I MUST be the new Blogger Idol!

Okay, so there are so many things to cover as it has been SOOOOO LOONNNGGG since I've seen you all! I know there was the poem about my elation at the fact that my children will all be in school, but most of what I published this spring/summer (which was really not a whole lot) was a repeat of my last year in blogs. Hopefully some of you newbies got a few laughs at my earlier work. Or at me. I don't care why you laugh, I'm just happy if you're laughing!

So I spent a ridiculous amount of time catching up on blogs and facebook today and right before I was about to close the computer (yes...I have been known to actually close the computer. I have even shut it down occasionally. Let's not talk about sad things now), I saw a post about BloggerIdol. That's right--Blogger Idol. Imagine my giddiness when I saw this. It's like it was speaking to me!

Five hours later, I am excited to say that I "auditioned" for Blogger Idol, but I am going to need your help. I know--this is where I lose some of you (like my HUSBAND)--right when I say I am going to "need help," but I know you can do this for me. Go to the official BloggerIdol site and let them know that I deserve to be in the top twelve. Not only will this help me to promote my blog and get feedback on my writing, I will also be eligible to win actual prizes! It would almost be like I am getting paid to write and THAT is so very exciting to me! Don't even get me started on the amazing bloggers behind BloggerIdol or the talented judges (really not sucking up, but probably wouldn't hurt for me to start...)--check them out and follow their pages--you won't be sorry! ( http://writersarethenewrockstars.blogspot.com/p/judges.html)

Wish me luck--after a spring/summer off, I may need it!

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Nothing says "Hot Mama" like a few gnarly chin hairs

I really need to look into laser hair removal...perhaps someone would provide it for me if I write a nice blog about it...
http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/do-not-look-at-my-chin-every-time-i-see.html

Courtroom Confession #2

So Courtroom Confessions was a hit--I'm not gonna lie--it wasn't a BIG hit, but it was good enough for me to continue to my next story...

This isn't so much a courtroom confession as it is a ridiculous occurrence in rural Montana. Any friends of mine who were on facebook with me three years ago may remember this story--yes, I am repeating myself, but this is a story that needs to be told to others. Plus, the ACTUAL story about my most recent experience is so much more interesting than these others and I really want you to be ready for it. Plus, I don't know HOW I am going to make it funny for you. This material doesn't [always] write itself you know.

So we are driving from rural Montana (or MonFreakintana, for those of you who have been following) back to...rural Montana (let's be honest--there is ONLY rural Montana--that's the selling point!) and it was getting late. When it is late and my husband is driving, my critique of his abilities increases and I become a full-on backseat driver. Okay, I'm exaggerating (don't I always?!), but I WAS paying close attention and pushing my fake-passenger-seat-driver's-ed-brake and holding on to my "Oh S#!t" handle whenever I felt he needed that extra guidance. I know--YOU'RE WELCOME, husband!

So imagine my surprise when I hadn't needed to employ that fictitious brake or helpful handle for a good hour. Imagine my further surprise when I saw flashing lights behind us. I felt certain that there was an escaped convict running a muck in the next town or a bank robbery in progress (Wild West style of course), so when my husband pulled over and the lights followed I could not figure out why. The only item of note was when he passed the guy in front of him. And then the guy in front of him. And finally, the guy in front of him. This third guy was swerving all over the place and couldn't decide if he wanted to do the speed limit or do twenty UNDER the speed limit. I hate passing--I really do, but as I was thinking that I hated the fact that he was passing, I noted that not only was number three completely necessary (we thought that he may be drunk--I guess WE should have called and reported HIM), he passed each car safely and followed the rules. I on the other hand have to have a damn good reason to do it and even then, I hold my breath until it's over and we are safe. Reassuring for those of you who allow(ed) me to drive your children around town, I know, but I've been this way since 2003.

I'm sure most of you wonder how I could POSSIBLY know the year that this happened to me. I know this because I was driving to work when I was pregnant with my first child and I tried to pass a guy in a Lamborghini. I had an SUV at the time. I checked my mirrors, put on my blinker, checked my mirrors again, and decided to pass. Only, Mr. Mid-life-crisis did not like the fact that a woman in an SUV was trying to pass his sports car, so he wouldn't let me back in. I slowed, he slowed. I went faster, he went faster. I almost drove off the road. I'll never forget his evil ugly face (this is me being mean--I seriously felt like I was in a Steven King novel) and the evil smirk he gave me each time I tried to get back to safety. I finally pulled over on the wrong side of the road and he kept going. I waited about ten minutes and continued on to school .Since that time, I have been known to follow farmers on tractors going five, hundred-year-old-women going ten, and bicyclists for fear of killing myself or someone else. I remember passing someone ONCE in the last two years and it was because I was late to get my kids off of the bus. Saved me thirty-two seconds.

Back to the lights. The police officer came up to the window and asked, "Do you know why I stopped you?" to which I vehemently stated "NO!"  Since he was not actually talking to ME, my husband shot me a look and answered for himself. Evidently, in rural Montana towns it is okay to accuse people of violating a traffic law simply by calling and complaining--not with any proof--just a he said she said sort of thing. Not only is this OKAY, the perpetrator (in this case, my husband) is guilty until proven innocent. It would seem that car number three that he passed (you know--Drunky McDrunkerson) called the police and told them that my husband was driving erratically and passing on a solid. I imagine that in his...state...what was clearly a dotted line may have APPEARED to be solid to his drunk eyes, but the officer was obligated to give the ticket because of the call. even AFTER he admitted that he did not see my husband do ANYTHING wrong.

Let me get this straight, Montana. Under this rule, a jilted boy/girl friend could call you and accuse their ex (out of spite) of not stopping at a stop sign or passing illegally or whatever, and they will get a ticket?! How does this make ANY sense?! Don't get me wrong--there was a time in my life when I would have LOVED this option for revenge, but laws should help to prevent crazies like me from being allowed to falsely accuse someone of something that they did not do. Right?

The officer was quite apologetic (as he SHOULD have been!) and told us that all my husband had to do was show up in court to fight the ticket and if the officer didn't show up, the ticket would be dismissed. The court in this case is not the issue--the SYSTEM is. My husband was able to go right into the court (that was about an hour and a half away, on a WORK day, first thing in the morning) and the ticket was dismissed within minutes, because the officer didn't show up for court. Just like he promised. My issue is, why should anyone be inconvenienced by something like this? What if my husband COULDN'T go to court that day? Garbage, I know. Too bad I can't find Lamborghini guy and call in a report on him. Only HE actually DESERVED it!

Do you know of any wacky laws in your state? Have you ever been falsely accused of something? Stay tuned tomorrow (or the next day...) for my third installment of Courtroom Confessions when I will actually tell the story that I set out to tell the first time. I know--you are on the edge of your seat...me too!

Tuesday: TOO MANY topics to title

     Well, the "meme" thing didn't quite work out as planned. I DO thank those of you who posted for taking the time to share your stories--they made me laugh and really made my day! I'm pretty sure that there is more to this meme thing than I know, only I am pretty sure that I am not going to do anything to fix it!
 
 WHY, you ask? Well, I spend A LOT of time on the computer. A LOT is actually an understatement (even in all CAPS). My schedule these days is:
1. Wake up--usually because of yelling or crying--OR because the kids are making noise (I don't think I will ever NOT do that joke. it's like I'm a ninety-year-old man!)
2. More yelling, screaming, crying.
3. Ask children nicely to get dressed and make sure their bags are ready.
4. Make breakfast (I don't know if you remember (or if you READ your assignment...)http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/healthy-i-think-not.html, but it pretty much explains why I try to feed my children some fruit, yogurt, or whole grains before they go to school in the morning. I COULD have them eat the animal crackers that the school provides for breakfast (and I DO on REALLY bad mornings!), but I'm a mean mom.
5. Ask children nicely to get dressed and make sure their bags are ready. Ask children to brush their teeth.
6. Pack lunches (YES--I know it would be easier if I would only pack them at night, but it turns out it ISN'T that much easier and it is so very hard for me to get off of the sofa at night).
7. Ask children nicely to get dressed and make sure their bags are ready. Ask children to brush their teeth.
8. Gather books and papers and lunches to put in their bags that are not ready.
9. Throw dishes in the sink (or leave them on the table for days. It just depends...)
10. Scream at the top of my lungs because the children did not gather their things and put them in their bags and they did not brush their teeth.
11. Scream LOUDER because the children STILL don't have shoes on and their teeth are rotting out as I speak.
12. Zip up bags, force toothbrushes in each child's mouth (though I may let them rot--it just depends on the day) carry three bags and three screaming children out the door.
13. BARELY make it to school on time. USUALLY pull up to the building just as the doors are closing and locking.
14. Sign children in late.
15.Drop the youngest off at preschool.
16. Magic returns. Permanent scowl not quite as evident as earlier.
17. DRAG (YES, DRAG...I'm still working on the whole "mind-body" thing) my butt to the gym.
   
Okay--when all is said and done, I usually get home between 12 and 12:30 depending on how much I do at the gym--exercising AND talking.  My latest schedule has included eating an apple and a banana on the way to school (I was missing breakfast) and making and eating a salad when I get home (I was missing lunch, too). THEN...I get on the computer. SOME days I will clean first, but if I do that I tend to feel uninspired and have a more difficult time writing. All this takes some work--you understand.  Now, you may be asking yourself, WHY does it take three hours to write a blog? It doesn't. I usually sit down and hammer it out within minutes, but it takes a full hour to mess with any links I may want to add, an hour to review facebook posts, and about TWO hours to fight with CAPCHA codes to comment on my blog and other blogs I like. I posted on facebook the other day some examples of what my demonic computer sends to me: " The "CAPTCHA" codes I got today when commenting on blogs: ruinsu, sch A sap, and stu upD. I swear the little man in my computer is messing with me!" I've also gotten "U shtup," "UR hor," "grl dMB" and "smel LE fet." Maybe I'm reaching,but I don't think I am. My computer demon thinks I am a stupid, smelly whore who is a sap and should shut up. Oh--and something "ruins" me. Or I ruin something. Either way, there is "ruining" going on and THAT can't be good!
If I ever figure out how to do tabs, I am going to have one for my running log of CAPCHA codes. There are so many that I can't even THINK of now--some that just come right out and SAY nasty things (unlike these where you have to work at them a little. instead of "UR hor," they come out and say, "YOU are a Whore," or "Hey you stupid slut!" Nice. That just reminded me of a song that is evidently out now--something about a "stupid slut..." by some young performer my children idolize. My friend Berenice told me that her daughter LOVES this person, so I know it is just a matter of time for MY children. Considering my only experience with music is KidsBop and Barney (yes, Addison still LOVES that purple dinosaur and is NOT ashamed to admit it), I am glad she warned me. I cannot even IMAGINE what I would do if I heard one of my children say or sing, "...stupid whore..." We've come a long way since http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/to-curse-or-not-to-curse.html and evidently we landed on, "to curse."

They STILL act like it is a big deal when someone says, "stupid," and unless they HAVE heard that song, I'm pretty sure they have never heard the word, "whore," so I may be safe. Of course, three weeks in to kindergarten last year, I heard Ryan telling Brayden that she and her friend, Caitlyn, have a "...sexy walk" that they do on the playground. REALLY? A SEXY walk? Sadly, it was true. Last night friends of ours invited us over for a "family night" that they have every Monday. When the organized activities were done, SEVEN children (I seriously don't know HOW people do it--bless you, Duggar family and those like you! Anyway--sorry! I saw something shiny.)   Oh--so the girls were playing dress up and they came strutting into the kitchen wearing and OWNING high heels. I am pretty sure that I would have bit it--HARD-- in heels that high, but my daughter was strutting her stuff like it was her job. GREAT news. NOW I understand the "sexy walk" on the playground and it is QUITE disturbing!

It is now Friday and I wrote all of this on Tuesday. I explained that the actual WRITING of the blog usually only takes minutes and that is true. The problem is, on some days I am sleep-typing. Today could end up being one of those days and Tuesday was DEFINITELY a sleep-typing day. On most sleep-typing days, I peck away at the keys, finish in minutes and post before I think twice about what I've written (and hope it wasn't something horribly done or in poor taste). I try to NEVER look at those posts again. EVER. The problem with this post is that I actually DID fall asleep while typing it. LUCKILY I  nodded off enough to jerk myself awake, because I promised to spend the morning in my daughter's classroom and the afternoon in my son's. I immediately exited the program and rushed off to help out with the crazy Valentine's Day happenings in their classrooms. I also volunteer when it ISN'T a crazy classroom day and those days are SO MUCH BETTER, but  I  realize that my services are more needed on the crazy days. It KILLS me because the principal was OBSERVING teachers on Valentine's Day. I remember my own principals when I was teaching reminding us that EVERY day is a teaching day. I don't care WHERE you are, or WHO celebrates or not--a classroom full of twenty-five PLUS elementary school-aged children  is going to be OUT OF HAND on Valentine's Day. Add to it the fact that they chose to  make Valentine's week, conference week as well (which means they get out an hour and a half earlier)...what a nightmare.  These are things that annoyed me as a teacher and that annoy me even more as a parent. Setting someone up to fail is not something I like to witness--even when I'm in sleep-typing/walking/volunteering mode.

WHY am I telling you all of this? Because it is now FRIDAY and I never posted this. Only NOW I am looking at it again (though I only skimmed it because it is boring enough to send me RIGHT back into sleep-typing mode) and wondering if I should just quit while I'm ahead and post it before it gets worse. This was GOING to be a Valentine's Day post--I'm not sure what it ended up as, but I DO want to mention that I got a pretty good V-Day gift. My husband came home with Bang Bang shrimp from Bonefish Grill (which we haven't had in YEARS because we lived in MonFREAKINtana (see http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/hundred-dead-bodies-simply-arent-enough.html to see how much I truly LOVE MonFREAKINtana) and the one here is about forty minutes from us) (http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2012/02/according-to-my-plan-oh-great-now-i.html) which tells me that--EGADS--he actually READS my blog!  WHAT a GREAT present! After THIS particular post, he MAY be the only one left who does...

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 part...my 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 sleeping...it's a constant reminder of how very funny I can be. When I'm falling at least!

"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 Halloween...creations...so 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?

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.

Carbon Monoxide...not so silent at the Corwin's (thank goodness!)

I have to say, my rantings about Halloween are itching to come out, though everything was trumped by the cries of our carbon monoxide detectors tonight. Or should I say, last night? Here we are at 3:34 in the morning and all three children are laughing hysterically at Little Bear hanging upside down in a tree. yeah--that's right. 3:30 IN THE MORNING. I know it's that late (or is it EARLY?!) because there were no fights about the viewing selection. I also know it's that late because we all have the shakes. If you didn't know better, you'd think you stumbled upon a dark alley in Philly, but alas it is our bedroom. Our bedroom that is registering 58 degrees. Fahrenheit, It all began when our furnace stopped working. I guess that made the story sound like it was going to be more in depth than it is. Our furnace stopped working. That's all. My children were limping around on their frozen toes, so my husband decided to use the fireplace (that we've NEVER used in the year we've lived here) and to get a space heater. It turns out the space heater has no significance in this story at all. So why do I mention it, you ask? BECAUSE IT IS 3: (40 now) IN THE MORNING AND I'M NOT IN COLLEGE ANYMORE. Where was I? The fireplace. I had a raging migraine all day (side bar) which isn't really unusual, but this one felt a little different. I thought it was because of "Snowtoberfest" and just tried to deal with it. After Dave did whatever it is you need to do to shut down a fire before bed, we headed upstairs. I felt a little lightheaded, but again--when DON'T I?! We checked the kids and crawled into bed. A few minutes later we hear an alarm that could wake the dead (NOT a complaint!) accompanied by that lovely voice that greets you on several voicemail services and the self-checkout at Wegman's or Target. You know--the one who gets annoyed if you place too many items in the bag before she's ready for you? Her. Well, she informed us in her haughty voice, "Carbon monoxide...carbon monoxide, CARBON MONOXIDE!" I swear she gets more insistent with time. The back up carbon monoxide alarm started going off as well. GOOD TIMES. Now, here we are with a stranger telling us that there is poisonous gas engulfing our babies as they sleep and contrary to popular belief (mostly because I SAID I...didn't like them very much sometimes. When I'm TIRED (which could be argued is ALL THE TIME...)) I love them with every fiber of my being. That said, I did not want to panic. I also did not want THEM to panic. Mostly I did not want THEM to panic. Dave called 911, we carried each child with minimal belongings and plopped them in their car seats. About a second later, the fire trucks arrived. 11:30--I'm certain the neighbors LOVED that show! The paramedics told me all that I needed to know about going to the hospital and I was concerned with how my children would react. They were so understanding and as I opened the door we heard loud laughing coupled with "Yeaaaaaaahhhhh--wooo-hooooo--Fireside girls PAAAAAAARRRRRRRTTTTTYYYYY!" Not sure what it meant, but pretty sure I didn't have to worry about panic ensuing. That was close. You may think that they would be a bit freaked out about forty firemen and eleven paramedics in their driveway, but you would be wrong. You might think that they would be concerned when one of the firemen yelled, "It's at 96 upstairs...that's high--they should probably go to the ER," but again--you would be wrong. You may even think that two of them would be a bit freaked out when they were told they had to go in an ambulance on their own because only two patients were allowed in an ambulance at a time and you would again be wrong. In fact, when Brayden and Ryan heard (after clebrating the fact that they "...got to ride in an AMBULANCE..." that they were going to move to their own ambulance (I of course wanted to "break it to them" in a way that wouldn't scare them, but there was no time for that since they JUMPED OUT OF THEIR SEATS and said, "Let's go!" Sadly for them, the second ambulance had to actually DRIVE to our house, so they were stuck with me for ten more minutes. The paramedic gave them each a stuffed animal, which was so sweet. Of course, Brayden's bear said, "Daddy's Little Girl," so when I went back for my purse (and a lesson on woeter versus watter--Jersey-talk versus Buffalo talk) a purple boa intertwined its way around his body. QUITE the score for a seven-year-old. The poor lady who got stuck in THEIR ambulance is now up for saint...dom? ...hood? She's a saint. She told me my life story as we entered the hospital because it can evidently be told by a first and second grader in the fifteen minutes it takes to get to the hospital! I had one person asking about Montana and another telling me the Sabres lost (like my night wasn't crummy enough)! After vitals, we all entered our triage room. The entire Corwin clan in separate corners--FINALLY. I wish I had my camera. THAT would have been a GREAT Christmas photo--each of us in our separate corners hooked up to oxygen--unbelievable! Addison kept taking hers off to see what the numbers would do. Ryan kept asking Dave (who seemed to think that he was exempt from all of this...) questions like, "What is this I'm breathing?" "Oxygen, Ryan." "So air? I'm breathing AIR?" and, "Now what is the deal with carbon monoxide again? I wanna get this straight...can we go to a store or something after this?" Poor Brayden acted like an old pro--from taking the oxygen to giving his blood, nary a peep came out of that sweet boy. The fact that this was old hat to him was a little disconcerting, but at least it wasn't traumatizing, right? He even asked if we could just please sleep there. "I hope not..." was all I could grunt between puffs. At around 3:00 (YES...IN THE MORNING) we were deemed healthy and were discharged. The slumber party in triage came to an end. Corwin, party of five (plus a snake, a bunny and a crazy looking stuffed baby-doll--ALL wearing oxygen masks with bags) meandered out of the hospital, their goodbyes echoing through the hallway. Here we are at 4:21 and Dave is the only one out. They gave me meds that are so good, I'm afraid to sleep. As much fun as it was, I feel like I'm done with slumber parties. Especially those that happen at the hospital.

DO NOT look at my chin every time I see you now...

So it started out with three ugly hairs. Three wiry, disgusting hairs poking out of my chin; firmly standing erect and ready to fight, like The Three Soldiers standing on the National Mall. At first I plucked. I plucked every time I sensed they may peek out and introduce themselves to others. I even tried plucking when they weren’t visible—digging a canyon into my chin that Arizona would envy. I’m sure the bloody gash was MUCH more appealing than any hair would be.

Junior year of college is when I’d had enough. Those lonely hairs poking through the scar on my chin were really cramping my style. I lived with New York’s version of Snookie and she insisted on waxing them. She wanted my disgusting friends to be set free, and she knew she was the one to do it.

“What about regrowth? Won’t it create more hair?” were questions that were answered with scoffing and a hair flip. “Everyone knows that after waxing over a long period of time, the hair eventually goes away completely.” Not EVERYONE knew that, but I decided to take her word for it.

The day finally came. In a huge kitchen in a soon-to-be condemned college house, Snookie went after those hairs like a mother gorilla to the gnats buried in her baby’s fur. When she finished, my chin felt smoother than ever. It WORKED! By the end of the month, the hairs were back—and they had a friend. Waxed them off and the chin was smoothe. Wax on, wax off --Mr. Miagi style--that’s what happened each month with my chin and every time we “waxed off,” a new friend would appear. At this rate, I would look like Lincoln before the end of the year, but I couldn’t stop. After several years of this (along with three babies, two hysterectomies and changing hormones), I finally threw in my waxing towel and decided to go back to plucking. I didn’t want to battle my husband each month to see whose chin hairs were longer. After winning several times, I knew there was a problem.

Thanks, Snookie—because of your brilliance and insistence that waxing wouldn’t do anything but help, I live in fear that my son will ask ME how to maintain his beard properly.

I KNOW what fun is!

Well, I started a different blog about my mother and her disdain for my recent topics (it seems she DOESN'T want me to discuss my family drama with all of her friends she so kindly asked to view my blog (SO NICE of her, I know!). Who knew that the big "D" was so upsetting to so many people? Okay...I did. Though I was trying to help myself and others--I swear!

Anyway...I will post THAT later. My daughter Ryan just came downstairs with her Halloween costume on--she created it herself and she is QUITE pleased.
 "I'm going as "fun" for Halloween!" she boasted, wearing red and purple flowered stretch pants (that end at her knee), a black and orange jack-o-lantern tutu and a black, gray and pink shirt with an enormous pink, purple,teal-colored butterfly-eagle that has the word "Fubu" worked into the design with a layer of gray tutu and a layer of pink tutu at the bottom (though the sleeves reach just past her elbow, which leads me to believe the pants and shirt belong to Addison).
 "What?"
"Fun. Don't you know what "FUN" is? I guess not," she snidely remarked.
Nice.

Staying "Connected"

Facebook is TOTALLY underrated. People will readily pay hundreds--even thousands of dollars on therapy and not think anything of it--I know, because I've been there--yet the therapists I've encountered haven't really done much for me. ONE nice comment or word of inspiration from a great friend (or sometimes a friend-of-a-friend--or even an acquaintance!) can do what hours of therapy can not--give me a feeling of worth. A feeling like I'm not alone in the world--like I'm "connected" in some way with another human being. My "daily words of affirmation" come when I see the little red box light up in the top left corner of my computer screen. I anxiously click on it in hopes that SOMEONE has commented on SOMETHING. Maybe I shouldn't discount therapy just yet...

 I've noticed several things since my relationship with facebook began. 1. I DO have an addictive personality. 2. I have HILARIOUS friends (who also have HILARIOUS friends). 3. I know some pretty amazing and inspirational people. 4. My husband hates facebook.

Now the "addiction" to facebook is being shared with my "addiction" to blogging and I think that the "addiction" is not really to those things at all. I'm addicted to being validated. I'm addicted to "hearing" nice things about myself and funny things about the world. I'm married to a man and have three small children, hence there isn't a lot of communicating or validating going on around here. I turn to my facebook "friends" to provide me with what I need emotionally in life. That sounds so sad, doesn't it? P-R-E-T-T-Y pathetic. But how needy would I be if I expected the people around me to constantly comment, compliment and validate me? It's what we as humans truly want, but it's exhausting to do--at least in person (Can you imagine walking around saying, "I like that" and coming up with something inspirational to say to a person ALL day?!). I know--I've tried.

I'm a "validator" and a "complimenter." I'm not bragging--there are many things I'm not (a housekeeper or organizer for instance...a mathemetician or accountant...a super model or centerfold...you get it), but I began working with children when I was a teenager and from that I learned that people feel good when they are complimented and validated and I like to make other people feel good about themselves. For eleven years, I would begin any...disagreement...in my relationship with, "You are so great at..."cleaning the kitchen, folding laundry, playing with the kids..." and I really appreciate you, but..." Unfortunately, in the eleven years, my husband only hears the"...BUT..." which really makes me into kind of a jerk. Facebook lets me not be the jerk and I REALLY like that. BUT...it really became an issue in my relationship (which I WILL NOT get into again. I PROMISE!).

We moved to Kalispell Montana before I was ever on facebook.  I don't know if you know this or not, but Montana is on the OTHER SIDE OF THE PLANET!  I even called it MonFREAKINtana before we got there (and even when we WERE there at first--until my four-year-old son told my mother how much he loved "MonFREAKIN'tana." Then I stopped.).  For several months it was me, my children (who were 4,3, and 2 at the time) and my [cranky and exhausted] husband.  No one else. I am a talker (SURPRISE!) and although I had the phone (you KNOW how great small children are when you are on the phone...), I had no other adult contact...EVER, because my husband was quietly enduring whatever it is that men endure and was not letting me in on ANY of his secrets.

I finally joined TWO mom's groups (I tried to join a third, but it was thirty minutes away and I felt guilty for joining three!), which helped IMMENSELY ( I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THIS!), but at the beginning I still only had superficial relationships. On February 14, I decided to join facebook. My friend, Chrissy talked me through it (and she and her husband were my first "friends") and I couldn't stop! It felt weird only having two friends--like sitting in thehigh school cafeteria alone--and I couldn't help but get the feeling I had when I moved to Lockport in the second grade or Williamsville in the tenth--what if I ask them to be my friend and they say..."NO!"?! Chrissy assured me that this feeling would go away soon and that I would be surprised at how many people would say "yes" and then, would even ask ME to be THEIR friend! (I'm SUCH a geek--I know!) I spent all day thinking about facebook and how many "friends" I would have. We went out to eat for Valentine's Day--our first date in months (I dropped my kids off at a "drop-in" child care facility--a few moms snubbed their noses at that, yet weren't offering to watch my kids...don't get me started on WHY we need to SUPPORT each other in ALL that we do. That's a topic for another day!) and my husband looked over at me and said, "You're thinking about facebook right now, aren't you?" For the first time, I was the one who was somewhere else, and I couldn't stop! We watched a video when we got home and my thoughts were on facebook, which I immediately logged onto when the credits were rolling. I was on until the wee hours of the morning and it was FANTASTIC! Chrissy and her husband "commented" that I had more friends in one day then they had in four months. Chrissy wrote, "Wow--you've been busy!" and she wasn't kidding. I finally felt "connected" with other human beings and I was LOVING it! I even made a secret deal with myself (I do that...it's not weird...) to write a funny status each day. I would "write" them in bed at night. I would "write" them in the shower (on the off chance I was ABLE to shower!) and I would "write" them while driving. I cracked myself up, though I'm not sure if I was "cracking up" anyone else! All I cared about was getting it out there and (hopefully) seeing the little red box light up in the corner!

The thing is, I have made a lot of amazing friends through the years, but I am HORRIBLE at keeping in touch. I sit up at night and think, "Oh my goodness--I really need to call her--it has been so long!" or "Wow--I forgot about him--I wonder what he is up to these days..." and "I really wonder what my students will end up doing with their lives..." and would feel sad about the people I would probably never talk to again. Enter facebook. I still remember people and try to "find" them and "friend" them, but it was amazing to see how many people "found" me. Now I have "chats" with people I haven't seen since middle school. I reunite with distant cousins and make friends with my friends' friends. I am able to see former students and their babies (not the best perk--I can't believe I'm THAT old!)--NOT because they were having them in high school, but because they found me (or I found them!) on facebook after they were grown and married. I often think that I want to have a facebook reunion (or would it just be...union?!) and get all of my fb "friends" together to meet. I have maybe 500 friends and I would say at least 450 are people I genuinely would love to hang out with on a regular basis. These are good (and funny!) (and brilliant!) people who have so much to offer the world--not just facebook--and I often think about "fixing them up" with each other because I know how well  their personalities would mesh. I feel great after I've "chatted" with all of them. Of course, then there is the guilt over not staying in touch on facebook...that's what happens when your raised in an Italian Catholic family...guilt just becomes part of who you are.

These days I try not to be on facebook for too long--I don't look at ALL the updates (though some days I try to), however I want to stay connected. I feel sad if someone posted something funny or news about their family and I didn't see it. I'm not so much concerned about what they ate for dinner (unless it's something I MUST make!) or if they just got back from the store (unless it's a store I MUST go to), but my friends use those posts sparingly. They, like me, are in it to inspire or humor. And what could be wrong with wanting to stay connected to THAT?!

I feel a lot of pressure. Yesterday, I posted something very personal, and although I welcomed so many positive responses on here and on facebook, I know that two serious days in a row will scare people away from the blog. Never leave the blog, people. Some days will be funnier than others--some days will be HILARIOUS (I'm really full of myself these days, aren't I?!) and some days will be...not-so-hilarious. You have to read to find out, right?

I have to say that after I hit "publish" yesterday, I was fully prepared to hear crickets. AWWWWKWAAAAARD. Luckily, that wasn't the case. I think we all go through similar things and secretly hope that others are going through them as well. It doesn't make us cruel or mean--it makes us human. It makes us feel more normal (it's all relative!) to know that the same words, actions, fears...whatever, are going on in at least one other human being's life. I guess I shouldn't speak for "us" (That's another problem I have which resulted in the topic we discussed yesterday--speaking for my husband. In my defense, he doesn't really speak for himself, so SOMEONE needs to start talking!); maybe YOU think I'm crazy (again with the relativity) and YOU would NEVER feel any of the feelings I discuss in my posts. Contrary to what I just wrote, that would make me happy. I really should pick a side and stay on it, right? Either I'm happy for people or I want them to endure whatever I'm enduring. The thing is, I feel both things. It's nice to commiserate when things aren't going great and to compare stories when they are. On the flip side, I wouldn't wish misery on anyone and would be happy to hear of people who DO NOT go through the things I've shared. I only share so that those who ARE going through things are able to see that they aren't alone. And when you are talking ALL the time, yet no one is listening, you tend to feel alone, right?

So today I need to be funny. There is nothing funnier than a person who is forcing humor. Pretty soon I'll start explaining the jokes, too. THAT is always a knee slapper. Who even SAYS that anymore?! See--this is what pressure does to a person.

I could tell you about Addison's latest antics ("Mommy, I want you to eat me so dat I can be a baby in your belly again! Just don't eat me wiff  yowor teef orI wiwwill be a dinosaur!" WHAT?! Not really sure what that was all about, but I AM pretty sure that we need to explain some things to her before she starts terrorizing the preschool children with visions of dinosaurs climbing out of bellies!) or Ryan's rants ("I just look STUPID (evidently SHE'S not concerned with the "bad word" list!) when I wear a coat and am warm. NOBODY else is warm!" Seriously?! I don't even know what that MEANS!). Brayden is always good for some insight, (Mommy, I don't think you should let the girls hang out with those boys because they use curse words and the girls aren't mature enough to know they shouldn't repeat what they hear." REALLY? Who is running this show anyway?! Now you know why we call him "The Professor!") and there is more information posted than you EVER want to hear (funny or not) about my relationship (as evidenced by yesterday's post).

What kind of makes me laugh is that a dear friend of mine called to say that she couldn't stop laughing at yesterday's post. This is one of my closest and dearest friends--she has known me for DECADES (which makes me so sad because I am old enough to know people for DECADES, but it beats the alternative, right?) and actually LIVED with my husband and me at one point, so she knew that I was actually TRYING to be funny in the post. I know the "D" word (No, not DUMB! Or the other one!) is really not a light topic, nor is it something that should make you laugh. THAT'S why we found it funny. We tend to think that things that are inappropriate to discuss or are said to be private matters are funny, mostly because no one wants to talk about them (think "fart" to a first grader) for fear of doing something wrong. I've learned two things in my old age. 1. If you act like something is wrong, then it becomes wrong and you feel like a failure or a bad person for doing it. 2. Saying something out loud (or on paper) makes it real and also helps you to see the absurdity of it. Holding on to something gives it more power--letting it out or sharing with others takes the power away for some reason.  That's why I share. A lot. Almost to a fault. Okay...maybe not ALMOST to a fault...

For those who are concerned, I am not getting a divorce. In fact, since we have been speaking these things OUT LOUD to each other, our marriage has gotten better. A new friend told me to take a look at my marriage and think, "How would I feel if my husband walked in (to wherever)with another woman and my kids--knowing that this other woman was raising my children?" and to ask him how he would feel if I were to do that to him. It made me think. We made a choice to be together and we have the ability to choose to stay or not to stay. Once the decision is made to stay, we need to commit to that decision and to do whatever possible to  make it the right decision. For ourselves, for each other and for our children.

Funny, right?

Evidently NOTHING is off limits on this blog...

I almost got divorced last month. I SAID I ALMOST GOT DIVORCED LAST MONTH. Yes, that's a bit personal, but I think that things need to be talked about so that we don't explode. Which is precisely the reason why the big "D" almost happened. Don't worry--I said ALMOST and we don't have to whisper--my husband knows--he was there. To be fair, we didn't actually SAY we were going to actually DIVORCE. We said we were going to separate (which really means divorce, let's be honest. How many people "separate" so that they can get back together and everything will be fine? None. I know.) while each of us figured "things" out. It took us all night, but "things" were figured out before the "separation" actually took place.  Maybe they weren't "figured out" exactly, but they were addressed, which is a BIG step for us! The good news is (aside from the fact that we did NOT file the papers) we peoved that we could actually DO something--I always thought we would be too lazy to get a divorce or to even DISCUSS it. See? Growth.

Now don't get me wrong--I'm the one who talked about "separating" first. My husband is...well...a man, so his communication skills are...well...lacking. Add to that the fact that I come from a very...YELLY (that is now a word) and dramatic family and he comes from a family where the most emotion they muster up is:"Yes--that is very nice," (over, say, getting a promotion or winning a million dollars). As for sad events or things that make them angry...nothing. It is simply not discussed or mentioned. One would think that they are always just...content with whatever situation arises.

I've known about our differences since before we got engaged, but being a...woman...I thought for sure that time with me would help him to feel...emotions like excitement and elation (or even anger and rage). Yes, I know you are thinking it--I thought I could CHANGE him. Don't we all? And he did change...a bit. Once we added children to the mix, he definitely changed--and so did I. The problem is, I became crabbier and he became happier--at least with them. Still not so much with me, but we're working on THAT.

In our eleven years of marriage, we have been through better, worse, worse again, a liiiiiiittttttttlllllle bit better, then worse. We've been through poorer, then richer, then even RICHER, then REALLY poorer still, then a little bit above poorer, but not quite richer. We've been through health, then sickness, then more sickness then...I think you get my point. We covered all of the bases except the "...death do us part," and with the way we were feeling about each other, that was going to be soon.

My husband is a genuinely nice guy and quite easy on the eyes. You would like him--EVERYONE does. This should be a selling factor in a relationship, no? NO! There were  times in our relationship where I despised...yes, DESPISED my husband. The anger and rage consumed me. I think some of it was post-partum depression, but most of it was...him. Just kidding--it was me, too and my need for validation. I would compliment and validate him and would in turn expect (or at least HOPE) that he would do the same for me. Instead, he was like the crabby uncle at a reunion. He would sit in his chair with nothing to say. The rage came when those around us started thinking that HE was the nice guy and I was the b*%#h (this IS PG).

I had always been the nice one--it was MY thing and suddenly he took over with his passive-aggressive ways and made ME into the mean one. His family didn't even get to meet "Nice Nika." People who met me after we met don't even know her. I used to be afraid to leave my name for the pizza guy for fear of doing something wrong in turn making him think I was mean, but I finally established that SOMEONE needed to leave a name or NO PIZZA FOR US (which really should be our motto these days anyway!). I was always the ridiculous tipper. I was a waitress for years and fully believe that someone may truly be having a bad day, so as long as they aren't mean to me, they usually get 20% plus a dollar (which changes the percentage to something I should probably know, but I don't and the NEW me won't apologize for that). If they are rude? 15%. I used to have debates with every boyfriend (and even my mother!) about that. My husband? Not only did he follow suit, sometimes he will even leave 50% (especially if the waitress is hot--don't think I'm fooled!). It's like he was trying to "out-nice" me. And it worked. Especially when we had no money and he was leaving 50% on a check. Enter "Mean-Nika."

The nice and mean problem was most prevalent in our early days as parents. I know most couples go through this--first we have to learn to live with another person, next we have to learn how to run a small town (yes, I know my metaphors are slipping, but it honestly FEELS like a small town!) as co-leaders. No easy task. Luckily, we had most of the same parenting philosophies--most of which went out the window when we realized how absurd it was for us to have "philosophies" on something we had never done. Or maybe I learned that and never told him. Maybe he's not the only one who needs to work on communication after all...

To curse or not to curse...

So we are driving with my son (Brayden) and his best friend on Saturday and his friend is telling a story about these boys he befriended in his neighborhood. One of the boys, it seems, likes to use curse words. ALL of them. "I shouldn't say them, right Miss Nika?" he innocently asks. "NO!" my husband and I (finally doing something ALONE and TOGETHER) yelled and practically jumped out of our seats.

 "I mean, that's okay--it's good that you know they aren't okay to say. Sometimes friends aren't told that their words are wrong or that they can hurt other people.  Sometimes it hurts people's feelings just by SAYING the word, even if it isn't meant as an insult,"   I added, trying to deflate the fear he may have felt when the two of us jumped on him.

"Yeah," Brayden contributed. "I know the 'H' word the 'S' word the 'D' word and the 'F' word and I wouldn't want to hear ANYONE say them!" He nodded, knowingly.

My husband and I exchanged glances and I asked, "Really? I'm glad you know not to use them...you won't be in trouble for saying them now...I don't mind, do you, [best friend]?" "No! What are they, Brayden?"

"Hatestupiddumbandfreak!"  he shouted in one breath. "And I'll try not to say them. EVER."

I love my son.