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.

Still Wating

I'm late. Wait..... where's my calendar?
OK, so that's one week, then there was, oh.... OK..... yeah, so that makes it.... 34 days? Hmmm....
I'm late. Yay! I'm late! I have been nauseous. Nah. Can't be. This is just my brain taking revenge for refusing to eat that snickers.
Still..... 4 days late.
I'm not testing.
Nope. Not gonna' do it.
OK, but not until tomorrow morning. Yes, tomorrow morning because then I can spend the rest of today going back and forth about possibilities and...
- dammit, I know I'm not. Maybe.
I totally won't be able to sleep tonight you know. I should test and be done with it.
-No, totally better to wait until tomorrow. Because I'm not. Not really. And I'm going to be horribly disappointed when it comes up negative. I have to stop getting my hopes up. Because it sucks when that second line refuses to pop up.
4 days late though...................
-4 days is nothing. Talk to me when it's been 2 weeks.
Shut up you negative Nellie. 4 days is late and that's enough.
-Moron. 4 days is late for normal people. You? 4 days is nothing. You're not. So go play with Hurricane and wipe that stupid look off your face.

I'm so going to stay away from mirrors if you're going to talk to me like that. Assface.
- Whatever. Don't come crying to me when it comes up negative because I told you so. Dingus.
Screw you, I'm testing....... shit. Negative.
-Told you so.
Bite me bitch.

I hate trying to get pregnant. No, that's not entirely true. It's the waiting in between failed attempt after failed attempt. And the above conversation, which I have had several times now, is why I held off telling anyone that we were trying again. Because this stuff makes me crazy. Um.... crazier.

It's why I held off mentioning it here. I mean, it's been what? 2, 3 months since I mentioned it? And already, here comes the crazy.

Thankfully, this time I skipped telling my family that we were trying again because the thought of anyone calling to ask me if I'm pregnant yet makes me want to punch someone.

Sometimes I hate me.

The Ringer

What a way to start NaBloPoMo! Originally I thought I would ease into how stupid I can be but eh.... why bother. Regular readers already knew it anyway.
I was in charge of Girl's Halloween party at school. This meant I had to tell people what to bring and what to do. Yes! Being bossy! I am awesome at that! I sent notes to the parents who had volunteered to send things about what to bring. I organized little goody bags for the kids. I made up a special bag for Hurricane so he wouldn't be bored sitting there since the teacher said it was fine to bring him (I think really it was because I was the only one willing to actually take charge of the party and we don't have anyone we can trust to leave him with nearby).
I get there and start setting things up for the kids.
And there are 6 extra containers of cookies, 3 extra trays of cupcakes and 4 extra bags of candy. In my head I went on a little tirade about why the hell did I even bother since obviously no one read the damn notes anyway. Then I bagged the extras and set them aside for the teacher to use as bribery. I mean, rewards. For later. Right.
So we go on with the party and it's fine. The kids are full of sugar and hyper. Hurricane ate a cookie, then stole some kid's cupcake. Kid shrugged and went to get another one. I distracted Hurricane with blocks.

See? All is well. He ran for the door a few times but there was always someone nearby to block his great escape.
Girl begged to be allowed to ride the bus home and I let her knowing that Joe would be home to let her in. I started to clean up and slowly, the room emptied out. After everyone was gone, I noticed Hurricane standing near the door looking at the books. I bent down to pick up my bag, turned around and.....

He was gone.

He. Was. Gone!

Girl's school has an open layout. There is a long outdoor hallway with a larger building to one side that holds the office, library and a few classrooms. On the other side of the hallway are several pod-like buildings with a classrooms. In each pod there are 4-5 classrooms and a door at each end. There is a separate building for the gym and another for the cafeteria. There are also several pods on the far side of the library building. The playground is at one end of the building, the parking lot at the other.
We were in one of the pod-like buildings in a classroom by one door.
I came running out of the room and he wasn't there. There was a kid and her parent standing by the door but they hadn't seen him come out that way.
I started searching classrooms with the teachers in there looking at me like I was crazy. But I was starting to freak out. There were too many places to hide. And he was fast. And school had just let out and there were so many cars he could have gotten into or been run over by. I searched the bathrooms and ran outside.
It was then that someone asked me what was going on and it was then that I cursed myself for not asking for help sooner. It had been about 60 seconds since he had run out of that classroom and no one had seen him. 60 seconds and counting that I didn't know where he was.
Soon, every teacher on campus was searching for him. I ran out to the playground knowing he had been out there before and loved it there.
It was empty.
I ran back toward the buildings, my chest was burning. My hands were shaking.
I felt like throwing up.
I ran back into the pod I started from to recheck. Make sure I hadn't overlooked him.
One teacher rolled her eyes and yelled at me that he wasn't there and she'd already checked 6 times.
I bit my lip to refrain from cursing her out. I didn't have time to waste berating her.
I ran back out into the hall and started for the parking lot. My knees were shaking. I didn't want him to be out there.
Then, just as a teacher was telling me they had found him, I heard over the loudspeaker "Attention. We have one very angry pirate in the office. Would his mom please come and get him?"

I wanted to cry.

The principal (!!) had found him behind the gym building (which is the toddler equivalent of from Seattle to Jupiter)playing in the dirt. He was none too pleased to be taken away from his treasure and even less happy that it was a strange man taking him away from his prize.
When I walked in he was asking the principal for cookies.
He saw me and smiled like this was a normal everyday sort of occurrence (For feck's sake I hope not!) and waved. Waved!
Of all the nerve! Run off, scare the pants off me and then wave as though this is nothing?
"Mama!"
Yeah. Thanks kid.

Now, please. Spare me the 'it could happen to anyone' bit. Because people? This is not the first time these teachers have had to search for one of my kids.

I am now the parent who loses her kids. I am the parent they have to call on a regular basis because her kid can't figure out how to not let go when she gets to the top of the monkey bars. I am the parent of the kid that caused them to have to send a letter home to the other parents because her kid developed scarlet fever and went to school for a few days before she realized something was wrong. I am the parent of the kid who ended up going to the hospital in kindergarten because of their super slide (even though it was totally Girl's fault not theirs) and then they had to field calls on the safety of the playground equipment.

This is the point where I throw in the towel and start sending in a ringer for PTA meetings.

She can claim I'm just the nanny. She should be organized, capable, commanding and have eyes in the back of her head. She should be able to teleport just as easily as Hurricane can. She should know exactly how to handle Girl's tween rebellion. She must be willing to deal with someone so incompetent, she regularly loses her kids.
Apply here.

On the plus side, trick or treat was great. I thought Hurricane would freak about all the costumes but he loved it. Joe told me (I stayed back to hand out candy) he said trick-or-treat and thank you at every house. He cried when it was time to come home because he wanted to keep going. They managed to get to the house that hands out the big candy bars.
Girl was Elizabeth, Hurricane was Jack Sparrow and Joe was supposed to be a parrot but I think he looks more like an escaped mental patient with a feather fetish.


And of course, as it is every year, we ended up with more candy than we started with.

The Idiot's Guide to Toddler Speak

We started teaching Hurricane baby signs pretty early and it has helped a bit. Most of the signs he knows have to do with food, getting food, getting more food, or being done eating. ( In fact, lately, all he has done is looked at his high chair then made the sign for 'all done'. Because I guess looking at the high chair where the eating is supposed to take place is enough to sustain him. I don't know, possibly he is absorbing all the calories and vitamins he needs through his eyeballs as he stares at the food I have spent an hour preparing in his special nit-picky way, meaning different colors can't touch and his banana has to be cut just so, only to refuse to eat one bite.) As his 2nd (G-d, no I am not crying, again, I swear. It's just.... a little.... dust in my eye. Or something) birthday approaches (too soon!! Waahhhh!!) he is speaking more and more.
I just wish I could understand more of what he is saying. He keeps asking me for 'recko na boots erka nam mama?' And I have not one damn idea what that is supposed to be. But it seems important and when I don't give it to him, he sighs and just looks so disappointed that I have resorted to this game which only seems to frustrate him further.
He asks and I start pretending we're playing charades.
"Is it a book?" He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.
"Do you want boots?" I fall over pantomiming putting on boots and he shakes his head.
"Can you eat it?" I pretend to eat a sandwich and shrugs his shoulders.
"Is it a toy?" I point around the room and he sets his head on my chair in despair.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" He looks up hopefully but then he sees my keys and his head goes back down.
"Do you want to watch something?" I pantomime making a movie until I realize I'm a total idiot which is too late because Hurricane has already realized that and left the room.
There are some things that are so easy to understand......
Peas- not the vegetable. Are you kidding? He would not let a vegetable of all things pass his lips. No, this is just good manners.
Waner- water. He just doesn't really like t's. Or m's. Which is why Mickey Mouse is icky ouse. I'm lucky he calls me Mama.
Go fish- not to be confused with crackers because there is a difference. Even if they are wusses. But dammit all, he loves his go-fish.
Eebles- As in, hold still Girl whilst (see? Random odd words. send help. must be going crazy) I beat you with this rotund little toy.
Boo's coos!!- As in, if I have to watch that tape one more time dear boy, mommy is going to go ape shit bananas!

Actually, there is a lot of things I can understand but it seems that no one else can. Which, I think, is pretty common when it comes to toddlers. The parents can understand them but to to strangers it sounds like "mghjsbuishenbbgofnjhs".

So wouldn't it be nice if among all those Idiot's Guides there was one for speaking toddler?

Cause And Effect: Or The Great Peep Meltdown of 2006

I was poking around in the back of my pantry trying to find that peanut butter cup I had stashed on the top shelf when I came across this package of marshmallow peep circa Easter (possibly) 2006. Although really, those things are like Twinkies and it was the top shelf so it could have been more like 2003. I'm not even sure why I bought them. No one in this house will eat them. I mean, they're marshmallows covered in colored sugar that will not melt even when the marshmallow catches fire.
Also they are gross. Really gross. And evil. For where there is one, soon there will be 2 and they will multiply until your house is covered in pastel colored marshmallow peeps. (Side note: We once decorated a high school teachers room in peeps because he hated them. We hung them from the blackboard and stuck them to the walls. They lined his desk and made a path around the room.)
When I had offered a pink peep bunny to Hurricane at Easter he pursed his lips in the universal toddler language of 'oh hell to the no! That thing will never get past these lips, crazy lady!'
So, there they sat. Bright yellow chick peeps.
Naturally the first thought in my head was I bet they look cool when they melt.
Girl has been learning cause and effect in school so she became my cover story for when Joe came home and asked me just what the hell I thought I was doing. Besides, it was time for her to learn the joys of melting things in the microwave.

15 little peeps. Safe in their package. Notice the one on the bottom with his nose pressed up against the plastic? He is plotting.
At this point, Girl rolls her eyes and insists that I am imagining things.
So, I set about to prove my point.




2 peeps, seemingly innocent. Just sitting there in all their fluorescent yellow glory.

Maybe not so innocent. Now there are 3.

4.... still manageable though right?

Soon they are lining up all military fashion and plotting their take-over.

She is now a believer. Or possibly she has just come to the realization that she is genetically linked to me and she is staring into her future and it is scary. Whatever. I'm right. Peeps are evil.

And they must be stopped.
In case you were wondering about that whole cause and effect lesson, here it is.

First came the prediction.

Q) What happens to an Evil Peep Overlord when you put him in the microwave?

Girl's guess was that it would melt. And she was right. Sort of.

First it expanded to about 3 times it's original size after 30 seconds in the microwave, then it shrank back down a little after we opened the door. It still had some of it's shape though.

So, there's the effect. The cause is the heat from the microwave, or according to Girl, her mother's insanity.

30 seconds did not do enough damage to one Evil Peep Overlord.

What would 40 seconds do to him and a few of his minions?

She thinks this is just awesome. Yes. A fine lesson, melting things is cool.

It's kind of hard to see, but they are expanding and possibly still plotting revenge.

Oh the carnage!!
At this point we kind of had to stop because it... um... kind of did catch fire and since this is me we're talking about, I figured I'd better stop it before I burned down my house. All the black spots you see are where it was on fire which of course was also cool. We could actually pick a mass of peep goo up while it was still smoking as long as we held onto the sugar. It wasn't even remotely hot. The guts, I mean, marshmallow was smoking it was so hot.

This should set the peep takeover mission back a few hours.

Apparently marshmallow peeps taste better melted.

One-Eyed Blogging

Stye. Ow. Can't see very well. Driving is fun.

Also, lots of pretty yellow gunk all over bad eye.

Does not feel good. I do not feel good.

Send percocet. And eye patch.

I am scaring small children.





*Tomorrow: Easter peeps take over my kitchen. Or how we're explaining cause and effect. Pictures included.



**Does anyone know an easy way to get burnt marshmallow off the microwave?