busy as a Mexican paper wasp.

Y'know how when something kinda bad happens and you just have this sinking feeling that you are on the verge of a landslide of bad happenings?  Well, here we stand (we being my family).

Saturday hubby was cutting some trees down and he got stung by what we think are Mexican paper wasps.  His hand swelled up and he was in a fair bit of pain.  (Man-pain, though.  Which for comparison's sake:  a man being in a "fair bit of pain" = a woman being in labor with twins.)  This led to the frightening discovery of a wasp hive in some boxes of stuff that we have "in storage" next to our garage.  This led to a discussion about how to get rid of said hive.  (It's hard to tell how large the hive is or to scientifically estimate how many wasps could be in said hive.  Estimates range from three inches to three feet in length and anywhere from 20-2000 wasps.)

Hubby and I have been thinking about the hive quite a bit since Saturday.  He called some sort of wasp guru and she said hive removals can cost up to $800.  Currently we have about a $20 in checking, so we're thinking that won't work.  She also said that Mexican paper wasps can somehow sting through basically metal and so you are pretty much defenseless against them.

I had a nightmare in which giant bees were chasing Girl 3 and it was scary.  I told hubby I had a nightmare about the bees and he said, "Me too."  The fear this is unleashing is kinda a movement in our family right now.

So, today we got a notice that we are having bulky pick-up very soon in our neighborhood to which we all said excitedly, "Yay!  We can finally get rid of those boxes stacked by the garage."  Followed by a depressed, "But, how are we going to kill the wasps?"

This led to a terrifying dinner discussion which was disturbing yet typical of my family.  Here are some solutions that were proposed (most of them by hubby).

1.  Dress in multiple layers of clothing with our ski gear on top and modified BMX helmets for head protection and unleash several cans of whoop ass wasp spray on the hole in the box.  (Incidentally, when this first happened and we saw the hole in the box which is the opening of the hive, the 1. Cut a hole in the box jokes began.)  Boy child said to this idea, "That might work, but what if someone sees us?"  Point well taken.  Plus, we couldn't decide who would be the main person on this.  Hubby sweats a lot and it's still like 90 here, we don't really want to put the children at risk, and I don't have good aim.

2.  Get a second opinion.  This was Girl 1's idea.  If I had to pick a rational member of the family during this conversation, I pick her.  Hubby said he'd already as good as gotten one (see #6), and that pretty much shut her down.

3.  Put a lighted torch type/molotov cocktail on the end of a large (like 14 foot) pole that we have (why do we have that pole?) and somehow maneuver the pole into the hole in an attempt to burn them out.  To this I said, "Yeah, but then we have the same problem if they swarm us and we just go back to needing our suits and wasp spray."

4.  Burn down the entire garage (this was, surprisingly (?), Boy Child's suggestion).  We all kinda liked this one because we all hate cleaning the garage and we've been wanting to start over for a while.  But, y'know, laws and stuff.  And I said I'd feel really bad if we accidentally burned the neighbor's garage down, too.

5.  Somehow maneuver a tarp over the wasps (without them knowing) and then after the tarp was sealed (with rocks?) on all sides we would stick a fogger in there.  This seemed like a reasonable suggestion to us.  But, how could we get the tarp over them without getting stung?

6.  Ask our neighbor who "knows a guy" that can do it for $50 to give us that guy's number.  And call him.  The kids and I really liked this idea.  We pointed out that it kept our family safe and if we called the guy tonight, we could still get our wasp-free boxes to the curb (and possibly clean the garage) this weekend.  Hubby hated this idea.  He said $50 was still too much and we were up for a challenge.

In the end (I think it's the end?), hubby said the only way it's getting done is if we all take a job.  We've kinda decided (I guess?) that three of us will dress in suits (I'm not sure what kind, but I might be getting our ski clothes out of the attic), the youngest will man the phone (in case she needs to call 911), Girl 1 will drive the getaway car, and Girl 2 will be in her room on her phone and after we've exterminated the wasps, come out alive, and are wiping the sweat off of our brows will bounce downstairs and say, "What'd I miss?"

Jesus Take The Wheel

To date my best parenting accomplishment has been potty training four children.  I remember consulting one book and it was called something like Potty Training in 24 Hours.  (That book was mostly a lot of voodoo, but there were some good pointers that I used.  I won't say they were potty trained in 24 hours, but I will claim a moderate to high level of success comparatively evidenced by the fact that more than one friend offered to have me potty train their children.)

When it came to potty training, my kids were quick learners (well, three of them), I managed to be consistent and set the bar high, there were few relapses, and they are all still going strong.

Now, I find myself faced with another difficult parenting challenge which I would like to go down as a Big Accomplishment just like potty training.  I will call this challenge:  Teaching Your Child To Drive (While Not Dying or Killing Others).

This begs the question:  Is there a parenting book dedicated to just this topic?  No?  Well, there should be.  God knows, I've already got enough material for a book.

So, when I knew my son would start to drive I thought hubby would be the frazzled, cursing, white knuckled parent and I would be the cool cucumber blasting the radio with the window down and my hand nonchalantly hanging out.  Hell.  To.  The.  No.  Already.

Hubby is remarkably calm and I am a complete basket case.  Honestly.

I think the best/only way to adequately describe the current situation is a list.

1.  Not only is being a helpless passenger completely nerve wracking for me, when I tried to explain to Boy 1 how I felt being a helpless passenger he said, "Jesus, mom.  How do you think I've felt for 16 years?"  *silence*

2.  The other day while we were waiting (him driving, me a passenger, three girls screaming in the back) in the turn lane to turn left from a four lane road to a six lane road bubba asked, "If an emergency vehicle were to pull up behind me with their siren on, what should I do?"  To which I replied, "Hmm.  Good question.  Ask dad."

Then I said, "I think you should just...I'm not sure...pull out of the way?"  Then bubba said, "Yeah, duh.  But, like where?"

I said, "Well, I'm not sure.  That's a good question.  I'm not sure in 35 years of driving that's ever happened to me.  I think just try to get out of the way and not get hit by another car the best you can.  It's not like that kind of thing happens regularly.  I'm sure by the time it happens to you, you will be far more experienced and just know what to do."

Then it happened yesterday.

And, of course, it was raining and dad wasn't in the car with us.  Just me and six kids.

We  were turning left from a highway access road to a six lane road.  The light was red and Boy 1 was the first person turning left.  An ambulance was suddenly right behind us with his siren on and honking.  My god.  Cursing ensued, Boy 1 was screaming, "*&%&$!!!  MOM, WHAT DO I DO?," the backseat driver (Girl 1) went into high gear screaming, "MOVE OUT OF THE WAY.  WE'RE GONNA DIE.", Girl 2 offered up her "advice" in the form of screaming and cursing, and I'm pretty sure Girl 3 (and possibly me) started crying.  The two friends that were being carted around turned white like ghosts.

It all came out fine, but I think all of our nerves were frayed.  As for myself, I don't even take Xanax, but I felt I needed 10 afterward.

3.  If we had a curse jar in the van, it would be full.  Everyone has started cursing.  I know you're probably snickering at this since I have been known to curse on occasion, but I'm serious.  All the kids (except, honestly, the nine year old) are cursing.  A lot.  You know those signs "Baby on Board"?  We need one.  Crazy Cursing People On Board.

4.  Everything I've known to be true has been called into question.  I'm constantly thinking of driving situations I do not want to be in with Boy 1 or really by myself (in case there's a teen driver near).  I mean, really.  The toddler years are paling in comparison to the fear I have now.  No matter your political affiliation:  Why do we as a society allow teens to drive?

5.  I have seen these signs that you put on your car that say "Student Driver" and some have other things added like "Be Patient" "Don't flip the bird," etc.  So, I thought that would be a great idea for when Boy 1 is driving.  I suggested this to him and he said, "&^%* no, mom.  That is crazy.  I don't want people being nice to me.  I want to experience driving for real.  If everyone is nice to me, I won't really know what real driving is like once that insane sign comes off."

I don't even know how I feel about that.

6.  Why don't people talk more about this?  Why are there not online forums dedicated to Parents of Teen Drivers?  I need a support group.  Or at the very least, more beer.

Boy 1 is working today.  So, no passengering.  I'm going to (happily) drive myself to the grocery store and try to avoid all other cars (in case there's a teen driving).

Happy, safe driving to all of you and just remember that in the next car could be a terrified, white knuckled mom passengering around while her cursing immature teen is learning to drive.  Be patient.  Be kind.  And please, try not to flip the bird.

The purge of summer 2017 in which the wii "disappeared."

As a mom of four, wife of one, I get blamed a lot.  It's my fault when someone doesn't eat breakfast or lunch and is starving and can't wait for dinner.  It's my fault when laundry (that's not mine) stays wet in the washer for 24+ hours.  It's my fault when there's a schedule "miscommunication" and someone has to walk (no one ever has had to walk, but we've done our fair share of unenforceable threatening).  It's my fault when someone doesn't get the item they needed from the grocery store (because I'm a mind reader and can predict everyone's needs and wants).  And on and on.  If we're all honest, it's rarely my fault.  But, sometimes it is.

So, last summer I committed possibly my worst "parenting" (and I say "parenting" because it mostly just affected my kids) mistake to date for which I am still occasionally blamed.

Summer 2017, my son became a minimalist.  He researched it, decided it was for him, and then decided that everything but his bed, desk, technology, and a few clothes were not essential.  Then he encouraged us to start getting rid of our nonessential items crap.  I sorted through things I hadn't seen since the 80's, made piles, put things in boxes, and made about 20 trips to Goodwill.  The minimalist thing worked for us since I like to throw everything away and hubby could stand to throw a lot away.  Also, we are six people living in a teeny, tiny house.

While all of this was happening, we were building a tiny (tinier) house in the back for said son and we were also remodeling our kitchen.  The entire kitchen was packed into boxes and moved into the living room and a fine layer of dust was on every.  thing.  (In case you are wondering, I am still married.)

We also went on two vacations (one out of state) and did all the normal things we do during the summer.  To say that this was stressful does not adequately describe the state of the chaos.  There were boxes for our boxes and in those boxes were more boxes.

We microwaved food  in the living room (where our microwave perched on three boxes) for so long that when we finally moved the microwave back into the kitchen on the brand new black granite countertops, we still headed into the living room to microwave food.  Our dog stopped barking at the workers, and we just got used to people being in our house from 7 to 7.

Anyway.  In the midst of all of this, we got a flat screen TV.  We had said goodbye to our beloved tube TV months before, and finally purchased a flat screen.  When we put our tube TV to the curb for bulky pick-up I had diligently separated out the VCR (yes, we had one), DVD player (because we got a new one of those, too), and what I thought was just a TV contraption thingie and put them all in a box to go to Goodwill.  I distinctly remember (although no one in my house verifies this) asking everyone to go through the box to make sure nothing of value was in the box before I took it to Goodwill.  My story is that this went ignored by all family members.  Their story is that I never asked anyone anything and that I just threw random things in boxes and took them to Goodwill.

Well, eventually the kitchen was finished, we had "minimalized" the house, and we were ready to set everything back in its place.  The kids decided to play a relaxing game of Super Mario to celebrate and they asked me where the Wii had gone.  I said I wasn't sure to look in the boxes that were left.  No one could find the Wii.  Eventually I asked what the Wii looked like.  I'm pretty sure they described the TV contraption thingie that I took to Goodwill.  And that's when the yelling, hysteria, crying, and blaming started.

MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL.

CAN YOU BELIEVE MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL?

MOM DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A WII LOOKS LIKE AND SHE GAVE IT TO GOODWILL.

WE DON'T HAVE OUR WII ANYMORE BECAUSE OUR MOM GAVE IT TO GOODWILL.

DAD - MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL!

CAN WE GO TO GOODWILL AND BUY IT BACK?

I swear to God.  It's been almost a year and there is still hate about the Wii.  My 15 year old daughter (self-proclaimed Super Mario expert - I'm not sure what level, but she knows everything about Super Mario) is about to purchase a new/used Wii with her own money and my kids are crazy excited about the prospect of having a Wii again.

As you could guess, I haven't missed the Wii (God knows I couldn't even recognize the damn thing).  But I must say a part of me is looking forward to hearing that catchy Super Mario tune again and maybe practicing my dance moves with Just Dance.

It took a long time for the kids to forgive and forget not bring this up on a daily basis.  There was a little retribution a few weeks after the Wii was discovered missing.  I went to do my favorite ab/core workout video and all I could find was the DVD cover.  At that point all the boxes were unpacked so I could not imagine where it had gone.  Then it occurred to me.  It was in the old DVD player.

I was pissed.  I regretted putting the tube TV to the curb.  I regretted putting all the old crap in boxes.  Hell, at that point I considered going to all the 27 Goodwills in our city and hunting down our Wii and DVD player, and our VCR for that matter.  I thought about the great deal someone got on our Wii and the DVD player.  With my favorite DVD in it!  

I take responsibility.  I mistakingly gave a perfectly working Wii to Goodwill.  But, like many people, I have served my sentence.  Karma played her hand and there went my DVD that kept me in shape.  I now have no core muscles and no visible abs.  I tell my kids, "Mom has served her time."  I lift my shirt slightly to show my muffin top and silence ensues.  The kids shrink out of the kitchen mumbling indecipherable comments.  Sometimes the gods just put everything in place.

Case closed.  Score even.

The end.

I'm turning hippie but it's okay because my kid is already there.

It's been an enlightening couple of months to say the least.  Here's some of what's been happening. 

I am turning into a hippie.  Not the braless kind (you can rest easy now).  Just the kind that makes homemade $hit.

I know.  It's kinda weird.  But, don't judge (or at least hold it until the end).

I have stopped shampooing my hair.  Now, I'm only about five years late on this trend, but that's sooner than I jump on most bandwagons.  So, really I'm just in time.

Today this revolution of not shampooing my hair led to cleaning out my fridge which led to cleaning my freezer which led to discovering some meat that I swear had been in there for about three years so I'm gonna call it a win for all of us.

Yes, I have joined the "millions of women" who have said no to shampoo.  I consulted The Google and Say No To 'Poo is almost as scary and ineffective as Say No To Drugs.  All we need is Nancy heading us up (wait, is she dead?).  Had you told me a few weeks ago that I was going to do this I would have said, "Are you high?"  But, now that I am on Day 18 (more or less) it feels like I was born to do this. 

Now, usually I would say Who The F*ck Cares? and I am still inclined to say that - except for the fact that I CLEANED MY FRIDGE, Y'ALL.  And, not just half a$$ the way I usually do - y'know the wipe down while you are holding a cup of coffee?  (Or am I the only one?)  No, today was a full-on clean the freakin' fridge.  (Even the freezer - which happened to be where the suspect meat was hiding - right behind two gallons of ice cream preventing me from putting my homemade shampoo down.)

Which is more riveting for you and completely self-absorbed for me?  The fact that I am no longer shampooing or the old meat?  Okay.  I'll start with the no shampooing.  Yes, it's weird.  Yes, my hair feels like I am a short order cook for McDonald's.  Yes, I might smell a little funky.  Yes, I am still showering.  Yes, strange phenomena have been occurring all over my head.  And, it just gets crazier.

Today I made shampoo (right before I made fire and the wheel).  Say what?  Ms. DayInTheLife made shampoo?  Yes.  I did.  From coconut milk and Aloe Vera Gel.  Then I froze it (because - duh - coconut milk is perishable).  And that's where it got real.  I had no room in my freezer to put the ice trays with shampoo in them.  (If it sounds like I am high right about now, it's because I am.)  I decided then that it was time to clean out the fridge and freezer. 

Now here's the thing.  I hate to clean (a well documented fact on this blog).  I hate to clean appliances even more than stuff like toilets.  Exactly how much do I hate to clean?  Well, I'm gonna put the Last Cleaning Of The Fridge at somewhere around the time my six year old was born? 

See, I've been REALLY wanting a new fridge because this:

Yeah.  With that for a front it's just pointless to ever clean it.

Don't worry.  I keep all that yuck covered with this magnets like this:

Just like when a light is on on my dashboard and I put a little toy up there to cover it.  This method works like a charm.

But, because I needed to make room for the poo, I bit the bullet and cleaned that fridge out.  That's when I found the Old Meat.  It was liberating to throw that meat in the trash.  Heck, I don't even like meat now that I'm a hippie.  That made it even better.

And, now that the inside of the fridge is really, really clean and there is nothing in there that I didn't just buy (or make) this morning I am really feeling high (on life).  Oh, and also my earth friendly (albeit weirda$$) shampoo is in there for the next time I decide to shampoo my hair. 

Homemade shampoo in ice trays.  Did I just type that?

What could be better?  It's one of those days where I feel like I am making a difference for the world.

So, how does my kid factor into this equation?  Well, in the most unexpected way.

I got home from work last night and my six year old told me she made this for Jesus.

"It's a STAR."  (Obviously.  We knew that.)

Super!  Turns out I'm not the only one becoming a hippie in our family. 

It's either writer's block or menopause. Either way I've gained 10 pounds.

Summer is almost over and I've not written a blog post since June 4.  I will not try to explain this except to say, in a move reminiscent of Janet Jackson at Superbowl VIIXIVITIT, I lost my swimsuit bottoms in a public pool shortly after summer started.  I might have PTSD.

After a long pause in blog production there are some things that are bound to annoy the crap out of readers.

1.  Trying to explain why there has been an extreme pause in writing. 

So, let me attempt to explain the long pause in writing.  I cleaned my copper bottom pans.  Jesus.  My lack of tricep muscles are still sore and I think I found the decomposed remains of Jimmy Hoffa under the black burned stuff that was on my pots.  On the upside - I can now taste my food and I will not be mildly embarrassed if Paula Deen chances by and decides to melt me some butter sprinkled with cheese and then salted (under the guise that she is a reformed diabetic racist).

2.  Trying to explain previous blog topics and why they didn't work. 

So, here are some things I have tried to write about in the past month and then after a rereading - promptly eaten the results (which could explain why I've gained 10 pounds).

a.  How Much I Hate Barbie.  Did you know that along with being an astronaut, physicist, hooker, veterinarian, and entrepreneur, she writes books now?  And (surprise) they read a lot like the genius script from Two Broke Girls.  Because I would never believe it unless I saw it, I've included one of the pages from the book that clearly makes me proud to support public libraries through all my fines.  In case the captions look like they're in Chinese (the book was made in China, after all), I've included the (interpreted) script for you below.



Unnamed character:  Barbie!  Ken's here!  Barbie:  Oh no!  I don't have my brain in yet!  Brunette:  Barbie!  Remember, you don't have a brain!  Barbie:  Oh, yeah!  That's a relief!

  And now I think I should be a published (paid) author.

b.  How Much I Hate Insurance. 

Insurance - n.noun

1. The act, business, or system of screwing.
2. The state of being screwed.
3. A means of being screwed.
4. Coverage by a contract binding a party to indemnify another against specified loss in return for premiums paid unless such premiums go toward a "deductible" in which case the party paying the premiums is screwed out of their premiums and stuck with said specified losses.  (See #1-3.)
5. The sum or rate for which such a contract insures something or not (See #4).
6. The periodic premium paid for this coverage.  "Coverage" being a relative term dependent on the amount of said deductible which is relative and rises in relation to the amount in which the paying party is being screwed.
7. A protective measure.
8. Bullshit.

Term in use:  I f*cking hate insurance.

c.  My inability to cook even with a recipe.

Here is what I made just this morning from a biscuit recipe:

Whatthef*ckisthat?

Y'know how some people have suffered tremendous stress and then go on to like win the Olympics?  Well, I'm kind of like that.  I have suffered the loss of ruining virtually every recipe I've set out to cook and yet I've managed to come out a winner almost every time.

*Eating that idea now.  (And, it's quite delicious I might add.  Score!)*

e.  Like every other female on the planet my hormones are all out of whack.  I think I've narrowed down my afflictions (thank you, WebMD) to either ebola, menopause, a stubbed toe, or a hangnail.  The list of symptoms of menopause is a blog in and of itself (the title of that blog is:  Menopause - Serve Yourself Some More Cake).  I seem to have experienced just a few symptoms (not a comprehensive list) in the time I've had writer's block:  fatigue, depression, hot flashes, mood swings, sudden tears, inability to articulate or write, inability to cook or do laundry, sudden bouts of bloat (although apparently not enough to make the elastic in my swimsuit bottoms hold), gastrointestinal distress (could be related to my cooking?), disturbing memory loss, increased tension in the muscles, and tinnitus (could be due to my kids not being in school?).

3.  Trying to describe how much you have missed your readers.

If it weren't for virtual friends, I'd have no friends at all and I know you guys have all been reading everyone else's superior blogs and having a party without me.  What can I say?  It hurts.

So, I will not try to tell you why I've been gone, what I've been doing instead of blogging, what topics have just not worked, or how much I've missed you guys.  As some guy once said in AA, "Today I am not enjoying life as it occurs.  Today I am blogging about it instead.  I'm not sure when I will do this again and I will not make any promises.  But today I hope you guys will join me."  (Or something like that.)

If you are missing something, it might have been under my fridge.

So I've been doing a lot lately (besides watching every single show on Netflix).  Here's a list that will sum it up nicely (or just sum it up) and be easier (and I hope more entertaining) than me trying to explain it all.

1.  Bandit my dog is an awful painter's helper.  He took a fair amount of spackle off the wall in one fell swoop.  He tried to eat the painter's brushes when he was washing them (right after he'd had his first bath in about eight months naturally).  He drank the painter's Big Gulp because he left it on the table.  He ate the painter's tacos because the painter did not learn from his mistake.  And he ate numerous pieces of old (and new) baseboards like they were treats we'd bought just for him.

2.  The painter is still willing to come back to do another job upstairs.

3.  There are still people in the world with "work ethic." (I'm not talking about myself here.  "Duh," you say.)

4.  My kids *might* have careers in stand up.  Or I'm unusually prejudice (most likely the latter and my kids will be living with me for a long time which I probably will not find funny at all). 

5.  The time between spring break and summer can be compared to the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  It's painful for parents, kids, and teachers alike.  The kids are done learning anything.  So, naturally that's when the state testing occurs.

6.  It is possible to overthink things.  This can result in hours of time spent thinking and not actually doing.  I fall victim to this phenomena a lot and it explains quite a bit about the status of my life.

7.  When you've been married over 20 years another wedding and all the ensuing presents would be helpful and probably less expensive than trying to re-do your house with your own income.  I am considering a huge 25 year anniversary party.  I will not write Please no gifts on the invitations.  In fact, I'm asking Prudie if it would be presumptuous and rude to register.  At Target.

8.  My entire paycheck has gone to Target the past few months.  Wouldn't it be easier for me to just move in there?  I guess I could offer to work a few hours, too?  And promise to wear only red and khaki?

9.  Netflix has ruined regular TV for me.  It happened slowly, but I'm pretty sure now that I can't watch regular TV anymore.  SPOILER ALERT.  I knew something huge was happening on The Good Wife and I still finished Luther on Netflix that night instead.  What's wrong with me?  Then I read in the paper that Will died and I didn't really care unless I can watch it on Netflix.  Again, Will's dead!  What's wrong with me?

10.  The kids have discovered the dog whisperer on Netflix.  I've told you guys before how much I don't really like him?  I mean really.  If my parents watched the dog whisperer I think they'd think he was dropping acid (if my parents know what that is).  But, whatever.  The kids have told me that it's the owners that must be trained (yeah, I suspected a train wreck coming, too).  And that *maybe* Bandit behaves the way he does because of me.  So, basically the dog whisperer has taught my kids that parenting dogs and kids is basically the same.  The parents will invariably be blamed for everything.

10.  When you do home repair, maintenance, and painting it makes you feel good.  It also makes you notice all the things you didn't do.  How many permanent handprints will be on all the doors before we can repaint them all, too? 

11.  Painting also can make you want to clean everything.  Remember about a year ago when I went bat $hit crazy and tried to organize every area of my house?  Well, damn it if it didn't all get dirty and disorganized again.  The hell?  So, now I'm on a cleaning frenzy again.

12.  I don't pay my house cleaner enough.  She hasn't been here in a while because the chaos would probably give her a coronary and it takes everything out of me to clean the house.  Aside from the fact that it's covered in a thin layer of painting dust/grime, I'm just not a good house cleaner. 

13.  I cleaned under the stove for the first time in about 11 years and there was an ecosystem growing under there.  It was horrific, but I did find quite a few lost toys, magnets, kitchen tools, and popcorn from the early 2000's.  No more gourmet popcorn for Bandit.  Turns out he likes years old popcorn that's covered with goo just as much!

14.  This motivated me to clean under the other three movable appliances.  Not one of the five people I live with (or Bandit) noticed or cared that I'd done it.  The hell?  Lesson?  Not doing it again for another 10-20 years. 

15.  After seven years of having three of our four kids taking piano lessons and all practicing on a digital keyboard, we bought a piano.  Now, I've never seen the movie We Bought A Zoo (if it's on Netflix, though, there's a good chance I might see it someday), but I wanted to make a mockumentary for reality TV called We Bought a Piano.  They're *kinda* like children or dogs.  You have to take care of them, they respond to temperature changes, if you treat them right they can provide joy for you your entire life, they need annual tunings (sometimes more if they get sick), they're fragile, and they cost a buttload of money.  I'm hoping this piano does not want to go to college.

16.  I miss you guys a lot.  I've vowed to be better about reading my favorite blogs and I've vowed to post more.  But let's be honest.  This might be my last post for a while or until I get out of rehab.  Last night around 10:30 p.m. hubby and I started doing something we'd been putting off for a while.  We had sex?  No.  We started Breaking Bad.   

Six days (give or take) and I'll be back.  Maybe.

Irony: When Facebook sends you an email pleasantly reminding you that you're slacking.

My sister knows me well.  That could be why she emailed me this a while back (presumably to help me out with my laziness and possible procrastination - or at least to help me laugh and understand it):



It's from Reader's Digest.  (In case I didn't already feel ancient and sloth-like.)

Of course, there are a million things I'd rather be doing than working out (or working or doing anything remotely useful). 

Mainly surfing the net, Facebooking, blog reading, book reading, eating, and sleeping.  These are also the things I do in place of blogging and posting my blog posts to my Facebook page.

Apparently Facebook knows me well, too.  Imagine my sheer bewilderment when they emailed me presumably to help me out with my laziness and procrastination:

Thanks, Facebook for the reminder that I've been wasting too much time Facebooking instead of blogging and posting my posts to my Facebook page. 

Any Way You Want It. Or, just the way I remember it?

It's not my fault.  When this kind of stuff happens for real, it's just no wonder I get confused.

I fell asleep on the couch last night watching Sherlock and I woke up to see an Asian man with long glossy hair and perfect teeth talking to a camera saying, "I am living a dream.  I did not think this could be possible.  And I love cooking.  Right now I am making some kind of Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese food that is not kimchee and looks delicious."  I made up that last part because he was speaking in a foreign tongue and I wasn't awake enough to read the subtitles. 

It took me about a minute to realize this wasn't Sherlock.  Then the craziest thing happened.  This tiny Asian man started singing Journey.  Had this not happened right on the heels of seeing Lang Lang performing with Metallica, I could have sworn I was in an alternate universe.

Me:  Babe are you in here?

Hubby:  Yup. 

Me:  Who is this Asian guy?  What are we watching?  I was watching Sherlock and I woke up in an alternate universe.

Hubby:  He's some guy that sings Journey better than Journey.  And you are not in an alternate universe.  You are on the couch where you have fallen asleep the last five nights in a row at about 8:15.  I changed the channel when I realized you were asleep.  Again.

Me:  Right.  But who is he?  Is this real?  What are we watching?

Hubby:  Yes.  This is real.  I'm not sure I didn't see the first part of the show - because you were "watching" Sherlock.  We are now watching Independent Lens. 

There's many reasons why I confuse things so frequently in my head (mostly I blame it on the sheer number of things I have to remember at any given point in time).  Part of the reason I am so screwed up in my thinking is that we often stumble upon great shows halfway into the show.  (That's what happens when you still watch TV in real time and you get sleepy a lot.  Apparently.)  So, I blame great shows like Independent Lens that try to teach me something and I also blame hubby (naturally).  (Specifically I blame his degree in trivia with a minor in B.S.) 

We finished watching the show (which was great) and here's what I went to bed knowing (kind of):

1.  I hated Journey in high school.
2.  I still hate Journey although I have great respect for their lead singer (?) who Did Not Stop Believing. 
3. This was some sort of dream realized for him.
4.  Sometimes dreams come true but you probably need a YouTube account for this to happen (this was confirmed for me this morning - as in - you do need a YouTube account for your dreams to come true).
5.  As hubby said first, "He sings Journey better than Journey sings Journey."  (I just think that's a quote worth repeating.  Over and over.)
6.  This guy did not get to sing lead for Journey because someone in the "real" Journey died. Rest easy - no one in Journey has died, right?
7.  Hubby (generally as good as a small Google for trivia) was fairly useless in ascertaining any more information without the aid of his "smart" phone.  He never saw Journey in concert and he didn't really like Journey much either.
8.  The Asian man is Filipino and I think everyone in the Philippines turned out for his homecoming concert in which he sang Journey better than Journey.
9.  When he sang Don't Stop Believing I almost liked it.
10.  Independent Lens can make you love Journey even if you hate it.

So, after we were in bed hubby decided to look up some more trivia about Journey.  I already know some of this trivia is going to come back to haunt me (probably later today).

Hubby:  So, did you know Randy Jackson used to play with Journey?

Me:  Holy CRAP.  I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE SURPRISES TONIGHT.  ARE YOU LOOKING AT THE REAL INTERNET OR A FAKE INTERNET THAT'S TRYING TO MESS WITH ME??? 

Hubby:  No.  I'm looking at the real Internet.

Me:  I cannot believe this!  Was that before or after Pulp Fiction?

Hubby:  No.  Randy Jackson.  You're thinking of Samuel Jackson.

Me:  Oh, right.  Are they brothers because they really look alike?

Hubby:  No.  Samuel Jackson is a movie star.  Randy Jackson sang with Journey and a bunch of other bands and now he's on American Idol.  And he's a spokesperson for Nutrisystems.

Me:  Oh.

Hubby:  I'm just kidding.

Me:  So, he wasn't with Metallica?  I mean Journey?

Hubby:  No, he was with Journey but he's not a spokesperson for Nutrisystems.  As far as I know.  But, he did lose about 200 pounds.

Me:  You suck for messing with my already messed up mind.  Speaking of music, you know that guy that just died Pete Seeger? 

Hubby:  Yup.

Me:  I'm so sad. 

Hubby:  Before you ask me, he doesn't sing the song you love Night Moves.  That's Bob Seger.

Me:  I knew that.  But Pete was his dad, right?

Hubby:  Um, no.

Me:  I was KIDDING!

Hubby:  Right.

 

Nicely played, Internet.

I get that Google knows what kind of underwear I am wearing right now, but every once in a while I just get creeped out by what shows up in my sidebar or my inbox.  Forget spies being in my driveway.  Are these people in my head?

I hate talking on the phone, but I'm quite smug about my online cleverness.

Well, just now this ecard showed up in my sidebar. 

Okay, Internet.  I get it.  You know me.  Now get out of my soul.

How to Approach Your "Baby" Going to Middle School With Sanity and Clarity

1.  Allow your pessimistic nature to completely overshadow any vestige of optimism about the future of your middle schooler that you could have managed.

2.  Read and listen to any article or news program about the prevalence of bullying in middle school in all countries of the world and possibly the moon and other universes.

3.  Second guess every decision you have ever made with said child all the way back to the decision for no epidural....and possibly your choice of a father (just kidding, hubby....that was only after I had exhausted all other things to worry about....oh, and after a few beverages).

4.  Encourage and then finally nag your hubby until he is forced to have "the talk" with your soon-to-be-middle-school boy so that hubby is so nervous that his awkward conversation about growing up elicits a look from your son that looks something like this:

photo courtesy:  cdn.sheknows.com

 and you are still not exactly sure if your son knows How Babies Are Born.

5.  Question the years you have invested in piano lessons.  Should you have opted for krav maga lessons instead?

6.  Begin to treat your soon-to-be-middle-schooler like a two year old and attempt to do things that he hasn't let you do in years:  tuck him in, read him books, kiss his cheek.

7.  And, in a reverse of opinion to #6 worry obsessively about all the things he still doesn't know and attempt to teach him a little about all these things in the few short weeks left of fifth grade.  (How to cook, How to launder, How to make a bed properly, How to treat girls, How to find a wife, How to drive, How to say no to drugs, How to do karate, etc.)  (And, by the way, this will again elicit The Look pictured in #4.)

8.  Write about all your fears on the Internet so that good friends, loyal readers, and random strangers can console you and tell you everything will be just fine.  (Except if it isn't.)

This was guest posted over at one of my favorite blogs This is Mommyhood.  Thank you, Elle.  xoxo!

How to Survive the Second to the Last Month of School

1.  Invest in a quality set of ear plugs.  These will be helpful for handling the increased decibel level of sibling rivalry, the incessant chatter from young children, the high decibel level of homework complaints, and the torturous wails of children who are being asked to perform a chore or necessary task.

2.  Buy a good quantity of matches to light a fire under your kids' arses.  Instead of becoming more proficient at something your kids have been doing for approximately 135 days (that is:  getting up, getting dressed, eating breakfast, getting their lunches together, brushing their teeth, combing their hair, and making it out to the bus in the nick of time), sometime during the second to the last month of school they will oddly regress to the stage of toddlerhood where everything must be repeated 8000 times and they move as if they have Aunt Jemima syrup running in their veins.

3.  Stock up on carbs, adult beverages, greasy and/or salty food, and chocolate and/or other sweets.  This is kind of a paradox because although you have approximately 30 days until someone might possibly have to see you in a bathing suit and way less than 30 days to actually go to a store and try on bathing suits (with bad lighting and pasty skin) and therefore you should really be trying everything to lose the 10 pounds of winter weight you have gained, the stress of the second to the last month of school is going to make you want to shovel in every morsel of not-good-for-you food that you can possibly get a hold of.

4.  Carefully launder and neatly pack away all of your kids' winter clothes items and launder all of the blankets and other linens that you are not going to need for six and a half months.  And then just pack them all away dirty and unorganized again after dragging them all back out because Mother Nature decides to leave you with just one more cold snap.

5.  Plan and pay for your summer vacation so that you can use the following threat against your kids each and every time they misbehave or act as if they are about to misbehave from now until your summer vacation:  IF YOU DON'T STOP DOING THAT (or IF YOU DO THAT ONE MORE TIME, or IF YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT DOING THAT) YOU ARE GOING TO STAY HOME ALONE WHILE WE ARE ALL ON THE WHITE SANDS BEACHES OF TAHITI.  (I use that only as an example.  If we were actually going to Tahiti on vacation this would be an alternate universe.)

6.  Begin to scope out every Vacation Bible School in the city so that you can register your kids for each and every one.  In this way your kids can be well-rounded Christians.  (I don't actually do that because once my kids attend the only VBS they have ever attended I am pretty sure that VBS puts out an APB on my kids along with their photos so that every other VBS in the city is on alert for them and is ready to put out the "full" sign should I come along with my application.)

7.  Begin to make a list of all the things that you are going to get done once school lets out for the summer.  Gradually cross things off the list because as reality sinks in they are way too difficult to achieve with kids in the home.  Add all those things to your current daily lists and stare at that until you become too overwhelmed to move.  Eat or drink some of the food or beverages referred to in #3.

8.  Spend a good eight hours painstakingly making a summer budget wherein you assess what your home needs in terms of a "face lift", research how much these items might cost, and who might do these repairs for you.  Then, patiently pay for the following things that break before you can even cash your quickly disappearing tax refund check:  the air conditioner, the water heater, the dog, the hair dryer, the printer, and the tub.

9.  Change your calendar to May even though it's still April.  (And if it was still on February - consider that a bonus.)  April is going to slide by in a blur of school events, end of year shenanigans, empty beer cans (that you can't really remember drinking), birthday parties (damn the August heat - or something -  that apparently led to 90% of my kids' friends being born in April), piles of work (some of it the result of March's procrastination), summer vacation planning, budgeting, and worthless attempts at fitness in order to fit into a bathing suit.  Most of the $hit that happens in April will not even make it on your calendar.  Trust me on this one.

10.  Remember - if all else fails, you can always homeschool next year!  (That almost always gets me into the right frame of mind to make it through the day!)

The more things change..........

Me:  What?  Annette Funicello died today, too?  And Margaret Thatcher?  They're dropping like flies.

Hubby:  Yeah.  I saw that.

Me:  I thought Annette was dead?

Hubby:  Yeah.  Me, too.

Time for a reblog......from my own blog.  And when I looked back in the files I saw that I had been awarded The Versatile Blogger Award.  Two years ago.  And I missed it. 

Someone thought I was worthy, and I MISSED it.  So, check out the lovely lady that awarded me.  I am sorry to be so thankless two years ago.  Please know that now - I thank you from the depths of my heart.  As per the award - please check out my sidebar for all the blogs I love (nearly all of them have shelves - or rooms - dedicated to their writing awards).  Until I need a shelf or a room, I have put my two awards on my sidebar for safe keeping.

The reblog.  Enjoy!

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.

Prove I'm not a robot? But, it's MY BLOG!

Random list #who knows - let's say 112 because I like lists.

1.  I now have three part-time jobs which somehow equal at least one job and a half.  So, apparently I work really well under stress and pressure because I have already screwed around on Pinterest today.

2.  When you are the fourth child, sometimes you're gonna get screwed.  And sometimes it will be at the hands of your mother.  I have a notoriously bad memory and I take procrastination to the professional level.  So, it should come as no surprise that I didn't even think about baby's fourth birthday party until a few weeks before the only weekend in September we had free to do the party.  For the second time in the history of my children we hosted a party at a "party place" rather than our home (the first time was baby's third birthday).  That location was Peter Piper Pizza.  After some research on Google, I learned there are nine Peter Piper locations in our city.  I forgot to put which location on her birthday invitations.

3.  When you don't put an actual location on a birthday party invitation assumptions will be made.  These assumptions might be incorrect and thereby greatly reduce the size of said party.

4.  My family can eat some leftover Peter Piper pizza.

5.  Even though I am Hispanic I still have to google recipes for Tortilla Soup.  That just seems wrong and has led to this day being the first day I have ever bothered to make tortilla soup.  I have not even started yet and I am pretty sure it will be the last as well.

6.  I understand when other people's blogs think that I am a robot, but when my own blog thinks I am a robot I am hurt and offended. 

7.  After scheduling my first physical in about 20 years, I fasted and drank coffee with no creamer (which, in case you don't know, tastes a little like river water with a hint of caffeine flavor) to find I had read the calendar wrong.  My appointment is next week.  I still have time to cancel with no penalty.

8.  The honeymoon of going back to school ended abruptly this past Monday.  There is really nothing like four young children who have become disenchanted completely with school and yet still have to go.  This past week, I experienced high pitched screaming, shirt clutching (to reveal my bra, thank you, Girl 3), object throwing, and incessant whining about everything from homework to food.  If next week brings Linda Blair projectile vomiting and head spinning, I will not be surprised.

9.  We completed the third week of school and I have been called by the school nurse twice already.  The first time she told me Boy Child was hurt during football and had a head injury.  He, indeed, had a mild concussion.  I learned several helpful things that day (sub list):
a.  Shower and change your undies first thing in the morning.  Otherwise you might not have a chance until about 4:10 p.m.  And then, frankly, what's the point?
b.  The medical thinking on concussions has changed.  I learned this first from the school nurse who gave me the History of the Head Injury from 1920 until now in about a 20 minute lecture.  I had a hint of why the school honeymoon was over.  Then, I learned it from our beloved pediatrician who assured me that although nothing was really wrong with Boy Child and that he would most likely be fine, I had done the right thing bringing Boy Child to the doctor at 2:00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon only to have to wait an hour and 15 minutes to be seen with my 96 year old dad and the three year old in tow not having showered and still wearing dirty undies.  Really?  I did the right thing?
c.  There is redemption in a cold Lite beer from Miller and hot peanuts which I had the forethought to purchase earlier in the day when my undies were still mildly clean and I had high hopes for accomplishing much.

10.  I do not believe in therapy.  Instead I endlessly analyze myself and the people around me.  Because of a recent breakthrough in my self-analyzation (you're welcome for that word), I discovered why I am becoming more and more obsessed with Halloween when I used to love Christmas so much.  Christmas has too much potential to never meet your expectations.  Halloween, on the other hand, will almost always exceed your expectations.  And, that is apparently why I love it.  Thank you, me.  (Breakthroughs like this make me want to pay myself money.)

Try to make it a great week and I will try to stay out of the school nurse's office.  (We're on a first name basis - I know you're jealous.)

No one gave me personalized toilet paper. I'm kinda disappointed.

So, last Saturday hubby and I completed 22 years of marriage.  Yeah, I know.

As hubby would say, "It feels like five minutes....................underwater."

Ha-ha, hubby.

They've been mostly good.

But, that's not the point of this post.  The point of this post is anniversary gifts.  Remember them?  Maybe you are the kind of woman that gets tons of great gifts all the time for everything from your anniversary to Flag Day.  Or, maybe you are more like me and gifts are rare in your home and usually you buy them for yourself.

At any rate I just wanted to share this website with you and let you know that I'm kind of disappointed no one looked at this website before my anniversary so that they could have surprised me with personalized toilet paper.  Because personalized toilet paper is special and says, "You are so awesome I want to wipe my a$$ with you."  (Literally.)

After perusing this website, it's clear to me that after about one year of marriage the gift ideas *might* get a little thin.  Here's just a sampling of what they offer and why I think they are a teensy bit nuts.

1.  Hot Air Balloon Ride Experience the tranquility and romance of a hot air balloon ride over the beautiful countryside.

Embrace the serenity as you float effortlessly thousands of feet above the ground then enjoy a traditional champagne toast upon landing.

There is nothing like soaring through the sky in a hot air balloon. It makes an incredible gift!

Not only does that make me vomit a little in my mouth,  I sincerely hope that whoever purchases this knows his/her spouse well because I am not sure of the statistics, but I am fairly sure I have seen more than a couple of Nightline episodes about spouses being pushed out of hot air balloons. 

2.  First Anniversary Personalized Magazine Cover  Seriously?  Notice that this is First Anniversary because they are the only people on the planet that could possibly pull this off without seeming completely ridiculous and self-centered (and we all still would probably want to vomit in our mouths  - I wanted to just looking at that couple on the advertisement and I don't even know them).  BTW - these are the same people that video tape the birth of their firstborns and mail it out to friends and family.

3.  Daily Dose of My Love Jar of Messages in Mini-Envelopes.  Reminders of your love! Jar of 31 personalized messages in mini decorative envelopes for the recipient to open each day or anytime they need a smile. Pre-printed themed messages also available for an additional charge. 

"Daily Dose of My Love."  It's a good thing I know that this website is fairly "family" friendly because I don't think my hubby is the only one who would have a field day with that verbiage.

Secondly, how lovely that they also offer blank messages for those who would like to do them themselves. 

After 22 years of marriage (most of them good), mine might read:

Babe, remember to change the light bulb outside that's been out for about a month.  Happy Anniversary!  xoxo

Babe, could you put the batteries back in the smoke alarms in case we have a house fire (from my cooking)?  BTW - Happy Anniversary!  Love you!

Babe, the house cleaner is coming today, so could you kindly pick up your "unmentionables" from the bathroom floor.  Forever yours (on our Anniversary)!  xoxo

His might read:

Sweets, do you think you could remember to buy the razors I've had on the list for about a month now when you go to Costco?  Thanks!  Love you!  When's our anniversary again?

Baby, where is my wallet?  xoxo!  Is today our anniversary???

Babe, my credit card hasn't been working.  Did you forget to pay the bill?  (Again?)  (We might need some good credit for our anniversary dinner!)  Love you lots!!!


4.  I Can't Promise Sign.  I just find this one confusing.  If you are celebrating an anniversary I am just going to assume you were married at some point and that you took some vows that required you to promise some stuff.  I *think* (it's been TWENTY-TWO years and my memory is bad) those promises were something about loving you for the rest of your life (and my own?) regardless of weight, money, health, stretch marks, unruly kids underfoot, etc.  So, here's what this sign says (see if you can figure it out):

I can't promise that I'll be here for the rest of your life...but I can promise that I'll love you for the rest of mine.

Now please know that hubby and I having been together for 22 years have weathered some friends' and family members' separations and divorces.  So, here's what that anniversary sign says to me, "I might leave your a$$, but know that I will be pining for you (and possibly stalking you) with my new man my whole life.  Happy Anniversary!" 

Nothing says "love" like that!  I guess!

5.  Kinky Sex Scratchers.  Okay.  Need I say more?  Do I need to say "scratch" and "sex" in the same gift title?  No.  I don't.

6.  Personalized Judith Masterpiece.  If you don't click any other link - click this one.  And be frightened.  I really don't want hubby to open his anniversary present and be all, "AGHHHHH.  JESUS!  A little warning would've been nice, babe."



I had almost had it with this website when I stumbled upon this.  Now, hubby doesn't drink.  But, I do.  And if you know me well, you know that beer is my drink of choice.  Black Leather Beer Holster?  Why not?  So, my friends:  Happy Twenty-Second Anniversary To Me!  Thank you!

Are you smarter than a raccoon?

So, I have about a million posts I need to do, but summer is stressful y'all.  I have four kids underfoot (who I wanted to have underfoot so damn bad ??? - clearly I was nuts), work has picked up like no body's business, hubby has been working a lot, and summer (remember her?) has been calling my name (along with Lite beer from Miller).  You can find Blogging on my list right below Drink beer and Get some sun.  But, that doesn't mean crazy sh*t hasn't been happening 24/7 (damn it).  So, here's one tale of woe from our household to yours.

Preface and note to card carrying PETA members who may be reading my blog - I am not Wild Kingdom Mutual of Omaha.  Remember?  I don't like too many animals.

Raccoons are smart fuck*rs.  I hate them. 

Our raccoon fight started about a month and a half ago when I woke up to find our garbage strewn all over our side yard and into our back yard.  I was joyous at this discovery (as I am sure the neighbors were as well).  I knew it was raccoons because we've had trouble with them before.  (Mostly when our Satanic cat was still alive. Well, I'm sure he's still alive because cats have nine lives. He's just not with us anymore. Thank you, Jesus.)  Our house backs up to a creek bed and there are apparently generations and generations of the smart little fu*kers living back there.  Our neighborhood raccoons have eaten our now dead cat's food, rolled around in our now dead dog's water and food dishes, taunted our cat many times from the window, tried to open our screens in the back, and basically just made our lives a living hell in the past.  We have photographed them and they've all but autographed the photos for us.  One time hubby woke up to a commotion out in the back and found about 22 pairs of raccoons eyes staring at him when he opened our back door.  Creepy.  Sh*t. 

So, just like Jason, the raccoons have shown up again - in force. Right before they showed up, hubby got a wild hair up his a$$ and decided to clean our garbage can.  (Which in case you are unfamiliar with this ritual, is kind of like cleaning your garbage disposal - necessary, but illogical.  Cleaning a receptacle used for garbage?  You know I don't clean things that are supposed to be clean, so I can only think of about eight million ways I would rather spend my time.)  Regardless, Hubby and Boy Child cleaned the garbage can like it was a freaking car and I was appreciative.  That thing was so clean I think our whole block smelled like bleach.

Looking back, that *might* have been what tipped the raccoons off.

The next day, I made my way around to get into the Yukon Cornelius and I found garbage was strewn all over.  I cursed a lot, cleaned up the garbage, and figured raccoons must have somehow gotten into our pristine garbage can.  Damn it.  Hubby only cleans the garbage can about once every five years, so of course this would happen.  After that, the garbage can smelled like sh*t again.

I decided the damn raccoons were climbing the fence between our house and the neighbors to lift up the lid of the can and pull out the garbage.  I promptly said, "I'll teach those fu*king smart a$$ raccoons and move the can.  They won't be able to use the fence to eat the garbage.  Ha!  Now who's your daddy?" 

I broke the news of what had happened to hubby and Boy Child and they were both pissed that the raccoons had ruined their clean garbage can.  They vowed to clean it again for me.  In another eight years.

The next morning I went to get in the Yukon Cornelius and there was garbage strewn everywhere again.  I cursed quite loudly this time and kicked the garbage can before I cleaned up all the garbage.  After surveying the garbage can set-up closely I decided that since they couldn't use the fence to climb into the cans, they had used the overhanging tree.  My bad.  Sh*t.  I moved the cans away from the trees clear out into an open space where there was nothing that they could possibly climb on to get into the cans.  I was gonna teach those fu*king raccoons a lesson.

The next day I practically skipped out to the Yukon Cornelius, so happy that I had outsmarted the raccoons.  Garbage strewn everywhere again.  That's what greeted me.

Damn it!  I was pissed.  I kicked the can, yelled my curse words, and then yelled out to any raccoons who might be risking daylight to see my reaction.  At this point I was sure they were watching me and actually laughing.

I decided it was time to consult hubby more seriously and I was freaking sick of cleaning up their garbage messes. 

Hubby blamed it all on them having opposable thumbs and thought it was better if we moved the cans WAY out where there would be no possible way they could use anything for leverage (possibly they had used a low growing vine we have on their last successful attempt).  So, we did that.

The fu*kers did it again.

I consulted hubby and Boy Child this time (although, Boy Child was well aware of the raccoon shenanigans throughout this ordeal).  Boy Child decided it was time to move the can into the garage because obviously the raccoons were climbing on each other like Russian gymnasts and then back flipping into the can to eat our garbage.

We did.

And then, we (and by we I mean Boy Child) forgot to take the garbage can out to the curb because we (and by we I mean Boy Child) couldn't see it in the garage.  Twice.

So, then our garage smelled like sh*t.  Thank you, raccoons.

By this time I was positively exuberant about the raccoon situation.

We moved the can back outside and hubby found a HUGE rock to put on top of it.  No raccoon (unless he was like superhuman raccoon) could move this rock.

I think you can guess what happened.  The next morning I sulked out to the Yukon (because I had learned that opposable thumbs do, indeed, give raccoons amazing brain power and that they can probably text and do calculus so I was not going to even think they could be outsmarted by a simple rock weighing about 100 pounds) to find the rock tipped off the can and garbage again strewn all over.  But, it was less garbage.  It occurred to me that once they used a lot of strength and brain power to get the rock off, they had less energy to dumpster dive.  I felt oddly like I'd won (even though I hadn't and still had to clean up their mess).


That night Hubby found an even heavier rock to put on the can. 


I was doubtful it would matter, and sure enough they've tipped over this rock now twice and I've found the rock on the ground and like one torn open Ziploc bag.  Not the strewn garbage messes like in the past.  We kind of feel like we are winning the war.  And I kind of feel like they kind of feel like they are winning this war, too.

So, I guess we are at a stalemate.


I will not be surprised in the least if the next time I walk out to the Yukon there is a typed (or handwritten) note on the garbage can from the raccoons.


"Dear A Day in the Life (because they would know my name),

We are clearly smarter than you. Whatever you do to protect your can, we will get in. Kindly leave us our meal outside the can, and we won't have to keep taunting you like this. Thanks!

The Raccoons

P.S. We like pepperoni on our pizza."

I am ready to get a nanny-cam out there because maybe it's not raccoons.  Maybe it's the chupacabra.  (I think this *might* be making me a little insane?)  Hubby is ready to invent a locking garbage can (but we are worried about the actual garbage man who collects the garbage - or recollects the garbage as it were - not being able to open it).  My sister suggested I just call the city (or Davy Crockett) and have them bring me a trap (if the city even is in the business of trapping raccoons and relocating them???).  This is a good idea, but I just know more raccoons will come after that.  And then they'll be even more pissed because I took away their Aunt Susie or Uncle Bob.

I am becoming weary.  And I've kind of resigned myself to cleaning up after them until they grow tired of us and our garbage.  Then I will have won.

I've also considered a shotgun.  And a note to them.


"Dear Raccoons,

I've had enough of your bullsh*t.  If you don't like how Uncle Bob looks, find another garbage can to raid.  Thanks! 

A Day in the Life 

P.S.  I win."