Wednesday, November 30, 2011

I blame EVE

I'm not sure why, but I don't laugh the way I used to laugh. I don't mean the ACTUAL laugh--I still have a deep guffaw type of laugh (though I HAVE added a snort recently. That's new--and not completely welcomed)--I mean the MATERIAL that prompts the guffaw to escape my lips. You know--the gut-wrenching, tear-flowing, body shaking kind of laugh that easily came when I was younger, but is now trampled by the child-whining, rule-establishing, incessant-nit picking life I now lead. Nothing seems as funny when I am constantly being touched, pulled or whined to by pretty much EVERYONE I spend time with these days. I can't help but think of the consequences of whatever is funny or to dwell on whether it is "fair" or not to the point where it is uncomfortable. I knew there was a problem when I was watching Seinfeld reruns and I didn't laugh. Once. This was definitely a turning point for me because I LOVED Seinfeld and would watch the reruns ALL the time. This time was different. I just felt like he was being abused by a friend who seemingly pays for nothing in his life, which stands to reason since he has NO JOB and treats those around him as if they owe him something...not to mention the psychotic mailman, best friend and ex-girlfriend--it's exhausting. The same happened with Everybody Loves Raymond. It turns out that not everyone DOES love Raymond. I used to REALLY laugh and I always thought that the wife (Debra) was a bit of a b@#$! After having children of my own, I started to DESPISE Raymond and even the funny parts didn't get me laughing because I was still stewing about the OTHER parts or the things that were SO WRONG! And Debra...well, SHE is NICE compared to what I would be if I had that life. Look at me now--I have a pretty good gig going here and I'm STILL a b@!#$! My friend and I were talking about mothers the other night (relax, mom--you didn't come up. THIS time.) and she was asking what her mother's problem was since she always had to "...put her nose in or be a part of EVERYTHING" and it was "EXHAUSTING!" I totally GOT what she meant (no mom, that is NOT a dig--I promise!), yet as I was removing one child from my leg, dislodging a lego from a nose and balancing over a doll house that miraculously moved from an upstairs location to RIGHT BEHIND ME SO THAT I WOULD POTENTIALLY FALL AND KILL MYSELF, I could COMPLETELY see the other side. "You know...I just have to say...maybe she doesn't really KNOW what her role is. She HAD to be in control of EVERYTHING FOR SO LONG (I know--it goes by in a blink--yada, yada, yada--I SO miss the Seinfeld of my youth...) and now she has NONE. LETMETELLYOUSOMETHING--if I am doing ALL of this simply to be DISCARDED one day, I will C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E-L-Y lose my S@#!--MIND--my MIND." But really--do we REALLY give up our minds, our bodies, our...MINDS only to shove our progeny out of the nest to never look back again? Are we not allowed to put in our two cents EVER without getting a snide comment or dramatic reaction? I think of my own mother (or mothers, since I was always lucky enough to have MANY women nurturing and loving me (aunts, grandmothers, cousins, stranger from Wegmans...) AND giving me their...two dollars and fifty-seven cents--and FORCING me to take it (even when they had conflicting opinions about where I should SPEND said two dollars and fifty-seven cents) probably because I was the only one who would LET them! I used to hate that about myself, but now I applaud me! I'm GLAD that I was able to do that for them for any given amount of time because there had BETTER be someone out there willing to take my hundred and forty-three-seventy-five I'M going to have left to give when these three maniacs leave the nest! Stupid Eve. Oh--I probably should tell you--I blame Eve for EVERYTHING in my life. PMS? Eve. Traumatizing (at least as far as I was concerned) labor and delivery pain? Eve again. Migraines? Eve--and that STUPID apple. It was an A-P-P-L-E for crying out loud and it WASN'T even DIPPED in chocolate! Before that day, people didn't even EAT apples let alone have someone core them and peel them and slice them into little bites for a smoother eating experience. Nope. Before Eve, no one even ATE an apple. And it was a pretty reasonable request. ONE THING. I'M ASKING ONE THING OF YOU. And what did EVE do? She BLEW IT FOR THE REST OF US! She couldn't let ADAM take the apple first? THEN DADS would lose their minds JUST LIKE MOMS do. But NOOOOOOOOOOO. Stupid Eve. Now, every time I have ONE request and they blow it, I KNOW it is because of Eve. HOW HARD IS IT TO FOLLOW ONE, SIMPLE INSTRUCTION?! I say these words more often than I breathe--okay, THAT'S a little dramatic, but I definitely say them more often than I EAT--apples or any other food--so WHY is it SO DIFFICULT?! Eve. And THAT is why I do not laugh anymore. Though some would argue that I laugh at EVERYTHING, which is a conversation with my OTHER personality for ANOTHER day. I think I want an apple...

Let's talk Twitter...

Let's talk Twitter. Yet another thing I'm too old for that I swore I would NEVER do. The good news is, I am too dumb to actually "DO" it still. I signed up for it (and a MILLION other things) when I first started the blog in October. My friend Kate said I would love, love, LOVE it and it would be so great for my blog. My "blog" friend Lucy, (I say "blog-friend" since we haven't actually met in real life yet, which reminds me of my friend Chrissy who would refer to some of her childhood friends as "pool friends" because they only came around to hang out with her in the summer. When she was swimming. In her pool. In simpler terms, they used her for her pool and she called them on it. Awesome. Anyway, my "blog" friend, Lucy)ISN'T using me for my blog, I'm sure (though WHAT a treat it would be for her!) and would much rather use my pool than read my blog, I'm sure, but she IS encouraging me to become a twitterer. Or Tweeter. Twater? You really need to be careful with this one--it can REALLy go in the wrong direction. She is encouraging me in that SHE loves it and says it is more addicting than facebook (which is not necessarily a GOOD thing for ME!) and she couldn't believe I wasn't on it. But I WAS. ON it. Twitter, that is. I was ON it, though I never CHECKED it or twitted...tweeted...twa--you get it-anything except for seven initial tweets(?) telling the one or two people who even FOUND me, to read my blog.( I LOVE how bossy hiding behind the computer makes me!) And I'm pretty sure that if they DID read my blog, it had NOTHING to do with my tweeting. I'm sure if I learned to do it correctly, this Twitter thing could really work for me, but there are SO MANY THINGS I need to learn to do correctly and I am SO TIRED! Far too tired to LEARN things. It's all I can do to keep my eyes open while I am typing this (and forcing my children to watch the Carebears (Addison's pick since she was home first and for those who believe they are "too mature" for Care Bears, when choosing between Care Bears and homework, CARE BEARS WIN. Who knew?!). My brain is starting to look like my college dorm room. Or my HOUSE these days. SO. MUCH. STUFF. Most of it useless and taking up space or overshadowing the important "stuff" so that it can't shine. So how do I clean up my "stuff" in my brain when I can't even clean up the "stuff" in my house? Do I just throw everything out and start again? And how do I even DO that in my brain? Drugs? Alcohol? Drugs AND alcohol? Have another baby?! EGADS! I can't even type those words without feeling a wave of horror wash over me. This is weird for two reasons. 1. I had not one, but TWO hysterectomies--EVERYTHING is gone. If I were to get pregnant it would be more than "Immaculate" and would even make Mary wonder. and B. I really wouldn't mind having a baby at this point. I think that once you have three (who are now 5, 6 and 7) this close together, you are outnumbered anyway and your brain is shot, so what's the difference? Plus, if I had a baby NOW, I would MAYBE remember some of the "baby" time, unlike my other three who must have come out of the womb at the age of four since I don't even REMEMBER HAVING babies--only mouthy preschoolers and...well, THIS. Child one and child two shoving each other off of a chair in the supposed-to-be-dining-but-now-messy-art-room because the other five [chairs] just aren't working for either one of them. Really. They BOTH MUST have the ONE chair or die trying to get it. Or kill me trying to get it. Meanwhile, child number three is making like 1954 Mississippi with her poor Tianna doll left in the dust and the other princesses frolicking and dancing. Noted, so now she decided that I could have Tianna. And Cinderella. And Snow White. Basically, the dolls she could do without. So my youngest is a "Mean Girl" and my other two are just mean and I am tired, but going on about not having, but "acquiring" a baby somehow (because THAT is what I need! Not to mention the poor child! No wonder God said, "No more" and made me need a hysterectomy. Of course, I'm just like my children--I needed TWO to REALLY get it and I'm STILL talking about having babies--so obviously I DIDN'T get it! Now I see why my children don't learn...) and my son is now MAKING OUT WITH Tianna to show Addison how much HE loves her and Addison is yelling, "NOOOO--SDOP KISSIN' MY DOWLIES!" and the middle child is upstairs plotting my demise since I wouldn't let the fist throwing over the chair continue (mean mommy that I am) and I JUST want to be able to TWITTER sbout ALL of it. Or maybe I just want to be able to write about all of it without being interrupted fifty times to make Snow White and Cinderella curtsy (REALLY?!) to tell Brayden to get his mouth OFF of Tianna, to "encourage" Ryan to remove her claws from Brayden's neck and to remind Addie that she does not need to eat her toes as we will be having dinner soon. Tweet THAT my blog friends!

Monday, November 28, 2011


Grrrr. Old Navy. GRRRRRR. I SHOULD be writing my letter of complaint to Old Navy, but instead I am growling about it to you. I RARELY shop on Black Friday--or on any of the days immediately following Black Friday, simply because it is usually mayhem and someone ALWAYS gets hurt. I can suffer through those things at home--sometimes even from the [dis]comfort of my own bed, so why would I want to do it in public? So I can get maced over a $5 coupon for soap?! I don't think so. I say this, but a few years ago (four? fivee?) I went with my friend Julie and her family at FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING on Black Friday, and I STILL think I am making up THAT sleep that I lost. Anyway, Julie and her mother and sisters traditionally go out early every Black Friday and I was QUITE flattered that they invited me to be a part of their special day of [tired] fun. I also think it is really sweet that they do this every year and I hope that the crumudgeon in me doesn't take over before I can start a tradition like that with my girls (and boy if he would like to be a part of it). Anyway, the...well, I didn't ask if I could talk about them in public, so let's just call them the Smiths). Okay, the "SMITH" girls did not go willy nilly on the whole shopping experience. No, the SMITH girls had a plan. They went out, maps in hand, ready to conquer Black Friday in Fredericksburg. They knew when they would split up and when they would meet again. They knew what stores were scamming and what stores would follow through on their promises. It was like watching art when the Smith girls were in action on Black Friday. I was proud (exhausted, but proud!) to be a part of their successful Black Friday expedition. The first place we hit that day was Old Navy and as we approached the line, the Smiths noted that they were probably out of the MP3 players they were giving away that year, and even if they weren't, they WOULD be before we were lucky enough to get to the front of the line. Old Navy--a bust, but we didn't let that stop us! I wish I could say the same for this year. My dear friend Natalie and I were debating about whether or not to join in on the madness and if we were going to do it, we were trying to establish a time for the madness to begin. it was 11:30 when we were discussing it and we realized that A. Old Navy was opening at midnight B. They were giving away waterproof cameras and C. Neither one of us had too much wine, so we could TOTALLY go. To be honest, it was while we were commiserating about the fact that we DIDN'T have too much wine that we realized it could be (and probably WAS) a good thing. NOW we could drive to Old navy and get a camera! And we could do our shopping NOW since we were still so awake! THIS would take care of tomorrow's shopping and we wouldn't have to get up at some ungodly hour. PERFECT. Yay for us and yay for Old Navy! Only Old Navy didn't deserve our "yay--" then OR now. So the first thing I see when I rolled out of the car (yes, I rolled. I REALLY ate this Thanksgiving and I was not nor am I now, sorry that I did. It was DELICIOUS and I would do it again. Oh--I DID do it again. And again. And yet again...)sorry! The first thing I noted when I rolled out of the car was the fact that the line didn't seem to have an end. The people at the end closest to the mall entrance were turned around, making it look like that was the end of the line. The people at the other end (which was right in front of the Old Nave storage room door (though I thought at the time that it was just another Old Navy entrance) seemed to be facing the door. Natalie and I walked up to the line questioningly (a word? It is now!), to see what end we were supposed to go to. You would have thought we brought mace to the party or something. One guy scoffed--yes--SCOFFED at me when I asked if it was the front or back of the line and they all rudely pointed out that I needed to go to the other end. Thanks, people. Maybe if you actually FACED the direction of the line it would be more clear. I guess there is no way for them to know that it's not like I am going to go barreling in front of them in line, but I'm pretty sure the guy was a gang member and I was wearing my pepto-bismol sweatshirt and pants (pajamas eseentially) and looked like the only a@# I could kick was my pillow's, and even that would be a stretch). I believe I said something like that aloud as we walked the twenty-something steps to the other end of the line. As I was stewing over the downfall of society, Natalie noted the time. 12:00. 12:10. 12:25. What was the problem? Were we at the wrong door? Nope. 12:35. On our way to the line I noticed mall security circling the parking lot, but I hadn't seen him since we found our place in line. That seemed reasonable. Go away when more people show up--oh--and make sure you're late letting them in becasue THAT goes over REALLY well with angry Black Friday shoppers. We continued to wait. The girl in front of me called an Old Navy in the next town. The woman CLEARLY stated that ALL Old Navy's were open, yet we were clearly waiting outdoors. Why weren't they open yet. Five minutes later, people started to leave. Why? because the people at the front of the line FINALLY found it in them to tell others that when mall security came by he said that Old Navy would not open until 3. IN THE MORNING. Thanks for the update, guys. Grrrrrr. So now we are afraid to leave becasue if we leave, you KNOW they will open the doors, but we HAVE to leave because there is no way in HELL we will be waiting for THREE hours for a camera we may or may not get. GRRRRR--Old Navy! We decided to head over to Toys-R-Us to see if we would be able to get any of the deals we decided to forego for the free camera. Too late. The fifteen mile long line for electronics (it seriously wrapped throughout the aisles of the store--it was IN-SANE) was evidence enough that those deals wouldn't be for us. We had a surprisingly easy TWO HOURS in there, so we decided that since we were up and out anyway, why not head over to--GRRRR-Old Navy? At this point, the mall was open and the line formed inside. It was still a pretty short line (we had waited in a MUCH longer line at the toy store), so we thought it would be worth it to wait. Time check: 2:53--PERFECT. Only by 3:25 we realized it was not in fact "perfect" and Old Navy was going to let us down AGAIN. I walked to the front of the line (we all remember how friendly THEY were two hours prior!) and finally asked a woman who was "mapping out" her plan of attack through the window, if she knew why they weren't opening the doors yet. It turns out that Old Navy would not in fact open at 3--they were now aiming for 4. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! I don't even have WORDS and the reason for that is I am FREAKING EXHAUSTED from waiting in line FOR NOTHING at Old-FREAKING-Navy! And if you are like my husband and are thinking, "Don't you HAVE a camera? Because it SEEMS LIKE you are posting THOUSANDS of pictures on facebook each week," you would be right, but THIS camera was [supposedly] waterproof and, oh yeah--IT WAS FREE! I was evidently a depression era survivor in a previous life because I have a problem when it comes to free stuff. Hotels better nail things down before I get there, because I get my money back in the goods I get when I'm there. I'm like an old lady stuffing nonessentials into my purse (yes, the occasional jelly packet has made it's way into the Vera Bradley, but once I had to evacuate because of a grape jelly explosion, that stopped) wherever I go. Continental breakfasts that are included with our stay, quickly turn into the largest breakfast we ever ate, a midmorning snack and lunch-on-the-run, when I am involved. THIS is the person Old Navy was dealing with when they toyed with our emotions and refused to open their doors. THIS is why crazy people with mace are arrested on Black Friday. As for me, I left my mace behind and happily went home to bed. But I blame Old Navy for my exhaustion and lack of motivation this week. I'm sure I will be able to blame someone else for it next week.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

It ain't easy bein' green...

I like to think that I am open minded and accepting of all people. I preach those ideals to my children and when I taught, I did the same with my students. We are all in this together--black, white, red or purple, Republican or Democrat, gay or straight, male or female, young or old, witty me. It made it a bit difficult when we moved to Montana--the whitest, straightest, most conservative place I've ever lived. Don't get me wrong--I LOVED Montana, I was just worried when we lived there and the only people of color we knew were friends who adopted their four children from Africa. I almost felt guilty--like I had decided to seek them out simply so that my children could see that we live in a colorful world! I swear--I would have befriended them either way--I was just more adamant about it considering the demographics of my new town. Knowing this about me, imagine my disdain for the fact that my daughter seemed to shun Tianna. You know Tianna--the beautiful black princess from The Princess and the Frog...I was so thrilled when that came out (when we were living in "Whitetana"); I was so excited to have my daughters adopt her into their collection of princesses. The first problem with this was the fact that they did not enjoy the movie. I don't know why--I LOVED it, but they were NOT impressed with the swamp creatures or the frogs. That was years ago and I never pushed it--hoping that they would naturally welcome Tiana into their playgroup. Well, it is my youngest daughter's birthday tomorrow and we celebrated with friends on Friday. They gave her three princess Barbies, one of whom was Tiana--YAY! Imagine my horror when she kept leaving Tiana behind. Aurora and Belle just went off to play on their own while Tianna hung out at the grownup table. I kept reminding her about lonely Tianna, but she felt the princess would be fine. HOW would she be fine when the other princesses wouldn't include her in their fun?! It all came to a head when I needed one of the dolls to make Addison's cake to bring to school. I made an Ariel cake for Ryan a few years ago and it was really cute, so I decided to do the same for Addie--but I wanted to use Tianna. "No." Addison stated when I told her about my plan. "I don't Wike hewer." "What do you MEAN you don't LIKE her?! That makes me so sad for her--and Miss Natalie will be sad because she gave that to you!" "Wewell, I DOOOO wike hewer, budd I don want hewer on my cake I want Awoara on my cake..." "But Tianna is so beautiful and I have the green frosting for her dress..." "I don't WANT green on my cake I want PINK on my cake and I don like hewer pwrince because he is a FWROG and I don WANT a pwrince to be a FWROG. I want a pwrince to be a PWRINCE and I don WANT hewer to be on my cake!" So now that I feel comfortable that my daughter is not the racist I feared she was, I am concerned about her obsession with these princes.

Friday, November 25, 2011

I'm gonna need to up my game. Many of you could run over me with your car and not know it was me until I wrote about you on my blog. This said, I really need to start being funny. Or at least work on not misspelling every other word. In my defense, I'm usually NOT misspelling them--I'm usually typing like an idiot and THAT'S why there are so many mistakes. because THAT'S better... Anyway, I feel like this is similar to hosting strangers in your home. You don't unbutton your top button after dinner and let one (and by "one" I mean ANYTHING) go with just ANYONE in the room (unless you [hypothetically] had two hysterectomies and weird things have happened to you ever since. HYPOTHETICALLY... You don't take your socks off at the table, burp while talking or clean food out of your cleavage. Not for strangers. THOSE are luxuries we [usually--at least those of us with DECORUM. It's a word.) afford to those whom we love. I treat my blog like a family dinner. I unbutton my pants, scratch myself and burp the alphabet--forgetting that I have guests. People who did NOT grow up with me. People who did NOT go to school with me. People who did NOT work with me, birth me OR live with me. People who do NOT have to love me regardless of how disgusting I am. People who do NOT want to hear about my every step, my gnarly chin hairs or my...noisy body. I REALLY should "behave" for them. Unfortunately, I am too tired to "behave--" for ANYONE. I've had a LIFETIME of behaving (YES I HAVE, MOM!) and I feel done with it. It is so much work! Plus, my mother USED to warn me, "What would you do if NONNIE (my grandmother) found out about that?" and it would keep me in line because I love that woman more than anything and never would want to disappoint her. Unfortunately, she died in 2001, so my mother doesn't use that anymore (considering it would be horrifying and disturbing to do so). I, however, often think about her and my uncle who died on Thanksgiving in 2006--(ANOTHER one of my favorite people) and think, "Oh DEAR GOD I hope they were at a Bingo tournament up there when I did THAT!" because it horrifies me to think that they can see EVERYTHING that I do now and I'm SO MUCH WORSE than I was when they were alive. ANYWAY...this leads me to a memory of my uncle when I was in high school. He was the ONLY person I wanted to please more than my grandmother. My aunt was right up there as well--she DID marry my uncle and make it possible for him to actually BECOME my uncle--PLUS she did EVERYTHING for me. Not just me--she did EVERYTHING for EVERYONE--still does. WELL, my parents went out of town my senior year of high school and left me with my aunt and uncle--a good decision on their part, considering how much I respected the two of them. The problem with respect is, it isn't fear. I FEARED my parents, but RESPECTED my aunt and uncle. SO...when friends of mine were going over the bridge to go "clubbing" (is THAT still a thing? I'M SO OLD!) in Canada on the SAME night I was supposed to work on a project with my friend, Sue (who, now that I think about it, probably decided that we WEREN'T friends after I "used" her for this...excursion), I thought it was PERFECT timing! After all, WHAT could go wrong? These words have passed through the brains of every teenager--well before Tom Cruise danced across the floor in his underwear and destroyed a Porsche when HIS parents left him alone. And disaster usually follows, which was the case for me. The sad thing for anyone reading this is, I DO NOT remember HOW I got caught or WHAT happened (which maybe would have made this story ever-so-slightly-interesting). I think I was maybe late and my aunt called Sue's house and when I wasn't there (after SHE completed the entire project ALONE--what a jerk I was, right?!)--game off for me. I DO remember lying to them (STILL sticking to my "We were at the library" story) and my uncle yelling (not a REAL yell--the kind of "yell" that tweens and teens claim to hear when they are being scolded or reprimanded for something that they CLEARLY did wrong!) at me, telling me I was a punk for lying to them. HE WAS SO RIGHT (though punk was not harsh enough!), though at the time I'm pretty sure I thought, "I can't believe HE'S like everyone else--it's all THEIR fault for not being cool!" Anyway, I metntioned it to him years later and he said [apologetically for some reason!) he didn't remember it. Why would he? I would try to forget it, too if I ever wanted to welcome the child into my home again! Of all the punishments and harsh words I had and heard throughout my life, that one sentence had the most impact on me. My uncle demanded arespect without DEMANDING respect. He treated everyone equally--REALLY equally and gave EVERYONE a chance. When I got in trouble at home it was just another day of getting in trouble, but upsetting my uncle--THAT was bad. Because he was RARELY upset. It was like you had to TRY to make him upset--to REALLY work on it until he broke and to think that I was the one who did it--devastating. He was Bruce Willis circa David Addison-1980's-Moonlighting--"Do bears bare? Do bees be?" and "Whaddyamean, whaddoImean?" and had me smiling every time I spoke with him. And he spoke WITH you--not AT you, which is remarkably difficult for an adult to do with a child. That is one of the many reasons I wish he could be here with me--to teach me HOW to be that person, because I have to say, the lunacy I call motherhood is REALLY paling in comparison! We named my son (his middle name at least) after my uncle (and his grandfather), not only to honor his memory, but to hopefully (through a name?) instill some of the integrity, humor and respect that came with it. So far, we have a LITTLE more work to do on that--I'm not gonna lie! My oldest daughter also has a part of his name and my youngest, Addison, has his Moonlighting character's name. That one wasn't on purpose, but I was reflecting on how she was the only one who DIDN'T have some form of my uncle's name when my husband noted the coincidence which REALLy made me happy. I like to think my uncle was up there (on a non-Bingo day) pointing us in the direction of Addison on DAY THREE when she still remained nameless. I know the nurses were ready to name her FOR us, so some intervention was needed!

Wednesday, November 23, 2011


Thanksgiving. An excuse to eat until you get sick--JUST what most of us need, right? This year I am really looking forward to it as a day to really get in some family time. We've all been a bit...detached lately. I'm not really sure what the problem is--we are so busy doing nothing really, but tomorrow we will FINALLY have some time to sit down and to be a family. After I cook the turkey of course. And after the sides are ready. Oh--and dessert--I tried a new cookie recipe that entails allowing the cookies to chill before baking, so I'll need to bake those tomorrow. THEN it will be family time. Though I really should ATTEMPT to clean the food off of the floor--we have friends coming over and they have certainly been here when our floors have had more food on them than our plates have had,but tomorrow IS a holiday. We should only put out our NICE dirt. Plus, I don't want anyone to get confused and actually start EATING the food off of the floor. My youngest does that and claims the five second rule. She's FIVE (or will be on Monday) and is talking about the five second rule. It's good that we are teaching our children the valuable things in life. The scary thing is, I don't think she is actually eating the right food (off of the if there is a RIGHT food to eat off of the floor...), because if she were, wouldn't my floor be clean? I really need to break her of this before she starts to do it at school. They are already a bit skeptical of me over the fact that she gnaws her big toe into a bloody stump. I imagine this says something about my cooking--the child would rather eat off of the floor or gnaw her FOOT down to the bone rather than eat my food. THAT is an inspiring Thanksgiving thought...dig in everyone! I am having a problem with Thanksgiving being tomorrow. You see-it crept up on me and I am SO not ready for it. It's not like the actual HOLIDAY is a problem and I'm not preparing for the queen or anything, but back at the beginning of September (when Thanksgiving was a hundred years away) I challenged our friends to a football game on Thanksgiving day. I actually laughed OUT LOUD (people actually DO that--it isn't just a computer abbreviation!)when I typed in "I challenged..." I did it again! The thought of me challenging anyone to anything (except for maybe a "sleep off" or a "talk off") is HILARIOUS to me, but evidently in September it was not. In my mind, if I continued to work out and eat right, a football game would not kill me. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! First of all, regardless of my regimen (which DID NOT consist of doing those two important things), I would NEVER be a football player. EVER. I have never been particularly athletic--even when I was thin. I was a dancer--not the "fun" kind of dancer--I wish! I was never THAT fun (except for that one time in college and then again in grad school, but we don't talk about those times) I took dancing lessons for most of elementary and middle school (much to my father's dismay, since not only did he have to PAY for the lessons...and leotards...and shoes...and costumes...he also had to WATCH all of the recitals. Well, to be fair, he didn't actually WATCH many (if not ANY) of them and a few he was able to get out of with one excuse or another) and played Field Hockey briefly (though I don't know how much "playing" I actually did) in high school. I almost played lacrosse in college, but THAT didn't pan out for me, either. The thing is, I NEED to work out. I LOATHE it more than the average person--I DO NOT have endorphins and if I did, they WOULD NOT show their faces when I work out. My body actually revolts against working out and it ISN'T pretty. My body OR the revolt. I forced myself (I'm not sure how because "force" hasn't been a part of my vocabulary unless it's used in reference to a Nutella container) to work out when I was pregnant the last two times (I worked during my first pregnancy and when I work there is little time for anything else--ESPECIALLY the gym!)and followed through for the first few months. Then I went back to work (no gym--no life!) and didn't visit the gym again until last spring. I KNOW--the math doesn't work out (either! HA! Get it? I need to sleep...). I stopped because I went back to work and when I stopped working I...had three small children at home and felt too crummy to go to the gym. THEN I moved to the other side of the PLANET (sweet Montana!)and REALLY didn't feel up to it. [What feels like}4000 tons later, I realized that it had to be done. So I did it. The problem is, I feel like crap when I work out. I feel like crap when I'm done working out. I even feel like crap just squeezing myself into a sports bra--THAT should count as my workout--it's frightening. Yet in early September I felt compelled to "challenge" (still laughing) another family to FOOTBALL?! TOMORROW?! You wanna know how I've been prepping? First, I've been hitting the LEAST four times since I made the "challenge." Second, I've been eating like a fat person. I know what some of you are thinking..."Are you a fat person and is that why you are eating as such?" The thing is, I used to look the part and NOT eat the part. It was quite aggravating as I choked down fish twice a week (I cannot STAND any fish that is good for me!) with Quinoa and kale, yet LOOKED like I was popping bon bons and snickers bars. NOW I've been EATING the part AND looking the part! I'm usually pretty good at Halloween--I do not buy candy UNTIL Halloween and I only buy a little. THIS year, I bought it, I ate it, I bought it again...THEN I stole it from my children. I finally broke free from THAT nonsense (there is STILL candy left!) and started on baked goods. I can't seem to go any amount of time without them. first it was because we had friends over, but I feel confident that the goods would have been purchased with or without company. I was going to go Paleo (I WILL be doing that and when I do, you WILL hear about it!), but then I decided that eating everything in sight and NOT exercising would be the BEST way to prep for the "Big Game!" I even pulled into THE PARKING LOT of the Y on more than one occasion and then LEFT. I AM SO TIRED! THAT is what I think when I'm in the parking lot. I've never been this tired before--so tired that I cannot make myself get out of THE CAR! Of course, I spend most of my nights playing "Supernanny" and bringing at least ONE of my three children back to their beds usually more than one (but fewer than TEN)times. That has to count for SOMETHING, right? Right, I'm sure that God is going to give me sympathy points for the First Annual Corwin Football Game and, what? Will let me win? What am I hoping for here? I did go to the gym a few times this week--I wonder if THAT helped?! Let's not talk about the fact that I almost FELL ASLEEP on the treadmill (who does that?!) and the ninety-year-olds were speeding by me on the machines. NINETY. I'm pathetic! But bring on the football. Just because I've been saying (and MEANING) lately that I wouldn't run if I were being chased. Really. I would just think that they must want it more than I do. THAT is a problem, I know. I need to work on my desire to compete if I am even gonna SHOW UP for this game tomorrow. Or maybe I will actually follow through on SOMETHING...maybe I won't run when they "chase" me. Maybe I will scoop up the ball and rest in the fetal position until they pry it out of my hands. Game. Over. OR...maybe I will FINALLY get some sleep tonight and I will FINALLY feel inspired and I will run like a NORMAL person when someone chases me. And MAYBE I will make it to the gym on Friday. Because I have to be honest--I WILL be eating like a fat person tomorrow and I will not apologize for that.


The Epic Adventures of a Modern Mom

Hey party people of the blogosphere, welcome to the Weekend Blog Hop till you Drop!

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The Epic Adventures of a Modern Mom...20,000 Leagues under the Laundry!

-- Here's the linky tools html again just in case: The Epic Adventures of a Modern Mom

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Blogging and Skiing and Babies

How can the back crawl? This is the sentence I was given to "verify" my blog with a place that may or may not pay me to advertise for them. I really have NO CLUE what I am doing these days. One morning, with encouragement from my brother, I decided to start typing--this time, for others to read. I even posted some things that I had written for no particular reason and saved for no particular reason. I know that I want to write--I just didn't know where or how to publish. Blogging seemed like a great answer and I really enjoy it (aren't you glad?!). Unfortunately, it is a little more complicated than this non-technologically-savvy former school teacher/stay-at-home mom can handle. I honestly thought I would just type, people would read and companies would pay. Wouldn't it be great if it could be that easy?! I guess if it were that easy, EVERYONE would blog. Wait--everyone IS blogging!

I have a master's degree--surely I can figure out what I'm doing here and make money doing it. Right? I think I need to go back to changing diapers. What I need to do is figure out how to make money so that I can HIRE someone to take care of...well, EVERYTHING except for the writing on the blog. I could email my writing, they could proofread, because I honestly don't ever do that--SUCH a horrible thing for an English teacher to admit--though not the WORST offense I've committed against my English-teacher persona...but I don't even LOOK at my writing after I type it because if I DID, I would NEVER publish it. I am incapable of looking at ANY work without seeing errors and I am not confident enough in my own work to publish it without worrying or being embarrassed. If I hit the final period and quickly hit publish, it is out of my hands. This logic probably makes no sense to anyone but me, but that is the case with A LOT of my...reasoning.

 Nikanomics for instance. My husband coined this term in early 2005 to describe my "ability to find deals." Those quotes are there not because HE admires my ability to find deals--they are there because I admire my ability to find deals. I'm pretty sure HIS definition of Nikanomics has something to do with buying things we don't need and spending money we don't have, but THAT is looking at a half empty glass, don't you think? This is the same logic I used when I was trapped on a mountain (you say hill, I say mountain) in Ellicotville, NY when I was in high school. My mom borrowed my aunt's skis for me for my first time skiing. They were CROSS COUNTRY skis, which could explain all of the falling and tripping and crying. It also explains how my skis crossed each other making me tumble and lose one of them while I was in the middle of the mountain, terrified. "She's skiing on ONE ski!" escaped the lips of those lucky enough to witness the debacle. Small children whipped by me, shooting snow in my face, pointing and laughing and when I was finally approached by someone I knew, I calmly said, "It's fine. I'm waiting for the helicopter." "The HELICOPTER?!" "Yes. I am going to wait for the helicopter to come and get me. I WILL NOT go down this mountain--the helicopter will take care of me. I'll just climb up that little ladder thingy."

After several hours and NO helicopter, I finally eased my way down the mountain--ON MY A@##--only to be greeted by the same little punks who had blown snow in my face. Not my proudest moment and I swore I would NEVER ski again. Luckily in college my roommate wouldn't let me give up on skiing. Our senior year she took me to a place outside of Rochester and I used actual DOWNHILL skis. WHO KNEW?! It took me HOURS (and a few Hot Toddies--no not men, drinks, though I'm pretty sure the cute men inspired me as well!) to even GO UP the mountain, but when I finally DID, I made it down without incident and was able to do it three times before they closed.

Unfortunately, my time between ski trips was so great that I was never able to REALLY get over my fear. While I was in grad school, I went with my then boyfriend and some friends who all were able to ski right out of the womb. They went up the hills without trepidation and I decided to hang out and wait for them at the lodge. That of course was NOT cool and they wouldn't hear of it. They all said they would sacrifice their fun and stay with me on the bunny hill. MORTIFYING. My boyfriend was the first sucker hero to get stuck with me spend time with me.

As the children and other beginners (...other CHILDREN) went up the T-bar gracefully, I slipped and slided like a bear on roller skates. When we approached the top, I could feel the sweat forming on my brow. My boyfriend kept reassuring me, telling me I would be fine, but one of the worst parts of skiing for me is getting to the top of the mountain (okay--I KNOW it was a hill, but it FELT like a mountain!) and exiting the J-bar, T-bar, chair lift--whatever. WITH. GOOD. REASON. My boyfriend elegantly exited the ramp as I tried to ski away, but I wasn't able to move. Terror washed over me as I lunged forward only to remain where I was. Well, not where I WAS exactly...the bar had SOMEHOW worked its way up the back of my jacket and began CARRYING me down the mountain. I was floating in air like the freakin' coyote after the road runner gets him that ONE last time before he FALLS OFF A CLIFF! The "ride" stopped and the person running it put it in reverse so that I might find land again. I swear the same kids who shot snow at me years ago were ON THAT T-BAR laughing at me that day. I don't blame them--if I hadn't been laughing hysterically, the mortification of what had happened may have caused me to stay at home. FOREVER.

Back to my point--logic. I employed my sense of logic when I went into labor with my son as well. In between tears and cries of agony, I "calmly" told my husband (in my "a helicopter will surely come to save me!" voice): "Just tell the doctor to cut me open and lift the baby out THAT way. Really. It just makes the most-AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHH SENSE. Have him cut me open and take it out. It's fine--I'll be fine if he does that. Tell him. Tell HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMM!" Needless to say, the doctor did not support elective C-sections while the mother was currently laboring a healthy baby (who CLEARLY hated his mother). Duly. Noted. What REALLY makes me laugh is that a story about how to make money blogging ended with the delivery of my son--and when I put it THAT way, it sounds so very wrong! Only I am able to go on THAT many tangents. Who will EVER pay me for THOSE?!

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Our shelf elf...

We have an Elf on the Shelf. My cousin first told me about it three or four years ago and I found the idea BRILLIANT. So brilliant that I whined about getting one for a few years before I finally bought one last November. Although it pains my husband to pay for nonessentials, we came up with a plan for the Elf's visit. The behavior problems and yelling and screaming had been escalating and we knew we had to do SOMETHING. Enter, THE ELF. We wrapped the box and addressed it to the family from Santa on St. Nicholas's Day. We included a letter about behavior and how disappointed Santa would be if they didn't start to turn things around--that simply watching from the North Pole was not enough--he needed a man INSIDE. The Elf was sent as an extra set of eyes for Santa--THAT'S how poorly we'd been behaving. NOT our proudest moment. Don't judge--we were DESPERATE and it was really for the safety of the children. If things didn't turn around SOON, SOMEONE was going to be hospitalized. The instructions stated that we were only allowed to touch the elf that first time as we placed him on a shelf. We were supposed to name the elf (which in a normal family would be a fun thing to do...IN A NORMAL FAMILY) then modify our behavior so that the elf would only report GOOD things to Santa. For children who believe that a man is able to fly around the world on magic reindeer and deliver presents to billions of children, my six, five and four-year-olds REALLY had a problem believing in this whole elf business. "But he's just a DOLL. How could A DOLL report anything to SANTA? That doesn't even make SENSE!" Ryan scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "Well, SANTA sent him, RYAN, so he MUST be real!" Brayden responded earnestly. "Do we really want to take the chance?" I asked. "Don't you think we are in ENOUGH trouble with Santa?!" "I just don't understand--he's like--A DOLL--not a REAL elf..." My loud gasp interrupted her. "Well, we should all hope that he didn't hear you say THAT!" I said in my most convincing mom voice."I know I don't want to live in a house that Santa doesn't visit..." "Denis A. lives in a house where Santa doesn't visit and Mrs. Feldman is Jewish, so Santa doesn't go to HER house either and they seem very happy," Brayden offered. "Thank you for that. However, Santa WOULD go to their houses if they WANTED him to go to their houses because they BEHAVE and don't need Santa to send an extra elf to keep an eye on them like WE do. Now get upstairs for nap." All three helped me place the elf on top of the armoire and slowly backed away from him to head upstairs for nap time. When were all upstairs, Ryan remembered she had left her blanket downstairs. She hurried down to get it when my husband saw her circling the elf, scrutinizing every inch. He witnessed her point two fingers at HER eyes then point them back at the elf like Deniro indicating he had eyes on Stiller in the Fockers movies. I think she was missing the point of this whole elf thing. After nap, my children were STUNNED to see that the elf had moved to another high location. "What could this MEAN?" they asked. "Well, he is supposed to move around so that you don't know WHERE he is, to catch you[hopefully] behaving. He must have wanted to get a better view." This answer appeased Addison, but the other two were still a bit skeptical. Brayden came around first--mostly out of fear of not getting presents, but Ryan...SHE spent most of her time in the room with the elf, watching him and waiting for his next move. About an hour later, we heard a crash and ran to see what had happened. Ryan, the elf, a shoe, some dust (okay...A LOT of dust) and some papers were all on the floor, the victims of some kind of accident. "I just wanted to see if he really WAS a doll, Mommy" Ryan wailed. "I thought if I threw Daddy's shoe at him, maybe he would catch it, but everything fell and I slipped..." We needed a new plan. That night, the elf "left." hHe left no explanation or forwarding address, but we suspected that perhaps he left because we had disappointed him and Ryan after all had TOUCHED him (which the directions specifically stated NOT to do...this family has a problem with SPECIFIC instructions...we'll get back to that another time) so he was probably either with a new family or back at The North Pole. We hadn't even NAMED him yet (we had only fought and cried for an hour over names), so he probably felt sad and unwelcomed. MAYBE if we REALLY behaved well, he would come back so that we could have another chance with Santa. THIS seemed to resonate with my children and they had a FANTASTIC day. After another day like that one, the elf popped up in Ryan's room with a note that REMARKABLY sounded a lot like our suspicions written above, though he included a line that forgave Ryan for touching him. His name was Ernie--he thought we should know--and he was willing to give us another chance with Santa because he was SO IMPRESSED with the way the previous two days had gone. Every night until Christmas eve, Ernie moved around our house to keep an eye on things for Santa. Ryan slept with her note for a night or two--I'm not sure what THAT relationship was all about, but she was a believer. THIS year, we decided to bust Ernie out early since the behavior is getting a little rocky. He hasn't been moving locations which baffled the older two. "Why is he in the same spot today as he was yesterday? " Brayden wondered aloud. "Maybe he's tired from his trip," Ryan offered. "Maybe he's giving us a chance to remember how to behave," Brayden added. "Maybe heeeesa DOLL," Addison chimed in from the art desk. Here we go again...


"Please wiwwull you get dat fohwer me Santa Clause?" These words roll off of the lips of my sweet Addie several times a day and I can't help but hope that Santa pulls through for her. I mean, how could he resist those enormous blue eyes and that sweet little voice? Of course at THIS rate, there would be no room left for actual HUMAN BEINGS in our home if she got EVERYTHING she asked for this Christmas, but it is REALLY hard to say no to that face. And she knows it. And she plays it. Hard. The thing is, I KNOW she is playing me AND I DON'T CARE! The other two were always too lazy to even bother with "playing" me, so I take WHATEVER sweet Addison gives me, simply beecause she is taking the time to give it to me. Not the best parenting, I know, but again--I DON'T CARE. The one who is probably going to suffer the most because of this..."parenting style" is Addie, but I just cannot help myself. I think it's because I tried to do everything the "right" way (as if there IS a "right" way) with the other two, not worrying about my children "liking" me and saying "no" like it was my job (and I know it WAS my job, but I REALLY started to feel like it was the ONLY word I knew--and so did my children!). Then sweet Addie came along. Sweet Addie with her singsong voice and love of everyone. Sweet Addie who, loves me unconditionally--not that the other two don't--they are just more eager to POINT OUT the conditions than she is. Sweet Addie who, from the time she was two informed me (with a sweet-Addie hug) that "I dust WUUUUV Dada most, Momma," and it STILL makes my heart melt--even though I am CLEARLY her second choice (maybe even third or fourth if we count Barney or her Uggie (blanket). I don't believe in "favorites," I do believe that I love my children differently at different times. Brayden tries to push my buttons--always has--and Ryan is pretty easy-going. As long as she does what SHE wants. WHEN she wants. They all are pretty great as far as kids go--you know your kids are terrific when you hang out with OTHER people's kids and you think, "Wow! Mine are looking P-R-E-T-T-Y good right about now," and you are right. Comparatively speaking, my children are PHENOMENAL. They just hate ME and try to push ME over the edge. They are wonderful for pretty much ANYONE else. All three teachers at all three conferences had nothing but wonderful things to say about all three of them (though Ryan's incredibly chatty--where does she get THAT?!--and supposedly has so much going on in her brain that she can't HELP but forget things (seriously--talk about apples and trees--THIS one never even FELL--except for maybe the whole "brilliance" thing--no idea where THAT came from!) and they all commended the brilliance that all three of my sweet babes evidently have. So if they are so freakin' brilliant, how is it that they are unable to follow simple instructions like, "Don't slam your sister's head in the door" or "DO NOT put your brother in the dryer," and still find it reasonable to pull a sibling down the stairs on a raincoat (and then act SURPRISED when said sibling is bleeding or unconscious)?! Yep. BRILLIANT.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Helpful or not?

When I first got on facebook (about three years ago), I had SO MUCH FUN connecting with people I had truly missed throughout the years. It seemed I was constantly finding new friends and they were finding me. It was the BEST thing for a person like me--one who MEANS well, but has a little trouble with the follow-through. The road to hell REALLY IS paved on good intentions--I can feel the heat beneath my feet! I INTEND to be a good friend, but the truth is, I kind of suck. There is something else you should know about me. I think EVERYONE feels the same way I do about things. Let me correct that--I KNOW that SO MANY PEOPLE DO NOT SHARE MY VIEWS. I just refuse to accept that. It's not that I am a know-it-all. It's quite the contrary in fact. I admit to being wrong about pretty much EVERYTHING. Until I think I'm right. I base what is "right" to me on what benefits most people or what creates the happiest ending. I've found in recent months that MANY of my "friends" do NOT share this method of reasoning. Duly noted. I first started this...feeling...when I went off to college. I was blessed to find the MOST PATIENT roommate EVER. Seriously, she should be a saint with all that she had to put up with when I was there. Example? Day one. My parents and I set up the room before she arrived. We made SURE to take over every inch of one half of the room--maybe even going over that inch in some areas. No complaints from her. I went out--ALL the time and kept her (or woke her) up until all hours of the night. No complaints from her. I even passed my "line" and took over the ENTIRE ROOM with all of my...prized possessions scattered around like...well, a junk hole--no hyperbole here, it's the truth. Some complaining, but she still loved me. Don't get me wrong--I wasn't ALWAYS horrible and I used to be very nice actually. I also used to be the person who would do anything for anyone with a smile on my face. I think the old me would REALLY annoy the new me. In fact, I kind of feel like going back in time to punch the old me in the face. THAT is a conversation for another day. I made such good friends in college and loved how there was no...ranking...or anything to prevent me from being who I was or being friends with anyone. It didn't matter what I wore, or even what I said or did--my friends were my friends. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't necessarily COLLEGE that did this. I realized that everyone had grown up and we were all on the same playing field, unlike the competition and ranking in high school. This revelation infested me with confidence and I made it my goal to befriend--well, everyone. My friends used to make fun of how many random friends I had. From townies to transfer students, I made it MY MISSION to be liked by everyone (maybe too much in some cases, but my mom [may be] reading this, so I won't get into THAT). When I went home for the summer, I ran into this couple who went to high school with me. He was very friendly with me--always had been nice to everyone it seemed--but SHE was a different story. She wasn't Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls or anythhing, she was just...aloof. Having this newfound insight, I thought I was friends with EVERYONE and that EVERYONE got the memo about being on the same plaing field. Evidently not. I remember chatting amiably and telling them to give me a call if they ever wanted to get together that summer. Not because I didn't already have WAY TOO MANY people to keep up with (along with working three jobs), but because EVERYONE had to be my friend. As I walked away, I realized that I may have been off on that one...and unless they legitimately lost my phone number AND their phone books, I was. I tell this Sue Heck-like story not to make you sad for the bushy-unibrowed gangly girl I once was, but to tell you how I did a similar thing on facebook. (And if you don't know Sue Heck, check out The Middle. I think I laugh more out of the embarrassment that Sue Heck is ME circa 1986 than the fact that the mother is me now!) You see, I have a theory. I have A LOT of theories. THIS particular theory is about pregnancy, delivery and post-partum depression. I believe that pregnancy and delivery SUCK. I believe that those who THINK they love it are lying to themselves. That Duggar woman? Certifiable. I actually feel sorry for her because her brain is so far into that mommy cloud, it will never be able to come back, which is a good thing in her case. IMAGINE what would happen if her brain DID come back now? "HOLY *&#!! I have HOW MANY children? AND I'M PREGNANT?! What am I, A CAT?! Or worse--A RABBIT?!" Better she should remain in the mommy cloud. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about when I say "mommy cloud" because any woman who has given birth to a child and any woman or man who has (or are currently) raised or lived with small children KNOWS what a "mommy cloud" is. My sister calls is "Placenta brain" which I love, but it happens regardless of the placenta. It happens simply because there is a child or are children snipping away at your brain with their constant demands (Now I have to feed them AND be nice to them? Apparently I also have to LISTEN to them, though they don't reciprocate) and incessant whining. Add to that the fact that so many choose to stay at home to give their children..."The best care ever"(which in my case is a joke at times because, REALLY? They are better off with me as a raging psychopath than with children their own age and teachers who do fun activities with them each day? REALLY?! so they don't have contact with the outside world. THIS is where I have been for the last few years. After having my children I worked for just over two years (not consecutively) and have been home the rest of the time. My son will be eight this year. That is SIX YEARS of spending the majority of my time with people who seemingly cannot be taught anything and who do not listen to a word I say unless I YELL IT LIKE A LUNATIC. No wonder I have no brain. HOW does this relate to my facebook incident? I'll tell you. The year after I "retired" from teaching for the third time, I acquainted myself with facebook and spent my time searching for those I thought I had wronged in some way or had a falling out with for some reason. One of my closest friends in high school was on and he posted that his wife was pregnant with their second child. I was so very happy for them and (although we hadn't SPOKEN in almost twenty years)I somehow thought it was MY responsibility to to warn him about ONE of my theories (though in the eleven page email I sent him I did not MENTION it was MY theory...hmmm...)about parenthood and pregnancy. I believe that EVERYONE suffers through some form of "baby blues" or another. Not everyone goes all Susan Smith on their family or dislikes their babies, but simply being sleep-deprived is enough to mess with your psyche--add to it everything else that comes with the job (and the PREPARATION for the job) and who WOULDN'T be depressed or feel disconnected at times?! Notice you never heard Tom Cruise say another negative word about postpartum depression after HIS wife was pregnant. I mentioned ALL OF THIS (plus a little more, I'm sure!) to my "friend" and felt compelled to explain more. I'm SO VERY HELPFUL, no?! There are varying degrees of this depression and add to it ANOTHER baby (before your brain comes back from the first) and it can be madness. If your spouse doesn't UNDERSTAND this, imagine how bad it can get. Some of you know because you've been there. Wouldn't YOU want your spouse's freakish friend from a few decades ago to offer unsolicited advice about how devastating it is going to be when your new baby comes?! YOU'RE WELCOME is what I should say to THAT family. Only, I'm not sure we are even friends on here anymore and if we are I'm P-R-E-T-T-Y sure he "hid" me. Let's just say that the happy commenting we had done BEFORE my "helpful" note was no more and I could almost HEAR the crickets in the room after he read the note--probably aloud--to his spouse. Evidently we don't ALL think the same way and what may seem "helpful" to me may seem a little stalker-like to others. Who knew?! I'd like to say "lesson learned," but I think you know me better than THAT.

Where IS everyone?

I haven't broken 100 since I told you about my desire for a dog on October 27th. Can you BELIEVE that?! I came close (99) ONCE, but my number of readers has SERIOUSLY been slipping. I would offer incentives or giveaways, but I'm not sure who would want some unpaid hopsital bills or the handle off of my mini-van. It's not even my NICE mini-van (as evidenced by the missing handle)--it's the mini-van I got stuck with when the Corwin financial downfall happened. No bailouts here, my friends. We said goodbye to my Sienna (which I would not hesitate to give up a kidney to have it back) and hello to no car payment. I have to say, I do LOVE not having a car payment. I do NOT love sliding the door closed only to find that I am still holding onto the handle--and IT'S NOT holding onto the car door! I also do not love that EVERY TIME I drop my children off and follow the "drop off procedures," they assume that my door will shut itself. EVERY TIME. This wouldn't be so bad if, when I DID have a fancy-but-crazed-mother-vehicle, the opposite hadn't happened. EVERY TIME I would follow "loop procedures," the sweet woman who greeted my family and helped my children out of the car would slam the door shut like her life depended on it and then say, "Ooohhh" as if she were shocked. AGAIN. EVERY TIME. This happened in Montana of course, and the lack of shutting (where they ALSO look shocked EVERY TIME)is in New Jersey. Hmmm. I'm sure there is a study of some kind that someone far more motivated than I will EVER be could do on this. Perhaps I am the ONLY ONE in New Jersey who has to shut her door ON HER OWN. That must be right up there with pumping my own gas (which I wasn't ready to give up when I first moved here, but I have to say, I'm a BIG fan of not having (excuse me, not BEING ALLOWED) to do it myself anymore. We must NEVER leave Jersey...) On the contrary, Montanans (After over three years of deliberation, we came to the conclusion that "Montanans" is correct. I don't CARE if I'm wrong) must be happy to shut their own doors--no buttons needed. Interesting... So back to my initial gripe (the Sienna thing was CERTAIN to come out soon--it's been KILLING me!)--losing my readers. The GOOD news is, I have over 70 followers and about fifteen Network followers (that evidently MEANS something...I'm not sure what!), so I may actually break 100 FOLLOWERS soon. Which means absolutely nothing if no one wants to read what I write! For the twenty-seven of you who seem to read regularly (totally pulled THAT number out of my...actually, I took it from the number of people who read yesterday...), I thought I would present you with the opportunity to read MORE of my work ('cause you can't EVER get too much Nika! Wait...I think it's actually, "EVERYONE needs a Nika break...," but I'm implementing the NEW saying!) I signed up for yet another venture that I do not fully understand. I'm writing articles for I am now a "Toys and Games Examiner," and will hopefully get motivated enough to explore other areas of interest on If people READ my articles, they may actually LIKE me and then I could get more work and eventually I may even be able to publish those children's books I've been writing or that novel I will never write...well, you get it! SOOOO...if you ever want me to make some money so that I am able to offer you prizes and incentives, PLEEEAAAAASSSSEEE check out my article on Just type "This Holiday Season, Microsoft "Kinects" with gamers" into the search bar in the upper left corner then scroll down until you see the title (feel free to make fun of my title--I need to start cracking OTHERS up and stop cracking MYSELF up as it gets me NOWHERE! Oh--and THANK YOU for reading my words--even when they AREN'T funny!

Thursday, November 10, 2011

I LOVE my Children!

I DO NOT HATE MY CHILDREN. I LOVE my children. They make me crazy and try to hurt me physically on occasion, but I still LOVE them. MORE THAN LIFE. No, I'm not trying to convince myself, nor am I trying to convince YOU, I've just been told that what I deem to be funny may not actually be construed as funny. Who knew?! Oh, right. I did. But I supposedly didn't care. Yet here I am CARING again... But, really. I don't take ANYTHING that people say literally and I'm pretty sure that after "knowing" me for five minutes (or sentences), it's pretty obvious that I use hyperbole and poor metaphors to...engage my readers. Also, I pretty much spew out ANYTHING that comes to mind, feel quite adamant about it and then change my mind five seconds later. These...quirks...are probably what led me to all of the stories in the first place! That said, I am sorry that some of you are still appalled that I used the "H" word to describe my feelings about my children at that particular point in time. Let's get something straight--I would NEVER TELL my children I feel that way about them (though they all seem to have my sense of humor so they would more than likely KNOW that I didn't mean it...except for the boy. He tends to be a bit literal, but occasionally he surprises me...). In fact, I tell them I love them so often, they are actually a bit cocky about it at times. All three of them have been known to say, "But you love me too much to be angry, Momma..." at one time or another in their lives, and they are usually correct in that assertion. USUALLY. I AM guilty of commiserating about my "H" word of them with my husband when we are both exhausted, to other moms (who probably think I'm an awful parent, and to anyone who is nice enough to forage through my blog. I bet some of you even think that if I hadn't written (or THOUGHT) about my horrible feelings, maybe there wouldn't have been a hospital visit. Like maybe God is punishing me or something. I agree that God is punishing me at times (I really ticked Him (or Her?!) off when I was younger), but I don't think it's because I wrote mean words or spoke mean words about my children. I don't even think He would punish me for writing or saying mean words about my parents (though I'm P-R-E-T-T-Y sure my mother would!). I think that we need to say (or write!) our feelings aloud so that they lose power. If I sit and stew and pretend like I'm NOT upset that my children jump on me and torment me in the middle of the night or the fact that they are sassy and defiant on a regular basis, I am sure to explode one day on some unsuspecting stranger. Or even worse, I will explode AT my children instead of ABOUT my children. Also, for the longest time I thought I was the only one going through so many things. When I finally realized I wasn't alone, I got angry at those who pretended like they never endured the turmoils of parenthood. It would have been SO MUCH EASIER had I known that I wasn't crazy. For those things at least--we all know I'm a bit CRAZY in general, but that will be addressed eventually. I then decided that I would tell others--EVERYTHING--so that they would know that there are people out there going through the same things--sometimes worse--and THAT will hopefully keep them going. There was a time when I thought that this parenting thing had defeated me. I still have some days like that--where I'm R-I-G-H-T on the edge...Talking about and writing about these things isn't only (what I deem to be) helpful to others who may also be teetering on the edge, it is cathartic for me and pulls me back to solid ground. or at the very least, solid...ER?! ground. I was at the Rheumotologist a few weeks ago and he had Rachel Ray on in the waiting room. Kelly Ripa and...her husband Mark...C...(I'll get back to his last name when I think of it!) were on and I heard Rachel ask, "Do you have a favorite child?" to which Kelly responded (without hesitation), "ABSOLUTELY we do! Every parent has the ONE child they will save in a fire!" I was called in during her response, so I didn't get to see where they would go with that, but I found it to be HILARIOUS! Do I believe that Kelly and Mark would REALLY give up their other two without a thought? No. Just like YOU shouldn't believe that I hate my children. Not that I profess to be as funny as Kelly Ripa, (IMAGINE the number of readers I would have THEN!), but parents need to be able to laugh and use hyperbole to get through...well, PARENTING! CONSUELOS. Mark CONSUELOS. I really seem to give dads second billing, don't I?! I even always say "We are going to my Mom's house," or "...Dave's Mom's house..."and "...Dave's Aunt Peg's house.." and even though she died in 2001, "My Nonnie's house..." up until my children were born and it was FINALLY "Papa's beach house..." because they LOVE to visit my Papa and if I told them we were going to my Nonnie's house they wouldn't know WHERE we were going since they never met her! My point? I DON'T KNOW! Oh--the fact that I don't give dads enough credit. My DAD, DAVE'S DAD, DAVE'S UNCLE BOB...I'll work on that! SO...please stop thinking that I am a horrible mother for using the "H" word when describing my occasional feelings toward my children. INSTEAD, think I'm a horrible mother for telling my daughter (after she asked no less than fifteen times while I was on hour THREE of trying to finish reading an article in the paper) that yes, she COULD put syrup on her potatoes simply because I didn't feel like getting up to heat them up. ("Mom, can I have syrup on my potatoes?" "NO. You MAY not put syrup on your potatoes." "PLEASE MAY I put syrup on my potatoes?" "No, you may ABSOLUTELY NOT put syrup on your potatoes." Pause while she visits the potatoes and I reread the same line for the eleventh time. "But Mom, I LIKE syrup on my potatoes." "I imagine you do, SINCE YOU ASKED FOR IT, but you may not put syrup on your potatoes." "But MOM..." this went on for eleven or twelve more times until she came back with "OOOHHH well, FINE. Then could you AT LEAST (I need to have a chat about the use of the words "AT LEAST" in my house on another day) heat the potatoes up in the thingamabobber...hahaha...just kidding...microwave for me?! They are cold..." Pause. Try to finish sentence. Can't do it. Pause. Sigh. "Fiiiiiiiiine! You may have syrup on your potatoes." Without even LOOKING at my husband, I laughed and told him to shut it as he said, "Maybe not your FINEST parenting moment," and I'm wondering what WAS my finest parenting moment? I am CHOOSING to believe that there are SO MANY, it's hard to think of just one. And THAT is what denial does to a person.

No Judgment Here

I didn't get out of bed until after ten this morning. That's not actually true. I got out of bed to give Addison her medicine at seven. THEN I got back INTO my bed again. Then, at about 7:20 I got out of bed to separate Ryan and Addison because one was stuffing the other into the the third shelf of the bookcase. I don't temember who did what because A. It was before eight in the morning and B. I don't care. I don't. Maybe it sounds horrible, but I don't care about THAT either. I stopped caring about these things because I know that if I miss it THIS time, I will most definitely get another opportunity to do it well, in THIS particular instance, MINUTES later. At 7:42 the OTHER one was doing the stuffing, which was particularly disheartening since they were STILL supposed to be separated and I STILL wanted to be sleeping. DESPERATELY. I'm not really even sure how (or IF) I handled THAT, but I do know that eventually they were all allowed out--as long as they stopped poking me in the face and whining and complaining to me. You know--as long ast they stopped acting their ages and treating me like their MOTHER. I DID NOT want to do my job and I did NOT want them to do theirs. Finally (at like 9:24--yes, I DO remember the time!) they STOPPED bugging ME and went downstairs to have (what I choose to beliew was) fun with each other. And I slept. Quite soundly, I have to admit. And it was WONDERFUL! At about 10:07 ( I like to be approximately exactly), my guilt got the better of me and I dragged my sorry butt out of bed to greet my children. Luckily, they had kept themselves busy DESTROYING EVERYTHING. When I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING. The place was ransacked--it looked like Jack Bauer and his team tossed the place looking for potential government threats games? All of our games and DVDs were out of cases and strewn about like someone was searching each one for a clue that evidently was not there. Shoes and socks were scattered about and buried under clothes and costumes. Cheerios covered the kitchen table and floor. Puddles of milk gathered on the table and two chairs. I know what some of you are thinking."How is this different from every other messy day at your house?" Well, it was our house times twenty. We are now at the level of clean that our house usually rests at comfortably. We are able to walk through each room without being forced to step on something. Most surfaces are showing--at least partially (unless you count the dust) and only one bathroom wall (and sink) is covered in toothpaste. See? Progress. NOW I can focus. Since I am so well rested, this seems more difficult. Weird, right? I guess I need to have clutter--in my home AND in my brain to make this writing thing easier. I'll keep trying, however, since I've only kept you for...ten minutes? now. When I was at the hospital I got to thinking (which is usually quite dangerous for me). We were at an INCREDIBLE children's hospital and were treated quite well. All of the children entering and exiting seemed to have the BEST attitudes and most of them are regulars. Cystic Fibrosis, Cancer, Leukemia...Spina Bfida, heart disease, Krohn's, Graves and Pseudointestinal Disorder...these amazing kids are fighting serious illnesses and diseases every day and going to the hospital is to them what going to grandma's house is to a lot of you. They spend more time in the hospital than they spend in school--that is IF they go to school. I don't mean to bring everyone down--the thing is, these kids AREN'T down. the rest of us are for any trivial thing, but these kids (and their extraordinary parents) are happy and hopeful. They don't complain because they know what a blessing each day is, but the rest of us...I don't know. And when I say "us," please don't take it personally--maybe it doesn't apply to you. Mostly I'm talking about ME and people like me. If you feel defensive, maybe you are more like me than you care to admit. I know some of you ARE these kids and some of you ARE these parents, and I guess this is my way of telling you how much I admire and respect you. We never talk about these things for fear of making someone feel bad about what they are enduring, but not talking about it may be worse--I don't know. What I DO know is how tired I was last year after staying up all night in the ER with Brayden and then staying up all night with him the night after he was admitted (I was afraid he would stop breathing if I didn't stay up with him). I DO know how tired I was after staying up all night with Addison the night before we were sent to the ER because I was dumb enough to look at the internet description of what she COULD have had. I know how tired I was waiting in the ER for only ONE day while they tried to determine whether she needed to be admitted or not and how tired I was after a night of "sleep" in the hospital. All together I am complaining about maybe four or five days. Some of you do this as a way of life. Four or five days a WEEK. THAT is too many days. And you don't complain. I read posts from friends who are in the ER with their children weekly, sometimes bi-weekly and I can't stand it for them. Without getting into the emotion of each visit, it is exhausting, but add to it the worry and frustration of having a sick child and not knowing what will happen mothers are absolutely amazing. And fathers--I don't mean to leave out the fathers. I wish I could say or do SOMETHING to commend you the way you need to be commended. People say we are only given what we can handle, but how THAT doesn't piss off a mother (or father!) who is enduring the pain of a sick child, I don't know. Yet another reason to admire and respect you. I don't know how many of you believe in the power of prayer, but it can't hurt to have well-wishes sent your way, right? Regardless of your belief system, nice thoughts are nice thoughts, and that is essentially what prayer is, right? Sending healing thoughts to a person only through a higher power who probably has more control over getting things done than we do. Why WOULDN'T you want that? I will take happy and healing thoughts from ANYONE who is willing to send them to me--regardless of their belief system. Some people judge me for that and I am OOOOKKKKKAAAAAYYY with that. I'm working on this judgment thing myself lately, and I'm not too impressed with myself. When I justify my actions to myself and think (I was just being funny--I like to laugh!) I realize that I must be a bully--AND a hypocrite because there is nothing I hate more than a bully. Well, that's not true--I hate hypocrites more than bullies. Great. Anyway, I am really going to try to practice what I preach. What do I care if my neighbor lets her three-year-old drink coffee? What business is it of mine if my son's friend watches rated R movies when I don't even let him watch some Disney shows? Who cares WHEN people decide to decorate or undecorate for holidays? They are probably all judging ME--and could you BLAME them? I am a toaster totin', child yellin', husband fightin', mouse infestin' hypocrite who thinks she loves and accepts everyone. UNLESS...they have Christmas lights up in February. What I've always known, but haven't actually PRACTICED, is that every day is a gift. Not just every day--every day we are not in THE HOSPITAL or in pain--is a gift. I don't want to wait until something bad happens to someone I love before I start appreciating that and start treating people--to their faces and not--the way I want to be treated. Without judgment and with knowing I don't always know the whole story and even if I do, it's really none of my business. But why would you WANT to give a three-year-old coffee?

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

1:00 IS the Best Time...

Whew! That's all I can say. Whew! I am going to complain about something that I have NO BUSINESS complaining about and I am going to whine even though I should be counting my blessings. I am too old and too tired (and it is too late) to count ANYTHING right now (except drinks if my body didn't hate me these days and would ALLOW me to do so). So. Where was I? Right--counting blessings. So I am very lucky to have such a wonderful family and am even luckier that we are all---teetering on healthy. Blah blah blah, I love them, blah blah blah, it could be so much worse, blah blah blah thank God! NOW...I am going to be ungrateful and perhaps snippy--I think. 'Cause to be honest, I NEVER know where this is going to go. EVER. Shocking, right?! Here you were thinking I typed out these well thought-out posts--okay, I can't even type this without choking. SOOOOO...I had a plan. I did. My children don't have school Thursday or Friday so I thought it would be fun to get them just before the bus on Wednesday and take them to stay with friends in Princeton (maybe not-so-much fun for the friends, but WE would be happy!) for the night. On Thursday, we would all go to a children's museum for the day. (If you don't have a friends and family reciprocal yearly pass and you have children 10 and under (maybe even older) it is WELL worth it! I even did it when we lived in Montana and the closest one was two hours away from us! It REALLY DOES pay for itself--we visit children's museums everywhere we go and stop along the way when we are on trips.) LOOONG sidebar! Anyway, there was this plan and it was going to be great. Like plans often are. Then, LIFE happens. On Sunday, my poor Addie was complaining that her ear hurt when she touched it. What did we say? Right--don't touch it! Well, she mentioned it to friends and said it again on Monday morning when I was showering her. It looked bright red, but she was in a hot shower and wasn't really COMPLAINING necessarily. It went more like this: "Leilani left scooowul eawrly dee othewer day." "Really? Was she sick?" "No. She went to dee dentist at 1:00." "Well, I hope she is okay." " She didn't bwrush hewer teef so she had to get a cabity at da dentist. At 1:00." "Okaaaaayyy..." "Cood I weave at 1:00 to go to da dentist one day? But I could go to da doctewer to fix my eawer? At 1:00?" "Seriously, Addison--why are you so obsessed with 1:00? What if we go at 2:00?" "No. Because Leilani left scooowul to get hewer cabity fwrom da dentist at 1:00." This was at seven in the morning. She didn't mention it again until we were in the car on our way to her school at 9:20. I would write the conversation, but it was EXACTLY the same as what I already typed. AND it turns out she had the EXACT same conversation with my husband the night before and with my friend over the weekend. She even walked into the school and said to the sweet ladies in the front, "I hafta weave at 1:00 to go to da doctewer." The child NEEDED to leave school at 1:00. Normally I wouldn't just pull her out because she WANTED me to...OBVIOUSLY...but her ear WAS bright red and she did complain about the pain...what if I didn't bring her and she ended up with an ear infection? I stoped by the doctor and what do you know? "The only available time we have is 1:30..." I'm sure the lady behind the desk thought I was a freak when I said, "That couldn't be MORE perfect!" When I got to school, she ran to me with her sweet smile, but she felt warm and her teacher said she was a bit melancholy throughout the day (she is usually, what? Bouncing off walls? Probably...). Her eyes were big and glassy and she seemed to get hotter by the second. As we waited to be seen by the doctor, I noticed her ear. It was portruding off the side of her head, but THAT wasn't the bothersome part. There was what looked to be a flat blister on her ear where it meets the skull. I hadn't noticed THAT when we were debating times in the shower. The back of her neck was swollen as well. I couldn't BELIEVE I had missed it! It seemed to grow by the SECOND and I couldn't stand having to wait for the doctor. At this rate, her head would need it's own ZIP CODE if he didn't get in there soon! More unnerving than how disgusting her...gaping wound? looked was the fact that our doctor brought in several others (nurses, doctors, custodial staff...) to take a look as well. It seems that my family is famous for coming up with new things for our doctors to investigate. Aren't WE the lucky ones?! We left with an Augmentin script and a follow-up appointment in the morning. It seems that having a gaping woulnd so close to one's skull (and brain) is alarming and needs to be treated seriously. When we returned in the morning (and the swelling was taking over most of her head (yes, I use hyperbole...I'm THE MOTHER. It's allowed), our doctor told me to take her to the children's hospital in Philly (CHOP) as soon as possible. Not. Scary. At. All. Part two is going to have to come tomorrow because I'm falling asleep writing this. From home. Where my healthy children are sleeping upstairs in their beds. Until I decide to go to sleep and they commence the hindering of my sleep. It's good to be home...'Night!

Monday, November 7, 2011

SOOOO Clumsy

So I fell the other day. On my face. No, LITERALLY on my face. At the elementary school. During their Fall Festival. In front of both principals, And eleven innocent bystanders. The thing with falling is it is SO funny. When it's someone else. The last time I fell in front of people was before I was married. I was on a date at the movies (Patch Adams, to be specific) and was walking up to my seat carrying popcorn and a drink (some think THAT is the funny date making ME carry everything...they may be on to something!). Somehow I lost my footing (evidently the three feet that movie theaters allow for their stairs is not quite big enough for me). I'm not sure what exactly happened, but suddenly I was teetering back and forth yelling, "Yaaaaugghghhhhooooooohhhhhhhhhhhnoooooooooo!" I somehow managed to balance the drink and popcorn and to land on my feet. That was NOT the case at Fall Fest. My children were enjoying hot pretzels with mustard (one was actually only enjoying the mustard...) a little too much and my husband wanted a root beer. I ordered and paid, then headed to the other side of the table for napkins. The rest of the story is a bit blurry. No, I wasn't drinking and I'm only on subscription meds--no drugs or self-medicating. So why is it such a blur? Embarrassment? Pain? I don't know, but unlike the Patch Adams fall, this one tore up my arm, my leg, the side of my foot, a hip...and I'm pretty sure I twisted BOTH ankles. I'm not certain, but I think I may have tried to turn myself into a pretzel during that move. How else would you explain scrapes on either side and the bottoms of my feet? A bruise on my head AND my hip? Scrapes on my knees AND my forearm? You can't. It must have been a pretzel situation. As funny as it was to those watching (and you KNOW it was funny!), people refrained from laughing at me until they knew that everything was okay. There were even three boys sitting on a curb--they couldn't have been older than eleven--who asked me quite seriously if I was okay. THEIR mothers are doing something right! I don't know if I would have been that respectfull, I mean, that was funny stuff! Not that it felt (or FEELS for that matter) funny. In fact, I can't even put my arm down--while typing, while's a constant reminder of how very funny I can be. When I'm falling at least!

Sunday, November 6, 2011

"Prewarding:" The Newest Thing at Our House

So I told you already that Ryan wanted to go as "fun" for Halloween, but "fun" changed each time we went somewhere.After she was "fun," she was (what she refferred to as) a "ghost bride." She wore a green and pink (BRIGHT green and BRIGHT pink) striped shirt, a pair of Addison's jeans (ie-two sizes too small) and an old sleeveless bridal costume that she got for her birthday two years ago. I seriously need to learn how to post pictures so you can witness her wardrobe! I also need to post their that you can witness for yourself Addison's Batman/Snow White masterpiece or Brayden's Spiderman/Cinderella debacle. At least they are creative... We were pretty booked last weekend, which I liked. I love taking my kids AWAY from my house. Maybe it's because they fight at home. Maybe it's because they make messes. Maybe it's because I see ELEVEN loads of laundry and a food-covered floor that I simply refuse to clean staring back at me. Whatever the reason, my kids go out--A LOT! The Saturday before Halloween was a prime example. Addison's very best friend from school (and her mom) told us that our mall was having trick or treating on Saturday morning and a local glass-blowing museum (which is set up like the most adorable small town) was doing the same on Sunday. "Fun," 'Beauty" and Karate Guy ( before they "created" costumes, they decided to wear the costumes as they were intended--except for Ryan (who was "Fun"). Addison wore an old Belle costume and Brayden wore his Gi (Karate robe), tied a red rope around his head and called himself a ninja.) decked themselves out in their costume--ON THEIR OWN I might add-- to head out in the freezing monsoon that enveloped our town. I shouldn't complain about the weather--everyone else seemed to be fighting "Snowtoberfest--" we were lucky by comparison! We rushed from the mall to basketball practice with a pit-stop home to "lose" "Fun" and "Beauty." While at basketball, another friend called to remind me that her church was having a Halloween party-trunk-or-treat chili cookoff and they would love for us to come. VERY exciting. THEN ANOTHER friend (this story is making me look MUCH more popular than I am...) called to see if we wanted to go trick-or-treating with them at Walmart at four. Hmmm. As I was trying to figure out the logisitics, Brayden and I stopped at Shop Rite to find pumpkins. They were out, but luckily THEY were having trick or treating, so thirty dollars (and one excited boy with his own bag of candy that his sisters did not get) later (cider, donuts, pretzels, chicken...) we headed to a different store. I already complained about the price of the pumpkins in one of my last posts, so let's move ahead to when we got home. The girls were "counting" all of their candy from the mall. Brayden joined them and I attempted to fill my husband in on all of the events we may or may not be attending. Unfortunately, my children cannot be alone together for more than five minutes without fighting. As the arguments ensued, I found myself saying to my husband (seconds after I decided Walmart would be too much), "Maybe we SHOULD go to Walmart. If we stay here they are probably going to get in trouble and we may not even BE ABLE to go to the church party tonight..." I was lost in the thought when I noticed the look on my husband's face. "What?" "WHAT?! We are going to "preward" them now? Let them do something fun BECAUSE they are children who get in trouble so to prevent them from misbehaving we are going to take them somewhere fun?!" "When you put it THAT way..." I laughed. "And really," he continued, "how many times are they going trick-or-treating? WE went trick or treating ONE TIME when we were kids. Once. Brayden has already been TWICE, they all are going tonight AND tomorrow, AND IT ISN'T EVEN HALLOWEEN YET!" He makes a valid (if not uncharacteristically LOUD) point. When did this happen to me?

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Yes...A MOUSE...

There is a mouse in my house. Actually, this means there are probably MICE in my house, but the fact that there are vermin of ANY kind dwelling where I dwell is too much for me to handle. I wonder why Disney and Looney Tunes guy made mice into such sweet little creatures. Like the CATS and DOGS were actually crabby and bad, but the poor mice simply wanted a little something to eat. I also remember how much SMARTER the mice were than ANY other characters, and I'm afraid that is no different at our house. Luckily, I did not see said mouse, but my husband mentioned it last night. Why, you ask? Well he thought that since THE LAST ONE he got rid of without telling me (YES--there was ANOTHER), the problem was solved. When mouse number two went running by him, he knew he had to share the information. I'm sorry--I just had to throw up a little bit, but I'm good now. SOOOO GLAD he decided to share the info with me. I would have hated to go through life not knowing that there are creepy crawly things in my home. I'm not even sure where to go with this information. I mopped my kitchen floor for the first time...well, EVER, and I screamed at my children to pick EVERYTHING up off of the floor, but as I said before--they are pretty crafty. Maybe he will set up camp in the toaster oven.