Day 30

And I thought it would never end! But here we are. Day 30 and my last NaBloPoMo entry.
So, what did I learn?
Well, it's become obvious to me that I write better when I don't feel obligated to write every day. When I feel like I have more time to put into something, the result is much more interesting than I think most of the things I've written this month are.
I guess writing every day is not for me. Or maybe it's just feeling obligated to write every day that doesn't work for me.
Whatever the case, I will be really happy to return to normal after this. And I will be really happy to not have to post anything this weekend if I don't want to.
Still, on the positive side, I'm kind of proud of myself for sticking it out even when I really wanted to just ignore this for awhile.
Thanks for sticking it out with me. I promise it will get better!

The Quest For A Decent Christmas Picture

Since the kids were fairly happy (read: destroying the house) I thought that tonight would be a good night to take a picture for our Christmas cards. I got Hurricane dressed while Bre changed and everyone was all happy and ready to go.
Until it was actually time to take the pictures.
That was the moment that Hurricane decided he didn't like pictures, he didn't like clothes and who the hell invented shoes because he'd very much like to beat them with his shoes. And pictures? Really? He stuck his butt in the air, his head to the ground and screamed.
And then he screamed some more.

So I did the only rational thing.
I bribed him with M&M's.

I felt bad for Bre since she had to sit there and just smile no matter what Hurricane did.

And of course, it wasn't long before he had chocolate on his sweater (melt in his mouth not in his hands my ass).

In the end, we went with the first picture I took. It was the only one where he didn't have chocolate on his sweater and they were both smiling. Next year? Photoshop.

The Best Gift Finder Ever!

A friend pointed out a little glitch in overstock.com's gift finder and I've been playing with it ever since.
Because what 9 year old girl wouldn't want their very own BBQ set?
Actually, many of the things suggested seemed geared to someone else. Like tents and flares (although, now that I think about it, I would've loved getting flares for Christmas at 9. But then, I was evil).
When I entered Hurricane's information, it became clear that there was most definitely something wrong.


Because I am fairly certain that my son is not a dog. Yet.......

and...........

and...............

They did come up with this useful toy.........

The lacrosse stick, for when your sister is not in Weeble-braining range.

And finally, the hot gift item for toddlers this year........

A thighmaster. It's never too early to get rid of those chubby little thighs!

Power Outages Suck

No, I'm not cheating. Really. And if my post below can't count so be it but I'm sticking this NaBloPoMo out. Of course I make it to the final week only to have it ruined by that stupid snow. Naturally.
We lost power last night just in the middle of my trying to publish. 5 minutes later the poltergeists started getting mad and our lights and tv started flickering and the volume went up and down and the kids started crying and I yelled "Caroline! Stay away from the light!" until Joe told me to cut it out because now I was freaking him out a little. Then it went black.
2 houses down the street they had power.
We did not.
We did not have power until about an hour ago.
It was very cold this morning in my house.

Very.

Very.

Cold.

All we had that worked was the gas fireplace and it's simply not enough to heat up the whole house.
There was talk (from Joe) of staying at my MIL's house tonight (for his nuts) which was quickly vetoed (by my gagging, sputtering and choking which he took to mean "hell to the no!". And it did mean that, thank you very much).
I took the kids to lunch and then we were going to go to the library but Hurricane fell asleep and by then the power was back, thank you PUD!!

Anyway, really, I love electricity. I spent a good 20 minutes turning on every light in the house and running the vacuum for the sheer joy of being able to. And it was probably a good idea as even though we had only been without power for 19 hours, it looks as though our home is residence to squatters. Toys, blankets, pillows, socks everywhere.
We are so very good at the panic thing.

Any Takers?

Pardon me? Does this belong to you?

It's not that I don't love snow, I do. Really. I've missed it since moving here. It's just... well... harumph.
See, residents here are not really used to it. Snow, I mean. Not used to driving in it especially. It's a bit like that part in the Nightmare Before Christmas where Jack sees snow for the first time. You know, the part where he starts singing "What is this?" Yeah. That's us and snow.
I grew up with blizzards so 4 inches of snow is really not such a very big deal to me. But here? 1 inch of snow is enough to get an hour or 2 off of school. 4? Bre is very much enjoying her 5 day weekend.
I, on the other hand, am very much ready to drive her to school and just tell her to wait for them to open.
But I won't.
I'll just make some more hot chocolate and sit in front of my fireplace and pretend that it won't all melt away by tomorrow evening.

Multiplicity

(I'm sorry if this is sloppy or short but I'm typing with socks on my hands because my hands are frozen and I can't find my gloves. But they aren't just any socks. they are pink and silver and sparkly striped knee highs belonging to Bre. She is slightly amused and just a little bit embarrassed that I am her mother.)
Hurricane calls Bre 'Banna'. Not just 'Banna' but he says it so that it comes out as a question. "Bah-nuh? Hold still while I hit you with my Weeble." or "Bah-nuh? Quick, slip me some M&M's. Dad isn't looking!"
In fact, most of his names come out as a question.
He says daddy, of course. Paw-paw for grandpa in this long drawn out way.
For grandma it's Bamma with what can only be described as a very southern accent. It's a wonder to me how a child who has never been to Texas, can mimic that slow drawl.
But my very favorite, and most inexplicable, is what he calls me.
I am not mama. No mommy, mother, ma, hey lady.

I am The Mamas.

No matter where we are or what we are doing, he calls me The Mamas. Occasionally, simply Mamas, but always plural, as though there are so very many of me and that is the only way he can explain all of the things that he sees me do during the day.
"The Mamas? Tickle?"

"The Mamas? We go bye-bye?"

"The Mamas? M&M's?"

I know that eventually, like his sister, I will simply become 'Mom'. Usually accompanied by an eye-roll and sigh. For now, it feels so good to be so many things to this little man.

Steaming.

I think about it and my eye starts twitching. There is this pulsating light behind my eye that just makes my head throb. My hands ache from clenching them as does my jaw.
Thanksgiving with my in-laws? It blows. People?
IT. BLOWS.
6 years and for some reason I still think it's going to be different. Because I am stupid. So very, very stupid. Because it is never different.
Everyone was supposed to bring something. And they did. My youngest BIL made mashed potatoes (something he has never done before so he needed a lot of instruction).
We were supposed to sit down and eat at 5.
One SIL didn't show up until about 5 minutes before, then handed me a few dishes and said 'these need to bake'. I'm still amazed that I didn't dump them on her head. My oven was full, my kitchen was full, my hands were full. She turned around and complained about having to make all this food.
Can I tell you? The only thing that was requested of her was her green bean casserole and I think, maybe, her artichoke dip. No one asked her for goat cheese enchiladas and butternut squash lasagna and broccoli salad and whatever!
I bit the inside of my cheek.
We sat down to eat. My FIL was sick so he didn't come. My MIL. She showed up at 6:15 surprised that we hadn't waited for her. This was after she played "I'm not coming, nobody loves me" on the phone. Now, my MIL's normal tone of voice is what any sane person would consider yelling, so her whisper is easily heard from 2 houses down. So I don't know who she thought she was kidding when she leaned into Wife's side and whispered about how messy my house was (are you kidding me? Have you simply not seen your house in the past oh, ever?). Then she says that we have nice 'motherly' figures while her daughter is so skinny. I believe this is her nice way of saying that we are fat. Though, I'm not terribly surprised considering she also called my sister fat when she was pregnant. This from a woman who claims to weigh 95 lbs. Right.
Dinner is over and everyone but Wife gets up and leaves the table. To sit on my couch. And watch me clean. And ask for leftovers to take home.
Wife, who at that point had vertigo and was really not feeling good, helped me clean up as much as she could. We may not always like each other, we may not get along well, but I have more respect for her than I did. The others couldn't even be bothered to pick up their own plates. MIL made a few more loud comments and demands, scared the crap out of Hurricane and left. The ingrates never said thank you. Never a "can we help clean up?" Nothing.
And you know what?
I think I've had it. I'm tired of being treated like I don't exist. They consider this house to be their brother's so it's alright to break my things (yes they did) and make a mess because I don't count.
So this was the last Thanksgiving I am going to be doing for as long as I possibly can. Next year, we're going to Wife's house (yes. She already invited everyone) and the year after, I'm going to Disneyland.
Yep. That's right. Screw you ingrates, I'm spending the holidays with a mouse.

Random Weird Things Around My House

So I finally got around to taking pictures for Jenny and I realized that maybe the weirdness is subjective. Yes? Because while I may find the fact that we have a roll of John Wayne toilet paper on display in our living room perfectly normal, others may.... not... so much. Yes.
So, I had already sent her a picture of John Wayne. Those who have been with me from the beginning or whoever it is that keeps poking around in my archives (hey, let me know if you can find my mustard vs ketchup post OK? Thanks.) may remember that this painting has cost me much angst.

Felt. Angst. Woe. I hate looking at this picture because I know I promised to burn him and put him out of his misery but instead he is sitting in his closet facing the wall.

I did, however, end up getting a better idea of who Jenny is when she asked if this was from a pirate cowboy movie because that would be... you know.... like. Good. That and the zombie thongs pretty much seals her fate. She's a perv. And I love her for it!

Anyway. Donald Duck, the Packers bobblehead thing that my husband refuses to let me take out of the package and mess with. Bobbleheads freak me out. As in, I cannot pass one when it is moving. It gives me the creeps. So maybe the bobblehead isn't so much weird as I am.

This. G-d. I don't even know how to explain this. Or why we still have it. It's an incense burner my sister got me in Germany. But I don't burn incense. I haven't used incense since I was in high school and I didn't want my parents to know what I was really up too. And you can't really see it but there is this perfectly round little hole in his mouth where the smoke is supposed to come out.

What is a backpacking clock-maker with a pepper mill smoking these days?

Petrified incense. Which is funny since we never used this thing.

I think the strangest thing in this house is us.

My MIL's house on the other hand........

There's the box of pictures from dinners she's eaten. There's the box of pictures of people she's seen at church (no she does not know them). There's the box of pictures she's picked up here and there at flea markets and Good Will (no she doesn't know them either). There's the box of pictures of pictures of her in front of flowers. There's the live tree she has planted (not in a planter) in the living room. Headless barbies, 4 sequined dresses that are identical, different sizes (none of them hers) and hanging in the closet with other random bits of clothing.

I could seriously be at this all night.

Instead I've decided to start Thanksgiving early and am very much enjoying this strawberry Bacardi Silver. Am possibly going to enjoy another. Am possibly slightly tipsy since starting this post. Have had to hit backspace far more often then is normal. Am going to now go watch some bad movies on late night TV!

Happy Thanksgiving!

When Mommy Gets Bored........

Look! I love duckies! Quack Quack, Ducky!

Where'd he go? Mamas? Did you see my Ducky?

Aw Dangit woman! Whywhywhywhy?

You're so mean!! You evil wretched woman! I want my Ducky!!

Get it out!

getitoutgetitoutgetitoutgetitoutgetitout!!!!

You're just not right in the head, you know? What kind of crazy gets her kicks out of torturing a poor sweet boy like me?

There. Happy? Are you amused now? Was it fun to watch me spin in circles trying to get my Ducky?

Just so you know, I'll be waking you up every 2 hours for no apparent reason. Something about ducks, I think.

The Dread.

I know I know... I'm supposed to be talking about Bre's birthday party and all but really? How much do you need to know?

Doesn't this kind of tell you it was over the top?
Kid's throwing sticky frogs at my wall (they were totally supposed to, I just failed to anticipate the amount of goo that could be left on the wall afterwards), cake, presents, games, crazy.
I already told you I got my hair stuck in the vacuum (owowowowow... genius!). And that I burned my hand on that stupid hot glue damncraftprojecthell! (Stupid!) And ruining Bre's leftover cake. (More stupid!)
Whatever. It's over. She's 9. She's killing me with her Hannah Montana.
No, the dread I'm thinking of it what's coming on Thursday.
See, Thanksgiving and I do not get along. This Thanksgiving will mark 7 years since my mother died. 7 years since that Thanksgiving gravy train ended. Actually, since she died in the morning, we didn't even have Thanksgiving that year. But let's not get back into that mire again OK?
Let's talk about Thanksgiving since then.
Because they have all been spent here. With my in-laws. Last year we celebrated by discussing Neuticals and how they may or may not benefit one of my BIL's who was not there for this burn. We also celebrated by my MIL calling me sloppy seconds and she doesn't understand why anyone would want sloppy seconds. Cheers!

This is all pretty typical for the holidays now.

Except that this year I won't have to cook it all myself. (yay!). I wonder if I'll have to clean it all up by myself though...... hmmm.

No, this year will be extra special because my BIL and his wife (they hate us. the feeling is mutual) have decided to come over too. Too fully understand just how wonderful this will be, allow me to elaborate.

BIL and his wife hate each other. They have 2 kids and just bought a new house to 'fix' their marriage. They will go out of their way to not touch each other. There will be much yelling (mostly she at him) and much glaring (them at everyone and possibly Joe at them).

And my MIL? She loves the wife.

She loves her because Wife is Catholic and therefore perfect and everything I am not.

Wife is not sloppy seconds. Wife had a good Catholic wedding (we went to Vegas which means I am the devil). Wife can do no wrong even when she is verbally abusing MIL's son in front of his family.

Wife is a miserable person. I don't think she knows how to be happy. Nothing is ever right enough for her. She hates me, has since the first time we met.

I do not regret the fact that we live so far apart as our visits are rare and brief. I know she feels the same. But to make things just that much better, Joe is, and has been, furious with this brother for some time. He didn't want him here for Thanksgiving but I could not think of one plausible reason that they couldn't come given that the rest of his family will be here. Which means that in between the cooking and tending to the kids and fielding insults on my inadequacy from my MIL and avoiding Wife, I will be playing referee/interceptor to my husband and his brother.

I have this knot, see? Right there. Yes, that's it. There in between my shoulder blades, which yes thank you they are very sore. What's that? Tension? Stress? Me? Why no, I mean.... no. Couldn't be! We do this all the time. See? I'm smiling. Yes, I know my MIL is calling me names but really, it's alright. She kids! Really! OK, so maybe I don't need her to like me. Yes. That's it exactly. I don't. Need.

What?

Oh, terribly sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the nice press of your pants by clinging to them, really. It's just that.... well.....

Can I pretty please come to your house for Thanksgiving this year?

52 Hours

That's how long it takes before you completely lose your mind after listening to Hannah Montana. Specifically, listening to Hannah Montana's Best of Both Worlds over and over again because someone armed your daughter wtih her CD and the means to play it but forgot the headphones for the love of frogs!
I could maybe handle listening to the cd occasionally, but she keeps hitting that back button on the cd player and it has me dreaming of the days when my worst musical nightmare was Elmo's number 5 rap. I never thought I'd be longing for those days.
I guess being 9 means that it isn't cool to listen to all those kiddie music tapes that her dad has been stockpiling for the past 5 years. I have 5 different versions of John Jacob Jingleheimer Shmidt (or however you spell that), one of them sung by what can only be described as a squirrel on crack.
Now it's High School Musical, Hannah Montana, and.... I feel a little sick, sorry...... Hillary Duff.
I draw the line at ParisLohanBritSkanks. Thanks, but I finally got her to stop saying everything was 'hott'. Let's not go back.

All that said, she was disappointed this afternoon when I told her the cd player was broken.


So that's one more mommy lie on my list. She can tell her therapist about it in 20 years.

Whatever.

I have to admit, this posting every day business is exhausting. Which is why I'm sitting here in the middle of Desperate Housewives trying to decide whether or not I could make a whole post about Mike the plumber and how hot he is. Hot. Very. Yes. Thank you.
Yeah. Not able to do a whole post there. Hmmm.

I think maybe one free pass for this posting every day thing would have been nice. That's what you can get me for Christmas. A free pass for a day.
We'll all thank you.

Not happening? Oh fine. Then I suppose you'll just have to be satisfied with this. For tonight. Because I would really like nothing more than to go to bed and not think about cake and frog slime and wrapping paper for a few hours.

Would also not like to think about the fact that I left Bre's cake in the oven so that the dog couldn't get to it and then sort of forgot about it and ruined it when I was making dinner tonight. Really hoping that she forgets that I did that. Eek!

**Because you asked, fondant is this really not so pleasant tasting thing that some bakers use when decorating cakes. It's moldable, like play-do. Sort of tastes the same to me as well. But it gives a really smooth and pretty appearance to cakes. Or it can be used to get really crazy and do what I did.

Summing it up.

Party over. Cake good. MIL crazy. Daughter happy. Mom sleepy. Kids. Lots of kids. My hair +vacuum= baaaaddd. Also? ow. Also? Hot glue +finger= ow. Also? Possibly going for the record on how many times I can injure myself in one day.
MIL kept wishing Bre a happy 'beerday'.

Lots of pictures to follow when I'm more coherent. Need mas tequila.

This totally counts as a post.

My Fingers May Be Permanently Green. And Blue. And Red.

But her birthday cake is done. And it was fun. (Crap! Rhyming again. Sorry.)
Fondant is..... interesting? to work with. I wonder if there is a way to make it a little stiffer because the elephant keeps sinking.

Those little balls? There at the base of the tree? Coconuts.

What? I had extra fondant.

Which is why the frog (yes, that's a frog) is eating the fly and the snake wraps around the cake.

Also, why there are fish in the pond.

I ran out of room so I had to write her name in the back. I just hope it tastes good!

Happy Birthday

It seems rather silly that every year, your birthday takes me by surprise. I've said it before, but how did another year go by so quickly?

How did you go from this tiny, almost 7 lb wonder? This dependent, perfectly delicate pink bundle..............

to this beautiful, thoughtful, independent young lady?

I've often stated the many ways we are alike, and the many ways we are so very different. One of the best ways you are different from me is your confidence. I love how sure you are of who you are. I was always too aware of every little thing I did and it was always wrong. From the way I walked to the way I spoke. You walk as though you own the ground your feet are touching.

Don't ever lose that.

I love the way you are with your brother. I wonder if you know just how much he adores you. You aren't here to see him calling for you after you leave for school. He will stand by the window in the afternoon waiting for your bus to show up. I know he bothers you when you are trying to do your homework but it isn't what you think. He's just so excited to have his sister home because you always come up with something fun to do. You were the first person to make him laugh.

I hope you will always be close because that is what I've always wanted for myself. Close siblings.

There are times where I see my mother in you. When you are trying your very best to be a lady, sitting properly and speaking softly.

And then you do something so crazy, just to assure me that you are, in fact, my daughter.

There are many things that I want for you, many things I want you to understand. Mostly I want you to know that I am here. Even when you think you're in trouble. I am here. And nothing will ever make you not be my daughter. Nothing will make me stop loving and caring for you.

You are turning 9. The last year before you get double digits as you so kindly pointed out to me. And still, as before, I look at you and see that little pink squinty face with those big, wise green eyes staring back at me from our hospital bed.

Your father sees that little girl who wanted nothing more than to sit next to her father and be a princess. And you were.

For him, you always will be.

I love to see you get so excited about even the little things. I love to see your mind kick into overdrive as you come up with the next great scheme. Even if it means that I have to clean blue oatmeal out of my towel drawer.

You and your brother give me hope. Because through you, I can see all that is right with this world.

Happy 9th birthday Breanna Caitlyn.

Technical Difficulties

Damn Blogger. Damn Msn.
I had my post all planned out and I've been trying for an hour and a half to get it to work but I cannot get my pictures to upload. This has given me plenty of time to contemplate all the split ends in my hair and argue with myself about whether or not I should get a hair cut.
I do not want to get a haircut. I want to punch my stupid head for even contemplating a haircut. I need to remind myself that it never ends well. In fact, the last haircut I can remember ended with me crying because she had interpreted my saying I wanted it to fall across my shoulders to mean that I wanted it to end right below my ears and be razor cut to hell.
So, I'm sorry. Maybe tomorrow?

That's One Down and A Million More Forgotten Promises To Go!

I often make vague promises to post about something that happened or one of those stupid things I did before I started blogging (what? I don't do stupid stuff now. I have no idea what you're talking about). Um. (shut up). But as with many things, I lose interest or, more honestly, I forget about it. And then one day I'm hiding presents in the back of my husband's side of the closet (hey, it's the one place he'll never look) and I'm confronted by the condom tie and I slap my forehead and think 'Crap!' and then I take a picture of it. Because somewhere back in my archives I remember making vague promises to post the picture of the condom tie I gave my husband for Christmas from our daughter.
And now, for those who may be just joining us and those who like to hear over and over again just how stupid I can be (Hello Shovel Mole people! Yes, that pops up in my searchy stuff). The story of the Christmas My Husband Got a Condom Tie For Christmas From Our Daughter Because I am Stupid. And Blind. And Should Maybe Not Be Allowed to Shop Without A Chaperon.
One Christmas season long long ago (ok, it was only 6 years ago. Not the point) I asked Joe what he wanted for Christmas. He jokingly said that he expected some really hideous tie from Girl.
So I made it my mission to find the ugliest, most horrifying tie in the known universe. And I tried. Really, really hard. Except that it wasn't happening. And sales people are all "get lost" when you start asking them to show you their ugly ties and not the ones on this display rack because they are ugly, yes, but just not the kind of ugly that makes you want to hurl. Pardon me? Don't you have any ties that light up and maybe have a built in siren and if it could be like, fluorescent green and orange plaid well that would just be awesome!
But they didn't. And I got many an odd look (more so than I do on any given day at least).
So I wondered into Spencers.
You know what Spencers is right? It's that store in the mall with all the strobe lights and it's dark and full of gag gifts and things I would not want my kid to play with.
Kind of sets the alarm bells going doesn't it? The sort of store that should have told me that the tie I found was not appropriate to give to a man from his child.
But it didn't.
I did mention I'm stupid right?
It wasn't until Joe opened up the tie, in front of his mother, and asked why his daughter was giving him a condom tie for Christmas that I realized my error. Huh. Maybe that's why his mom has always kind of not really liked me very much.
So, here it is.

In my defense, I've been pretty vanilla when it comes to condoms (good grief!). Except that one time Katie gave me some novelty condom but it turned out to not be a good thing because it was pink polka dots and that's just not sexy.

Flu Delerium

Chills. Yes. Shiver! Ow. Ears. Shhhh! Ow. Who is banging that drum? What? Oh.... that's just my head.
Gah. Went for another round of shampooing the carpets today. They look. Huh? Oh right. They look amazzzzzz.......
What?
No I wasn't. I wasn't sleeping. I was just blinking.
Blinking for a really long time.
Ow. Sinus pressure.
Glad I had my tonsils out but wish it meant my throat no longer got sore.
Hot. Sweaty. Do I have a fever?
I'm just going to blink for a moment.



What?
No. I'm still here. I wasn't asleep.
Carpets look nice.
Wet feet. I already fell on my ass 3 times. Thankfully not on the landing. Wet feet.
Count sheep.
1...



MOLES!
Oh, sorry.

I had a dream last night that the moles in my yard killed my pet penguin on my front porch.

I don't have a pet penguin.

I have no idea what it all means.

Damn moles.

zzz.....

Penguins are cute.

zzzzz.....


Nyquil is the shiznit.


zzz......

Moles aren't violent right? I don't think they attack other animals. Right? Unless they are like, mutant moles. I have Mutant Moles. Shovels. I need more shovels.
And possibly more nyquil. Or tequila.
Or....

or.....

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sunday With Girl

I love to scrapbook. It's an easy way for me to let loose with my creative side. Every so often I get to go to a crop (a bunch of people who get together to scrapbook, share ideas and spend money on more scrapbook equipment). I love getting out of the house for a few quiet hours where I can just work. No kids asking to play or for food, no phone to interrupt, no husband asking where his socks are.
So when Girl asked to come with me today to a crop, I sighed. There was no way that I would get done half of what I needed to get done for the albums I was working on for Christmas. In my mind I pictured the hours of questions and complaints of being bored. I pictured all those blank pages that represented hours I'd have to make up at home. I pictured my nice quiet Sunday crop disappearing because there was no way I could tell her no.
I helped her pack a bag of books, coloring books, her DVD player and a few movies. I picked out a small album and some circus pictures she could use to make her own album. I packed up my own things and sighed.
We left later than I had wanted because she couldn't find the headphones to the DVD player and she couldn't watch it without them.
We finally got there an hour and a half late. I set up my things and laid out her scrapbook.
And her eyes lit up.
A small pink album. A packet of pictures. A few stickers. Strips of paper. Free use of all the things I've told her to never touch.
I was right. I didn't get that much done on my albums. I spent most of the day helping her set up the DVD player, cutting down pictures to fit her album, helping her spell words or cutting up papers for her. I oohed and ahhed over her work. We talked about which boy in her class was always picking on the girls and who her best friend was this year. She ate and reveled in being allowed to have 3 mini powder donuts and a sprite at the same time. She colored a picture for me.
At the end of the day, I packed up our things while she went to thank our hosts. One of them mentioned how well behaved she was, that she was welcome back anytime and then let her pick out three sticker sheets.
It was the best crop I ever went to.
It's one more thing that she and I have in common. One more thing we can be connected by. It seems that too often, we're arguing. Over her homework, her messy room, cutting her own hair, picking on her brother. Most days I feel desperate to remember those good moments. Those moments when she's not glaring at me and writing in her diary about how I'm the 'worst mother ever!'*
So today was amazing and it's something I will remember when she's dying Mishka's legs pink (yes, she did).
I wonder sometimes what will happen when she gets older and is able to read this blog. I wonder if she will look over these pages and think "Oh, so that's what she was thinking. I get it." or "Man, she sucks". Or possibly both. But I hope she knows that I want more for her than what she sees.
*During one argument she grabbed her diary and opened it to a page where she had written nothing but "My mother is the worst mother ever!" over and over as if this was proof that I was, indeed, the worst mother ever.

Site Blather

No, I haven't forgotten my plans to change things up. I've just gotten,um... busy.
I thought maybe after football was over and I didn't have cheer anymore I'd have some time but no. It's November. It's crazy season.
There's the regular weekday hoopla but with the added bonus of every weekend being filled with something.
Tonight was the football teams' party (which I will tell you about later. Like when my arm is a little less bruised from the beating I took), tomorrow a friend's child's birthday party. Sunday I have an all-day crop to go to.
Next Saturday is Girl's party. Sunday is her actual birthday so we'll do something she wants that day (most likely toy store and dinner out).
Family coming to visit that week for Thanksgiving (which I have to make and so not going to bitch about that now because there will be plenty of time for that later). Saturday is another friend's birthday. Sunday we have plans with family (Not rolling my eyes right now. Really. OK, I'm trying not to roll my eyes right now).
The following weekend is Hurricane's 2nd birthday (sob!) and my stepmom's. The weekend after that we are going to Warm Beach (totally deceptive name) for their Christmas lights show. The weekend after that my sister and BIL are coming in to visit and we are leaving the following Thursday for Pennsylvania (I hate flying. I'm already in a panic thinking about it).
I know it probably doesn't sound like much but considering I prefer to spend my weekends here doing nothing but messing with the kid's minds, it's a lot.
Really though, I love it. It helps me get through winter and those long nights. I always get a little depressed during winter. I love fall and the changing leaves. I love the snow and the holiday season. But that long stretch between January and when it's finally time to put in the air conditioning.
I try not to let it get to me too much, and I have gotten a little better since the kids are here but....
I can't wait for those months to pass.

The One Where I Went Splat.

Did you know that wet leaves are slippery? As in, ass-meet-driveway slippery?
Well. Yes. Of course, my ass is incredibly familiar with the driveway. They are on a first name basis and I believe there was a bit of a kerfuffle and the words sexual harassment was bandied about and lawyers were called, but they are friends again. Although, the ass end of this friendship is a bit bruised.
I have tried to end this friendship as I am not comfortable with their familiarity. Sadly, my feet heartily approves of this relationship.
Naturally, no meeting of ass and driveway would be complete without witnesses and since school is out today, there were plenty of little eyes to watch.
Coaching cheerleading I can do. Walking I cannot.

Why Bother?

Hurricane has made it his mission in life to prove that the human body does not require food in order to live. In fact, the less food eaten, the more destructive one can be.
Today he ate exactly 3 goldfish and was insulted when I suggested that maybe, just perhaps, his little body would like to eat something else. Anything else.
Food Offered / Hurricane's response
____________________________
Pancakes / *poke, poke* squish!
Cereal / "Bleh!"
Bananas / "RARRGGHHH!!" Smash!
Grilled Cheese / Down right insulted and possibly a little disgusted
Toast / "All done" Need I mention that he didn't actually take a
/ bite
M&M's / *sigh*

What kind of kid refuses M&M's for dinner?

The thing that has convinced me that this is all a plot by my toddler to make me crazy, is that every night he pushes me in to the kitchen and asks "dinner?"

By the end of the night he will have eaten exactly nothing. He will, however, have spent two hours screaming and running up and down the hall, occasionally in circles. He will have pulled down the Ikea stand in the living room, scattering his books around the living room. He will have gotten into my craft desk several times.
I will have had to hide his Weebles in order to save his sister from being brained. I will have made several different meals which he will have refused to eat.
So why do I bother? Why, night after night after night, do I continue making meals I know he won't eat?

Because someday he will. Someday, he'll pick up that fork and actually put it in his mouth instead of throwing it at me.


Right?

Cursed

One day long, long ago my grandmother (maternal) thought it would be fun to race stock cars. She was terribly young and had 5 children. A little excitement seemed just the ticket.
Her first time around the track, she had an accident and became paralyzed from her waist down. Living in a small town at the time there was, naturally, an article in the local paper about it. When we were kids we used to steal her wheelchair every morning to have races.
One day long, long ago my grandfather (maternal) went hunting in the mountains of Idaho. His friends went back to camp and he decided to go over one more hill. They never found him or any trace of him.
One day, a little less long ago, my mother's cousin and her children disappeared. They were featured on Hard Copy (does anyone remember that show?) when her husband stopped paying the bill on his storage unit several years later.
One day, even less long ago, another cousin died in a plane crash (Have I ever mentioned how much I hate flying?) during a lesson. She had always wanted to be a pilot.
One day, still less long ago, my mother died in a freak accident that could not possibly happen again even if the situation was repeated a hundred times.

I know that breast cancer runs in my family. I know I have to watch my cholesterol.

But truthfully?

I'm more afraid of the piano that is bound to fall on my head and kill me.

Prematurity Awareness Month

Bonus time! Except since I'm tired this will still be crap. But good crap! Because March of Dimes! They are good! So are exclamation points! And sleep!!

Right. Sorry. Back to my point because I think I have one.

Take note of the banner to the right (pleasepleaseplease let my lack of computer knowledge not work against me right now!).
Even if you can't afford to donate right now, please click their link. Read the information. Post a banner to your own site if you have one.
I've lost count of how many people I know who have bands on the March of Dimes site. It's heartbreaking, but please know that there is something you can do.

Thank you!

The One Where My Words Come Back to Haunt Me

Remember when I was sort of bragging about how well Hurricane was sleeping? How after months of crying (mostly mine) and little sleep he had finally started going to bed on his own?
If I could go back in time I would go back to that moment and kick my own ass.
It would be so nice if he could just pick one maddening habit. Not eating (apparently you can subsist on half a pop tart and 3 goldfish crackers) or not sleeping.
And just to make sure I know who is absolutely in charge, he has stopped napping. I was not ready for this.
In fact, I had it in our pre-birth agreement that he would be napping until the day he started first grade.
Of course, we also agreed that he would eat vegetables and not eat crayons. I agreed to sing him songs and share my M&M's. He promised to potty train himself and never get sick.

I think our pre-birth agreement is null and void.

I think I need to sleep more before I make posts. Because not sleeping means you get crap like this.

The Crazy

It never fails to amaze me how easily my MIL can adapt.
Recently, she has been calling and 'asking' us to come over for a visit. This basically amounts to her calling, leaving messages about all the food she has and how she misses the kids and have we gone to church lately? She will then call back 5 minutes later to see what time we are coming. Never mind that we never even answered the phone much less agreed to go.
When we don't show, she calls back crying about how we 'stood her up'.
She left this message last weekend:
(And I would try to set it up so you could hear it but I've learned that it takes at least 3 years before you can even begin to understand what she is saying and once she really gets going? Forget it. Even Joe can't understand it.)
"You no have to come over this weekend. I know you very busy with your family and you don't have time for mom. I'm fine. Don't bother worry about me. I pray for you 3 time every day. You pray for me. I'm OK. I miss kids. Is Hurricane liking his school? (OK, this is a totally ridiculous and less then subtle hint that she hasn't seen him in ages. She knows he's not even 2 yet.) No one have time for mom anymore. You have own family and don't love me anymore. I'm OK. Love you, bye-bye. You come for dinner soon?"

Click.

It's crazy. Still, it's not nearly as bad as the messages where you can only understand half of what she says.

But the thing that always gets me, the thing that just leaves me slack-jawed, is how she can erase reality.

If you tell her something she doesn't want to hear, she will forget that she ever even spoke to you. I'm not saying she pretends to forget. I mean, she really forgets. If she doesn't like it, it never happened.

Which is why she thinks we haven't spoken in months. Joe keeps telling her we won't come over until the house is clean (I miss my little bottle of 409) but it's not something she wants to hear. So, she doesn't.

It's why arguing with her is pointless. She never remembers what she says or what you say so nothing ever changes.

Whatever. She's totally going to live with my sister and her son when the time comes.

Limiting My Career Options

I had almost forgotten how positively disgusting fondant can be. Seriously? If you don't add something to it (I prefer vanilla) it tastes like play-dough.
That said, I had fun working with it. Although, I think this proves I will never have a career as a baker.
When I do make her cake, I plan on adding the vanilla and color to the animals. Animals always taste better when first soaked in vanilla. Or lemon.

The elephant turned out alright. I think the head needs to be a little bit bigger but not too bad for a first attempt.
OK, so the tusks are a little lopsided.

Yes, distorted monkey. Well, didn't I tell you it would be? But look! I made up for it by giving him a banana.

Snake. Like that was terribly difficult.

The frog. I'm not sure what I think of it yet. That's a little dragonfly he's trying to eat in case you were wondering.

The bird. The bird needs work. The bird looks like a lump of fondant.

I hate the bird but I feel like I need to add something else.

Any ideas?

Day 4: Fondant.

Girl's birthday is coming up in a few short weeks which can mean only one thing...........

Birthday party!!

When I was a kid I always wanted to have a birthday party but we just didn't do that. Don't get me wrong, my birthday was always great. My parents were awesome about making us each feel special every day and certainly for birthdays. They also did something amazing for us for our 13th and 16th birthdays.
But little kid parties were just not happening.
So, I tend to make a big deal about the kid's parties.
Especially since it means I get to bake. And not only bake, but decorate.
I love to decorate cakes.
Girl's cake last year was too easy. She had a Nightmare Before Christmas themed party so I just made one of Jack and one of Sally. (Sorry, you'll have to wait for pictures. Maybe later.)
The year before it was Alice in Wonderland. I made a Mad Hatter Hat cake. A 4 tiered monstrosity that tilted at the top just so.
This year, she wants a jungle themed party.
The cake had me stumped for awhile. Snakes are easy to make. The crocodile isn't much of a challenge.
So, I'm working on something special. Sketch to come later. Maybe. It depends on whether I can make the sketch actually look like a cake and not a big blob of nothing.
I'm thinking of a square base layer with 2 round tiers on top. Coat it in green butter cream icing and wrap a simple icing snake around from the bottom to the top. The anaconda of icing snakes.
The tricky part will be the animals (elephant, monkey, whatever else I can come up with) and the trees.
Because for the first time ever, I'm going to work with fondant.
I've always avoided it because of the taste. It's not unpleasant, just boring. And the texture is a little.... eh. Not my favorite.
But I want to do something different and surprising. I bought some fondant today to start working on it. Just for practice since this stuff won't be good by the time her birthday rolls around. It's softer than I realized. But I think it will work. We'll see.
I'll take pictures and you can laugh at my gimpy elephant and mildly distorted monkeys.

Day 3!

Woo-hoo!! I made it through the season without breaking anything really important! OK, so they have one more game that I didn't find out about until Tuesday but whatever. My ass is still intact and the girls looked passable.