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!

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.

Part I

Let's all thank the Lord that I don't own dogs. If I did, my children would be spending the remainder of their week in kennels.

That is all. More to come after I figure out how to duct tape the kids' door shut.

Best laid plans

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

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

Plink!

Plink!

Plink, plink!

Plink!

Five down, last one...

ERK!!!

ERRRRRRRKKKKKK....

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

The girls cared not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also going well? My gardens.

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

(Almost that quickly.)

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

Salads, anyone?

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

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

Now I do.

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

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

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

The excitement in our house is almost palpable.

Because I never know what day it is

Hey, guess what! Yesterday was Titillating Tuesday. I thought it was Thursday until the neighbor informed me otherwise. Yay for unemployment!

---

I called my sister from the road at about 1:00 yesterday. We're on our way home from Menard's with the swingset materials. I'm hoping we can finish it up tonight and get back to my other projects.

Yeah right, you won't get it done tonight.

Wanna bet?

Sure. But I expect photo evidence.

What do I get if I win?

Sushi.

You're on.

By the way, I - unlike Mike - see nothing unsafe about having 14 feet of lumber running through the center of the Suburban while traveling 75 mph. If anything, we've become one giant ramrod.

Emma: Why does it stink in here now?

It's the cancer-causing chemicals in the wood, honey. Don't worry, though. It's in there so our swingset doesn't dry out or rot. Enjoy the smell!

Mike rolled up (in his now-fixed car... it was supposedly a "burp" in the radiator line) about 7:00. I had the A-frames completely finished and was working on manhandling one of them perpendicular to the top boards. That seems really late, but I spent an hour looking for EITHER ONE of my two measuring tapes. The kids run off with them all the time, which is why you'll hear me hollering at them if I hear How tall is my bike? How long is my shoe?

I did find my kids' Scholastic book marks with built-in rulers, but I refused to mark my project up, 8-inch increments at a time.

It's feast or famine around here for help, and holy crap, last night I was running out of jobs for people.

Mike held the frames upright while I worked. I borrowed a 3/8" drill bit from the neighbors just up the street (two times on the blog in one week, Natalie... you're movin' on up!) because out of my ENTIRE KIT, it was the only one I needed and the only one missing. What kind of crappy operation am I running here???

Then neighbors started converging on the site like it was a fatal car crash.

Another neighbor grabbed his wrenches and pitched in.

Yet another climbed up to try to attach the chains (the frame is sitting 10' off the ground currently).

All trying to finish up before THIS rolled through:

Ominous, yes?

Maybe they could tell how desperate we are for outdoor entertainment for the children.

OR they overheard something about winning free sushi.

OR they overheard me saying that we should forget sinking it 2' in the ground and leave it tall enough in case the adults get drunk and decide to swing. In a literal sense.

After all that work, we still couldn't attach the swings. It didn't stop Alison from being the first child to injure herself on it by running full-out into the frame, hitting her head and her collar bone.

I'm rethinking this whole endeavor...

Anyway, I sent this picture to my sister:

She can't tell that it's not this:

...and instead is a swingless skeleton.

I'm wondering if she wins by technicality because we're missing the clasps to attach the chains?

Todays' task: sinking that sonofabitch 2 feet deep and wrestling it to its final resting place.

One last note: Late this morning, I sat down and futzed around with a few ideas for that extra end piece. The kids love pirates...

I've got a bunch of extra lumber lying around my garage.

I'm going to pick whichever child is annoying me the most and make her test it out. I'll let you know how it goes.

The mess

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I try, oh I try so hard.

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

Oh, there are things I love about the messes.

Like stickers.

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

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

They're resourceful in exacting revenge.

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

I figured they'd found some tape.

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

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

She exclaimed: I licked it to the wall!

Of course you did, honey.

Of course you did.

The next phase

Things around here are pretty fantastic, as always.

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

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

Holy cabbages.

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

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

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

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

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

I can hear your doubts.

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

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

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

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

I call it Square One.

I haven't seen Square One in months.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Titillating Tuesday: Tantrums and lies

Happy Tuesday!

---

I was having myself a little think this morning...

Remember back to the days when candidates for the presidency were virtual unknowns outside of their constituencies? And we got to learn about their political theories and records over time and debate?

And now you aren't a candidate for public office unless you're a quasi-celebrity?

Goes to show how shallow WE, THE PEOPLE are. For Christssake, the biggest "political development" the last couple months has been Wiener's erection.

Weiner.

Weiner's Weiner.

I need to take my blood pressure. My neck veins are about to POP and my anxiety is only going to grow over the next 17 months.

---

In other news, my kids are great at restaurants.

We sat at Olive Garden yesterday while Mike went on a bike ride around Cedar Rapids. The girls - though freezing to death under the Arctic Ice-Blowing AC unit - sat still and colored quietly. Then they ate their calamari and pasta and thanked the lady next to us when she handed them her mints.

I even took Alison to the bathroom, leaving two alone at the table, then later sent the last two to the bathroom while holding hands.

Can you believe it?

So why, when we get in the car, does all hell break loose?!? Every single time?!?

I've brought the car to a stop in the middle of a road and threatened to pull the offenders out for a very public timeout. That was the only thing that has worked so far, by the way. For whatever reason, they're deathly afraid of having people SEE them misbehaving. Or they're afraid I'll drive off. Not undeservedly.

Hitting.

Kicking.

Leaning. Because making physical contact with a sibling is enough to send everyone into a tizzy.

Singing.

Looking. Because LOOKING at a sibling is enough to send everyone into a tizzy.

Whining about where we're going.

Whining about where we're NOT going.

Crying that they miss Daddy. I miss Daddy, too. If Daddy was there, I'd be giving him the Don't Follow Me Where I'm Headed look and run off into the sunset.

Seeing a squirrel when someone else did NOT see the squirrel.

Sitting in the wrong seat.

Playing with the extra seatbelt.

Telling someone they smell like a Dirty Underpants Face.

I have never heard so many reasons to bring on fighting in my life.

---

I have to get going. Lots to do outside before the rain that I assume is coming.

Not because I've checked the radar, but if patterns hold steady, we should be getting a torrential downpour at some point.

N is for Nuts in your Nostrils

We have big plans for the day, which of course means this beautiful sun is going to be interrupted in the afternoon by thunderstorms.

Mike wants me to drop him off in Cedar Rapids so he can bike all the way back home. I sure hope he can pedal fast...

I'm hoping the storms break up because I'm building the girls their swingset today.

I'm more excited about it than they are.

Yippee!!!! Mommy's gonna get some time away from you lovely children whom I love so much all I could think about last night was what I'm going to do while you're outside swinging for hours and hours and hours.

So I don't have much time to chit chat.

And if you pray, pray that this storm magically averts my town.

I'll leave you with these visuals of my sister at the crawfish boil yesterday:

Because if you learn anything from MY family, it's that: food with arms must be played with. (My mother can never pass up the opportunity to dance with cornish hens.)

And: if it can fit in your nostril, it should definitely go there.
My children are growing up to think this kind of behavior is normal.

God bless us, every one!

Working in circles

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

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

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

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

Okay, I feel better now.

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

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

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

This is where I'm at.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Total mindf*ck.

Also on my mind:

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

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

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

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

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

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

And on.

And on.

And on.

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

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

So yeah.

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

*itchy!

People without children, AKA: Politeness*

Regardless of how this post might be taken by people trying to conceive, this was NOT meant to bash my children or gloss over the fact that I love them and realize every day how lucky we are to have them.

That said...

Every. single. bloody. day I have revelations about the odd predicaments Mike and I get in because we have small people in our house.

Here we go.

People without children:

• might wonder Where did that stain come from? on their favorite blouse, carpet, wall... But I never do. I know where it came from.


• might actually own a blouse. That still fits. And isn't just a hopeful reminder of how agreeable your boobs used to be.


• might plant a garden to eat food. Not me. I plant a garden so I have a place to send my children when they ask Can I have a SNACK? the 1000th time that day.


• enroll in college to get an education or get a promotion. I enroll in college so I have an excuse to lock myself away in a quiet room while napping perusing Failbook doing "homework."


• never have to wonder: What's getting destroyed in the house right now? as they mow their lawn.


• rarely have to keep tabs on where bathrooms are at all times. Unless you're 80. Or have eaten questionable burritos in the last 12 hours.


• probably haven't imagined yelling Will everyone just shut the f*** up and pay attention! while playing a board game.


• can poop in peace.


• don't keep a stockpile of ear plugs, Advil and alcohol as "emergency supplies."


• have never turned to your spouse and said: That one's yours.


• don't set bowls of dry cereal out the night before and pre-set the TV to the cartoon channel so they can sleep in until 8 on the weekends.


• have never told someone that blood is just paint and to nevermind that movie why aren't you playing in your room?


• have never analyzed why Caillou doesn't have hair or why Max & Ruby don't have parents.


• don't spend 20 minutes before making supper convincing people that they might like eggplant if they'd just TRY it.


• rarely find turd submarines in their toilets, and certainly not several times a day.


• don't flip out at the sound of water running for more than 20 seconds.


• might ask: Who's Sandra Boynton?


• think Leapsters and other handheld games are contributing to the demise of society.


• never sort their laundry according to which items most likely have fecal residue on them.


• have never had a conversation to reassure someone that they're not bleeding to death, and that tampons are just like "toilet paper for mommies" now get out of the bathroom!


• don't have to share their popcorn lest someone cries.


• can have a phone conversation without locking yourself in a bathroom/bedroom/basement.


• can make it through the grocery store without having a dozen conversations with strangers about your plans to have/not have more children and how they feel about the issue. Okay, that one might be just for multiples.


• - speaking of sex - will never have that horrifying moment after Nighttime Activities when you open the door to see two silent silhouettes of blanket-covered children, posting guard just outside your door because they're afraid of "funderstorms."


• won't giggle the accompanying conversation with your spouse: "I wonder how long they were standing there." "At least they were polite enough to wait."

People without BLOGS have also never had their spouse say after such an incident: Politeness, the topic of today's blog post...

And since he *named the post, I'm taking that as permission.

We're not in freakin' Kansas

I wonder why my kids are afraid of everything.

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

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

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

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

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

She's just happy as can be.

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

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

Eff that stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, sounds fun!

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

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

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

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

Whoops.

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

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

The punishment of the great outdoors

I'm typing this blog post completely with my phone, simply because my children have hijacked the computer to play Wonder Pets. I apologize in advance for all the auto-corrections. Like when I say anal and my phone chooses the more normal analysis.
We went to the pool yesterday. Just curious for all my parent friends out there: do you find that your kids automatically attract the bullies? Alison wasn't having any.of that shit, but kristin was getting manhandled up the stairs to the water slide. Another mom came over and lit into him, and I thought, 'it's about time you chew your kid's ass for ramming into the other kids as they go down the slide.' Then I realized he WASN'T HER KID. And I was all 'why didn't *I* think of that?'
A lifeguard had several chats with him over the course of 3 minutes, but before he had to yank the kid from his precious slide for hitting kids with his goggles, his sister came over to fetch him.
On a more positive note, our girls had a blast. I'm glad it only cost the five of us $21 to get in because kristin was over the whole water thing after 40 minutes.
I was forcing her to go down slides.
As we left and the pool closed down, she and Emma decided they were having too much fun to leave.
And this is why I drink.
There were so many cute kids running around, I felt like I was in a Gymboree ad. (Regardless of Mr. goggle Ornery Pants on the slide, the majority of the kids were silly, normal, and completely free of the asshole gene.)I would like to note that auto-correct has learned that I use swear words enough not to try and replace them anymore.
I love that my children are Mike's kids. I didn't use an ounce of sunscreen on them and they're slightly tan today. If that had been me as a kid, I would have been red as a monkey's ass.
We've got s heat advisory today but I think we're going to head out for as long as these kids can stand it. I'm bribing them with s gigantic container of sidewalk chalk.
Emma still can't understand why we can't stay inside and do Artsy Craftsy time.
Is it any wonder that I'm.caving in and building them a swingset this week?

Titillating Tuesday: Pool Day!

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

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

---

This is a special message to my neighbors:

You may have heard some children screaming this evening.

I can explain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which would explain the screaming.

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

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

Bang on the window.

Keep yelling and banging.

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

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

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

Desperately.

---

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

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

His response: Something.

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

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

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

I set my alarm for 2:30.

Obviously I just woke up.

Time to get cleaning!

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

A Wednesday wrap-up

Just a few random conversations for your Wednesday:

---

Me: Emma, quit picking in your nostril.

Emma: I'm NOT picking it, I'm CLEANING IT OUT.

---

Neighbor who walks his dog past my house every day (and tells me I work too hard... every day): THERE'S my yard slave, workin' away!

Me: Yep. Trying to get rid of this dirt! Mike comes home every day and points, 'Ya know, there's a DIRT PILE over there...'

Neighbor: He harasses you, huh? Well, you know what they say: A man's work is sun-to-sun. A woman's work is never done.

---

Emma, making loud noises in the back of the car.

Me: If you guys want ice cream when we're done, you'd better chill out.

Emma: YOU chill out. (long pause) Or not. If you don't wanna.

Titillating Tuesday: I don't get paid enough for this gig

Today was our first day of "Summer School."

Thankfully, I've seen the teachers in action and picked up a few of their tricks to getting kids focused.

It was still fairly chaotic. Is it too late to buy the girls' teachers a present for everything they've done? Or a vacation? Or a yacht? They've earned it.

Mom? What color does this need to be?

I put the wrong shape here so I crossed it out. Is that okay?

She didn't put her name on her page.

She didn't color in the lines.

She's doing the next page.

Mom.

MOM.

MOM!!!

---

In case anyone cares what we're doing, I bought this Math workbook times three:

Three hundred pages of telling time, counting money, patterns, measurements, math equations, counting... it's totally worth the $12 I spent on it. They love it. They did five pages this morning and I could've doubled that with no complaints.

Then they took turns reading for 5-10 minutes in front of each other.

And spent literally 60 seconds learning where Middle C is on the piano (it's a start).

I'm going to do weather journals with them before lunch, give them a quick geography lesson, then toss them outside to the wolves wind.

Alison was struggling with her reading, mostly because she was looking at the pictures and not the words, but five minutes later she was whipping along. They shock me with how fast they pick things up. Mostly I look at Kristin and wonder: Was I EVER that smart???

I was a pretty bright student, but she could surpass anything I've ever accomplished. And I'm saying this realizing that yes, she is only six years old and socially stunted. (She wore her bike helmet backwards last night then left it on while she played on the neighbors' swingset. It was super special, but at least Cami and I had a laugh.)

Smarty pants. Emma isn't far behind, and Alison is SO artistic. She definitely has a different kind of smart that involves people and entertainment and viewing the world through an artistic lens.

Yet when they took a break to watch How to Train Your Dragon - while I sit here blogging before my shower - all they want to talk about are turds.

You're a turd!

*giggles*

How to Train Your TURD.

*more laughter*

You smell like a kitty turd.

*hysterics*

Sigh...

---

It's not just academics they're learning.

They're learning the valuable lessons of life.

And death.

Kristin is obsessed with my Grandpa Reuben and talking about his death.

Did Grappuh Reuben DIE, Mom?

Yes, honey.

But WHY? Why did he die?

I don't know, honey. He had cancer, and it made him very sick. Remember that we talked about this?

But what IS cancer?

Hmmm... Okay, well, your body is made up of little tiny itty bitty pieces called 'cells.' And they're everywhere. In your blood and bones and skin and hair... they're usually really good.

Cells?

Yep. And every once in a while those cells don't form right. Like how we get weeds in the garden and we have to get rid of them so they don't hurt our pretty flowers? Cancer is like a weed in our body, except it's not a plant. It's a bunch of cells that grow and grow until it takes over the good cells, like the weeds can take over the flowers. And we use medicine to help people like Grandpa, but he was too sick and the medicine didn't help him. That's why we need to take care of ourselves, so our bodies are nice and strong. Okay?

Mmmhmm. (long pause) But what COLOR is the cancer?

It never ends. The worst part is she understands most of it and launches into even more questions. She's worried because she knows that grandma (my mom) had cancer and that smoking causes cancer, and my dad's a smoker.

In fact, they keep telling me that "Grandpa needs to stop doing his 'smokers'" so we don't have to go to Church and turn him into dirt.

(I spared the kids the details of cremation and went with the dirt analogy for Grandpa Reuben's funeral. Plus it's so much nicer to think of someone turning into dirt... the material to grow the Earth's plants and trees and flowers.)

Questions. Questions. Questions.

We never had a "Why?" Phase with the kids, and I told Mike this is my punishment. I have a sinking feeling this summer will be long and arduous.

Maybe I should cave in and buy that swingset so they'll leave me alone.

If Kristin starts asking about AstroPhysics, I'm going to tell her it's above my pay grade.

---

We have another - possibly TWO - T-ball games tonight. I wish I could say this made me happy, but this severely cuts into my construction and drinking time. I'm thinking they might frown on it if I rolled up to the field with an open bottle.

I guess I could sacrifice for the kids, just this once. Happy Tuesday, everyone!!!

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.

Titillating Tuesday: A certain level of understanding

People die and animals die, but we shouldn't play with dead squirrels. They're stinky.

Not everyone feels that way, Kristin.

---

Mom! There was a loud BANG! And then we saw FIRE! And the lights went out!

I walked up to their house to check on the kids after dropping off a few things at Stephie's place. The girls were really excited, and my first thought was that my father had knocked out the power with some kind of home "improvement" project.

Auntie Stephie walked in behind me, and Alison explained:

I saw a fire, and it was a circle, and it looked like a TRANSFORMER.

Questions raced through my mind. Are we having a battle? Am I an Autobot or a Decepticon??? Can someone please help me find a place for these groceries?

Turns out a transformer exploded on a nearby utility pole, sending out a ball of fire with a bang.

Reason #9278 that children should not be allowed to testify in a court of law.

---

Dad, can I have a strawberry?

Oh, honey... look at the container, they have mold on them. Loren? All of these strawberries - the whole container is covered in mold. I'm sorry, peanut. They're yucky.

Guess what I found sitting on the counter this morning, NOT in the garbage? You guessed it: molding strawberries. The garbage can is exactly three feet away.

It never fails to amuse me.

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!!!

Summer excitement

I can't believe Summer and the ensuing heatwave is upon us already.

As much as the children love school, it's definitely wearing on them. They weren't used to waking before 9 until this year when we have to wake at (*gasp*) 7 in the morning.

It's killing me, too, kids.

The only incentive that can get these kids out of bed is the promise of ten whole minutes of Qubo cartoons. Always the Magic Schoolbus. They're just PUMPED to be alive and awake.

Alison is a spitting image of her father at that hour of day.

Also getting the children excited?

Ice cream. Hell yes. Ice cuh-ream. The vegetable of Summer afternoons. I'm not usually a big fan of junk food (just ask the children who currently have stockpiles of Easter candy throughout the basement and away from my prying eyes).

Of course my mother is on the opposite end of the spectrum who feels that a meal isn't complete without a meat, a veggie, a starch, a sauce, and a dessert.

Even if it means walking to Dairy Queen.

My mother ALSO believes we should buy that house that's for sale... she points it out to me every time it goes back on the market. She told me it would be so convenient. I told HER it would be convenient in the sense that I'd never cook supper again. It'd be like Everybody Loves Raymond, only my husband is the one getting pampered by MY mother.

I couldn't possibly move there. Not after I put in this magnificent beauty of a garden. Just look at those twelve plants not die!

Yet.

Plus the storms are much more exciting around here.

The "flash bangs" - as the girls call lightning and thunder - seem to echo through the empty expanse of Iowa cornfields surrounding us.

I tend to get nudged out of bed quite a bit by three squirming people puppies with ears clamped over. My shoulder thanks you, girls. I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping on the couch.

Things could be worse... it could be a school day tomorrow. Instead, I'll be sleeping in until my children alarm clocks fetch me for breakfast or whatever cereal I can round up the fastest before climbing back into bed.

Yay for PJs until noon.