I do not want to pack your lunch. I can't even pack my lunch.

You guys, it just took an act of congress to sign-in to my blog.

I am "this many years old" (written with a smug look on my face that says - I am sick of 'I am this many years old'), y'all:

1.  Get my coffee.
2.  Decide, after stewing about two things for two weeks to write it down even though I have 18,000 things to do right now that do not remotely involve me sharing with anyone how I am feeling.
3.  Turn on my laptop.
4.  Check my email (I have deleted all but nine emails after having thousands for years, so sometimes I just check my email even though I know there's only 9 because it makes me feel like I am actually doing something useful in life).
5.  Check my bank account (Because I can, y'all.  I got online banking after 35 years).
6.  Go to my blog's http.
7.  Click 'sign-in.'
8.  Make a confused face when Google asks me what account I'd like to use (5 choices pop-up).  Who are these people?  Why does Google have all these accounts for me?  Did I make them?  Google:  I hate you.  Do I really want to write a blog post?
9.  Pick one randomly.
10.  Cuss when I log-in with a password I have pulled out of my ass (and it works - there might be a God and she knows me) and Google tells me there are no blogs currently for this account.  Would I like to &*%^$*&% start one?  There is no god.
11.  Lose the will to write anything.
12.  Pull my Password Book (titled Password Book) off the shelf.
13.  Cuss as I look at all the pages where I've written UPDATED PASSWORD FOR MY BLOG.  Who am I?  Do I even deserve a blog?  DO I EVEN UNDERSTAND HOW THE INTERNET WORKS?  Decidedly, no and no.
14.  Go to the link under Help that says, "I am a moron and I still cannot log into my blog.  I have tried selling my first born and that has not worked.  Please help me with a step-by-step."  (Google does know me.)
15.  Change my &*%^$^$# email account AND my password AND write it down in the book AND log into my blog.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.  Here we all are, FINALLY.

I no longer remember what I had to write and I am so mad that my fingers are making nice clicking sounds on the keys.

Okay.  Here we go.  The two things I have really quick since I spent most of the time I don't have logging in.

Y'all, why are high school students not packing their own lunches?  This has gotten under my skin so much that it has caused me to gain weight.  I think.

So, I attended a sports meeting with my sophomore the other night and when the coach asked are there any questions a mom said, "Yes.  I pack Tommy his snacks and water bottle, but I just want to make sure that there is water available at the meets that he can access."

Okay.  I communicate with my sophomore girl right now exclusively through texts and side-eyes except when she wants to berate me for like not buying enough blueberries.  I gave her a side-eye at this point that said, "Is she f&*%$^ serious?  Is Tommy in PreK?"

PLEASE NOTE:  I teach PreK and I am not a judge Judy when it comes to parenting.  But, this really got under my skin.  If you are a sophomore in high school and you are involved in sports, should you not know how to ask for water in the Texas heat (which is still above 1000 degrees F)?  AND WHY IS SHE STILL PACKING HIS SNACKS AND WATER BOTTLE???  My kids started packing their lunches (mostly under duress) when they were like in fourth grade.

When I posted this question (innocently, I thought) on Twitter (nothing is innocent on Twitter, I know), I got the interesting response that he might have a condition that would require help.  Yeah, I get that.  I'm a teacher and a parent of four.  But, still.  My PreK kids (some of whom have unique needs) take out all their own snacks and water bottles and fill up their water bottles with minimal assistance.

What I really think is going on here is something I read about last night.  What is happening??  I know now that I am not the only one out there in the universe who does not need to know when my child is picking their nose.  I haven't made dinner in months, you guys, let alone put trackers on my kids' phones.

Maybe this is hitting me so hard because I feel guilty all of a sudden for being such a sub-par parent or maybe it's because I am seeing sooooo many capable, yet helpless PreK students entering my class, or maybe I am turning into a cranky old lady.  I suspect it's all three.  So, yeah.  I just had to get that off my chest.

And the other thing (yeah, go ahead, picture me):

Sophomore girl comes home the other day and tells me and her dad that she learned in her child development class about the character traits parents should have.  Before she even recounted them my thought was, "Maybe I'll have one?"  She carefully pointed out the ones we don't have.  Even collectively.

I am My Kid Tells Me I Shouldn't Have Had Kids years old.



Immediately I thought of all the traits missing from her teacher's list.  Oh, and, lest you think I'm completely heartless (you are not too far off the mark at this point) - lots of big love for HS child development teachers everywhere.  I don't even know how they actually communicate with high school students.

Essential Parenting Traits (short list)

1.  A sense of humor.  Could this one literally not cover for all the other traits you don't have?
2.  The ability to listen attentively to Minecraft drivel you don't understand for literally years even though you are thinking about how many more miles you can drive without running out of gas, is there milk in the fridge, do you have clean underwear for work tomorrow, when is Christmas.
3.  The best playlist to get you through all the feels and to teach your kids what real music sounds like.  (I mean shouldn't that one literally be a requirement for pregnancy?)
4.  The ability to potty train a human without losing life (yours or theirs).
5.  The ability to multi-task while multi-tasking.
6.  The ability to clean up pee, poop, vomit, and any other thing that comes out of a human.
7.  Have enough love in your heart to cover for all the times you screw up like sending your kid to school dressed like they're 100 when it's really only the 99th day of school.  And ice cream.  You're gonna need the ability to buy lots of ice cream after pulling crap like that on your kids.

I'm gonna just stop at seven even though my mind was going on and on.

Then I asked her if the teacher gave them a list of traits teenage girls should have.  She gave me a side-eye.

That's all I got.  I feel a little better after writing it all down.  It's too late to go back.  On most days, I am doing the best I can and I respect parents everywhere doing the best they can.  Sometimes it's hard down here in the trenches.

Below I have included a short video because it restored my faith in our parenting thus far. If our kid makes videos while doing math online and they are so funny I have to watch them like a billion times while still finding things to laugh about, then, yeah.  I think we're doing it ok enough.

Date night over 40. I'm not proud.

We hadn't been on the proverbial date night for a while.  So, a few days ago hubby said, "Let's go out Saturday night," it took about a quarter of one second for me to imagine a peaceful dinner without any interruptions and possibly an adult beverage (or two). 

I said, "Okay," incredibly quickly and effortlessly and had messaged the lovely lady that watches our heathens when we are gone in record time.  That was the easy part. 

The rest of this post is kinda how the remaining details went down.  Let me reiterate:  I am not proud.

1.  Answering the question - What to do?  Once you hit 35 (ahem), deciding what to do on any special occasion (or just date night) becomes particularly problematic.  Add in the four kids who must be left with a sitter, the fact that hubby has a physical injury which currently (until his impending surgery) is causing him constant pain, and the fact that I have been nursing a migraine for about a week and you *might* have a recipe for disaster.

We went through the long (and quite ridiculous) pretense of pretending we would do something other than go out to eat and try to stay awake until we were actually back home.  Sample of that:

Hubby:  Well, babe, what could we do?
Me:  Whatever.  Go eat?
Hubby:  Well, what do you like to do?
Me:  Hmm.  I dunno.  Eat?
Hubby:  We could go to the movies?
Me:  Okay.
Hubby:  A short movie.
Me:  Okay.
Hubby:  Who am I kidding?  I don't want to see a movie.  At the theater.
Me:  Yeah, me neither.
Hubby:  I guess we could go eat?
Me:  Okay.  That sounds good. 

This pretense continued until Saturday shortly before our departure time when hubby said, "Was there anything in the paper going on this weekend?"

I had actually looked through The Weekender, recognized one band that was in town, saw that they were playing at a venue about 35 minutes from our house, ruled that out, and skipped over the rest of the entertainment advertisements with mild disgust that I was far too old to watch bands in bars. 

I said, "Well, I saw that The Texas Tornados are playing.  I really love them.  Too bad they are about 20 years late."

(Hubby did not reply.)

2.  Once we decided we would go eat (!), we had to decide where.  I have written about our absolute favorite place on the planet to eat, Spicy Ginger, a few times.  It's a little embarrassing that they know our names there and *kinda* treat us like family.  Regardless, we decided we were both hungry for steak. 

We toyed briefly (and when I say We toyed briefly I mean I thought about it for one millisecond before deciding it was not going to happen) with eating at "the best steak place in our city".  I figured a meal for the two of us plus a few drinks for me would cost about $250.00.  Then I thought about how many kids' pairs of shoes I could buy for that same amount of money and we decided on Saltgrass.  Perfect. 

3.   Saturday was a rainy first day of spring break and we were cooped up inside with four slightly rotten kids and a wildly insane puppy.  So, yeah.  It was joyful. 

I guess you could say hubby and I both were stir crazy like we'd been locked in an insane asylum wanted to get away by the time 6:30 rolled around.  Normally when I know I am going out to eat I try to starve myself a little so that I can be really hungry and enjoy my food. 

But, I've been having some eating issues lately (by eating issues I mean I have wanted to eat everything that isn't nailed down).  As luck would have it, this insane hunger that's been plaguing me oddly stopped Saturday morning.  I woke up and I had no appetite.  (This usually only happens when I have a severe stomach virus or I am in a coma.  I have never actually been in a coma, but it's how I imagine it.)  I ate a smoothie for breakfast, I wasn't hungry for lunch, and I ate a few pieces of Girl 3's dinner that she couldn't finish.  You would have thought that by 6:30 I would have been ready to eat the menu, but truthfully nothing sounded good.

So, off we went to the previously decided upon steak place.  (We passed Spicy Ginger on the way and I had to remind hubby that we were both hungry for steaks.)

4.  It was a 45 minute wait at the steak place.  And our buzzer thingie didn't work.  And I had to drink a margarita on an empty stomach.  And on the way over to the steak place (before said margarita) my headache came back with a vengeance.  And the appetizer we got was meh at best.  By the time we were seated and ready to order my head was splitting open, and I had completely lost any vestige of an appetite that might have been there.

5.  Poor hubby.  I felt positively miserable for refusing to eat any of my dinner, but the thought of food was making me sick and my head hurt so badly I really was struggling to keep it upright.  He *may* have blamed the two margaritas I had on an empty stomach, but he is a gem so he never said that.

6.  At about 9:00 we headed home.  The kids had just gone to bed when we rolled into the driveway.  (I'm pretty sure our sitter thinks we are 90 year olds.) 

Thank The Date Night Stars, our evening was not a total loss.  We managed to watch The King's Speech on Netflix and I give it 10 stars out of 10.  I stayed awake during the whole thing (except possibly the beginning credits and about 10 minutes after that - shhhh - don't tell hubby) and it was such a delight that I managed to forget about the pain in my head for a while. 

After the movie ended is where it got complicated.  In Texas we have this nasty thing called Daylight Savings Time.  So, the movie ended past midnight (which was really 1:00 a.m.).  I decided at that time to break down and take some serious migraine medication.  As you might know the meds contain lots of caffeine.  And it had started thundering and lightening (of course because we haven't had thunder and lightening in about eight months).  And puppy and the kids cried all night.  And I ended up sleeping in Girl 1's single bed. 

Too bad I couldn't have had date night around 4:00 a.m. because I was still wide awake and I think my appetite was even coming back.

7.  Boy child had my steak dinner for breakfast. 

Date night over 40, people. 

How much will it cost for a re-do?

The Naked Truth. (And yes, I know you never wanted to see me naked.)

So, I'm trying to be a better blogger.  What does this mean for you?  I have no idea.  (I'll probably be way more annoying?) 

But, I just finished reading an excellent post  over at one of my favorite bloggers' space and he said try to post everyday because your readers want to subscribe to something that is worthwhile.  So, please think I'm worthwhile?  (He may have also said something about groveling, too, but I'm not above that yet.)

I've also had the opportunity to read lots of posts lately where the blogger tells you a lot of things about himself/herself so that you can get to know him/her better.  At least I think that's why they are doing it.  Do you want to know me better?  Probably not, but here it goes anyway.

1.  I am a compulsive list maker.  Sometimes Often times I make lists to make the list.  Is that creepy?  Yes.  But, I can't stop doing it.  Yesterday I found this list in my jeans' pocket:

2.  Sometimes I go months without washing my jeans.

3.  I often ask and answer questions all by myself.  And by "often" I mean all the time.  Example:  This is the running dialogue in my head right now.

Is this post crazy?
Probably.
Do I care?
No.
Should I still publish it?
Yes. 
Why did you ask that question when you actually knew the answer before you even typed it?
I have no idea.

4.  I blame my kids and hubby for stuff I do at least daily.  Example:  When I've eaten 10 candies out of my kids' candy baskets after they've gone to bed and they find my wrappers in the trash the next morning I calmly say when they ask how the wrappers got in the trash, "Oh, how did those get in the trash?  That's weird.  I guess dad was craving chocolate last night."  My kids, "But, dad doesn't even like chocolate."  Me, "WELL, THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT WEIRD THEN, HUH???"

5.  So, is #4 basically lying?  Yes, it is.

6.  I hate talking on the phone.  Don't ever call me and tell me something remotely important that needs action because usually I am not even listening.  The washing machine that I am loading is making too much noise and I can't hear you.  (My close friends and most of my family know this about me so I don't consider it rude.)  (Sometimes I lie to myself.)

7.  I am mostly deaf.  In both ears.  Not really, but it's psychosomatic so that makes it true.

8.  I don't trust doctors.  Unless they are taking a baby out of my womb.  In that case I trust them more than hubby.

9.  I brush my teeth anytime I am upstairs in my bathroom.  Even if I brushed them earlier and I haven't eaten anything.

10.  I read a lot in the bathroom.  My kids *might* think I have bowel problems because they often pound on the door and scream, "ARE YOU DONE YET?  ARE YOU OKAY?  GAWD, MOM.  YOU'VE BEEN IN THERE FOR LIKE AN HOUR!"  Half the time I'm just sitting on the pot (the closed pot) reading my book and grunting occasionally at them.  I get my best reading done that way.

11.  I constantly curse at spell check.  Example (I just said this to spell check.):  No you, moron.  Cheesus H. Christ.  I typed, "hte" and you think I want to say "Hate???"  WTF?  You are a worse speller AND WRITER than I am???  How would that even make sense???  And this is supposed to be helpful???  I hate you.

I could go on and on.  Who knew?  Turns out I love talking about myself.  But, this is to make you guys happy, right?   

Now, tell me something incriminating about yourself (not on the phone - in the comments) to make me happy and then we'll be even.  Happy Tuesday!
 

It's not the Oscars.

I'm in a weird state right now.  It's called the state of confusion.  So, this is not really a post, but more of an Andy Rooneyish list of things that are bugging me.  (You're welcome and I'm sorry because Andy Rooney bugs me, too.)

1.  What the hell is really in Thin Mints?  Crack cocaine?  Is there anyone in the world that can eat just one?  I can resist them until about February 25th and then I'm like an addict that needs a fix.  I eat one and I see bugs crawling all over me.  Until I eat another one and then I feel a little better.  And then I eat the whole box and I stop shaking.  Why are the Girl Scouts trying to kill me?

2.  Why is my puppy such a nut?  Is it because he's a pound puppy?  Is that why he is compelled to never leave our sight?  Do I like this?  Or, do I just think it's weird?  Is he an idiot savant?  Heavy on the idiot?  Because he can almost open the front door with his paw.  Yeah.  Top that!  I dare you.  My family might actually have a chance on America's Got Talent.

3.  Why did I pay the public library enough money in fines in 2012 to claim it on my fu*king taxes?  Why am I over 30 and still this irresponsible?  Why can't library books come with tasers?  Because I think if I got tasered every time my library books were due, I'd have a fighting chance.

4.  Why is our elementary school talent show such a pain in my a$$?  Why am I not ecstatic that my 11 year old boy wants to play a classical piano piece (that he is actually really good at playing) in the talent show the last year that he will be in elementary school???  Is it because the talent show is rumored to last over two hours and I will have to take hubby and the four year old?  Or is it because if I have to hear even one elementary school girl sing any Taylor Swift song I will vomit in my mouth?  Or could it be because there have been more rehearsals for this talent show than there were rehearsals for the Oscars?  And are there even rehearsals for the Oscars?  Cheesus.

5.  Why have I gained back all the weight I lost last spring in order to be seen in a bathing suit which I will have to be seen in again in another few months?  (Besides #1.)  Why was I born with no will power? 

6.  Why do I have to teach my 11, 10, and 8 year olds how to take their clothes off properly?  Why are we not born knowing how to take off clothes so that they do not need to be inside outed a gazillion times before we can wear them again after washing and drying them?  If I could make a deal with God and trade the innate ability to suckle with the innate ability to know how to remove clothes for easy laundering - I'd do it.

7.  Why does Girl 3 never stop talking?  And where is her volume control knob?  And, what frankly, is she talking about half the time?  Her east coast (?) accent is making her more and more difficult to understand and more than a few times this past month I've had to say after taking serious time to think about her inquiry, "What are you talking about for Pete's sake?"  And then I have to bite my lip when she asks loudly, "Mama, who's Pete?"  Cheesus.

8.  Are the people who developed tax forms and the people who developed business plan templates one in the same?  Because I would consider loading up all my kids to go shop for bathing suits with bad lighting, pasty skin, fat on my belly and eight beady eyes staring at me in order to avoid both of them.

9.  Why when I am carrying two of something (two lipsticks, two sets of keys, two pairs of glasses, two pens, etc.) and I reach for one without being able to see it - do I always grab the one I don't want?  And why doesn't it work to try and trick my own mind?  And why am I crazy enough to try that? 

10.  And while I'm at it, why do I have 1000 pairs of glasses, but I still can't see worth a damn?  Frankly, it's ridiculous.  I have four pairs of bifocals (two downstairs, one upstairs, one in my purse), two pairs of prescription glasses, two pairs of prescription sunglasses, about a $hit ton of non-prescription sunglasses (usually, none of which I can find), and four boxes of contacts for two different prescriptions.  Invariably I leave the house with my glasses on (while it's dark or cloudy) and only non-prescription sunglasses in my purse only to have the sun (which hasn't been seen in days) blaze brightly in the sky out of nofreakingwhere.



denverebayclassifieds.com.  Yes, someone was selling these for $200.00.  Me to Hubby, "I'm gonna be rich!"

There's more, but you have important things to do.  At least I hope you do.  Like your taxes or a business plan.  While you're at it - help yourself to a box of Thin Mints...for me.

I'd rather say "I love you" with clean undies, but that's probably just me.

So, here's what got done this week:

1.  My kids have pretty much always been those kids that take the Valentines directly from the bang-your-head-on-the-Wal-Mart box to school and pass them out as is.  No frills.  No candies.  Nothing home made.  Then they bring home all these Valentines that they've received that cost about $10 each, include all kinds of home made Valentines Monopoly games and chocolates that I have to eat because I don't want the kids to get too many cavities.  I feel like slacker-mom until I have consumed all the chocolate.  Then I feel like slacker-mom with a head ache.  Last year I vowed to change all that. 

Well, it's been moderately successful.  No one really seems to care that I am transforming myself into a quasi-Martha except me.  The kids (especially the Boy Child) are perfectly fine with giving store-bought Valentines and receiving home made Valentines or really anything as long as it's loaded with high fructose corn syrup.  So, since no one really cares I pretty much just did what I wanted this year.  No pressure.......... except Pinterest (damn that bitch).

Here's what me and the big girls made (straight from a photo on Pinterest).  It was pretty easy and delicious.  It cost about 8,000 dollars and we didn't have enough left over to suit my stomach taste.  But, I'd do it again and just save up and buy twice as much. 


Um, yeah.  That's yummy, right?  I like to say "Happy Valentines Day" directly through my stomach.

Here's how you make it because usually Pinterest just shows you the finished product.  Oh, except the generic coffee maker.  (You don't really need that.  Unless you stay up all night to do this.  Then you will need lots of caffeine.)

And this is the cute finished product.  Like I said nothing says, "Happy Valentines Day" like loads of sugar.

And, here's what the tiny girl is taking for her classmates (mainly because there are only 12 classmates).


They were "meh" I'd say.  I'm still working out the kinks of making cookies on my own (yeah, I know, I'm only 39???).

I *think* the lady who taught me/us all the cookie classes *might* be getting sick of me stalking her.  Unfortunately (for her) she works at a cake shop that is just around the corner (too bad I couldn't make a cake if my life depended on it).  So, I've been going there like everyday to ask her mundane questions about every detail of reproducing her cookies in the comfort of my own home (and by "comfort of my own home" I mean in my pajamas drinking a beer).  I think she's growing weary.

She did tell me, though, that my issues with getting the consistency of the frosting just right to squeeze is "perfectly normal" for morons beginners.  Of course, that was after I'd been questioning her for about three hours, so she may have just been trying to get me to go away.

Anyway, friends.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  I am posting all my not-perfect handiwork on Pinterest because you know it needs more normal people like me.  Oh, and did I say not much else got done this week?  I am frantically trying to finish all the shiz for the Ladybug Sweet Shoppe party, my fingers are numb from gluing, and there are piles of dirty laundry everywhere.

So, I guess what I am learning is that keeping up with the Marthas has its advantages.  I get to feel semi-smug and my kids look cool.  It also has its disadvantages - we feel smug and cool wearing yesterday's undies and foraging for food.  That's the wrap guys.  I hope you have a great Valentines...or at least have clean undergarments.  I'll post again when I recover from the third degree burns on my hands.

it's a short list

So, today I am a few years past my thirtieth and a few years closer to my fiftieth.  Yes, that makes me a little dizzy.  If you're anything like me, after a certain age you might not want to even celebrate your birthday anymore.  It's just kind of another day that you'd rather just slip by so that you don't have to face the realization that you are one day closer to your imminent death (yes, I am the epitome of optimism). 

But, hubby is really great at buying me gifts and celebrating.  And the kids start asking way in advance if I'm gonna have a party with a pinata (um, no).  Hubby asks me what I want a few weeks before my birthday and just buys what I tell him.  Romantic?  No.  Practical?  Yes.

This year was no different.  I had kinda gone overboard buying myself Christmas gifts so I tried to really keep it simple.  So, I got some low-key, but great stuff that I really wanted.  I got another really warm scarf in a fabulous color because we have been having cold weather down here in south Texas and I hate cold weather.  I got some funky earrings that I've been wanting.  I got a Pay Day from the Boy Child because he could afford that and he knows Pay Days are one of my guilty pleasures.  I got some wonderfully smelling stuff from Bath and Bodyworks.  And hubby has a great sense of humor so he wrapped everything up in this fabulous bright pink tote (with an amazing number of pockets) that we got as a free gift for donating to a charity and gave all the gifts to me in that.

But, (everyone always has a big butt, right?) here's what I didn't get that I really wanted.  I didn't put any of this on the list, but I'm telling you guys.  So, if you can, help a sista' out?

The Unstated Real Birthday List

1.  I want my boobs back where they used to be.  And, while they (whoever's gonna do this for me) are at it, I'd also like them a titch larger than they are right now.  Y'know just to help me get some attention when I need it?

2.  I want my hair not to do this weird thing it's started doing called:  Growing right out of the front of my head.  WTH?  Is that some sort of old thing?

3.  This one is kinda for women only:  I'd like to be On the Cycle Again or Completely Off the Cycle instead of just every 78 days, or every 14 days, or every 112 days, or anytime my body thinks it's time again.  Yeesh.  I am ready to say good-bye to fertilehood for good.

4.  I'd like to be able to remember shiz without writing it down.  It's kind of annoying to have a memory that is only three seconds long.  And I am kinda tired of Girl 1 always accusing me of having early onset Alzheimer's.

5.  I'd really love to be able to text without my bifocals.  OLD PERSON ON BOARD.  Yeah, that's me.  Yeesh.  Embarrassing and cumbersome.  Oh, and I'd like to be able to text as fast as a tween.

6.  I want the skin on my hands back.  I have developed in the past five years this weird old people skin on my hands and I don't really like it.

7.  These dark circles under my eyes and wrinkles on my forehead need to be cleared up.  (I'm thinking when they are working on my boob concerns they can just skip up to my face and fix that.)

8.  I'd like my acute hearing back from the 80's.  Now, I've never really had great hearing.  If you're a long term reader you know that one of my greatest fears is going completely deaf by my fifties.  So, I'd really just like to be able to hear.  Everything.  Like a superpower.  Or, just like a regular human.

9.  I'd like to be able to drink the amount of beer I want without it going directly to my belly in record time.  Remember the good 'ole days when you could stay out all night drinking and not feel any repercussions?  Yeah, I want those days back.

10.  And, just because I'm a stickler for even numbers.  I'd like to eat all the chocolate I want just once.  Doesn't everyone want that?

11.  Oh, and one more.  I'd really like to get the rest of my life figured out.  Seriously?  What am I going to be when I grow up?  (I'm sure hubby would like me to figure that out, too.)

So, friends.  Happy birthday to me!  Don't worry - I won't put candles on my cake.  Safety first! 

"When you accuse someone of having $hit on his shoes, make sure the source of the smell is not really you." Ms. Day in the Life

So, big news in the Day in the Life family.  We got a dog.  Yes, you read right.  The Leona Helmsley of Pet Haters got a dog over Christmas.  I have only 10 minutes to finish this post, so I won't go into a lot of detail.  I think a list would the most efficient way for me to vent catch you guys up.

1.  The puppy *could* be the reason I haven't blogged in days.

2.  I miss you all dearly and I promise to read all your hysterically funny and entertaining posts just as soon as I can leave puppy for more than 10 minutes without fearing I will have to clean pee or poop for the next 10 minutes.

3.  I don't like it when I go to my pediatricians office and I am referred to as "mom" by a 20 year old young thing who looks like Taylor Swift.  I kinda wanna throw up when I go to the veterinarian's office and I am referred to as "mom."  Mom of who, precisely?  In fact, I would rather listen to the Little People's video music on an endless loop until I poke my eyes out with sharp sticks.

4.  Am I that old?  When did #3 become a thing?  I cannot imagine people of my mother's era ever referring to dogs as the children of humans.  Is this a sign that I am super old?  Was Mrs. Miller Lassie's mom? 

5.  I have spent way too much time the past two weeks dwelling on #4.

6.  If there was a movie to be made of my life right now the title of that movie (undoubtedly a short) would be, "Waiting for the Dog Whisperer."

7.  It's hard to figure out this puppy.  He's a lot like a toddler but he doesn't even speak English some of the time and I never feel entirely comfortable cuddling him due to the fact that I don't like $hit on me.

8.  So that you fully understand #7 - I spent about an hour searching for the source of the $hit smell the other morning only to find puppy had gotten a teensy bit on my robe.  It was a simultaneously humbling and enraging moment.  Thank you, puppy.

9.  I have a million what ifs right now.  Here are just a few:  What if this dog can't learn to fetch?  What if this dog is never potty trained?  What if every time someone new comes into the house the dog pees on the floor?  What if we have to be like Richard Gere in Hachi and demonstrate how to fetch?  What if hubby actually does that?  What if this dog (that I kinda got in order for me to have a silent running partner) hates to run?  What if I make him do it anyway?  What if I really am heartless?  What if it is rainy and cold again for days on end and puppy still hates the rain and cold?  What if this drives me insane?

10.  So, I'm gonna end this by promising to be more faithful.  But, just know that some nasty Stomach Issues are running through our house (see how I did that?) and I really don't know which is more perplexing:  Trying to get children to vomit in the toilet and not on the floor or trying to figure out what a nine week old puppy wants.

I hope you guys are keeping all your resolutions while also keeping it real.  Happy third week of 2013!

January 4. Resolutions amended. I hate it when this happens.

In case you missed it, I made some half a$$ resolutions which now need to be amended............three days later.

If you don't click the link - I resolved to not go for seconds when eating.  I am amending this to:  I resolve to not go for thirds.  Or in the case that I go for thirds, I resolve to not go for fourths.  And this resolution is null and void on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays.  Damn it.

I also would like to add the following to my short list of resolutions.

1.  I resolve to never buy anything white for any member of my family ever again.  I also resolve to remember this resolution when I am at the store and there is something I want for one of us and the only color left is white.  Put it back.

2.  I resolve to not put anything hubby has told me not to put in the disposal in the disposal (first and foremost:  silverware of any kind).  You're welcome, hubby.

3.  I resolve to not lock myself in the bathroom on cold, wet, and long days in which the children have gone absolutely insane and puppy has $hit on the floor.  Or rather - I resolve to not lock myself in the bathroom for longer than one hour or as long as it takes for the children to physically harm themselves and make the puppy wish he had been euthanized - whichever comes first.  You're welcome, puppy.

4.  I resolve to take my frustrations out on cleaning the house rather than draining the bottle.  (Why have I never thought of this one before?  I must be getting smarter as I age.)

5.  I resolve to not waste time on the internets anymore.  Ever.

6.  I resolve never to play any kind of trivia game with my children again until I am considerably smarter (more on this one later after I have regained a smidgen of my dignity).

There.  I think I'm done.  (#7 was:  I resolve to not get a puppy in 2013.  Technically I met that one because we signed the paperwork for our new puppy - who incidentally hates cold and rain and is as equally insane as my own children - on December 29, 2012.  Thank you, me!)

Is it too late to wish me a Happy f*cking New Year!?  If not, maybe you should!

Don't expect a thank you card and my restrooms aren't that clean either.

So, Christmas always make me feel like an underachiever.  Which I am.   So, I guess Christmas is like honesty?  Anyway.  Here's the short list.

1.  I got a Christmas card from some dear friends today and it is cute, clever, and their family is gorgeous.  I was shocked and a little disappointed to find out people still send Christmas cards.  Shocked because I have seen more than one poll on social media (oh, if I had a dollar for every time someone said "social media") lately that asked whether it was kosher to said out electronic Christmas cards (see what I just did there).  Disappointed because the guilt is laid for me to send out cards now.

Anyway.  My Christmas card (if they actually make it out before Christmas) is going to be a (most likely illegal) reprint of the photo I paid five bucks for at our church this past Sunday.  It's all four kids with Santa.  Boy child wouldn't wear the coordinated outfit I had selected for him, Girl 1 doesn't believe in Santa so she's eyeing the Santa suspiciously, the Santa is Mexican, Girl 3 is smiling but in a different direction than everyone else, and did I mention I paid only five bucks for the photo?  If I'm feeling merry I will put a saying on it.  If not, it will say "Merry Christmas!"

2.  Girl 1 and I went running the other day and I asked her if she still believed in Santa.  Now, maybe this was self-serving, but it's over now so who cares?  She said (not her exact words because my memory is a sieve), "Well, you better tell me if there is a Santa or not before I have kids of my own because that would really stink if I relied on Santa and didn't buy any presents and then there was no Santa.  Right?  Because then my kids wouldn't get any presents and it would be my fault.  Do you know how bad that would be, mom?"  Good point.  I'm all about honesty, so I just told her the truth (no, not that there really is a Santa if you truly believe or whatever).  After I came clean with all the lies I've told over the years (I felt a little like I'd been to therapy) she said, "Well, I never really believed it.  I mean flying reindeers, mom?  Come on.  Who made all that stuff up anyway?  Seems like whoever it was they could have done better than that."  Is she my daughter?

3.  I can't keep a restroom clean during the holidays to save my life.  Every blessed day it's like World War III in there.  We have about 8000 trees in our backyard and every year around this time our backyard is like a horror movie about leaves.  I sweep a small leaf bag up in my house daily and daily I consider using a leaf blower inside instead of a broom.  The bathroom is the worst.  Not only is it normal bathroom yuck (remember six people regularly use the bathroom downstairs plus friends) but to make it worse, there are leaves and mulch all over the floor.  I have my Christmas scenter in there and my Christmas soap, but people it's just not working.  My mother would be appalled.

4.  I believe in thank you cards, but I just never write them.  I know, I know.  Again, my mother would be appalled.  She firmly believed in thank you cards.  And, in theory, so do I.  I am so thankful.  In my heart.  But, on paper - it's a whole other beast.  First you have to find the cards.  Then you have to find the time to write the cards.  Then you have to remember who gave you what (because I never remember to write that stuff down).  Then you have to mail or deliver the cards.  Both of which can be problematic.  Stamps.  Memory to remember to give the cards to the people.  Are you tired?  Because I am.  So, here's the deal.  Feel free to send me all kinds of Christmas presents.  Just know you are never going to get a thank you card.  But, I will be so thankful in my heart. 

5.  Every year for the past few years we have gotten a couple of gorgeous plates of Christmas cookies.  How do these people do it?  Here's how Christmas cookie making in my house usually goes.  I spend hours on Pinterest and the internets searching for fabulous cookie decorating tips and ideas.  I finally make the cookies and have all these grandiose ideas of how I am going to decorate them.  The kids sense I am going to try and do something fun by myself and they come from miles to get in on my alone time.  I end up making a lot more frosting because half of theirs ends up on the floor, in their mouths, in their sibilings' hair, and on the furniture.  They manage to eat, "decorate," destroy, or break almost all the cookies then they scatter like cockroaches when I tell them it's time to clean everything up.  I end up too tired to decorate the two cookies that remain so I just slap some black (because that's the only color that's left) frosting on them and call it a day.  Hubby comes in and says, "What are you doing?"  I say, "Oh, just decorating Christmas cookies."  He says, "Why did you do the trees black?"

Honesty people.  It's the best policy.  I'm going to stop blogging now and try and work on my pirated 2012 Christmas cards. 

Try to have a great week.

A Day in the Life's Top I Am Thankful For List of All Time (you're welcome)

So, it's one day before Thanksgiving.  Not my favorite holiday.  It's not that I'm not thankful.  I am.  Most of the time.  Sometimes.  Sometimes when I'm in a good mood.  So, thankfulness might not be my strong point.  But, I can roll my tongue!  That's something like a strong point, right?

Anyway, here we are.  Mere hours away from gorging in front of a football game and then reheating leftovers a few hours later because your eating schedule was all screwed up and something in your brain mistakes nausea for hunger.  Did I mention I abhor football?

I thought you might need another Thankful List since there aren't quite enough floating around on Facebook.  So, for the love of God, be thankful.

Before I came up with this year's list, I did a little research.  I know.  You're shocked, right?  Rest assured, I went to school.  I know how to do research.  I Googled "holiday eating tips" (because Lord knows I could use a few) and this little gem popped right up.  Does the Internet know me?

I admit, I didn't thoroughly read it, but the title intrigued me.  Of all time?  Really?  Were Jesus and the disciples worried about holiday weight gain, too?  Isn't that just a tad pretentious?

So, not to be a one-upper (but, I *kinda* am) here's my list:

A Day in the Life's Top I Am Thankful For List of All Time (you're welcome)

1.  I am thankful for the person that invented Spanx and I'd like to send him/her a piece of the chocolate pecan pie that I made this afternoon.

2.  I am thankful I had all the ingredients in the recipe for said chocolate pecan pie that I googled seconds before making it this afternoon, thereby avoiding another trip to the grocery store and possibly having to punch someone in the face (because that's probably not a very thankful thing to do).

3.  I am thankful that my toilet hasn't overflowed the last ten times Girl 3 has flushed about a half a roll of toilet paper down it.

4.  I am thankful I have a toilet.

5.  I am thankful that I didn't die for all the times I didn't send emails to nine people when the email said I would die if I didn't send it to nine people.   

6.  I am thankful that nearly everyone in my family loves football and I hate it because it will make it easier on my conscience to sit at the table by myself and eat a third piece of chocolate pecan pie.

7.  I am thankful that I only have to write a list of what I am thankful for once a year.

8.  I am thankful my kids' teachers still speak to me.

9.  I am thankful I don't homeschool.

10.  I am thankful for all the witty people that put adult references in kids' movies.  I kinda want to send them some pie, too.

I think next year I'll just make lots of pies and send them out to random people that I want to thank.  (That *might* be easier than making this list.)

Happy Thanksgiving, friends!  If you brave Black Friday, try not to get trampled.  Or shot.

Exactly what she said.

I try not discuss politics or religion because they both piss me off.  But, I've been kinda bummed lately.  Facebook is my BFF and before the election it turned into a venomous hate-spewing creature of the evil mother-in-lawish type (not mine because I love my MIL).  So, for the weeks leading up to the election - I just chose to log on a little less and actually do something around the house (or work, God forbid).

After the election I was happy because I thought that crap making me want to vomit in my mouth would be gone.  But, no.  All I see now are a lot of sanctimonious, self-righteous shiz about Armageddon and the world ending.

It makes me kinda sad.  Sad because my BFF is not my BFF anymore and sad because people can be so shallow.

I can't write about any of this myself because I am not a great writer when it comes to things that actually matter (I can only write about poopy bottoms and dysfunctional families and then only to the 8th grade level). 

But, a great thing happened today when I logged into Facebook.  One of my most amazing friends' husband (and he's pretty amazing, too) had posted this on my wall. 

It's really well worth the read - whoever you voted for (and yes, I know I ended that with a preposition - apparently that kind of grammar comes after 8th grade).  I realize this blogger has like half the world for readers and I have like two readers, but I wanted to post the link anyway.  In case you need some perspective (or more likely - since all of my readers are AWESOME - you know someone who needs more perspective).

Because it's kinda like I felt when Steve Jobs died.  Perspective, people.  Really.  It's all about perspective and not losing your shiz.

Have a great weekend!  And hopefully I will have my BFF back soon and I can write a post of my own (course, it won't be nearly as good, but it will be mine).

It's the White Vote!

As usual, Chris Rock speakin' to the people.  Now, get out and vote, people.

Thank you, E.D. for leading me to this, which I had not seen yet.  I nearly spit up my coffee.

NoGoEvNevWritMoinNo, Ho.

I *kinda* felt bad for dumping sh*t on y'all in my last post.  Just kidding!  That's what y'all are here for.  Right? 

But, oddly, right after I dumped on y'all - things started looking up!  Relatively.

So, in the spirit of patriotism (whatever), I decided to write a short list about it in the hopes that if I had depressed you - I would cheer you up!  And also someone told me to be thankful for the good in my life instead of complaining all the time (whatever).

1.  We are two days away from the greatest day of the year.

2.  Saturday night I built a fire.  Like a Girl Scout.  Or, like an Indian.  (If the Indians had girl friends and used kerosene.)  Hubby usually makes the fire (because he's the man and that's what men do), but he was gone so I decided I could make fire.  Y'know like Emily Davidson?  Girl power? 

Well, turns out fire and the wheel really were difficult things to invent and are really difficult to replicate.  Damn cave men. 

I phoned hubby at his important conference to ask him how to make fire.  Here's the short version of our conversation.

Me:  Hi, hubby.  I was just wondering - how do you make a fire?

Hubby:  Um.  I'm kinda busy right now, can this wait?

Me:  Well, not really because since it's finally cold, I invited the whole neighborhood over like you usually do to roast marshmallows and drink and I think they are kinda expecting a fire.

Hubby:  *Sigh*  Well, first you need a beer can.

Me:  Wait.  Is this a joke?

Hubby:  *Sigh*  No.  It's not a joke. 

Me:  So, the first step in making a fire is:  Drink a beer?

Hubby:  Yes. 

Me:  SA-Weet.  I shoulda' been in charge of the fires all along!

Well, since I suck at following directions I had to just basically slam a beer, pour kerosene on some wood, and light a match to get a fire started.  And then for good measure (and so hubby wouldn't know all my secrets), I threw the old beer can into the fire.  Note to self:  Beer cans do not burn.  Ever.  And even when they are seriously charred you can still read Miller Lite on them.  (Hubby knows my secret.)

When I did finally get the fire started (with some help), here's what it looked like:


Please note how even the skeletons in my closet yard photo bomb me.
 

3.  Honey Boo Boo endorsed President Obama.  Although this happened quite a while ago - while I was still in the dumps, in the past few days it's given me hope that when I decide what I am running for, Honey Boo Boo will endorse me as well.

4.  I got my 50th follower to my blog.  I kinda feel like I want to send her a small gift.  But, since that's stalkerish I decided just to tell you guys here.  She doesn't have a blog that I know of, or I'd send you over.  But, clearly she is of above average intelligence, a fabulous mom and woman, and has great taste.  So, thank you, TNMom.  Here's a small gift especially for you to express my sincere appreciation.

They're not just for Valentines anymore.

5.  In a moment of sheer motherhood genius, I scheduled all four of my kids' six month dental cleanings on Halloween.  What kind of insane idiot does this?  Me.  Apparently.  Thanks to my lack of calendaring skills six month's worth of dental fees will be ravaged by one night of candy gorging.  Wait.  Is this my happy list?  Oh.  Sorry.  I still am wandering to the dark side every now and again.

6.  On November 1 you can join millions of other people worldwide and write a novel in 30 days.  This is affectionately (I guess) called NaNoWriMo by the throngs of people who participate.

No, I am not doing this.  Although I admire the strength and fortitude (whatever) of these people, I do not want to encourage them.  I really cannot think of anything more ludicrous than writing a novel in 30 of the days before what is the most frantic, time-consuming, depressing season of the year when most everyone is gaining weight.  And, I cannot think of a crazier acronym.  (Except for maybe SWOT mom.)

Instead I've decided to commit myself to writing on my blog every day of November.  Except when I don't feel like it, or I am depressed, or I have other things that are more important that need doing, or my four year old needs her butt wiped. 

So, basically - I commit to bringing you what I've always brought you - but in NOVEMBER!  So, yay me!  (I feel less depressed already!)  And because I love to rival ridiculous acronyms, I am calling my writing challenge for myself:  NoGoEvNevWriMoinNo, Ho.
Not Going to Ever, Never Write More in November, Hoes!

That's my Happy List, friends.  Stay sane!  

If you can read this, you're too close.

So, there's nothing like a trip to the ophthalmologist that will make you feel 114 years old and make you feel like you are in poor health and might die.  Soon.

As many of you know I got a clean bill of health from my M.D. last week when I went for a physical for the first time in about 20 years (so, yes, my last physical was when I was 10).  She basically said that I should be good to go for the next 20 years.  Well, she didn't actually say that, but I figure since I'd taken charge of my own health for 20 years and stayed fairly healthy, I can probably manage it for another 20 years.  And, I should have probably been a doctor, and made a lot of money, and not had any time to write a blog about it because I would be too busy saving people's lives and writing medical books.  (She didn't say that, but I did.) 

Without boring you with the intimate (and quite disgusting) details, I will tell you briefly that I am suffering (relatively, because we all know suffering is relative) from vertigo (also called dizziness - which I have suffered from my whole life). 

Now, (in my vast medical experience) there are a few reasons one can experience vertigo:  you have an excessive amount of alcohol in your system, you have a tumor in your brain and have about two weeks left to live (and if that's currently happening to anyone reading this, I'm sorry, for kinda making a joke about it), you are anemic (which, of course, in the blood draw in which I had to postpone my coffee IV, anemia was not screened), you are just plain dizzy and there is no cure, (in which case the doctor just says, Sorry?  I guess?) OR, your body is special, in a way that will not impress men, and your ears produce an excessive amount of ear wax which completely blocks your ear drum (making hearing nearly impossible) and causes vertigo.......wait.  Did I say I wasn't going to bore you with intimate and disgusting details?  Okay, sorry.  So, I had my eardrum scraped (yes, it was more painful than natural child birth and I *might* have screamed it was all hubby's fault and that I wanted an epidural) and yes the vertigo has subsided somewhat. 

But because not every cloud has a silver lining, yesterday I found out I might die, so basically we are back to square one.

Okay, so fast forward to yesterday at the eye doctor. 

1.  I hate the eye doctor, but I go once a year because I have a fear of going blind.  (Which turns out might actually be one of my valid fears.)  And I also am vain and have to have a current contact prescription.
2.  I watch WAY too much SVU and am convinced that the doctor is going to be a serial rapist and that a dark room is the perfect context for this to occur.  (I realize this is completely sick, but I have had these conversations in my head.  More than once.)
3.  I abhor the following:  Is 1 better or 2?  3 or 4?  5 or 6?  Okay, how about now?  Is it A or B?  B or C?  Seriously?  I find myself nervous and sweating during this part of the exam (and it's not because I might be raped).  It's just like the SAT all over again.  I know.  Insane.
4.  I don't really trust eye doctors, and that's really difficult to reconcile with my fear of going blind and my vanity.
5.  I spend all my time (when I am supposed to be picking A or B) thinking What's my nearest weapon in case he starts $hit? and How much did all this equipment cost?
6.  If it's been awhile since you've been to the eye doctor - times have changed.  It's mostly all flat computer screens and remote controls.

Yesterday the doctor looked to be about 87 and was quite frail, so I wasn't really worried about being raped.  I did, however, fail the double vision test and I also spent an excessive amount of time thinking about the cost of all that equipment (the letters are now on a flat computer screen which is mounted to the wall and I would be willing to trade it for my 1970's console TV even if all it played was letters).

Just like I imagine the minutes right before the doctor sees cancer growing in your brain, the doc paused during my double vision test and said slowly, "How about now?  Do the lines come together now?"

I think he wanted me to say yes, but truthfully the lines were still not together, so naturally I was nervous and sweating and I said, "Well, that made them ooch together a teensy bit, but no, they're still not together."

So, then he flipped the lights on and said, "Are you familiar with Bell's Palsy?"

Wow.  That's a conversation starter, eh?  How do you go from lines on the stupid flat screen to Bell's Palsy?  I thought, "Clearly he's senile.  I am not paying for this exam."

But, just to amuse him I said yes and he proceeded to run down a list of (I suppose) symptoms of early onset Bell's Palsy and did I have any of them.  While he was doing this my mind wandered (shocker, I know) to a gal I knew in college who had Bell's Palsy.  I made a mental note to look her up on Facebook.  I also was a tad offended when he said that most people's faces were symmetrical and mine clearly wasn't.  Hey, now!  I thought this was the eye doctor, not Project Runway.  Then my mind wandered to a time when hubby and I and some good friends were all sitting around partaking and the subject of facial symmetry came up.  My face was voted the least symmetrical and it was concluded that I would never be a model because of this.  Again, shocker.  I probably did not need 12 beers to figure that out.

So, one of the apparent symptoms of Bell's Palsy is short term memory loss.  He asked me (seriously) if I had experienced it.  HELLO?  This made me sit up straight in my chair.

I paused when he asked this because my mind was just careening out of control.  Here is the path it was going on:

1.  I HAVE BELL'S PALSY?  JESUS H. CHRIST.  HOW MUCH TIME DO I HAVE???
2.  What have I forgotten today?  Short list:  The appointment, the directions, my phone, dinner.
3.  I thought I was here for a freaking EYE EXAM.  Turns out I am getting a death sentence.

So, after I thought all that I calmly (and smartly) said (hoping he hadn't noticed the pause before responding), "No, not really.  I remember most things.  I guess.  Most important things.  Well, some important things.  Y'know sometimes I forget things.  Just things mostly that don't matter.  Much.  Wait.  Who are you?  Why are we here?"

He ordered a second double vision screening for me.

I passed the second one.  Kinda.  Mostly.

Turns out I have a titch of double vision (don't worry, I only see one of you right now - and by the way, GET DRESSED ALREADY), but I have a pre-melanoma on my EYEBALL.

Seriously?  Did you know you could have a pre-melanoma on your eyeball?  Do you really even know anyone who's ever had this?  Did they get cancer in their EYE and are they dead?  (Sorry.  Kinda.)

So, let's recap.  These past two weeks I've:

1.  Done an insightful political analysis in which I vetted (kinda) and selected a running mate who is currently designing my yard signs (maybe).
2.  Gotten a clean bill of health from my M.D. aside from my (improving) vertigo which may or may not kill me.
3.  I have been told I look or seem like I have Bell's Palsy because my face is not symmetrical and I don't remember who I am.  (To which I scoff and say, "Duh.  At least I'm running for office.  Of something.  On a platform of beer and forgetfulness.  Was that my platform?")
4.  I have made my home excessively ghoulish and gaudy for the upcoming election (and Halloween) and now I am not even the least bit apologetic to my neighbors because I might die.



Scarier than Halloween and the upcoming election.

Have a great weekend!  I'll try to remember to do the same while avoiding an early death and managing to squeeze a few more monsters in the front yard.

I'm Mrs. DayintheLife and I approve this message.

In the spirit of patriotism (and really just because if one more person calls me at dinner time to persuade me to vote a certain way - I might poke eyes out with sharp sticks)...I bring you:

Ways in which I am similar to those currently running for office.

1.  I frequently need to be fact-checked.
2.  I *might* have taken money from the kids' college fund to pay for more urgent needs (like food).
3.  I have four small people to govern, but often cater to only a certain percentage of them.
4.  I often travel all day just to make a stump speech trying to convince the undecideds that I am the candidate they want to trust, believe, and rally around.
5.  I seem to govern two major factions.  One of these factions agrees with me and supports me most of the time.  The other faction directly opposes me in nearly every decision I make.
6.  I've been accused (by those who oppose me) of being cold and insensitive.
7.  I tend to be long-winded when arguing a point and could use a little debate practice.
8.  My work environment can be hostile and I rarely make a decision that everyone can support.
9.  When I am talking about allowances, money I owe the kids, etc., etc., and they question my fuzzy numbers, I often claim, "GUYS!  It would take me too long to go through all the math." 
10.  Often times when people ask me a question I talk, and talk, and talk, and talk and then my time is up and I did not come close to answering their question.

Jim Lehrer:  Mrs. DayintheLife, your two minutes are up.

If you were a nail clipper would you be with one sock?

Random list #257.

Things I am always either buying or ranting about because they disappear like we live in an Amityville Horror house.

1.  Socks.  Duh.  Thank you, Captain Obvious.
2.  Nail clippers.  Jesus Christ (and I am seriously asking Him), where do they flippin' go?
3.  Matches.  Why?  Will our house spontaneously combust one day due to all the lost match boxes lighting themselves?
4.  Igniters (or whatever they are called).  We buy literally millions of these because we always lose the large match boxes we buy.  Yes, we have a gas stove and yes, we have a lot of fires in our fire pit out back.
5.  Girls' hair brushes.  Now, with three girls I can sorta understand this, but really?
6.  Safety pins.  Now, no offense, but I can say about safety pins what I say about cops - Where are they when you need them?
7.  Scotch tape.  I do tape a lot of crap, but is it necessary to have this on the list weekly?
8.  Mechanical pencils.  I understand we do have four small people who do a lot of school work but it seems I should buy stock in Bic.
9.  Game pieces.  Sometimes I feel a little like a crazy person when I obsessively count game pieces before putting the game back in the box.  Only to open the box the very next time to find missing game pieces.  Yes, this will eventually drive a person insane and should be used in warfare as a form of torture.  My kids largely ignore the rants I have about missing game pieces.
10.  Hair ties.  Again, I know I have three girls, but where do the hair ties go?  When I die and the house is sold will the new people find this huge pile of hair ties somewhere that I have missed?
11.  Flashlights.  Everytime the power goes out we buy like 15 the next day.  They are gone by the time the power goes out again.  Are the flashlight makers and power controllers in bed together?  Because it *kinda* seems that way.

If for no other reason then I don't know where this sh*t goes, if you find any of the stuff listed above please consider sending it back to me.  Thanks.

A Three Year Old Lilyhammer. OR Where did I go wrong?

I "liked" Slate.com on Facebook as soon as I realized I could.  The news giant (And I am just saying, "news giant" because I have been waiting for a chance to use that term, "news giant" in a blog post for quite some time now.  I actually have no idea whether Slate is, or is not a "news giant," but see how I just did that?), Slate has a lovely little advice column called Dear Prudence (Or Prudie as she is affectionately called - I guess for when you are a sociopath and have to write to her frequently.  Because why else would you ever give an advice columnist a nickname?).  Immediately after I "liked" Slate on Facebook, I started getting items similar to the following appearing in my newsfeed every morning when I log into Facebook.



Dear Prudence: 

My husband is having an affair with a woman who is a mannequin and lives in our house.  I am afraid my seven kids (who I had from a previous relationship with a man who was later convicted of a hate crime) are going to find out.  First, is this behavior normal?  (Mine or my current husband's?)  Second, do I need to be concerned about my ex making "trouble" for me when he is paroled later this month? 

Sincerely,

Tranny's wife from Tennessee



Or this,

Dear Prudence: 

My best friend suffers from severe depression.  She goes through horrific highs and lows and I just don't know how to help her.  Will chocolate help?  Or, should I try wine? 

Sincerely,

Just trying to help



Or this,

Dear Prudence: 

I have always had low self esteem.  This has led to a series of bad decisions in my life.  I really want to make a change, but I am addicted to crystal meth and am being sentenced later this week (oh, and I am losing all my kids - except Johnny who was named after his dad - winkie face).  What do you recommend?

Sincerely,

Just my John's gal



Or (one of my personal favorites - although I have changed *some* of the details)

Dear Prudie: 

My co-worker made a porno movie and I watched it (accidentally).  Now I don't know whether to tell his boss that he is involved in this industry (in addition to the "legitimate" industry we are involved in together).  I like my co-worker and I don't want him to get fired.  Oh, and did I say - he's the boss and I am in an ongoing affair/relationship with him?

Sincerely,

Double Dee-licious


Now, I cannot tell you how much delight I get from reading these little snippets in my newsfeed.  Why?  I'll tell you why (in fact, it's kinda the point of this whole post).

1.  I usually can guess exactly what Prudie's response is going to be.  This gives me a smug satisfaction and also feeds the irrational dream I have of one day becoming a paid writer.  (Maybe I can finally ditch the parenting book idea once and for all and apply for an advice columnist job?)

2.  It makes me feel infinitely better about the life decisions I am making on a daily basis.  I mean basically I am usually concerned about raising my voice to my kids when others have to handle getting off of crystal meth and what to do with a cross dressing significant other.  Is this ugly and superior behavior?  Probably.  (That's a good question for Prudie.)

3.  If I do not have time to read Prudence's response (which often times I don't) I can still read the horribly screwed up things that people out there are dealing with.  And sometimes have a little giggle *gasp*.  Seriously, people.  Texting your body parts to others when you are a grown government employee is just ridiculous on some level.

But, as always happens when people are engaging in what could *possibly* be "ugly" or "superior" behavior - yesterday the tables turned on me.

The three year old has been going through some "behavioral issues."  At this point I am just hoping that her mug shot is not already posted at the local elementary and that she can still attend public school when the time comes.  In the past few weeks she has:  Lied about her age (which I realize is still kind of expected for a three year old - just usually not to save money), almost been involved in bribery and racketeering (before I unknowingly broke up that crime ring), and used high pitched screaming and wailing with all the windows in the house open as a way to get what she wanted from all of her siblings.  In a nutshell (me currently being the NUT), we are going through a tough time.

So, fast forward to yesterday.  I waltzed in to pick up my three year old from pre-school and there was a hushed silence that followed me.  I sensed something was wrong.  Sure enough when I made it to her room the two substitute teachers that were in the room immediately said they needed to speak with me. 

I picked up Girl 3's things and walked over to speak with them.  They proceeded to tell me a horrific story that was, indeed, what my daughter had done to another little girl in her class.  My sweet (yet somewhat devilish) child was arguing with another sweet little girl and when Girl 3 realized things were not going her way she picked up the play iron and clocked the other little girl right in the face with it.  Then Girl 3 proceeded to have a fit that required back-up to be called.

The teachers' complete repulsion with what had happened was written all over their faces (as it should have been).  I was appalled and I weakly tried to explain that Girl 3 does not respond well when her regular teacher is out (And as Boy Child would say, "Thank you, Captain Obvious.")  Yeesh.  What else could I say?  I proceeded to mumble something about had she apologized.  And then I just tried to find the exit.

I spoke to Girl 3 at length when we got home.  Her father spoke with her.  But, I have decided there is really only one way to go with this:

Dear Prudie,

Are you familiar with the hit series Lilyhammer?  Where an "ex" mobster goes into witness protection and ends up going right back to his mobster ways?  Well, I am afraid my three year old is him.  Is this possible?  Could a three year old really be familiar with mobster crime in the old-fashioned sense?  Oh, and also, is a three year old too young for anger management?  Please help.

Sincerely,

Troubled in Texas

Post-Easter Recovery

I hope your Easter was blessed and that you practiced self-control by not eating ALL your kids' Easter candy.  Here's my wrap-up:

1.  Leo went to his new home (thankfully, not in the sky) with this Amazing Guy.  Since The Reptileman is a bit of a celebrity here, it was really kind of him to take a few minutes to chat with my kids about school, the pets he has, and Leo (we did get positive confirmation on gender, and you do, in fact, examine a hidden nether-region part).  Leo is a Russian tortoise and we are sure he will be delighted with his new playmates:  Priscilla, Elvis, and Bob.  Local Readers:  If your kids are into reptiles and amphibians I highly recommend this guy for a birthday party.  Or, if you make Important Decisions at your kids' school, for God's Sake, get this guy to come and do a presentation.  You might be able to meet Leo in person (in tortoise?).

2.  We celebrated successfully completing our pantry challenge by eating at Spicy Ginger.  You regulars know how much I love this place.  Well, they may have made me love them more.  When my kids were noisily clambering for dessert!  ice cream!  candy! they gave them CHOCOLATE EASTER EGGS instead of fortune cookies.  Brownie points!  If you are local and like Asian food, you really must put this place on your To-Go list.

3.  My in-laws (love my in-laws) invited all my kids to go swimming at their hotel on Saturday night.  Best part?  Hubby took them all.  I stayed home.  Alone.  With my two friends I don't see often, Peace and Quiet.  It was like an Easter miracle.  Thank you, in-laws and hubby.

4.  My MIL brought us five dozen cascarones. 

If you are not familiar with cascarones, they are confetti filled eggs (real eggs are blown out and filled with confetti).  They are cracked over unsuspecting person's heads.  This is quite possibly one of my favorite Easter traditions.  They are not allowed to be cracked inside my house, but since we had five dozen, residual confetti is everywhere.  (And I'll let you use your imagination when I say everywhere.  It's kind of like sand at the beach.)  I will be spending a good part of the day vacuuming glittery $hit out of everything.

5.  The girls really did an outstanding job on the cookie decorating.  Me, not so much.  It seems my cookie decorating skills are just taking a nose dive (that wave is me saying good-bye to my Famous Cookie Maker dreams).  I made two or three in this photo.  The girls and hubby are responsible for the rest.

6.  I started the Cathe's Ab Circuit last week.  I was feeling all proud the day I worked out:  "I'm not as out of shape as I thought!"  Then I woke up the next day.  It was like someone (named Cathe) had beat up my neck, legs, sides and stomach.  I couldn't really move for a good two-three days.  It's going to be a long, if not impossible, road to a six-pack.  I may have to settle for a less wiggly jelly roll. 

7.  I really love Easter.  I really hate Easter egg hunts.  I hate the way some parents behave like it's some sort of life or death mission, I hate that I read in the paper (and got stuck in the traffic) that a freakin' helicopter dropped eggs at one local hunt (WTF?), I hate the whiny kids (usually my own), and I hate it when the kids bring home all the crap that's in the eggs, or if it's candy I hate being tempted more than I already am.  This was the first year Girl 3 was cognizant enough to actually participate in her hunt.  She was the first one out the door and she promptly picked up two eggs.  Then, she did what truly appalled me.  She opened both eggs, didn't like what she saw, closed them both back up and threw them back out into the school yard.  BLECH!  In one fell swoop she increased my hatred for egg hunts.

I do like having an Easter egg hunt in my own backyard and we have done that since Boy Child was a wee one.  This year we decided to just cut all the crap and fill them with money.  We make it really hard (in fact, this year we lost two of the eggs - I had been drinking wine all day - hubby as far as I know had no excuse) and we allow no whining or you forfeit your eggs.  Now, here's the great part.  After the hunt, Girl 1 suggested we have a hunt next year in which the kids will hide eggs for the parents.  Great idea, we said!  I promptly suggested filling the eggs with the kids' dollar bills - collected all year long!  I *can't remember* if the kids agreed.

Start saving, kiddos.  Next year's hunt:  Here I come!

I answered the doorbell, and that is how THIS happened.

Before you say, "YOU DID WHAT?  WHAT THE FURCK?"  I have a simple explanation.  I answered the doorbell and it went quickly downhill from there.

If you are a regular, you know that Girl 1 has wanted a pet since she was conceived.  The pets she has wanted have ranged from unicorn to dog to turtle.  Yesterday her dream came true.  Well....at least until we have a Plan it came true.

So, here's how it mostly went down.

We were sitting around minding our own furcking business when our sweet 10 year old neighbor girl from up the street came knocking on our door.  That itself is hardly strange.  It happens nearly everyday.  Either the neighbor kids find their way down here and knock on our door, or my motley crew finds its way up the street to drive the neighbor bat$hit crazy.  (Yes, there will be a lot of mock-profanity in this post because frankly there is a lot of mock-profanity welled up inside me right now.)

What WAS strange is that she was holding this in her hands:

Meet Rocky/Yertle the Boy/Girl Turtle/Tortoise.

I think what she said (through wild, deranged grinning) was, "Did you guys lose a turtle?"

Now, my immediate thoughts were many and went through my brain like a semi-automatic weapon shooting off rounds: 

First thought:  Hell no it's not ours.  Did you think I went furcking NUTS and got the kids a turtle this weekend and then came to my senses and let it out? 
Second thought:  CLOSE THE DOOR so that none of the kids see the turtle. 
Third thought:  Start speaking Spanish to confuse her and maybe she'll go away on her own. 
Fourth thought:  Start telling lies.  About anything. 
Fifth thought:  CLOSE THE DOOR.
Sixth thought:  CLOSE THE FURCKING DOOR!

Then (while I had sat there silently thinking these thoughts) my kids came to the door and I was screwed.

Back-up was called in the form of our neighbors who have a menagerie (not to be confused with a menage a trois) at their house to determine what kind of turtle it is.  That was helpful.  Here's what was determined:

1.  It's probably a tortoise because its feet are not webbed and it hated the water when the kids submerged it.

2.  Turtles and quite possibly tortoises hate to be held.  It was held and carried by children for about five hours last night and due to that trauma (presumably) it slept all day today.  Or, it's just really lazy.

3.  It's not a snapping turtle because our neighbor tested it to see if it would snap.

4.  So far it eats, leaves, lettuce, raspberries, and carrot.

5.  The Internets and our neighbor said it would also eat apples.  In this way it is like a horse.  Except you can't ride it, it's not useful, and you can't pet it.

6.  Turtles and tortoises carry salmonella (a fact I already knew and use to my advantage regularly and without hesitation) which is why it is not a good idea to pet it or carry it.  Within seconds, the three year old pet it and then immediately sucked on her hand.  I just knew death was imminent.

7.  It *might* grow to be large enough to ride.  But, that would be weird and kind of uncomfortable.

8.  It doesn't appear to like it's tank (borrowed from the menagerie neighbors) because it spent a good part of last night (while I was trying to watch TV) loudly banging it's head on the glass.  PTSD?  Or just ungrateful bastard?

9.  The girls have watched it with a fascinating love, and curiosity usually reserved for sleeping infants.

10.  The sex of a turtle (or tortoise) can be determined by pulling up some nether-region part.  Who cares?
 
11.  "Salad" has been taken off the Eat From the Pantry  Challenge menu.

12.  It's been named.  I think "Rocky."  I wanted Yertle.  Apparently no one knows Dr. Seuss.  Really, people?

13.  Tortoises (and possibly turtles) can live to be 8000 years old.  Really?  Right now it looks like its about 300 - give or take.

Now, before you send me Congratulations on Your New Addition cards, here is The Plan So Far.  We think it is possibly a tortoise and not native to these here parts.  So, if we were to take it out back to the creek it would probably not survive too long.  Although I am an avid non pet-lover I do not want the blood of this damn turtle/tortoise on my hands.  Therefore, we have decided to take it to a pet store to determine what the hell it is and we will go from there.  Meanwhile, it is sitting atop my sewing machine in a tank eating all my salad and making insufferable noises while I blog and watch TV.  Damn him/her.