a cat pleasenotasnakepleasenotasnake.

Maybe I should stay inside and do some laundry?

NOT.

April Fool's!