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.

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.

Ye olde sex cover-up

I imagine someday - sitting with a bunch of cottontops - sharing how we came to acquire our prosthetic joints the way old men sit on porches discussing their war wounds. Most will tell a story of slipping in a parking lot, or getting knocked down by the family dog.

Not me.

My old sex injury has been acting up lately. Got my first new hip at the ripe old age of 30, and I'm thinking it might be time for an upgrade. I remember the day I took that shot to the hip... I was only 23, but I haven't been the same since.

It's a joke between Mike and I that's not really a joke. I'm going to be the world's youngest old-lady hip transplant patient. Try to explain THAT one to your friends and family.

Um, grandma? You know that surgery you've been asking about? And your elderly lady friends were asking why I need the surgery?

Yeah, I don't see that one going well.

While I've always had bad hips (I even wore the bar between my feet as a child), it's never been bad enough to require surgery. Over the last few years, the pain has gotten worse and it's felt as though my hip is a hinge attached at a 45.

I might have to fake a fall down the steps, just to make things less awkward at family reunions.

I'll tell everyone Mike shoved me because he thought I could fly... THAT'S believable, right?

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.

Multi-purpose

It's 9:45 in the morning on a Friday, and I'm drinking.

Don't judge.

I just finished cramming the last of Mike's resume into his document protector. Who knew that 24 pages would FIT?

This last week has been hunting down performance appraisals and copying sign-off sheets and finding new and interesting ways to write I'm a freakin' brown noser who will slap on some knee pads and do whatever is asked of me if you promise to give me more money so I can buy my gun next year. At least that's what I wanted to write...

In all honesty, Mike is more than qualified for this promotion.

Have I mentioned he was just promoted in September? That was only (*counting*) EIGHT MONTHS AGO.

If he asks me to write another resume any time in the next DECADE, I'm going to chop my hands off in protest.

Anyway, what a lovely Friday this has turned out to be!

I'm heading over to my sister's brand new flower shop in Anamosa to drop off a jewelry order and toting some alcohol with me.

Because if I know my sister as well as I think I do, she's going to need something to wash down the stress as well.

She - somewhat jokingly - asked me if I'd like to build her a fence at her hoop house.

Sure thing, after I finish spraying our lawn to stop the dandelion invasion, plant my garden, build storage shelves in the garage, finish the basement, paint my kitchen, and throw together curriculum for my kids who only have fourteen days of school left. How does NEXT YEAR work for ya?

I told Mike I should be labeled: MULTI-PURPOSE.

*Not for children under the age of 3.*

Thursday Blursday

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

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

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

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

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

Every. Ounce.

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

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

Or drink Mike's PBR.

A girl's gotta do...

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.

Losing it

An update on my "cleanse." Day 4 is done. (Days 3 and 4 you drink only water and the cleanse drink which I lovingly refer to as fruit-flavored vomit water. I had 160 Calories Tuesday and yesterday.)

I'm down 10 pounds thus far. I think I may have lost a few brain cells in there, too, because before bed, I clicked the volume down on the TV remote... while aiming at the front door (the TV wasn't even on). I was trying to make sure the door was locked.

I am sooooo looking forward to eating real food today at lunch. I only get 450 food calories, but that's a freakin' FEAST compared to yesterday. The hardest part has been making supper without tasting and eating it. I made swiss steak over noodles for the first time, and by god it smelled absolutely delightful. I'd scoop a noodle out, look at it longingly, then put it back in the pan.

Because Mike is so supportive, he called me yesterday to send me on a food run for his team. He wanted me to pick up 22 dollar cheeseburgers from Burger King and 16 Buster Bars.

I told Stephie, Nothing except sheer will power is stopping me from pulling over the truck and eating every one of those fucking bars. Every single one. I could do it, ya know.

I'm glad that it made his day better. Worth it. He even asked for a kiss when I dropped the food off. (Of course, this prompted me to say: Ooh, food in exchange for a kiss? What do I have to buy you to get a piece of ass?)

I gave the girls my protein meal replacement bars this morning. Mmmm... peanut butter. I stared at them as they bit into the bar. Then Miss Emma looked up at me with her innocent smile and her chocolate bar: It's gonna turn into POOP.

And there went my appetite.

So now it's time to keep busy and forget about my cravings. I ordered six yards of dirt this morning, which can only mean one thing:

Project Season has arrived.

I am beyond excited.

Last year, all I got to do was build The Thing That Shall Not Be Named, Because If I Name It, I Can't Help But Call It 'The Fucking Fence.' I dug the post holes in April, which means that somewhere around May it started to suck and summer through October was ruined.

This summer is going to be so much better. I'm calling it now.

I get to put in my gardens. I'm building storage shelves and a workbench in our garage. I'm finishing the basement. Then I'm planting a few more bushes and trees and building a stone patio in our fenced-in yard. As a bonus, when I'm done with all that, I'm tearing out our ugly half-wall heading down to the basement. Squeeee! I'm as happy as a leetle gurl in Spreengtime.

Oh yeah, so please buy some stuff from me so I can afford to do all of this and keep you entertained. Otherwise Mike would make me get a real job. Or sell a kidney. And I'm quite partial to my kidneys now that I've taken a liking to alcohol.

I wonder how many calories are in a glass of wine...

Strippers and smiley fries

As promised...

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

So I made people promise. No parties.

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

Although I'm working on him...

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

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

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

It was only a four-hour drive,

past scenic landmarks like the tree air freshener plant,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My mother. Always the life of the party.

I suppose we might be related.

And my sister.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Titillating Tuesday: The crazy's so bright, I've gotta wear shades

I've refrained (for the most part) from commenting on this Charlie Sheen situation. Well, except for one Tweet this morning...

I promise I'm not going to continue to beat Chuckie's dead horse, but I must say there seems to be a kind of checklist for "going crazy" in Hollywood.

1) Have a hair catastrophe. Like growing a beard or shaving your head. Obviously.

2) Claim some kind of connection to another planet or superiority over mankind.

3) Whore yourself out for money and interviews while spouting your newfound zest for life.

Charlie Sheen is a goatee away from becoming the next Tom Cruise, though in all fairness, Tom only married his beard...

See how many nutties you can find using those three qualifications. I've got Hasselhoff, Spears, Travolta, Cruise, (soon to be Charlie as soon as the coke makes his hair fall out), Joaquin... any others?

The next step is usually court, then 10 days of rehab, and finally an appearance on a Funny or Die short.

---

Does anyone have any good suggestions for romance novels? Stuff along the line of Jodi Piccoult or the guy who wrote The Notebook.

Not for me, of course. I can't read that he caressed her tender bosom stuff.

I am way too horny already.

Most of my friends prefer them so I thought I'd ask. Thankssomuch.

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As a sign of good faith, I've decorated for Spring. And that little woodchucking rodent had better be right that it's coming early this year because I need to get planting my gardens.

By the end of this year, I'd like to be fairly self-sufficient for vegetables and most fruit.

Mike and I have been discussing what it would take to get some solar panels on the North side of our garage roof, and I've been having conversations with my other personalities about getting a few chickens.

Between Mike and Alison and their boiled egg consumption, I'd easily be money ahead to have a few.

Note to self: look into using methane as an energy source.

---

So it's been, what? Two weeks that my computer's been up and running?

I wonder how long before it tanks again.

We should start a pool. I'm guessing 8 days. Any takers?

---

Have a fanTAStic 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: Terrifying Tuesday?

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

I'll iron them when they're FINISHED.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

I'm scared! *Sob sob sob WAIL*

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

YOU!

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

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

The next day? Perfectly fine.

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

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

Let's hope tonight is better.

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

---

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

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

I need a volunteer to help me when I volunteer

Here's a picture for absolutely no reason other than I thought it was cute:

Emma and Kristin are inseparable at night. It can be a foot or an elbow (to the face) or a nose... but they're always in contact. Who needs a security blanket when you've got a security sister?

---

As you all know, I've been volunteering at the girls' school every Wednesday morning. I signed up for two hours and usually end up staying three or four.

Today, one teacher told me, Every time you come, we make you do all these aweful things... we're just happy when you show up the next week.

I can handle a few hours of papier mache and journaling while trying to minimalize the chaos of 5-year-old hoards, but to be truthful, if I had to do that every day, I'd be heavily medicated.

Today, we pasted wrapping paper chunks to plastic bins. In a nutshell, there were four parents hanging around this morning for random amounts of time.

They're all very nice women, one of whom has pair-and-a-spare triplets. Her triplet son is in class with Alison.

After hanging out with her, I realized that being nice doesn't get *stuff* done. By *stuff* I obviously mean *jack shit.* And I'm totally confused because I thought every triplet mother was beaten down to become an efficient child-wrangling machine. She's so nice and not-in-a-hurry that I want to hug her.

But volunteer time is not the time to love anyone. It's all blood and guts and gore. The boys whined incessantly about having to put their fingers in the gooey glop, while the girls were flicking glue every-where.

There may be some disadvantages to being a rigid bitch, but it sure becomes a "plus" when you're left with 50 or more small children and two large tubs of glue.

Because of the limited time the other helpers could stay and Really Nice Triplet Mom wanting to help make papier mache masterpieces, I ended up in a time crunch.

By the time I was left alone to fend for myself, we had only managed to rip the paper up and get about four buckets completed. That only left... oh... nearly 50 kids to get through in an hour. I could do it, right?

Damn straight.

Sometimes you've gotta get your hands messy. It's not about pretty as much as the kids having fun, so I rolled out some waxy paper stuff on the floor, taped it down and herded out groups of eight kids at a time. (I forgot to mention that - because of the many assistants teaching an assortment of kids out in the pod's center, we were left with one table and 4 chairs.)

And when a little boy punched me in the back twice, I sweetly told him to Stop while giving him the I AM THE BOSS OF YOU crazy eyes. (This is the boy who is beating on Alison daily - she's holding her own, no worries - and one of Kristin's incredibly sweet classmates told me "that boy is a bully." Hmmm... relevant much to current events?)

I've asked Mike to come with me sometime to keep the peace, but he's hesitant... I wonder why?

All the buckets were finished when I left. Although I have to admit to adding a piece here or there...

Tonight, I told Mike about Olivia who was giving me the third degree about our girls.

She worked on her bucket then peeked up at me, So... Emma is your mom? I knew what she meant, so I said, Yeah, I'm her mom.

She worked some more. Then she looked at me with her face twisted up: And Kristin's your mom?

Yeah, I'm Kristin's mom, too.

She stopped what she was doing and got irritated with me: But how are you Alison's mom, too???

That's when I had a moment to pause in reflection... how much did I need to go into here without giving someone else's kid The Facts of Life. Did she believe in a stork scenario? Or does she know babies are in bellies?

Well, you know how most people have one baby at a time? I had three babies at the same time.

Okay. And on she pasted...

Phew.

After telling Mike that story and laughing, he said, You know what you should have said when she asked "How are you Alison's mom, too?" I would have said: "Well, a long time ago, I had sex with Alison's father."

I have officially retracted my offer to bring Mike to school with me.

Good times. The girls are learning so much. Like the infinite possibilities in lyrics to ANY SONG EVER CREATED.

Between Y-E-LL-OW and Avril Lavigne, I might stab my own ears out with a rusted nail. Or use ear plugs. Whichever is handier.

Titillating Tuesday: Say WHAT?!?

How busy was your doorstep last night?

There are towns that banned kids over 12 from Trick-or-Treating... and I hadn't really had any thoughts on the subject until yesterday.

We had roughly 80 kids in adorable cartoon and action figure costumes, plus one slutty Eskimo.

I had just left the house with the girls when she walked by, talking on her cell phone, with her much younger sister and her parents just steps away. When my brain finally wrapped itself around the concept of parents escorting their early teen on the streets with her ass cheeks hanging out, I tried to snap a picture.

Clearly, I need a new camera for times like this.

I wish I was joking when I say it was something a hooker might wear, in faux suede and fur trim.

Who knows? Maybe she was out looking for Johns...

So thinking back on that incident, it's not only the scary teens who come at the end of the night getting cocky and asking for the rest of our candy... it's the slutty pre-teens who dress like they're meeting Hugh for a jail-bait cocktail later that evening.

Maybe those towns are onto something.

---

With last week being insanely busy, I had less than no time to eat well or work out. Unfortunately for me, last week was ALSO the first week that a huge group of triplet moms were posting weights in an effort to keep or get healthy.

Last night, I had nothing to do. Or nothing urgent, anyway.

So I played a little Dance Dance Revolution on the Wii. I hadn't played in a while, and the arches of my feet were getting sore from all the jumping when suddenly everything went dark in our house for a few second.

I thought, Damn! My fat ass knocked the power out!

Then I looked outside to see the street lights coming back on, and realized I should probably stick to sit ups and deadlifts before I knock the Earth off its axis.

When I told Mike about the whole ordeal tonight, he asked, So is that why you yelled 'What the HELL?!' in the middle of the night?

Guilty as charged.

---

Is anyone getting tired of the political crap yet?

Ha. Ahahahahaha!!!!!

Don't forget to vote today.

Even though I've heard a lot of people say that we're not really a democracy blah blah blah, it doesn't change the fact that the people we put into office are the ones who vote on our civil rights (*unfortunately*) and make fiscal policy, etc, etc, regardless of who they spend time with in the bedroom-slash-airport bathroom or how rich they are.

I would urge you to get more involved in local government and your community if you're feeling disenfranchised, but still...

DON'T FORGET TO VOTE. It does matter.

Even if it makes you feel clever to think it doesn't.

---

Happy Election Tuesday, everyone!!! Time for me to go knock out the power again...

BUSY

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

BU-SY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We transformed the junk pit...

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

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

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

Norgan was the only one Alison hugged when she left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phew!

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

I'm so glad no one lost an eye.

Titillating Tuesday: It's the Great Pumpkin Party, Charlie Brown

Number one reason I love working for myself: If I don't wanna do nuttin', I don't gotta do nuttin'.

I roamed the house in my underpants and a sweatshirt yesterday, and at the risk of sounding like some kind of perv, it was very freeing.

Try and do that at your job...

---

In case you haven't been following, check out Michele's story regarding her 12 day cruise 2 day cruise and being homeless in France and then Italy. And I think we're only on Day 4?

I'm following intently because Mike and I have been mulling over the cruise concept as a really poor way to spend our tax return this Spring.

And then I made the mistake of opening the forum at Cruise Critic. I spent over an hour reading through the drama over this and other recent cruises.

It sounds like rudder/propulsion systems break down a lot and end up with people stranded from cruises entirely or missing ports with little to no assistance from the crew because they're trying to rush the repairs in time to get the next cruise underway.

I thought cruises were supposed to be carefree???

I'm sure when they have no hiccups, the cruises are a blast. But it makes me wary of spending so much money only to possibly be abandoned in a foreign country with little more than a word from the Captain and a useless recitation from the 20-year-old seasonal crew.

---

Mike left the girls' favorite movies (after Alice in Wonderland and any movie involving pirates or witches, of course) on the table during "art time" on Sunday.

Alison:

I quizzed Mike over and over if he'd helped her draw it, but even I know that Mike can't draw that well.

Kristin:

The difference between the two amuses me so much. While Alison tries to duplicate minute details in drawings, Kristin knows a dog has ears and hands and feet, and she doesn't need to know any more than that to draw it. Her pictures are always an interpretation or minimalization of what she sees.

I know I'm getting all psycho-babbly about it, but I laugh at how much their drawings suit their personalities.

Someday, Kristin is going to be a rocket scientist, while Alison will be painting a mural on the side of a building.

And I think - during this whole time - that Emma was chopping her page into fine white bits of confetti.

She's the future roller derby girl... destruction and mayhem on wheels.

---

I'm throwing a Pumpkin Party in something like ten days. I just decided last night - on a whim - to do it. I have the guest list. Four 5-year-olds from each of the girls' classes, plus six or seven neighbor kids.

That's 22 kids.

And I'm making the CUTEST tri-fold pumpkin-shaped invites.

Because I'm bored and I need a challenge... er something.

And cutting and gluing construction paper doesn't require pants.

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!!!

Titillating Tuesday: Let's milk this for all it's worth

I realize this comes a bit early as Tuesday is but a glimmer of bad intention in Monday's eye. But if you want this post to happen, it happens now... before I pass out from under-exertion.

---

My sister bought two cats yesterday. She's moving on to Step 4 of ABC's Old Maid Extreme Makeover Home Edition.

The cats are adorable. Two orange tabbies named Charlie and Buddie - brothers soon to be filling empty laps.

Imagine the snorts and snickers that came out of my face when watching that new show Mike and Molly and Molly's mother said:

We've gotta get her a fella before she fills this place up with crucifixes and pussy cats.

Oh gawd, I love ya, Stephie. And if you ever start collecting crucifixes, I'll make sure to come visit you. My presence alone should cause the house to burst into flame and snap you out of it.

---

I'm throwing the girls a Halloween party this year in lieu of a birthday party. Because from one winter birthday mommy to her winter birthday girls: WINTER BIRTHDAY PARTIES SUCK.

And they always involve bowling, something my children have yet to master since the balls weigh half what they do.

Back to the party...

I figure it'll be fun to scare the crap not only out of my children but other people's children as well. A little haunted walk through the garden, some pumpkin carving, a bit of Pin-the-Hat-on-the-Witch-or-something-along-those-lines... fun, right?

I asked the girls for the names of three of their "bestest, bestest friends." (I had to speak Child for them to understand I wanted the BESTEST friends, not just the first ones they thought of.)

I got 7 boys and 2 girls.

So I asked for a fourth from each.

Two girls. Another boy.

Since we're talking about 5-year-olds and not college girls, I hope the parents won't think three girls having an almost all-boy party is weird. I can't help it if my kids are anti-girl-social like their mother.

Do you think I should make it BYOB?

---

I've got my schedule down - my rough, sweat-inducing schedule.

*HA!*

I start "work" at about 11. (Save your hatred for me... you're going to need it in a minute.)

I sew/bead or work on sites/business stuff until about 1:30 while watching old SNL sketches and snacking on homemade breakfast burritos.

I spend about 30 more minutes fucking off online. Hey, just being honest.

So we're at about 2-1/2 hours of what we'd call questionable work so far... Then during the hour from 2-3:00, I clean frantically... everything from dishes and vacuuming to making beds, scrubbing toilets and floors, laundry, etc, etc.

After picking the kids up, I do homework with them for an hour (I wish I was kidding - I timed it today) and then start supper so it's done right around 6 when Mike walks in the door.

Here's where we spend time together and Mike teases me with touchy-huggy time during commercial breaks of whatever random show he's watching until he falls asleep on the couch with children crawling over him like termites.

I spend the next two hours picking up dinner plates and getting the kids ready for bed and asleep. If my math is correct, that's about 6-1/2 hours of actual work time. Although in my defense, when I work, I'm hellefficient. Dishes in 4 minutes flat. Just enough time during commercials to get back for either SNL or The Good Guys, because those are the only two shows I actually remember to watch.

Glamorous? For sure.

Let's see if this "schedule" is enough to avoid the J.O.B word for a few more months...

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Tips and tots

So much to talk about today! But first...

Watch out kiddies, guess who's in the Kinderhizzzyyyy!!!!!

Oh yes. It's my first day of volunteering, and it was not nearly as horrific as I thought being around 90 five-year-olds would be. Out of the whole bunch, there was only one little shite who - after being scolded by the teacher for not listening to me - hate-scribbled his just-finished Luke Skywalker drawing. Oh, and the boy who wouldn't stop staring at my boobs. Probably a relative to the boy who - last year while volunteering - petted my boobs while talking about my Transformers shirt until I excused myself before getting arrested.

All three of my girls shyly snuck smiles at me from across the rooms, and Alison nonchalantly stated, Mom, I love you in the middle of an art project. Probably because it was the kind of "art project" (loosely speaking here... it was woodchips and some kind of cornstarch concoction smooshed onto a plate) that I would never allow indoors at home.

I think it was otherwise a smashing success. The kids all yelled goodbye when I moved to the next classrooms and one of the boys ran up and hugged me.

I had a funny moment with Alison's classmate Vanessa. "You're Alison's mom? And her two friends? You're their mom, too?" "You mean her sisters? Yep, I'm their mom." And then she flashed me her best set of thinking eyebrows and decided it wasn't worth the effort to figure out.

It was weird to be treated like a rockstar when I left. And on top of that weirdness, I bumped into another volunteer at the end of my 3-hour shift... who also happened to have triplets in Kindergarten! I had no idea there were more of us.

Turns out we're both volunteering every Wednesday morning. Even though I only met her for less than 3 minutes and she could be a serial murderer or baby snatcher, I have a feeling this could be the start of something beautiful... if she feels the mutual need to get highly intoxicated before 3PM during the week...

The rest of today's post is dedicated to Julie... it's a story about a girl and a cheese-covered salad.

Yesterday, I got lazy and didn't want to cook. So sue me. I take maybe 2 dozen nights off from cooking the whole year.

I knew that The Fieldhouse had Kids Eat Free every night Sunday through Thursday. Jackpot. I invited Stephie and her buddy Julie so we could get the kids free and I could get my Sesame Seared Tuna on an Asian Salad (delicious!!!)

Anyway, I got there ten minutes before them. Shockingly enough. (I should have lied and told them 10 minutes earlier, but live and learn.) The waitress sat us in some back room with plastic tables instead of the beautiful wood tavern tables that made up the other 99% of the restaurant. Not to mention the super classy arcade games flashing in the back corner.

I sat the girls down. Welcome to the Kiddy Room, girls.

A short while later, another family with four small children were seated at the next table. Kiddy Room, indeed.

Things were fine at this point. I ordered our drinks and appetizer. When the others showed up, they ordered their drinks and our meals.

Things went drastically downhill from there.

As Alison munched happily on a cheese-covered french fry, the waitress leaned forward over her... and tipped a tall glass of ice water all over Alison's back and lap.

I have never seen a girl look more surprised in my life.

Of course there was crying and apologies and frantic scooping of ice out of every dish and crevice. Stephie took Alison to the bathroom where she worked magic with a hand dryer.

After all that drama, it took a while to get another water to the table. Then even longer for the salads. Even though the waitress told Julie they didn't come with shredded cheese, they did. So Julie sent it back. And it took about 20 minutes and a reminder for her cheese-less salad to arrive.

The waitress was flustered and avoiding our table. And the girls and I were there for exactly 55 minutes before our food arrived.

When it finally showed up, everyone's was fine except the "salmon" that Stephie and Julie split. Julie ate a bite and commented that it was really spicy and not flaky at all... then when she got through to the middle, it was red and meaty. She spoke to the waitress but stopped mid-sentence and asked for the manager.

When the manager finally made her way over, she downplayed the whole thing and apologized for the ice water. I told her that that wasn't even the issue... Alison was fine and chomping away again. Julie held up her "salmon" and the manager took it away without an offer to replace it but only to remove it from the bill. That and the cheesy salad.

After ALL THAT, the bill came and they had removed MY tuna on salad instead. But what I noticed made me laugh... the waitress had put in the completely wrong fish order. Instead of salmon, she had order a spicy seared tuna steak for Julie.

What a freakin' mess.

Against Julie's wishes, I tipped her anyway. I've worked long enough with the public to know that sometimes all the shit hits the fan at once, and sometimes there's such a thing as having a bad day or a bad service. Through it all, the girl seemed genuinely upset and stressed out.

I like to think that after that, karma was on my side.

I took the girls to Target for a few last-minute groceries, and after standing in the canned veggie aisle for five minutes, I asked the girls to help me look for water chestnuts. It was a lost cause.

I was about to give up when a girl about my age turned her cart around and said, Are you looking for water chestnuts? Have you tried the Asian section?

I sighed and laughed... as soon as she said it, it made sense, but I wouldn't have figured that out on my own after all the drama of the evening. I thanked her a couple times and headed off with the girls in tow.

Karma? Maybe not, but I'm going to pretend it was the universe thanking me for hopefully making that girl feel better about a really bad job performance.

Funny thing... I checked the bank account and she never added the tip to my bill.

Titillating Tuesday: Bringing back the innuendo

Emma, my sweet, innocent little Emma, was in tears the other day. I'd picked them up from their half day of school, and the first words out of her mouth were: I didn't get lunch today.

Of course, I was shocked since it was almost 1 PM, but I wondered if they don't DO lunch on half days. Then started the interrogation.

Me: Alison? Did YOU eat lunch today?

Alison: Yeah, we had pizza and pineapple slices.

Me: Kristin, what about YOU? Did YOU eat lunch?

Kristin nodded.

Me: Emma, are you sure? What did you eat today?

Emma (on the verge of tears): Nothing... I had to rest. The teacher said no to lunch today.

Every way I interrogated them - I was sure there had been a mistake - came back with the same answers: Alison YES, Kristin YES, Emma NO I HAD REST TIME. So then I started getting pissed. I plotted out my letter to the teacher to figure out what had happened. Did the REST of the class get to eat and did Emma just get confused and forget? Or did the whole class sit lunch out and WHY?

That was when Alison yelled irritatedly to Emma from the back of the car: Emma, you sat with ME at lunch today and ATE PIZZA!

And I noticed Emma sliding silently out of my eye line and behind Kristin's headrest. It took all of 3 seconds and The Searing Glare of Death to get a nod out of her that she did indeed eat lunch.

Seriously. What a lying little butt nugget.

---

I had an entirely innocent conversation with a plumber yesterday. He came over to add nipples (I shit you not) to the natural gas intake since I noticed it was pulling away from the foundation.

But, I'm fluent in Innuendo as my second language...

(Opening Scene)

The young man walked up to my door. I opened it to see him smiling at me. Hi, he said. Would you like me to "light" your "water heater"?

I giggled. Thanks, but my "water heater lights itself."

It's like a bad porno. All I needed was rollerskates and low self-esteem.

---

Speaking of fixing things, I went all gimpy on my lawn with my pulled calf muscle and wrestled my way through a third of the mowing. Then the mower died.

I know what's wrong with it, but I just don't care enough to tear it apart right now. (Anyone know how to clean out the gas uptake?)

So if you need to find us, we'll be the home bringing Aztecan lawn patterns back in style.

---

I haven't had many dreams lately (with the exception of the dream last night where my mother was trying to kill me by driving our vehicle into the ditch because I was being "mean" to her - thanks, Mom) but I did have one that made me take notice.

I'd dreamed that I was holding this baby boy named Charlie.

It was weird. I kept thinking about the name Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. But I also kept thinking it didn't fit with our last name so it couldn't be our baby.

This last weekend while camping, my sister spent the night with us. Around the campfire, we were talking about my sister's decision to get a new cat to replace the "mysteriously absent" Bunkers - a whole other saga.

She said she couldn't decide between two cats. Meowsers. And Charlie.

I blurted, That's your cat! Charlie! You have to get him.

Weird, I know. But I think my sister and I are emotionally unbalanced just enough that we have some sort of Cosmic Connection.

---

Happy Tuesday, Everyone!!!

It's times like this I'm glad I have a "strippers and midgets" keyword

This is what we do on weekends now.

My children make nests of blankets on the couch and floor and rocking chair and laze around until 2PM. As someone who thinks mornings are clearly a work of the Devil, I can't say I have any complaints.

I'm still in recovery mode from this week.

Yesterday, I took my mom's and sister's new crocks to my parents' house (bought for $50 a couple houses away during our city garage sales and they are old - one from the 1800s and the other from the late 1700s! wow I'm a dork that I'm excited about that). Since this was only a delivery mission, I was dressed up in heeled sandals and a frou-frou shirt. Obviously, I would end up climbing through their hedges for three hours, trimming with power tools and carting away branches to my dad's truck.

I was finding branch debris in and on body parts all day and night.

Oh, and we found out when Mom came back with their dog that our puppy (14 years young) might have an aggressive cancerous tumor on her back leg. Yay , cancer! Way to go on attaching yourself to yet ANOTHER victim in our family! Now go fuck yourself.

I spent the next several hours in the basement of my neighbor's house, watching ISU get systematically dismantled by Iowa.

And of course there were other shenanigans. Like when I found a miniature wrestler doll that looked more like a Chippendales dancer. See if you can find him in this picture....

He hung out in my cleavage the rest of the night, of course!

Here's about half of us. Thanks to Cami who actually remembers - unlike some people - to bring her camera to parties. Then again, maybe that's not such a good thing.

Hey, she said 'Everybody DO something,' which to ME means 'something pervy.' So yeah. Class act, I am! I'm gonna stick to playing with my stripper dolls instead of posing in pictures...

Because of the 3-day headache that ended Friday night, I had to play it nice... I spent the night drinking straight Lemonade. Daredevil, I know!

And then I woke up this morning feeling like death.

I don't know what happened, but either I have the world's worst case of allergies or I am the only one in my family to catch the world's worst head cold. Either way, it's pretty clear that my immune system SUCKS.

I want to make myself a couch nest and watch Scholastic videos all day.

But alas... it's football season and I am dragging the kids and my sorry ass to my parents' to watch the Packers play the Eagles.

I just hope there aren't any more hedges left to trim.