Wanted: One Super-strength Roll of Duct Tape

Everyday David and I go through a pants routine. I consider it a good day if I only have to go through this routine 3 times. It is usually not a good day. It goes something like this:

"David, please put your pants on."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"They're too pantsy for me."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Well, I can't say it again."

"David, put your pants on."

"I don't know where they are."

"They're right there beside your feet."

"Uuhhhhh."

"David...."

"Fffiiiiinnnneeee......"

"..... Daddy wouldn't make me wear pants."

Repeat with various completely insane reasons for why he cannot wear his too pantsy pants. They're too blue, they're too long, he can't fly in them (because he can totally fly without them and I'm destroying his precious ability to fly, pantsless, around the world), he wore pants yesterday, and so on.
Sometimes, if we're not going anyway and no one is coming over, I'm all 'eh, whatever' because I think there are worse things then walking around in your underwear.
When we switched to high def cable and had to get boxes, I was totally impressed because David, after 10 minutes in the company of the installer, decided to put on pants without my having to beg, plead and bribe. I wanted to beg the guy to just stop by everyday in order to get David to willingly wear pants but it didn't come out right and I think I sort of propositioned him because he slowly backed away while telling me of his lovely fiance and I'm all "Dude whatever, just come over and let's talk about pants" but it didn't work.
And so on went the battle over David and his pants.
And then today I lost it.
See, we've had this discussion many times. The one about wearing pants in public. And I thought we understood each other.
We do not.

I pulled up to Bre's private Catholic school, waiting to pick her up. I got David out of the car and told him to wait on the sidewalk while I got Josie. I barely had one buckle undone before I heard a woman say "Uh-oh mom, I think someone lost something." I turned in time to see my son not only taking off his pants in front of her school.

But also his underwear.

My son stood naked between the Church and the school in full public view and I cried.

Out of Hiding

Me too kid, Me too. Also?

NOM NOM!!

So, I'm fine. Um. I'm alive anyway. I've had a lot going on but most of it I can't talk about. Some of it because I don't want to get kicked out of this religious education class that I've been taking but let's just leave it at you should probably not ever ask someone talking about purgatory and sin why it's ok to take birth control to keep yourself from ripping your husband's balls off and carrying them around in your purse once a month but if you take it to keep from getting pregnant you're going to hell.

You should also just eat the damn cookie when they tell you to and not make references to any 'kool-aid'.

Anyway, there are other things we can talk about.

Josie has decided that walking is LAME. She took a few steps and she will still take a few steps if we make her but she sighs and rolls her eyes like she's doing us this big favor and she can't believe how LAME we are for thinking this is cool when it's so much more awesome to make her sister and brother get everything for her- and they do- but whatever, she'll amuse us if we bribe her with a cookie and she'll clap when we do but she will NOT ENJOY THE WALKING FOR THE WALKING IS LAME. She doesn't talk either. Mama, Dada, *SHRIEK* but not talk. And I am not at all worried. Nope. Not even a little tiny bit.

Liar.

I was tucking David into bed one night- he was watching Madagascar. His favorite part of the movie came on. The part where they all start singing "I like to move it move it". I was dancing and making him laugh. I went to whip around and stand up and my forehead decided that it wanted to meet David's bedpost and I heard this loud *CRACK* and realized that it was my skull. When I could see clearly and hear again, I turned to look at David who was sitting up, eyes wide and mouth open.

"Are you ok?"

"Um, yeah. That hurt."

"Well then you shouldn't hit yourself like that Mommy."

Gee, thanks buddy. Hadn't thought of that.

Fuck Cancer

Denial. I like denial. It's my occasional survival mechanism. I use it in desperate times. I've been using it for several months now.
But it won't work anymore.
In the face of truth, I must admit, the person I feel most sorry for is not her friends or her family. It's not a single person that loved her or was loved by her. In fact, the person I most feel sorry for?
It's you.

It's you because you never got to meet her. You never got to hear her many funny one-liners, or be comforted by her gentle words and her warm heart. She could be your greates source of support, or the kick in the ass you needed when you were out of line. She was encouraging and thoughtful and brave. She had a wicked sense of humor that never failed her. She had a cat named Coochie who took a boudoir picture- with a stuffed crab. The very obvious joke that goes with it has always stayed with me.

She was a Republican. But I couldn't have respected her, or loved her, more.

When she told us she had cancer, she brushed it off, insisting that it was 'no big deal'. That was just her way.

But it was a big deal.

September 3, 2008 my dear friend passed away.

I didn't cry until today. It didn't become real until today.

Today I started looking back at some of the things that she had written to her many friends. One minute I was laughing, and the next..... I can't stop crying.

I cannot do her justice with my words. There is not enough to be said about her that can express how deeply she will be missed, how great a hole she has left in the lives of her friends and family.

I'm going to miss hearing:

"It's about as useful as a bull with tits."

"Take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut."

"He can get glad in the same pants he got mad."

"Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons; because you're crunchy and taste good with ketchup."

"I am an alien. My belly button is the human equivalent of an anus.
Wanna kiss my belly button?"

"He can kiss the south end of a north-bound horse."

My dear friend, I will never forget your kind words, your humor or your sage advice. I am heartbroken that you are gone.

The Thing That Almost Killed Me

It was almost Christmas. It was The Very Bad, No Good Year. I was wrapping presents and wondering if the teeth on the tape roll would be sharp enough to slit my wrists.
I spent a lot of that year convincing myself of a lot of things. We would be OK, I would survive, there would someday be another baby in our home, I would not for the love of all that is good NOT miscarry again, I could make it through the day without trying to drown myself in the sink.
And then the phone rang.
It was our Doctor.
It was 8 pm.

Doctors don't call at 8 pm with good news.

That night began a rather hellish up and down journey with my husband's health. One that could have been prevented if he'd had the vaccine available to him as a child.

Suddenly, it was blood tests and a biopsy and a specialist and very expensive medicine and more blood tests.

And soul crushing worry.

Now, after spending hours crying on my bathroom floor, I would crawl into bed, exhausted and unable to sleep, thinking about what I would do if I lost him too.
I functioned on auto pilot.
I smiled and carried on with family and friends because that's just what I did.
More blood tests, more medicine.

Whispered, fervent prayers in the quiet of the night.

Smiling happy wife during the day.

David was born and the anxiety that followed me through my pregnancy, the same anxiety that crowded every corner of my being, left.

And soon Husband Anxiety moved in.

That pesky bitch has been following me for almost 5 years.

I stopped crying on the bathroom floor- but I didn't stop laying awake most of the night wondering what was next.

More blood tests, new medicine.

He started talking about a cure, hollistic medicine.

I started pacing the halls at night.

More blood tests.

He came home from his doctor's appointment convinced that he would be dead in less then 10 years because this medicine, this miracle drug wasn't working.

Inside I crumbled, ouside I called his Doctor. Miracle drug is maybe not working. Not working as fast as he'd like. We'll see. Wait 3 months.

And everything was on hold. Our plans for another child, our plans for vacation. Instead we waited and worried.

I wondered if it was possible to simply die over the worry.

More blood tests.

Miracle drug seems to be working after all. Give it time.

Time. Time is a funny thing. When things are going well and there is much to look forward too, it seems that there is never enough of it. When you are waiting to find out whether the medicine your husband is taking will save his life, or ...well... not, it is endless.

So we waited.

We went on with the business of living. We were occasionally successful in our ability to ignore the giant elephant in the room. Mostly we were not. Or more accurately, I was not.

I am a champion at the job of Worry. If Worry was an Olympic sport I could totally kick Michael Phelps ass (I cannot, however, swim worth a damn so, um, yea).

More blood tests.

He came home with a smile.

"It's gone."


It is.

All of it.


I can finally close the lid on The No Good, Very Bad Year.


And it's good.

Send Help. Or Tequila. Tequila would be nice.

I hate it when my husband has to go out of town. Everytime he does, my kids choose this moment to apeshit bananas. They're all sweet and 'Aww.. We'll miss you Daddy" and then the door closes and they turn to me and.... stare. They've been working out their little plan and now it is time to rain Hell upon the Mom unit.
Sure it starts out innocently enough..
"Mom, David and I are going to go play outside.... nicely. I'll watch him."

What she means is, they are going to go outside where she will dump sand on his head and he will fling dog poo at her until I come outside and tell them to stop screaming. I will then be forced to hose them both down before they can come into the house and then lecture them about how we do not throw sand or poo at people and I cannot believewearehavingthisconversationwhatthehelliswrongwithyoupeople????

This will also be the time that David decides that he cannot eat anything that is not goldfish or poptarts and that he has NEVER liked grilled cheese because grilled cheese is yucky. Yes, I could refuse to give him anything else but then he just won't eat. At all. He will just occasionally yell that he's hungry and would please to very much liking his goldfish now PLEASE WOMAN???? And then he will continue the not eating and his ribs will stick out even further and I have a no ribs sticking out policy people.

And then there is the screaming. The endless screaming. Often for no other reason then to hear themselves screaming. I've considered running away but I think they'd follow me.

Bedtime has been earlier then usual because... do I really need to explain?

But the worst offender in the Hell on Mom plan?

The baby.

Josie is generally an easy going baby. She likes to sit back and watch the older two go at it, clapping her hands as if they're putting on a play for her when they start ramming each other in the stomach with their heads or otherwise trying to maim the other.
But when Daddy is away, Super-clingy NEEDNEEDNEED Mode begins. She doesn't care what I'm doing, so long as she has direct skin to skin contact AT ALL TIMES. All moms know how to use the bathroom while holding on to a baby. We are masters at buttoning and zipping one-handed. With a baby. A small baby. Maybe one who can't wiggle, scream, climb over you and jam her thumb in your eye while you try not to pee all over yourself.
Josie has always loved playing with her older siblings. Mostly because they can be pretty entertaining when they're trying to occupy the exact same space at the exact same time. Also because they'll both give her anything she wants. But there is no substituting once in Super-clingy NEEDNEEDNEED Mode.
I tried playing one of her favorite games- So Big.
We clap and then I say "Josie is soooo big" and she raises her arms and starts laughing. Her arms always go up when I say "Josie is....". So I thought I'd just add "sooo crazy" instead of her usual fair. No big deal right?

She went from smiling to the STARE.

Her arms stayed up, waiting for me to say the right thing.

I didn't.

She started growling. Growling! My sweet baby growled!

I still didn't say it.

She sighed... Gawd mom quit being such an asshole!

I gave in.

She laughed and started clapping.

My baby is a tyrant.

5 more days until my husband comes home.

I don't think I'm going to make it.

I Don't Get Out Much

Saturday was 'date night'. You know, I really hate that term 'date night' Let's call it what it is: "Get the hell away from the kids for a few hours night", "Get drunk and relive your teenage years in the backseat of the car night" (which I no longer think is so like awesome! Because one of us (not me) who I will not name (still not me) is old (not me) and cannot bend that way without hurting his old back (my back is totally fine, thanks). We don't get away very often, certainly not often enough because I'm still a pretty cheap drunk and if we did get out more often I think either I wouldn't be or maybe I'd end up getting arrested because I get loud and say stupid things when I'm drunk.
Of course, I get loud and say stupid things when I'm sober too so maybe the only difference is I when I'm drunk I don't really care about the stupid things that fall out of my mouth.
After dinner and some very potent and yummy strawberry margaritas, we headed off to our movie where Random Thought Number One Popped up and I felt compelled to share with my husband just how stupid I really am.
When I was a kid, I'd go to the dentist and he'd ask me if I'd brushed my teeth every day. I'd say 'yes'. He'd tell me that he had a tablet that would show if I'd been brushing my teeth every day or if I'd only brushed before coming in. We went through this routine at every cleaning. Sometimes the tablet showed that I'd been lying and sometimes not. I relay all this to my husband and he said "yes, I remember that! Our dentist did it too." Then I told him that it I had only recently realized that he was probably lying and there was no tablet that could magically tell if I'd actually been brushing my teeth all that time or just that day.
"When did you realize that?"
"Um... just now."
Once he finally stopped laughing, he noticed that I was staring at him.
"What?"
"So there really is no magic tablet?"
"Yes. Yes, there is."

I think he's lying.

Maybe.

Anyway, we head into the movie. Halfway through, I lean over and point out the one really big scary looking actor with the bit part and decide to let him in on Random Thought Number Two.
When I was pregnant with Bre I had all sorts of crazy dreams. Including one that led me to sleepwalk into my closet because I had to find a shirt for my brother and fast because we were in a hurry for a very important meeting with Bullwinkle and it had to be a nice shirt. I woke up standing in my closet chosing between a minty green polo and the sweater grandma had gotten for me. The one with the pink kittens playing with yarn on the front and their furry little butts on the back. I think that one would have been the perfect thing for my brother to wear when meeting Bullwinkle. But that's kind of not the point. No. I was pointing out this actor because he was in another dream I had. We were playing basketball (and I was wearing a maternity dress while we were playing. Also, I don't play basketball.) and I body-checked Big Scary-looking actor with my big pregnant belly. I knocked him on his big scary-looking ass and he cried. I once made Erik Estrada cry in my dreams too. I'm not really sure what that says about me.
So I relay this little tidbit to my dearest darling husband and he turns to me with this look on his face and oh yes, I know this look. I have been on the receiving end of this look many many times. From many many people. It's the look that says "you are out of your mind!"
"WHAT??"
"I just thought you should know that I made him cry."
"Um. Thanks."

It was still early and the kids were fine or at least the babysitter was still alive and not threatening to sue us for mental anguish or anything so we decided to go shoot pool.

I have not done this in about 6 years.

I was not very good at it before.

First bar: Only pool table is taken. Guy at the corner table is prepared to mount his date right there. I am rushed back out the door because apparently I said this out loud. And um... loudly. And, ok, so I pointed.

Second bar: Only pool table is on it's sides with the legs, unattached, on a chair. Very drunk blonde outside is soooo going to give it up to that guy with the butter face. Am asked to please, not tell the guy he has a butter face. Again.

Third bar: Jackpot! We order our drinks and I rack 'em up. Ask husband if he's jealous that I'm playing with balls and they aren't his. Guy at next table laughs. Husband pretends not to hear.
We play a few rounds but I can't stop laughing and staring. He asks me what's going on. So I tell him. Loudly. The girl at the other table isn't wearing any underwear. He asks how I know and I want to kiss him because I can't believe he didn't notice that her pants were totally see-through and I wonder how she didn't notice but then again maybe she did know. Her date didn't seem to mind since he was constantly trying to stand behind her. Husband decides it's time to go before I tell her.

Yeah. I'm a lot of fun at parties.

One Year

Dear Baby Girl,

One year. It hardly seems like a long time. But here we are. One year has passed and it seems as though this is, as it was with your siblings, just how it has always been. I've been trying to think of what I would say to you and I realized that it's what I've been saying to you all year.



Your brother and sister were pretty easy-going babies (minus a few sleep issues with your brother). You? You are the most laid-back baby ever. You will eat anything, you fall asleep with no fuss and sleep through the night, you are content to just be. I know that this may very well be the calm before the f'n 3's, but I'll take it.

You adore your brother and sister- nearly as much as they adore you. I didn't know how your brother would react to you, but he has become your biggest fan.

You have the strangest fascination with ears. It doesn't matter who is holding you, you will reach for their ears and begin tugging, folding and poking. You used to do it just to fall asleep, now you do it for comfort. Our ears are your security blanket.

I've enjoyed watching you this year. Watching the wonder in your eyes at each new thing.

The night you were born, we were alone in the hospital room. It was late and I held you in my arms. You looked up at me, waiting for something. I promised you that night that you would never have to wonder if I loved you.
You have no idea how important that promise is to me. And for that I am glad.

If there was only one word that we could use to describe you it would be 'happy'. My ever-smiling Josie. I hope you will always be able to find the joy in life.

You love watching people, checking their reactions to you and things around them. You like to test people by smiling at them and if they smile back, you make your scrunchy face to see if they'll laugh. If they don't, you start 'talking' to them. You are determined to make those around you as happy as you are. That's a pretty awesome way to be.

I have spent 12 months counting the rolls on your legs and arms, kissing your chubby little cheeks, nibbling on your baby feet, deeply breathing in that sweet baby scent on the back of your neck and whispering in your ear as we rock to bed. I am not eager to give this up and I hope you don't mind.

Yesterday, you crawled away from me to play with your brother and sister. Squealing and clapping your hands because they included you. It made me smile, but I admit I felt a little pang at seeing you become more independent.

Then you turned and looked at me, crawled over to get a hug and returned to play.

I will always be here for hugs.

There is no doubt about where you belong. You look so much like your daddy. It's amazing to see your face just light up when he gets home from work, to see how your world is so centered in us.


For as much as we are going to teach you, I hope you know how much you have already taught us. About patience, about being positive, about the capacity to love.


Happy birthday my wonder baby. The first of many.

Love, Mommy.

Ready to do his duty for Rome

When we were kids, we moved into this great old house in this sweet little town where my sister and I had to share a room (this was before we regularly went apeshit on each other) and our room shared a wall with my parents' room. Due to some serious lack of thought on their part, our room also shared a wall with the headboard of their bed.

At breakfast one morning after about a week of unpacking and adjusting things 'just so', my sister announced that we had ghosts.

My dad asked her why she thought we had ghosts and she explained that she heard them screaming 'Oh God' last night again and they must really want to get into heaven and maybe we should help them.

I'd never seen my dad's face turn that shade of red before.

It's inevitable when you have kids that at some point they will hear something. You can only hope that the lock is strong enough that they won't actually see anything.

One night, I opened our door to get some water only to find one of our niblets standing there. Just staring at me.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Um.... watching a movie."

"What movie?"

"Gladiator."

I'm not sure if this is a postive endorsement of our sex lives that the sound of it could be compared to 'Gladiator' or maybe just a little frightening.


But it still beats having ghosts.

Gym: 1 Me: -2,346

I recently started working out... somewhere. At a gym. With other people.

Already I know you're saying, This is a very bad idea! Yes, I know. There is something about me that when I get around other people I end up making an ass of myself. It's a gift.

Anyway, I'm getting a tour of the gym and a little how-to on the equipment since I've never been to a gym before (see, I've always known it was a bad idea). The only machine I really know how to use is the treadmill (and I broke my toe on ours. Twice). One machine looked like it belonged in an OB/GYN office but upon encouragement, I gave it a try anyway.
Things were going well until I tried to get out of it.
It really should have been a simply thing, getting out of this contraption. Lift legs, stand, walk. All I can say in my defense is that the seat was deep and slanty and awkward. So when I got up, my leg got tangled in the machine and I fell flat on my face at my guide's feet.
I then, for inexpicable reasons, looked up and assured her that I did this kind of thing all the time. I think I made her nervous.

This is going to be fun. Really.

.........................................................

In other news of stupid things I did for unknown reasons- I bought heels. Really hot little shoes, I love them. Will probably end up breaking my leg but will look good doing it!

Vacation- in Brief

We went to visit my parents for 2 and a half weeks and there are some um... stories (like my grandma's obsession with charlie sheen0 but instead of boring you with stories (like how we spent the night in bagagge claim or my son's newfound love of peeing on trees) I'll just bore you with some pictures and a little bit of detail. The only thing that could really make this fun is a bottle of tequila. And yet I feel compelled to share them anyway.
My parent's rented a bouncehouse for the kids thereby (hee!) ensuring their place in the Grandparent Hall of Fame.

Mini-early 1st birthday celebration.

Mmmmm.... Cake Good!!!!!!!!!

The neighbors fireworks display. David heard one boom and promptly began screaming. After I pried him from my leg and took him inside and played a Thomas movie at an insanely loud volume, all was well.

This is Farenheit. Was not drunk enough to ride Farenheit. Would possibly need to be a little bit of lot drunk before even contemplating this ride.

Daughter and husband went on. Sober. And I'm the crazy one?

Son is also afraid of water.

Also did not go fishing with kids, husband and grandfather. No tequila, no fishy-fishy.

Somewhere in the middle of our trip, Josie decided that every time she saw the camera she would make this face.


Not sure why.

In order to make up for this post, promise to tell of how easy it is to make an ass of yourself at a new gym. Er.... ok, make an ass of myself. It took a grand total of 2 minutes after walking through the door.

Random Meaningless Realization

I LOVE the PCD new song for some strange reason. Everytime it comes on the radio, I start singing along. Today I realized I've been screwing up the lyrics a bit.

They want Groupies.


Not boobies.

But you know? Either way.......

Like I'm the First Person to Ask For It

Employee of unnamed delivery company: *Unnamed company* How can I help you?

Me: Hi, I'd like to order an arrangement. Is it possible to just do a whole arrangement of chocolate dipped bananas?

EUDC: We do have a box of dipped bananas.

Me: No, I'm talking about like, a bouquet. Those are just chunks in a box.

EUDC: OK.

Me: Is it possible to do whole bananas and not just chunks?

EUDC: (long pause) Um, I don't.... know. That may look a little... odd.

Me: But is it possible.

EUDC: It will look rather.... phallic.

Me: EXACTLY!!

EUDC:...........

Me: You know, it would be really just awesome if you could maybe shape them into penises (Peni? What is the plural of penis anyway?) before you dip them.

EUDC: ..........

Me: Who wouldn't want an arrangement of chocolate banana penises?

EUDC: *click*

Color Me Beautiful

It had been 2 years since I'd died my hair and it showed. I didn't have roots. I had two-tone hair. It was flat and boring and I'd had it. I got a new haircut. Still long, but with some layers to give my thick hair some lift. I'm on a bit of a budget and though I probably could have afforded to let my stylist dye my hair, I'd become a pro at it over the years.
As I let the dye set into my hair I could feel my spirit lift. Who says moms have to sacrifice everything, including great hair, in order to be good moms? I knew the color would be good; chestnut brown with hints of deep red tones. And after rinsing the color and drying my freshly clipped locks I could see that I was right. No drips, no stains on the scalp. Just perfect color.
I had gotten one of those boxes that included a complimenting shade of highlights. I'd never done highlights before but how hard could it be?
I carefully mixed the dye and followed the instructions, slathering on the blue-tinted dye in sections around my head. I waited the suggested 15 minutes for those subtle, natural highlights. I daydreamed about my husband's certain reaction.
He would come home after a long hard days work and marvel at this wondrous beauty he was so lucky to be married too. He would run his fingers through my hair and refer to me henceforth as 'My Hot Wife'.
I imagined my hair in it's soft waves bouncing gently as I walked around the neighborhood, redeemed in my neighbors' eyes for who but an angel could have such glorious hair? Surely not the same lady who nearly decapitated herself with a shovel running away from a mole!
I was excited to rinse my hair and see the lovely results of my effort. I brushed through it slowly, wondering if maybe it was so.... bright? because it was wet.
I began to blow it dry and my horror only grew.

It was orange.

Ronald Mc-freaking-Donald Orange!

Not only RMD Orange, but not in those sweet little sections I had laid out. No, it was in giant clumps around my head! It looks like someone dumped orange paint on my head and I haven't bothered to wash it out.

I said nothing when my husband came home. He stopped and looked at me. He started to open his mouth but thought better of it and quietly went into the bathroom to laugh.

I bought new hair dye today.

Name that Post....

So I'm a month late in posting her 9 month shots but um.... I'm lazy.

After I moved to WA 8 years ago, I found this little blue dress with all my other stuff. I didn't realize exactly what it was until my sister sent me a bunch of my old pictures and I found one of me as a 1 year old in this little blue dress. Some day I may actually remember to scan and upload said picture but for now.. It looked something like this only more 70's-ish:


She blows raspberries into her arm and thinks the noise is just hysterical. She has no problem amusing herself!

She's still the easiest baby. I expect her to turn into the mother of all nightmares by the time she turns 3. It's just the way it works with us. For now though, I'm loving every moment. Even the poo-filled ones because it gives me a reason to laugh at myself (not that I really needed more of those).

*I want to be 10 again. Not for long. Just one day. I want to be 10 again so that I can go to Bre's school for carnival day and be brave enough to go down this slide. I want to slip into a bathing suit and get all soapy in the kiddy pool and take a running leap at that long wet stretch of plastic. I want to slide and spin my way to the bottom. I want to slam into the pooled water at the bottom and feel it spray out and over my head like a big fan. I want to fall into the arms of my bff laughing because she is just as soaked as I am and dude! That was awesome! And I want to run back up the hill laughing, dripping and slick, excited to do it again, talking strategy and whether it's better to go straight down and therefore faster, or to spin and get a little dizzy. I want to talk about how if you turn just so right before you get to the bottom you can hit that puddle and really send up a big splash.

But it's just as amazing to watch her instead. To wonder at how she can be mine but actually have the guts to do this and to catch it on camera. For a moment I got to see who she is when she isn't with me.

Next year Bre will be in 5th grade. It should be her last year of elementary school. Instead she'll be going to a private school. We had talked about sending her and for us it was an easy choice. It's more structured and strict, something she thrives on. There's a uniform and better discipline but also added cirriculum that she can't get anywhere else. We asked her what she wanted. We went on a tour of the school and she was quiet. She saw the computer lab, the classrooms, met some teachers, saw the science club's work (she loves science) and the sports they offer. When we left, she turned and said 'Yes.'

And now, as excited as I am for her, I'm also a little sad. She's leaving all of her friends. She's leaving the familiarity and safety of people who already know and like her for a whole new school. A smaller school. I don't think it really hit her until today when we left for the last time and she started to cry.

And I did too.

I remember her first day when she was too shy to speak. She used to sit away from everyone else (3 feet back) during storytime. This is where she struggled- and thrived. I'll miss it too. I'll miss being a part of it in the small way that I was.

*Today was the last day of school so I thought it would be nice if I picked Bre up at the end of the day. As the bell rang and the kids filed out to their busses, I noticed that about half of them (and every kid from my daughter's class because her teacher was just that amazing) were in tears. They didn't want to leave! I wanted to shake them and yell at them "You have 2 and half months of glorious freedom! Play! Swim! Eat lots of ice cream! It's summer!" Seriously kids, the only people who should be crying right now are your parents because they are staring down 2 and half months of no school and wondering how they are going to occupy your time so that you won't drive them ape-shit. Or maybe that's just me.

I found the Poo*

There are some days where you wake up knowing that you should just not leave your bed. I have done this; staying in bed all day in order to avoid the inevitable hailstorm of shit that is lurking just outside my bedroom door. Now that I have kids I find the hiding in bed all day to be a bit more difficult. They are always demanding something; "I'm hungry!" (even though I swear I just fed them yesterday) or "I'm bored!" (Let's play a game of 'sleep'! That's always fun!). So, despite the bothersome feeling that this was going to be one of those stay-in-bed kind of days I did the resposible thing and got up.
I knew for certain it was going to be bad as soon as I hit the hallway. I could just smell it. This is what I get for letting Mishka eat those damn Gerber puffs Josie threw at her. I am also not so convinced that crating is so great. Sure it contained the shit to one small area, but now she was covered in it and the crate is too big to fit through our door in one piece. Plus our front door is down a flight of stairs.
It's 7 am and I am taking half a crate of runny poo down my front stairs chanting "please don't spill, please don't spill oh God *gag* please don't spill please don't spill David if you run your train through that I am throwing it away please don't spill....."
It's 7 am and I am spraying down a half a crate full of runny poo in the rain from 5 feet away because ew! poo splatters I'm still talking to myself and my neighbors just don't even wonder anymore.
I leave the crate outside and grab some towels so that Mishka can walk into the tub without her poo feet touching the ground and without me touching her. She was outside for a grand total of 20 minutes covered in poo and yet somehow managed to get even more dirty. She is definitely one of us.
Mishka is almost 2 years old. In the nearly two years that we have had her, we have never once been able to give her a bath without some sort of drama. For the first year of her life, she howled and cried and would frantically claw at us at the mere sight of the water. She would not even enter the bathroom willingly. She would run past every bathroom in the house even if we were not standing near it. In this last year the only thing that has changed is her howling and we can occasionally coax her into the shower.
This was not one of those times.
It's 7:30 in the morning, the kid's are complaining about the smell, I'm soaking wet and I'm trying to convince a shivering shit-covered dog into the shower.
This is not a good way to start the day. A good way to start a day like this is a strong margarita and hotel service.
After throwing an old towel (which will have to be burned now thank you) over the dog I was able to push her into the tub (all the while crying 'ewewewewewewewew!'). The very second the water hits her she begins her cry-dance routine. She whimpers and then lifts each paw, left to right front, right to left rear, lather rinse repeat. Her hatred of water is so ingrained she would rather be covered in shit then get clean. After about 10 minutes, she can't take it anymore, lays her head on the edge of the tub and covers her face with her paws and starts to whine.
And can I just ask why? Why can we not have just one 'normal' pet? Why do we always seem to end up with the neurotic, wanna-be human animals? Do we make them crazy (which may actually be true given who we are) or do we just have this special gift that enables us to pick out the most bat-shit crazy animals?
Auggie- loves to sing along to his favorite songs and commercials, though lately that singing is more like barely audible huffing. He's almost 16 and has decided that at his age there are no damn rules and he will eat out of the trash can any damn time he pleases thank you very much! When he farts, he will lift his head and bark. I'm not sure if he is just surprised that he did it and is saying "Dude! Did you hear that? Awesome." Or if he's warning us that he just let one rip- which he really doesn't need to do. Even the silent ones are evident within 2 seconds. He can wilt the flowers on the hydrangea bush by our front door from inside the house.
Mishka- eats anything. Slugs, wood, linoleum, moths, dirt, stones (will not whoever eat MIL's cooking. Says something, don't you think?)
Baxter- Once pissed on my husband's lunchbox for demanding that he perform some sort of trick in order to get his cat treat.
The birds- I almost miss them. But then I hear the theme song to the Andy Griffith (Griffith? Griffin? Bueller?) show on tv from time to time and remember why we no longer have birds.

Anyway, off point again yes? Yes. Where was I?
Right, Shit-covered scaredy-dog, 7:30 am. Finally get said dog cleaned and reasonable dry. Now must burn down bathroom and towels. Or clean it. Too bad we didn't have any matches.

I foolishly believe that my day cannot get any worse as I've already been up to my eyeballs in shit.

I hear Josie wake up from her nap and she's talking to herself a bit. I leave her be for a few more minutes of peace and quiet. She starts to fuss a bit but I'm almost done with the laundry.

Then she starts screaming bloody hell.

She never screams.

I didn't even make it to her door before the smell hit me.

Karma has made me her bitch people.

There was poop on the walls, the crib, the floor, my rocker and head to toe on my baby. She had whatever Mishka had and it was just.... *shiver*. I have never bathed a baby fully dressed before today but it was necessary this time. And to make it just that much more fun she was wearing the palest yellow pant set with a WHITE sweater.

David stood at the door in wonder, "I think she had an accident..."

poopity-poop.


*Remember a few months ago? My hunt for the mystery poop? See also: How Stupid I am.....

I've seen the inside of my husband, and it ain't pretty.

I plead insanity. After 4 weeks of entirely too much togetherness (and after coming to the conclusion that my husband will never be able to retire because his instant boredom and irritating habits related to said boredom will cause me to force feed him copious amounts of bologna which would be far more torturous then pulling off his fingernails one by one) my husband was ready to return to work. Probably too soon for his doctor's preferences given that his ankle continued to swell after an hour standing but he couldn't stand it anymore. We celebrated over the weekend by discussing all the things we were looking forward to in the week ahead. He: getting up at 4:30 and spending 10 hours in hard physical labor and bull-shitting with the guys. Me: Not having to listen to his whining about not being at work or nagging him to put ice on his foot and maybe getting my baby girl back again (we'll get to that later).
Naturally Karma chose this moment to step in and say..... "Not so fast..."

By Sunday evening it was clear that Joe would be facing another surgery. This time it was the cyst on his back. It had swollen up to the size of a golf ball and he could barely move. I took him in the following Thursday to have it removed and promised myself I wouldn't think about the next 2 weeks with him home. We went over his care instructions with the nurse where she told me that I would have to change his dressing every 24 hours. This involved, and I quote "removing some gauze from his wound and replacing it with wet gauze, here's the instruction sheet. Bye!"
Some of you may read that and you know. You know exactly what's coming. I didn't.

The next night, my husband laid down and I removed his dressing. I slowly pulled the gauze that was laying there but had to kind of tug at it to get it off. And then I lost my mind.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT! THERE'S A FUCKING HOLE IN YOUR BACK!!"

If you ever want to freak your loved one out, this is exactly what you should say to them after they've had surgery- especially if it's somewhere they can't easily see.
It's about 1" long and 1 1/2 inches deep. It's a hole. A big fucking hole that I have to stuff gauze in every night and I'm not even sure that I'm doing it right. I told him I could easily fit 3 fingers in there and he felt the need to say "don't!" I said I could, not that I would.
He made me take a picture of it (and no, I'm not sharing it- ew!) which Bre asked if she could take to school (she also got a 'no' and that's why we're the worst parents ever).

But that's where I'm at. Stuffing gauze in the hole in my husband's back, trying not to go crazy, and trying not to be too sad that my baby went from adoring me and only wanting me to only wanting her daddy.

Apparently, pancakes are the way to my baby's love.

One Moment

It's been rather hectic lately, dear baby. I know that this has disrupted your schedule a bit and since our lives are normally rather hectic, well, we have tested the very limits of your good nature and found them to be fairly far reaching. We have been running back and forth, place to place. Your car seat has certainly exceeded it's mileage and yet you've taken it all in stride. This week your father needed surgery and has been lounging about, unable to run you wild around the house ( something you previously rewarded him for with loud giggles) as crutches have turned out to be a bit prohibitive to his normal routine. The only form of stress we've seen from you is your sudden need to snuggle a bit more, your need to be held just a bit longer; something I've been happy to indulge.
You've been sleeping through the night since I realized that why yes! That crib we bought is an excellent place for you to sleep and of course that's what it's for! I've kicked myself quite a bit for not realizing it sooner.
So when you woke me up last night at 2 am, I was a bit surprised. And as we rocked in the quiet dark of your room, it struck me that these days are passing far too quickly for me. I remember being impatient with your brother and sister when they were smaller, wishing they would just go to sleep already because I was just so very tired. I don't know what it is that has changed; I was certainly tired last night when you woke me. Maybe it's that you are to be our last. Or maybe I've simply mellowed.
When you laid your head on my shoulder and reached your arm up around the other side of my neck, and all was right with my world. I could feel your breath on my neck as you settled into my arms. I knew you were falling asleep and I should just put you back in your crib so you could sleep.
Instead, I kept rocking.
I could smell the honey from your shampoo. I could feel how warm and secure you were. I could feel your heart beating it's little rhythm against mine. It felt so right to just be in that moment and scary to realize how soon you will refuse me those moments. I promise to take advantage of them each time they come.
The street light flickered outside your window and you shifted a bit in my arms. You sighed and I kept rocking.
I wondered if my own mother had ever spent a night like this with me. Your grandmother and I did not have the best of relationships, but I like to think that she loved me as much as she was capable of loving someone else. I hope, for her, that she did feel what I felt last night... what I feel for each of my children.... that undefinable love. It's what gives me hope when I watch the news and there is nothing but tales of the awful things people will do to each other.
I watched the minutes pass on the clock and knew, again, I should put you in your crib.
We rocked back and forth and I smiled.
I hope you wake me again tonight.

Wake me when he's 4

Now that Hurricane David has decided that sleeping in his own bed is kind of fun, I'm actually getting some sleep at night. Actual sleep where no one is kicking me in the head or trying to measure my head by rolling their butt over it. It's just one more little victory I get to claim.
But, with every victory, there is a new challenge. And challenge?
Thy name is Food.
There are 6 things (non-candy related) my son will eat. Mac and cheese, crackers (but only orange crackers and it has to be the right shade of orange and they have to be square), pancakes, chicken nuggets (but only from McDonald's or if they're shaped like a dinosaur) and grilled cheese sandwiches. Even if I make one of these pre-approved food items, chances are pretty good that he won't eat. He's even picky about his candy.
He loves M&M's so I got him a little bag of blue M&M's for Easter.
He won't eat them because they are light blue and his M&M's have to be multi-colored.
Still, I didn't fully realize how deeply his issues with food ran until this afternoon when he asked for smarties (small pressed powder candy) and I said he had to wait until after dinner,
"But I juss did that lass night!!!"

"Did what?"

"Had dinner." (Oh Lord, I can already hear the desperation in his voice. This is not good.)

"Yes. You had dinner last night, but we have to eat dinner every night."

"YOU MEAN I HAVE TO DO THAT AGAIN???????????"

After dinner, which he grudgingly ate after learning that the smarties would not be forthcoming otherwise, he sighed, "That's the lass time I do that, right?"

The Boss

6 months and already in command.....

Paparazzi friendly......

...Everybody was kung-fu fighting......

You may notice that any time David is close enough, she grabs at him or is holding on to some part of him. She does this every time he gets close, all day. Most of the time he lets her.

David refused to kiss her cheek. He agreed to kiss her head but did it so fast we couldn't get a picture.