The Boston Beer Party

The decision has been made: we're going downtown for the fireworks. Barring any more injuries from the girls trying to hoist each other through the air. So questionable.

On a funny aside, I did manage to teach a little bit of history today.

The lessons included:

Today is our country's birthday. It is 235 years old.

The founders signed the Declaration of Independence.

They were trying to get out from under the rule of the King (one of them, I have no idea who... Edward? Bartholemew? I lose track. Or maybe it was a Queen?)

One of the fun things they did as an act of defiance was to throw tea - Mommy's favorite drink - overboard in Boston to protest the taxes.

They collectively remembered most of it. And I don't score individually. I'm happy if ANY of them can remember ANYTHING.

I quizzed them and came to the final question: What did the people throw off the boat in Boston?

Alison remembered that it was Mommy's favorite drink, but she did a little improvisation.

Ummm... beer???

Close enough.

Have fun tonight and try not to get any important body parts exploded off!

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!

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.

A quick little tale of Mother's Day love

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

Sure.

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

Where is it?

In the livingroom.

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

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

Guess where the basket was. A-thankyouverymuch.

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

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

Happy Slave Labor Day!

Just kidding... or am I?

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

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

MUD MONSTERS.

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

What was your first clue, little monkey?

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

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

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

Titillating Tuesday: Happy hunting

Mike had kitty duty at his dad's house this weekend, so I had him drop by Target - aka The Money Pit - for lettuce and a few miscellaneous things, adding If you see any interesting movies, feel free to pick one up.

He found the newest Harry Potter movie (don't judge). Oh AND because he couldn't leave his twin behind... he brought home Due Date with Zach Galifianakis.

Note to self: Zoom in. Don't stand 8 inches from Mike's face with the flash on unless you want people to think he's a crackhead.

Seriously, though. Mike is turning out to be one hairy mutha. He's growing it out until the end of July for RAGBRAI.

---

Even on the yuckiest, stormiest, sickest, most scary nights...

the girls prefer to sleep in their bed over ours.

Can you blame them? When you need someone to snuggle with, you have two people to choose from.

---

I wish the rain would stop already.

It takes the girls half an hour to get to the truck in the mornings because they must find the least-wormy route.

And T-ball practice was cancelled yesterday due to sprinkles. (I realize they're only six, but it makes me laugh that we used to play softball in the snow. Uphill both ways to home plate.) Our girls need all the practice they can get.

---

My girls have now lost a combined 3 teeth between Emma and Alison (Kristin claims that she's not going to lose any because she's growing vampire teeth, and I believe her).

Guess how many times the tooth fairy has come.

ZERO.

I told them the tooth fairy doesn't like having to climb over toys to find their teeth, and if she gets mad at them for a dirty room, she'll bite their ankles.

Needless to say, the girls aren't big on little winged people biting their legs, so they keep telling me how they're going to clean their room so the tooth fairy can bring them their prize. A dollar coin, for the record. None of this $20 a tooth bullshit.

Except the kids NEVER CLEAN THEIR ROOM.

I'm going to tell them if they don't clean up soon, I'm putting the pillow under MY head at night and keeping the prize money for myself.

---

I've got some more jewelry up on Autumn Vine and my 3-strand pearl necklace Clouds (picture below) is still up for auction at Team Linus. So far it's up to $35, but it's valued at $62! Get over there and help out a good cause for a tiny triplet baby and his family.

---

I hope everyone had a great Easter weekend!

The Easter Bunny came to our house around 4:30 in the morning. Kristin woke up at 5 and I told her I was going to lose my mind if she didn't go back to bed immediately. I forced her to sleep next to me just to be sure.

It lasted a whole hour.

Is it any shock I fell asleep at my parents' house that evening?

---

The cat loves Easter eggs. She carries the colorful plastic halves in her mouth as she trots proudly through the house. Then she drops them on the floor, pretends to ignore them, and finally pounces.

Which is really cute.

Until you're trying to sleep.

Imagine how much fun we had when the cat discovered the jelly bean-filled eggs make even MORE noise.

I'd completely forgotten about the cat until Mike - watching me hide eggs from the couch - said, You know... the cat's gonna have a conniption fit when she sees all these eggs.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Exactly.

We found all but one egg, and the cat was running into the basement with egg halves as the kids unveiled their candy treasures.

I can imagine I'll be climbing angrily out of bed in the dead of night to chase the cat down.

Which is how my lingerie drawer ended up with about a dozen plastic egg halves in it to begin with.

---

For fun: How many Easter eggs do you see in this picture?

Serious and then not as much

Wow, where to begin?

Some of you know Kevin (or K'man). Well, he saved his 2-year-old little boy from drowning this week. Kyle fell into a pond on the edge of their property when Kevin stepped away for a moment, then Kevin found and resuscitated Kyle while yelling for help (according to the news reports, so if any of that isn't right, feel free to correct me, Kevin).

They live even further out in podunk than we do... can you imagine if Kevin didn't know CPR?

Kyle is home now and expected to fully recover, thankfully!

Okay, so on to less important and much less serious talk.

Mike and I took a field trip to the local furniture store. The girls immediately gravitated toward the "doll house" bunk bed. All of you parents of multiples know what I'm talking about, I assume. The pink and green monstrosity that costs a thousand bucks without mattresses.

When it came down to it, the girls decided they would like to each have their own beds. Mostly because Alison wants doggy sheets.

The girls said, Maybe for Christmas! and I thought, MAYBE for Christmas... Get beds for the kids and use them as their Christmas presents! I love that our kids have no concept of toy greed yet. Mwahahahaha.

Mike and I also discovered that we do NOT have the same taste in furniture.

I like leather and interesting bold wood designs, and Mike likes furniture that looks like it came from KMart.

But we did settle on a gorgeous leather couch and a chair-and-a-half that I will get never.

Because we'll spend all our money on something completely frivolous, I'm sure.

Oops, out of time. I'm going to a movie with the girls to celebrate Kristin's homecoming day from the NICU. Rango. I hope it doesn't suck. This crap gets expensive with 3 kids and I don't want to waste money on movies that suck.

After all, I'm saving up for my KMart futon couch.

St. Patty's Day

Every holiday is tied to some shape. For Valentine's Day, the girls were NOT having a Valentine's Day Party, as the school might suggest. Oh, no no no...

It was a Heart Party.

For the last week, the girls have been telling me: We're gonna have a SHAMROCK Party.

(Shamrock Party. Doesn't that sound like some kind of weird sex party from the 1980s? And what is wrong with me?)

I'd forgotten what day it was until Emma shot out from under the covers and went on and on about the Shamrock Party and the popcorn the teacher was bringing and oh how we need to wear GREEN today.

(Of course, that means I'd set out clothes last night for the first time in months and none of it was green. Score.)

All of this boils down to one thing: I'm going to fire Mike as my Pretend Personal Assistant and hire Emma. I'm pretty sure it would work, as long as I tied in a food item with every important event.

Mom, you have a dentist appointment today, and you owe me a cookie.

I don't particularly like St. Patrick's Day. On the way to dropping the kids off at school, I nearly broke down when I heard some festive Irish music.

You have to understand that - six years ago - I still had one baby in the NICU.

She was only there without her sisters for two weeks. That doesn't seem right: two weeks. But at the time, it felt like an eternity. We'd already been there for months, so what was another two weeks?

(And isn't it weird to think waaaaaay back to their birthday this year in early January and then think about just how long the kids were in the hospital? No wonder it felt like forever. It WAS.)

I remember I wasn't able to get in to visit Kristin until the evening of St. Patty's Day. I'd been struggling through caring for two babies at home and waiting for someone to get to the house so I could drive up to the hospital and spend time with the littlest monkey.

I walked through the door to her room that night and saw her sleeping in her crib, all by herself, with wires and oxygen tubes coming off of her body.

On her head was a tiny green felt cap, made as a gift for Kristin by a retired NICU nurse.

It was at that moment I first realized it was St. Patrick's Day, and my baby was spending the holiday in the hospital, all alone.

Up until this year, all this holiday has been to me was a reminder of those two weeks and one of the worst, gut-wrenching moments of my life.

But now it's all Shamrock Parties and leprechauns who love Lucky Charms and all the fun things that come with having three 6-year-olds celebrating with us.

Her homecoming day is on the 19th... the first day we had all three girls home. I was so excited that I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, pulled up to a red stop light, looked both ways for traffic, and drove right through.

I don't think I've ever been so blissfully happy.

I should add that Mike was driving his car behind mine and teases me to this day about that maneuver, but I'll take the teasing.

Best, heart-bursting moment of my life.

So please excuse me if I save all of my energy to celebrate the fabulous 19th of March in two days...

I'll leave the Shamrock Partying up to my children until then.

Titillating Tuesday: Sweet tooth

Emma lost her tooth. Hallelujah.

It started with a bowl of popcorn and some tears that her tooth hurt. I peeked in her mouth and it was bleeding, so we decided it was as good a time as any to rip that sucker out.

Fingers didn't work. Neither did a paper towel and a kung fu grip.

We resorted to Alison's method of floss and the closet door. POP. Thanks to our coffee table, a bad bite, and this latest tooth loss, we can finally enter Emma into the crooked-est, smashed-upped-est, holiest, broken-est smile contest.

First place! She's still cute...

Which meant that Alison immediately started asking, Can we pull MY tooth out?

---

The tooth came out two days ago, and we've decided that the Tooth Fairy only makes visits on Thursday nights through Sundays. We're having trouble coughing up the coin.

We have no dollar coins - I supposedly gave Mike permission to take them all to work a few days ago, but in my defense, I must've been asleep at the time and I am retracting anything I said to him when he KNOWS I am not reliable in that condition.

Emma is just excited she gets to hang onto her tooth trophy for a few more days.

---

I never mentioned it, but we signed up for snacks on Valentine's Day.

At Kindergarten meet-n-greet, the teachers hit you up for volunteering opportunities. And because I feel guilty with all this free time, I thought I'd do my good deed for all three classrooms on the same day.

And because I was also apparently in the middle of a mental meltdown, I signed up to be in all three classrooms that day at the exact same time. Let me tell you how swell THAT went.

(Not swell at all, in case the sarcasm didn't make it through translation. Turns out there really IS only one of me.)

---

Since we had the class snacks to cover - $45 in Jell-O - I thought we'd do something EASY and CHEAP for Valentine snacks.

Instead of 75 suckers and little cards, we went with 75 homemade pretzel/karmelcorn/cheesecorn/PB M&M/pretzel M&M snack cups covered with pink saran wrap and stickers.

Is it possible to be drunk on exhaustion? Because in what world is this easier or cheaper or at the very least healthier than suckers?

Sometimes, I have no effing clue what I'm thinking. At the time OR later on when I slap myself.

At least I didn't do my original plan of making 75 old-fashioned popcorn balls. Oh good lord, I think Martha Stewart has injected my brain with some kind of false sense of culinary capability...

---

Because my sister loves spoiling my children (I keep reminding her she already IS the favorite aunt because she is the ONLY aunt) she bought them Valentine clothes. The girls insisted on wearing them for their "Heart Parties."

They love the shirts, Untie Stuffie, but they told me what they'd REALLY like next time is perhaps a nice pair of Minolos, or Sartos, in size 9-1/2. Ya know, to grow into.

---

Happy Tuesday-Wednesday, everyone!

Brrr.

I called my mother to ask about her upcoming trip to Northern Wisconsin this morning. The family and some friends have rented a horse-drawn sleigh (read: hay rack) to pull them through the woods. They've done this a few times before, and it's a lot less magical than one might imagine, trust me.

Then again, I'm not one for being cold.

And supposedly, they're not even stopping at any bars this time. Blasphemous. Mom gave it one last try to get me to go with, but I told her I'd rather stay home and sleep. But, you know, have FUN WITH THAT.

With the -4* wakeup this morning, I'm going into Hibernation Mode.

Well, most of me.

While I had Mom on the phone, I took time to thank her for giving me the opportunity - through the low-rise jeans she bought me for Christmas - to share my ass crack with the world. Because there just isn't enough white girl ass crack being thrown around nowadays.

As an added bonus, Mike hid my belts from me. When I dropped the girls off at school, I had to walk like John Wayne with my hand on my belt loops, just to prevent a catastrophic ass crack exposure to the -73* wind chill.

In case you're wondering why this is such a bad thing, my husband ritualistically throws popcorn/money/straw wrappers down my sister's ass crack whenever she bends over. I feel like there's no way to explain just how bad things would get if I suddenly had that kind of target over my backside.

Plus, no one takes a girl seriously when the crack below her back is smiling at them.

And serious is what I'm going for.

I trekked my frigid ass to the City Council meeting last night. The Library Board (to our non-existent library) gave a presentation on a brilliant plan to scrap ideas of building a new library in favor of acquiring a BRAND SPANKIN' NEW brick building at a rock bottom price that hasn't sold or rented.

If you're not familiar with our town of Podunk, we have a single block of "downtown." It is our: Post Office, Bar-slash-Restaurant, Bank, Chiropractor, and Slum Apartments.

Yep, I think that just about covers it.

Right in the middle, there's a hardware store that's boarded over and one door down: a beautiful building with lots of windows that would be PERFECT for a library. It would kill lots of birds with one stone. 1) Fill the downtown. 2) GET A FREAKIN' LIBRARY ALREADY. 3) And it would make the boarded up store fronts a lot more attractive to developers and possibly put something in there besides mold and mice.

I sat through the 90 minute meeting completely contented, knowing that Mike was home, just then realizing that the kids needed to eat supper. (When I got home, he was making his specialty: Ramen Noodles. I think they would either die from starvation or become morbidly obese off carbs if something happened to me that I couldn't cook for them.)

Our neighboring town (that shares our school district) is in the process of building yet another school building to accomodate our growing population.

We'll have FOUR SCHOOLS, but our town doesn't even have a library. Or a city-owned snow blower.

Sheesh.

Anyway, it's been loads of serious fun around here.

I've been so busy, I haven't had time to post pictures from the girls' birthday on Tuesday. Mike's dad came to visit and become victim to me forcing cupcakes and 12" round cakes on him.

The girls wanted carrot cake, chocolate cake, and strawberry cake. They also thought it would be fun to stack them into one cake. Yum, sounds GOOD, right?

I figured it was okay to share a cake for one year, especially since they each had a "cake" to take to school AND a cake to share with Grandpa Scooter on Sunday AND a 3-layered cake on their birthday. That's three. Count them.

Plus a dozen leftover cupcakes and a round cake.

I don't care if that's cheating. If I had to bake any more cakes within 24 hours, I would have hunted down Martha Stewart, held a gun to her head while she baked, then tied her up in my basement for the next time I needed treats.

Which... is looking like the school party I was forced to sign up for on Valentine's Day. And Mike is going to be out of town on his Mancation. How do men always get out of doing that crap???

Here, Martha Martha...

Titillating Tuesday: A birthday and a pee stick

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

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

I jest. I love my kids.

---

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

Cook for 90 minutes.

Drive the kids every day for an hour.

Do the dishes for 15 minutes.

Do the laundry for a couple hours.

Flush toilets for at least 5 minutes a day.

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

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

Un-crash the computer every other goddamned day.

So really? Not much.

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

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

And Merry Non-Pregnancy Day!!!

2010 Brain Purge

2011 is starting off with the removal of all things jolly.

I asked Mike a couple days ago: I'm thinking of taking down the tree... what do YOU think? Or should we leave it and decorate it for Valentine's Day? That could be fun.

It's taking up at least 16 square feet.

More than THAT...

Okay, 25 square feet. Get rid of the thing.

Ho, ho, ho!

I should mention that I'm making an effort not to complain for a while. So what you're about to witness is not complaints so much as a tally of this past week's events.

First, Emma had some weird recurring blister-looking raised rash that would show up on random parts of her body over three days. Face. Belly. Arms. And then it would disappear just as quickly. Like within MINUTES. I thought it might be hives, but there wasn't anything she had consistent contact with. A very smart woman - you know who you are - told me it could be from heat. I think she's onto something.

As soon as I took off her PJs, Emma's welts began to disappear. Think it's the pajamas? Think again. She got them the next day under her t-shirt. Weird.

Then I tried to be fun and tune Emma's guitar - give her something to focus on instead of her itching skin.

And I tuned it a bit too high and snapped a string. Whoops...

A trip to Target, five dollars and an hour later, we had tunage. She was slightly ecstatic.

The sound of the girls "playing" Jingle Bells combined with the first eight notes of the Charlie Brown theme song for four straight hours drove me up the wall brought joyful tears to my eyes.

Alison entertained us by turning on the Jazz Music provided by her drum pad and then dancing like she was on Sprockets.

Then we painted nails with all the fun colors Untie Stuffie gave them. Who needs Hello Kitty nail polish when their aunt buys them the fancy O-P-I stuff? It was more fun than I had anticipated. Gone are the days of painting one child's hands while screeching at another I told you those aren't dry yet quit rubbing your hands on your pants ohmygad just stop. Just stop! Yes, MUCH more pleasant this time.

And they went sledding on the lawn for a whole 15 minutes. Didn't you love to play outside in the snow at night? That was my favorite memory as a kid.

These kids? Nope. I had to shove them out the door. I'm pretty sure they had fun, though. Until Emma came in with bright red cheeks and another blistery rash spreading across her forehead...

The next day, it started to rain.

The girls were devastated when the piles and piles of snow disappeared. But we didn't go to Grandpa Reuben's house and go sledding! (My grandfather in Northern Wisconsin... we went sledding through their woods the past two years and they talk about it incessantly. I'm thinking a trip up North might be in the works in February.)

So I let them write a letter to Grandpa Reuben and Grandma Louise. Kristin tried to spell their names on her own... notice the Roobin on the left and the Uwez on the bottom by my thumb.

By the way, that's a Gingerbread Man holding a hot air balloon. Half the fun is guessing.

Despite the icy roads, my sister brought her family up for New Year's Eve. We spent most of the night playing Mad Gab and watching Stripes, then The Man Who Knew Too Little.

The girls were so excited to show everyone their toys. And no matter how many times I reorganize their room, it looks like Santa's workshop took a giant crap on their floor. Toys EVERYWHERE.

But most of all, Kristin adored having her cousin Elliott to visit (she's on the right).

Nine out of ten pictures I have of our kids, they're in that exact same order. Alison and Emma, Elliott and Kristin. I told Stephie that her son is Kristin's vanished twin.

And of course all three of the girls smothered my sister. It might have something to do with how much she spoils them. Just a hunch.

They left early the next day, and my parents sent me a text asking if we wanted company. (The surprising part is not the text but that it was a complete sentence with punctuation. Hallelujah for technology. Although I'll miss receiving cryptic text messages from my father like: "We have to PPPOIOO9909P9[OPOKO." Or: "Reynaldos 6.")

And by the time they left, they had convinced Mike and I to send the kids back with them and have a date night.

I hate doing that, but we had a few free bowls saved up at Genghis Grill and a newfound sense of adventure. So we bought the Family Guy Star Wars spoof trilogy and went back home. Yes, we are living the high life.

Not before having a little Wal-Mart wildlife interaction in the camping aisle when a heavily tattoed, pierced and smoke-scented guy in leather approached us to chat about cell phones.

(I have to admit - I checked to make sure my wallet was there when he finally wandered off.)

In other news, the Packers won their game yesterday and are in the playoffs.

And Mike had to take our one functioning vehicle to work today so my parents brought me a vehicle at 8 AM this morning. From 25 minutes away. I owe them. And if Mom ever needs a kidney, I will totally cough one up.

Like I said, I can't complain. Things always seem to work out.

As you can tell, my brain is all over the place. I need to take a little time this morning to relax and enjoy the silence.

2010 is over.

And Christmas Break is over.

It went way too fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you fix the computer?

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

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

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

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

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

Blind, broke and bedlam

I WISH I could say I'm typing this comfortably from my computer chair, but in reality, I'm tapping this message out, one note at a time on my cell phone.

Turns out my computer hates me. It's crashed AGAIN. I could strangle it.

Surprisingly, that's not the worst thing to happen this week.

---

Mike had left for the gas station on a "beer run" when I got a call: "There's a horrible sound coming from the back of my car." Thirty minutes later and the local car shop had diagnosed and estimated. $730 for new struts and housings. (Trying to look at the positive side of things, I called around and brought them down to "only" 600. I'm convinced Mike was trying to show up my $170 garbage disposal present to myself last week.)

---

The bad luck doesn't seem to end there.

You know how we're the family destined to catch or be afflicted with the World's Most Unusual Ailments? Emma came inside from playing in the snow with one side of her face slightly pink. She was only out there for a few minutes, and it wasn't that cold. Within the hour, she had a line of blisters from her eye to her jaw.

Pleaseohpleaseohplease don't let her be allergic to anything weird. We already have to deal with the MOSQUITO allergy.

---

When discussing possible Christmas presents with my mother, I'd mentioned getting scooters and a skateboard. Mom asked, "You must want to visit the ER this year."

It would be funny except we've already had one child give herself a bloody groin and another was shot in the eye with a Nerf bullet. (Mike apologized, but later spoke proudly of his "kill shot"... I've had to enforce the Don't Aim At Faces rule.)

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Sucked into the black hole known as Post-Christmas Cleanup

What day is it?

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

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

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

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

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

Next was Mike's mom's house.

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

Good times...

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

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

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

...or perhaps more like Poe.

The girls were spoy-ulled.

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

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

Alison even got her scooter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Torture. Pure torture.

Titillating Tuesday: 'Twas the Night Before Tuesday

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Let me tell you a story...

'Twas the night before Tuesday
and all through the house
Kung Fu Cat was rampaging
attacking all but her mouse.

The stockings were hung
from the front window with care
because thanks to 3M's removable hooks
you can hang that crap anywhere.

The children were nestled
all snug in their beds
while I carefully tracked down
our undelivered Pillow Pets.

I heard a noise on the lawn
and pulled the blinds out of my way
just in time to see FedEx deliver
some random contruction company's mail to my neighbor's driveway.

(Seriously, I think they're all drunk.)

When it finally came to light the post office
had - for a week - kept our gifts hostage
I considered going in,
using knuckles to "buy postage."

Instead I worked out my rage
fixing our computer that had crashed
for the third time in a month...
one more time, it's The Trash.

Finally with a reboot
but still no working printer
I wondered if our Christmas letters would EVER
get mailed this winter.

Out of nowhere the phone rings
and the plumber's on his way
to fix our garbage disposal,
one more thing that's in the hay.

"It's not the gasket,
it's cracked in half," he said,
and I counted the dollar bills
to replace it in my head.

Two hundred dollars later
I told Mike we would be
best to count that as my present.
Merry Christmas to me!

Fully in the Christmas spirit
and counting others' gifts,
I realized I needed to make yet another
shopping trip.

Poor Elliott - tough to shop for - was
getting only a Buzz Lightyear Snuggie and blocks.
Unfortunately, unlike his grandpa,
you can't just throw in some socks.

Nothing's more maddening
than buying your presents in July
only to STILL fight the crowds Christmas week...
when it's Do or DIE.

Either way, the kids probably
know what they're getting.
I've been hiding the presents in our room
for months under our bedding.

"Surprise! That blanket-covered monstrosity
in my closet creating a plastic stench
ISN'T there for decoration...
it's a kids' Black 'N' Decker workbench!"

Oh well, next year I'll try harder,
start sooner, work faster.
Who am I kidding?
Every year, it's a DISASTER.

On that note, I've got to get going...
lots to do today,
so I'll leave it at this:
Have a Fantastic Tuesday!

Holiday shopping, aka Punishment for procrastination

Only six more days until CHRISTMAS!!! AHHHH!!!!

I wish Emma was making that face because she realized how much work goes into this holiday and how little time we have left.

Alas, it was just Mike and her being mental and making "shocked" faces at each other until Emma was in hysterics. But I thought the face was fitting.

Have you dared to wander out in public this weekend yet?

It is insane. I finally understand why they're making Collins Rd (the main shopping thoroughfare) into 10-billion lanes... the project that I've been bitching about all through the summer construction season.

Thankfully, I took the tank Suburban last night on our way to dinner or I never would have made it around some bozo who had caused a tangleturd of cars at a series of parking lot stop signs. (If you're familiar with CR, I'm talking about the intersection between Ginsberg's and Red Robin. Worst. Parking Lot Design. EVA.) Heft! Here we go... OVER the curb, across the snow, and back down the other side...

It was worth it.

We ended up finding only one of the four gifts I needed to buy last night and - because I was apparently on some kind of spending kick - three more gifts for the kids that we hadn't planned for. But who doesn't need a dragon pirate ship and matching castle??? I dare you to answer me THAT.

We were out shopping which meant everyone and their mothers were out shopping, too. In fact, we SAW my mother (and father) at Target. I yelled at them as I shuffled out the doors to the truck to drop off my secret dragon spending spree, Mike's in the toy section with the girls, so avoid going THAT way!

When the three of us caught up with Mike and the kids, Alison was moping with her nose three inches from a Thomas the Train boxed set.

I have never seen such sadness in a child.

Mom leaned over Emma's shoulder to surprise her. It freaked Emma out so badly that even when she turned around she didn't recognize her own grandma. What Mom doesn't know is that we have a lot of strangers who do that exact same thing to our kids when we're in public - part of the reason they hate crowds.

I can only imagine how she feels, since I can't stand most of these strangers and none of them are trying to hug/talk to/groom me. If they tried to pet my head, I'd turn around and BARK at them.

WOOF!

I don't hate everyone, just the stupid people. Thought I should throw that little disclaimer out there.

My favorite people to run into are the couples expecting babies. There is nothing funnier than watching a man nudge his pregnant wife and point at our kids...

with a "shocked" face of his own.

Totally non-denominational Christmas Winter Recital thing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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