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!

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!

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.

Valuable lessons of life

1. I am not to be trusted with alarm clocks.

Somehow, I managed to not only turn off FIVE alarms Friday morning, but not remember any of it, only to wake up at 8:02. (I'm beginning to think that number is significant somehow since I always default to waking at 8:02.)

I called Carol in the Office - this time to tell her that I would not be bringing the girls in at all, as opposed to pulling them from school at 11 to leave for Milwaukee. Then I laughed and told her we were having a hard time getting motivated since I overslept and the kids were still in bed.

Carol in the Office didn't seem amused.

2. Road trips never ever ever go as planned, especially when you're trying to get somewhere for dinner reservations.

We left our house promptly at 1:05 on Friday to drive up north.

We encountered torrential downpours.

And neverending construction.

And idiot drivers who must've thought I appreciated being blocked behind them and a delivery truck doing 10-under for 15 miles. (Mike and I played Pick Your Pony. I chose the UPS guy. Mike chose the white-knuckled lady. I won.)

When the girls weren't sleeping, they were begging us for food or to pull over for the 5th, 6th, 700th time to use the bathroom.

The trip that normally takes me 3-1/2 hours (I speed) took us over 6-1/2.

When it became obvious we weren't going to make it to dinner at 6:30, we told my cousin and her husband to go ahead without us (they had other family there as well).

3rd potty stop and more construction. We're on the neverending car ride from hell.

Sorry!!! We just ordered a pitcher of margaritas so there will be alcohol when you get here.

Thank Jeebus.

3. Swimsuit karma is a bitch.

Back in high school and before the days of mix-and-match swimsuits, I used to swap out the bottoms from a large suit for mediums. I can't even count how many times I did it. I should have figured it would bite me in the ass someday.

After dinner on Friday, we walked over to Justice to buy the girls swimsuits.

We found three of those weird 2-piece suits that cover the kids like 1-piece suits. I'm sure they have a name, but I don't know it.

It wasn't until I was at the hotel that I realized karma had struck... my tiniest little monkey, Kristin, was stuck with a size 6 top with balloon-underpants-sized 7s. FARK.

4. Always slide-lock your hotel room door.

It was about 9:30 by the time we hoisted all our luggage and toys and crap out of the car and into the hotel lobby to check in.

Everyone was tired and the girls were pissed that they couldn't swim because the pool was "closed." For those who aren't yet parents, any time you don't want to do anything, it is "closed," or "broken," or "the batteries are dead."

We took our key and walked into our dark hotel room and...

Someone's already in here.

What do you mean?

I mean SOMEONE IS IN HERE. Look at the bed.

I peeked in and sure enough, the sheets were all over the place. Not only that, but the room smelled like armpit.

Thankfully, the person who was staying there wasn't in the room for the shock of their lifetime when five strangers threw their luggage on their floor to rest before trekking back down to the lobby only to have to turn around again and head up to the third floor.

5. Barnes & Noble is a good time had by all.

Mike never stops making fun of people. He held this up to me and said, It reminds me of your sister.

I'm not sure why, but we all congregated toward the children's books. Uncle Ryan gathered all the kids for storytime. Knowing him like I did, I figured he was causing trouble.

I asked: Is it about poop? Did I call it or what?

6. Balloons are awesome. I realize this should be a given, but sometimes we forget just how incredible balloons really are. Especially at the age of almost-3. And especially when they're tied in huge bundles bigger than your body.

7. Swimming should strike fear into the heart of every child. Sunday rolled around and the kids FINALLY (FINALLY!) had a chance to swim at the hotel at 9:30 at night. I have never seen those kids move so fast in and out of elevators and down the hall. Emma and Alison were fighting with Mike that they "knew how to swim."

They don't.

Emma showed us her super-fast lightning splash swimming technique.

Which is ironic because that's exactly what she did when she walked herself into the deep end and over her head about 30 seconds into swimming, flailing her hands to signal Holy shit this water is hard to breathe through!

Mike was waiting for just such a moment and was in there about 10 seconds later to pull her out by her armpit, but Emma made sure to stay in the 3-foot-deep end for the rest of the night. I should mention that both Kristin AND Emma needed to be fished out of the pool, whereas Alison was "diving" underwater for fun.

And stickers. Always stickers.

8. No matter how much you clean your house before leaving for the weekend, something will always smell funky when you come home.

Mike thought it was a little bit of broccoli left in the garbage disposal.

It was when I walked into the girls' bathroom this morning that I found the culprit.

They'd shut the door, so it was especially foul to walk into the bathroom and see the murky turd soup waiting for me, screaming Welcome home!!!!

Nothing says "home" like unflushed turds.

9. Kids can shorten anything.

Like a combined 11-1/2 hours on the road, plus a swimming adventure, and some shopping, and some partying, and playing on a huge playground set, plus a little bit of visiting with family, and lots of food.

Hey Emma, what did we do this weekend?

We went to a restaurant.

Anything else?

Um... nope.

Memories that make you want to burn your retinas

It's been a while since I've showered with the kids.

The constant finger pokes to the rear and comments on my sizeable butt crack were a major deterrent. (Hear that, Mike? I don't even let the KIDS get away with those sorts of shenanigans.)

Plus, they're getting to the age when - unless we're in a Northern Wisconsin campground shower and the hot water is limited to 1/2 a pint - it's best if they don't feel so comfortable around Mommy's saggy naked skin.

I didn't have time this morning for a bath and the small tsunami that ensues, so I let the girls get in the shower with me.

Mom, I love your jewelry! That looks like FUN.

Yep. THE END. You have officially figured out the one thing that will banish you from my showers forever.

They still talk about how mommy got a "shot to her butt" in the doctor's office.

Which makes me wonder which traumatizing Mommy Moment will be burned into their brains as their first vivid memory...

Better save for therapy.

Alas, I'll ponder that another day. It's time to get moving. We've got another load of laundry to finish and two rooms to clean before leaving for Milwaukee.

Are you ready for us? Mwahahahaha.

Who's on first?

I have a strict No Drinking When You're Alone with the Kids rule... that I am breaking this morning.

Day 2 of Spring Break. Can you blame me? Thankfully there are only three more days until school is back in session. I don't know how five days qualify as a Spring Break, but I'm not complaining.

My prayers go out to the families of young multiples whose school districts give them TWO WEEKS. Bless their souls.

So far, it's been... something, alright.

The Wednesday before break, I was finally well enough to volunteer. The qualification was that I had to "have a voice to yell at the kids when necessary." I'm not kidding. Emma's teacher pulled me aside and told me there were certain boys who - lately - needed to be separated. She laughed when I guessed the kids she was talking about.

I told her, I might have been gone a while, but there are things a person never forgets.

It was a good day. I can tell because I was breaking a sweat but I didn't have the urge to grab my purse and run. I even got a hug from one of the little boys who gives me a hard time.

This is part of the reason I could never homeschool. Supplement. That's the word of the season.

(And I'd like to take a moment to talk about homeschooling. I like the idea of it. I think it's neat when parents take an interest in their child's education. And it can be a substantially better situation than public schools for some kids who are struggling or being bullied or aren't excelling when they're obviously gifted.)

(But there are times when parents should not homeschool.)

(Generally, it boils down to a handful of things.)

(The parent can't spell.)

(Or do simple geometry.)

(I'm on board if they know at least that much. I shudder when people type: I homeschool my kids because there school is horible and he got lots of bullied.)

So back to my family and off my Judgy Judgerson pedastal...

I'm trying to teach the girls something new every day.

- Where Asia is on a World Map.
- Which direction light is coming from as opposed to its shadow.
- How the heart and lungs work.
- Why it's important to flush the godforsaken toilet after dropping a deuce.

Important things.

(And if you DO homeschool - or even if you don't - and want a neat book for anatomy, get See Inside Your Body. It has flaps. It also lacks penises. I checked.)

Part of my supplementation is now writing journals every day. I pick a topic and let the kids write what they'd like.

The first one was What we did while Stephie and Elliott were over.

Two kids wrote about how Unty Stuffy let them eat junk food and pizza (spelled: pesu), and Kristin wrote that she slept next to Elliott.

I am such a ball buster for not giving them potato chips, evidently.

Also added to my list is to work with the girls on their communication skills.

They've started referring to themselves as "I" instead of talking in the 3rd Person, but they still don't understand the W words. The school brought in their in-house Speech Pathologist to help them. Unfortunately, the Speech Path only sent home one useful item - pages of questions to work on with the girls.

(I'm not sure how Association Bingo will do anything except make me wish they'd lined the pictures up straight for cutting-out purposes, especially when some of the items are so outdated or don't make any sense that even I had problems figuring out which one went where. It's been ten years since I owned a camera that required film. Or owned a boombox. My six-year-olds couldn't figure out that the shoes went with the umbrella.)

It might be getting blown out of proportion. I asked Alison, Who is in the office at your school. She answered: The Caught-Being-Good cards. But when I reminded her that Who means a person, not a thing, she laughed and said, The principal... and Carol... and the Nurse.

So now we have to start quizzing my children on it so we can move on.

I find great irony that my children - the ones who tell me He was impressed when I showed him my artwork, and I'm feeling forlorn today - don't know what Who means.

Time for another drink... don't judge, it's almost noon.

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.

Mini soda

Teaching kids about government and geography is a bit like playing Password.

He's like the teacher of the country. He makes sure we follow the rules. He tries to keep us safe and is, um... a very smart guy.

The President?

Ding ding ding ding!!!!

The kids still walk around saying President Obama is very smart.

I swear I'm not brainwashing them.

Anyway, we went to a wedding in Minnesota this past weekend. I figured it was a good opportunity to teach the girls just how BIG states are (measured by how long the drive is). I was in the middle of explaining Wisconsin is where Grandpa Reuben's barn....

Look at all those spinners, Mom!

We drove down the center of a wind field. Dozens and dozens of windmills, as far as we could see.

They're simultaneously scary and beautiful.

When I told the girls that the wind spins the blades around and turns it into electricity, they were completely awestruck. And they should be. What an amazing concept. Even more amazing than the super fun subject of geography.

At the wedding reception, the girls spun and spun and spun. I thought for sure they were going to burn out, but like the windmills, that spinning is self-sustained.

They only took breaks to eat.

We spent the night talking to our good friend Timmay and the groom, Booker T. When I wasn't escaping to help Brian's relatives decorate the hall so I wouldn't have to listen to Mike and Tim rehash Brian's inability to cook Mac-n-Cheese yet again.

Pretty much one thing was constant: People were shocked at how long Mike's hair has gotten. It's gotta be at least three or four inches long. (That's what she said...)

Anyway, in years past, I would've hounded Mike to cut or at least trim his hair up before going to a wedding.

But it's starting to grow on me.

Especially since everyone teases him for looking a bit like the shaggy-headed Aaron Rodgers.

Doubly fun is that he's a Cowboys fan.

I'm not sure why he's suddenly decided to grow his hair out, but I told him if I catch him wearing my bras, I'm kicking his ass out.

UPDATE: Thanks to Ryan, we now have another Mike Twin... Elliot Yamin from American Idol.

Titillating Tuesday: Time to send Alison back to her cell for time out

Kristin: I don't like when Alison counts down from ten. I'm on the swings and she yells at me because she wants to be by Emma. But I want to swing by Emma.
Alison: But I love Emma and want to swing with her. We're on Team 2.
Me: Don't you love Kristin, too?
Alison: Yeah.
Me: Then can you tell Kristin? I think she needs to hear it. She's sad.
Alison: Kristin.... Can you get off the swings when I tell you?
Me: That's not what I meant, Alison. What do you like about Kristin? Do you love her?
Alison: Nope. I want the swing.

This is me, thanking God those kids don't spend more than recess together at school. It would be like putting Kristin in a school prison where her sister is the scary guy you don't make eye contact with in the lunchroom.

---

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it, but I'm going back to college (again... I wonder how many times you can go back to school before you become a professional student) in the Fall. I felt old last time, and I was 3 years younger. It's hard to see Mike's puny $2300 in student loans when I've amassed over $28,000 and counting. Phew.

Guess I'd better get sewing some more bloody aprons to pay for this crap.

---

I'm heading to Chicago with a few people this weekend, and I'm looking for suggestions to make our evening unforgettable. In other words, roofies and high levels of alcohol are probably out, as well as strip clubs.

Any thoughts? Thanks! And happy Tuesday!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you fix the computer?

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

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

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

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

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

Kisses and disses

So...

You may have heard that there was this little thing called an "election" yesterday.

When I retrieved the girls from school, I told them we were going to vote.

In stride with our rhyming exercises, the girls convinced themselves over the 10 minute drive that we were on our way to buy a goat.

They were sorely disappointed when all they saw at the Community Center-slash-Farmers Market-slash-City Office were a bunch of octogenarians trying to remember what their phone numbers were and what county we live in.

I am amazed that these people could figure out the ballot. The test is the offspring of a standardized ITED and a VCR instruction manual... in microscopically small print. Kudos to all the elderly who get out and vote, even the lady who tried to ram her plastic folder into the ballot reader along with her vote.

Of course we had a lot of looks and awwws and even a few Aren't they a little young to be coming to these things? You're starting them a little early.

To which I answered: This is their third election plus we brought them with to caucus in 2008.

So suck it.

I mean it's not like there are riots just outside the doors. We're not Ohio circa 2000. The only danger is that my children will start their lives off valuing civic duties.

But what my girls ARE too young for are boys.

And Emma has a cuh-RUSH.

She talks about Christian every day and today, she picked him to be her painting partner. They also sat next to each other and made eyeballs at each other the whole time I was volunteering to journal with the class - a non-job, one half-day a week that makes me wish I had vacation time.

I just realized I kissed a boy for the first time when I was six. God help us and God help the boy who falls victim to the girls' first smooch, since Mike doesn't look too kindly on that sort of thing.

I'd rather buy a goat than deal with that mess.

Snob-nobbing with Mexicans

Okay, so call me a snob, but I think there's a definite line between dressing casual for a day and looking like a homeless person.

(I would also like to add that there is a difference between those who cannot AFFORD to bathe and those who choose not to simply because they don't care how much their bodies smell like rotten foot jelly.)

My parents took me and the girls out to Country Kitchen for breakfast this past Saturday so I wouldn't complain when they forced me into painting slavery later that day.

It's always an eye opener to get out and among The People. Country Kitchens by us are like IHOPs after 3AM. You wouldn't want to be caught alone in a dark alley with most of the other patrons.

In fact, as we drove up, I pointed at a guy walking with a guitar case down the street and into the restaurant parking lot. I said, Oh, that's sad... homeless guy. Mom asked how I knew he was homeless. I explained it's because he was walking down the street with a guitar case. I could be wrong, though...

But Mom and Dad didn't seem to notice that their favorite breakfast destination was home to more than its fair share of dirty, angry, sometimes toothless men. There my parents were - Mom, dressed up in jewelry and a cute white cotton button-up with her hair all curled and pinned back, and Dad with his collared shirt.

I asked Mom why she got so dressed up.

Because I dressed nice for going out to breakfast.

I looked around. Well, half the employees here are wearing sweat pants.

Nevertheless, the food was delicious. My parents' favorite waitress was so busy waiting on several tables of Mexican soccer players who didn't speak English that she finally came over toward the end just to apologize for not saying hello sooner.

I couldn't help but wonder what a whole team of Mexican soccer players were doing in Iowa. Maybe they were on their way to Canada or some other place that actually plays soccer? And I found myself staring. (Seriously, some of those young'uns were keeeyute. And it's ironic how people - incorrectly - try to portray all Mexicans as dirty and worthless, and those boys were the best dressed and most well-mannered at that restaurant. Suck THAT, Jan Brewer.)

About halfway through our meal, a handful of them wandered over to a hall next to our booth. They paced and whispered. I noticed they were staring at our table. A few minutes later, all but one went back to their group.

The last remaining boy wiggled a phone toward us and pointed to our girls: ¿Trillizas? Triplets? May I?

I nodded and laughed, and as he snapped a few pictures with his friend's phone, Kristin shoved a huge wad of scrambled eggs in her mouth and gave him a look like Really? At breakfast? I'm not smiling for you....

It reminded me a little of our trip to Mexico a decade ago. We were followed everywhere through a small village by a 3-legged dog and a pack of children selling handkerchiefs. (You can't make this stuff up.) Finally, I offered them money if we could just get a picture with them.

The 2-dozen children lined up with looks of annoyance on their face.

The same look that Kristin gave this poor boy.

Back in Mexico, I'd waved to them and persuaded ¡Con sonrisas, por favor! After I gave them what amounted to fifty pesos ($5) they ran off shouting and skipping.

Here in America, I just nudged my girls and scolded them to smile and quit shoving food in their faces.

While everyone in the restaurant had been staring at that table full of adorable tourists, they had been chattering about our girls. How funny was that?

I just hope those boys realize that most Americans shower at least once a day. Or week. Or ever. I'm not sure that restaurant put our best image forward.

Unless they like sweat pants.

Happy Travels, Great-Grandpa!

Mike took the girls out back of the train station where Great-Grandpa's memorial was being held in La Crosse, WI.

The trains passed by and the girls solicited a wave from the engineer.

Just as Great-Grandpa had sat there every night, watching the AmTrak pass by and load passengers, we were there to see the AmTrak stop once again. A fitting farewell...

This morning, we woke early to drive the three hours back home, but before we left, we stopped by a sort-of-relative's house. (The kind of relative that was the child of a close family friend... the next best thing - or better, sometimes - than real family!)

They board and own horses, and the girls had never ridden or petted a full-sized horse.

Until today.

You can hear Alison yelling in the video. She was so excited about the horses, she asked if she could take one with us.

I knew we'd never hear the end of the horse rides. Tonight at supper they were talking about horses around the kitchen table.

Alison: We couldn't take a horsey with us.

Emma: Nope, couldn't take him home.

Kristin: Because he wouldn't fit in the truck.

Yes, children, THAT is the reason you cannot have a horse. It wouldn't fit in with our luggage.

Although we did discuss bringing one home, strapped to the top of our Suburban like the Griswolds did with Grandma...

*On a final note: I will be continuing the Office Depot/Jeff Slutsky copyright saga in tomorrow's post. Very interesting, indeed.*

What I do when I'm not here with you

If there are unusual hats, it must be that time again...

FAMILY REUNION!

(Kind of.)

We spent all of Saturday afternoon out on Cedar Lake in Southern Wisconsin with about half of my extended family (mom's side). The children would disappear back onto the "food pontoon" to make themselves fat on turkey sandwiches and fresh cherries. Doesn't Alison look a little like Dracula? Mike said it looks like she mauled a fish out of the water... Gooniegoogoo anyone?

What a pleasant little afternoon on the water...

The swimming was just a little bit of fun before the real party started. We headed up to the Cedar Lake Inn my cousins own and operate. That's when the rest of the family showed up to harass us.

It was my "coosundt Larry's" 40th birthday, and surprise surprise, no one let slip by that Uncle Brian turned 60, too. They flew up friends from their neighborhood in Mexico to visit, and in thanks, Brian's friends put together a Mexican wrestling costume.

Xtreme Cazador. I guess something happened in Mexico where "some homosexual wrestlers jumped Brian" due to his huge size and made him the unintentional life of the party.

Throughout the night, Appetizer Guy walked around with plates of puff pastry beef wellington / mushroom treats. Later came the bite-sized chocolate mousse with coffee or fresh berries. Mmmm....

Mike: I'm so full from the appetizers that I can't drink beer.

Not only that, but they filled a table with waistline-hating apps like puff-wrapped asparagus and cheese, and rumaki, and marinated chicken skewers, and meatballs and sliders and veggies and cheese... we were in pain by the end of the night from all the food.

(Did I mention that my "coosundt Larry" and Andria hired two babysitters to watch the kids back at their house? There was a moment where Mike announced he was going to the bathroom, and I thought I have to go, too, but someone's gotta stay here and watch the kids oh wait they're NOT HERE! I can pee if I want to!)

School starts Wednesday and I can already smell the freedom...

All of the aunts - and an uncle or two plus Bill (that's Mike's name in my family) - gathered round to play Indian. It's such a stupid game, but we were laughing so hard at the names like "Fluffy Ta-Tas" (Stephie), "Priestess Crazy Horn" (Me, with an homage to my holiday zit), "Crazy Locks" (Mom), "Bill" (Mike), "F*cks with a Feather" (Aunt Lori, of course), "Little Big Hair" (my quasi-carnival worker Cousin Chelsy), and "Pregnant Squaw" (Cousin Andria). The game requires hand gestures... can you imagine?

Anywho, after we were right stuffed and hydrated and took time to "proast" my grandparents (whose health is failing - my grandfather just had surgery in an effort to keep his kidneys functioning through another round of chemo), they ripped open the karaoke.

Cousin Jason singing Simple Minds' Don't You Forget About Me.

I thought I was in The Breakfast Club for a moment there.

Then I heard Uncle Rick: Oh great, here comes Appetizer Guy.

Sure enough, Appetizer Guy - the same one who'd been putting puff pastries into my husband's hands until he giggled like a little girl - was taking to the stage to sing. So I laughed. Then the music to Genie In a Bottle started, and I couldn't control myself... I was rolling. Then he started singing and he nailed it. So by this point I was laughing hysterically. (Mike said Now THAT'S employee loyalty.)

But nothing compared to Uncle Kevin's rendition of Karma Chameleon in the tune of "I'm so glad my divorce from the f*cking b*tch was finalized last week." And then there was the hat...

Before I move on... can anyone tell me what X-Rated (the liqueur) tastes like? Stephanie is convinced it tastes like Strawberry Shortcake smells, but Mike and I are thinking it tastes like Rainbow Nerds. In the name of science, we had to swish away half of Chelsy's drink to figure it out. (The only alcohol I had all night, I might add. Responsible drinkers, we are.)

Sunday morning we woke bright and early at the risk of pissing off my dad who threatened to skip out on the zoo if we weren't at the gates by 9AM.

Monkeys looking at monkeys!

Monkeys looking at piranhas pacus!

The Milwaukee Zoo has an exhibit on dinosaurs... amazing animatronics! The girls were blown away (and I think Elliott might have pooped himself when his dad reached out to touch one of them).

Emma: This one roars really loud! I love him.

Mike got a taste of what I feel like just about every day of my life.

Mom: Why do they have wire around the trees?

Dad: So they (the giraffes) can't get to the bark and kill the trees off.

Me: Yum, yum... If I could only just taste it, it would be enough... lick lick lick.

Tree lickers.

We topped off our exciting day with ice cream and a train ride. Nothing says "zoo" like zipping past lovely sights like The-place-where-we-store-our-equipment AND Oh-look-if-you-peek-through-there-you-can-kinda-sorta-see-an-animal.

But to Kristin, it was 8 minutes of pure bliss.

Is it any wonder I had to prop my eyelids open with toothpicks for the drive home? I need a nap.