Life's Laundry Basket

Merry Christmas!...wait...what?

2012-01-11T21:21:00.000-06:00

I have written some pretty incredible blog posts over the last few weeks, only none of them ever managed to find their way out of my head and through my fingers and make their way to the Internet.

A quick summary for you then, of what I would have written, in a truly awesome way, had I actually done it:

1. After two years of grueling labor (in the form of talking to shiny-haired lawyer on the phone), I am legally single. Legal has nothing on reality, but whatever, it's a step.

2. In about two weeks, I will be finished with school. I will also turn 32. If you are younger than thirty, you may think these two cancel each other out. In fact, they do, but only because I'd like to celebrate both things by way of a very long nap.

3. Obligatory New Year's Post: Things I want to do in 2012.
   Start my own company
                                                 Clean my house
                                                 Rent a party bus every Monday, so that Monday can be cool
                                                 Start planning for Christmas in July instead of on Christmas Eve
                                                 Organize All the Things
                                                 Find the floor of the laundry room
                                                 Spend more time in the kitchen doing something other than cleaning it
                                                 Obtain fabulous hair
   Avoid grocery shopping at all times

      Other than the cleaning thing, I think these are all fairly obtainable.
3. I may need you guys to help me with my company. Social Media Marketing and this blog go hand in hand, because I successfully Google pranked Jason F. Brown. Remember? Which means I win at this, and it's really the only thing on my resume at this point. So you all may be getting some calls for references, is my point, because you are the only people I know and also because you have witnessed my brilliance first-hand. Right? ....Right?

4. This is a run-down of what happened over the last 24 hours, which may explain somewhat why I don't have time to write my own blog anymore:

9pm last night - I'm putting together a very important photo blog for my company, which is at the CES in Vegas this week. Very important, and also not part of my regular schedule, so I was freaking out trying to make the time to do it.

10:00 - Madi threw up, with no regard to proper puke etiquette. I cleaned everything while she cried. (I may have cried a little.)

10:30 - upload one more photo to the blog

11pm - She got mad at me and threw up again - at me this time, because I made her take a bath.

11:30 - redo all the captions on the blog, because WordPress decided they should all go on one photo and the other photos should just go away.

12:00am - Again with the puking. This time, we both held it together and nobody cried.

12:30 - Check the blog to make sure it's ready to publish first thing in the morning. Go to bed.

1:00 - Finally drift off to sleep

1:01 - Yip, more throwing up

1:30 - back to sleep

3:00 - Small child covered in puke climbs into my bed. Deal with this.

6:30 - Wake up and the coffee pot is broken. No amount of threats or tears would convince it to brew.

7:00 - consider going back to bed because this is going to be One of Those Days. Decide to FACE THE DAY, with a Good Attitude, no less.

8:00 - Begin upload of children into truck for school.

9:00 - Finish upload and drop the well children off ten minutes late. Sickies are staying home, which means mama is staying home, too. Call my mommy so that she does not have to be deprived of the knowledge of my misery.

10-noon - Tinker with the blog and publish, tweet, and Facebook it.

1:00 - phone call from the CEO's wife from Vegas. Mad panic finding the info she needs as I rush to drop the younger kids at school ten minutes late.

1:30 - come home and finish finding info, which includes the discovery that I'll need to sit and watch for an important link to pop up from one of our VIP contacts. Meanwhile, the North Pole moves into town and I rush outside to find enough sticks in the yard to get a fire going.

2:00 - fire goes out, emails and texts are flying, it's very cold in my house, and I have to make a dental appointment for one of the kids

3:00 - I'm watching for the link to come up, Tweeting about the Hangout of Awesomeness our CEO was getting ready to do, and spraining my thumbs texting his wife about where to find the link.

3:15 - I decide to get the kids early, since the Hangout started at 4, and I really needed to be back before it happened to tell Twitter about it. I'm telling you guys, Twitter is at a complete LOSS if I'm not around to tell it what's going on.

3:30 - ten minutes early to get the kids at school, but I can't find them.

3:40 - Fight my way through the sea of small children leaving the school to the teacher in charge of my kids.

3:45 - Said teacher finally finishes yelling at me about my lack of a yellow piece of paper, I grab the kids and run through the parking lot to get to the truck. It's freakin' cold, yo.

4:00 - Hangout of Awesomeness is about to start, I tell the kids to get their own snacks and start their homework and rush to my computer to find the link. The link is still not there, but I tell Twitter about it anyway.

4:10 - Hangout of Awesomeness starts a little late with no audio, which doesn't matter much to me because my computer has decided it hates playing video. I watched what I could, and saw the Big Boss on the Interwebz, and it was pretty cool. My kids thought he was Darth Vader, but don't tell him that. He didn't look like Vader or anything, my sound was just messed up. Either way, a family affair.

5:30 - Restart the fire, start dinner, homework, phone call, and 48 emails to answer.

6:00 - Dinner. Chill.

7:00 - Back to answering the emails

8:00 - Put the kids to bed, not for the first time tonight, and back to the emails.

9:00 - Tell you, Interwebz, what my days are like so that you don't think I have left you by choice.

15 Tips for Your Office Christmas Party

2011-12-06T21:35:00.000-06:00

My house is in total chaos as I try to complete my classes early, make some career decisions, and get ready for Christmas. Since I work from home and know nobody, I have been looking forward to meeting many of my coworkers at the Christmas party. It occurred to me this morning that I have never been to a company Christmas party in my life, so I went all WHATDOIWEAR because I don't really dress up much and I also hate to be cold. The articles I found stressed modesty, so I have decided on blankets. Lots and lots of blankets. I'll be warm, modest, and within my budget. Also some jazzy earrings to add festivity.

I didn't actually find as many articles on how to dress as I did on how to act. This is why I've made for you, Interwebz, a list.

The 15 Tips for Your Office Christmas Party
(according to the Internet):

1. Under no circumstances are you to drink anything that is offered to you. Beer is too informal and anything else is too intoxicating. Water will insult your host. Instead, keep a flask (of WATER) to sip from when nobody is looking to prevent dehydration.

2. Dress as you would for work, but exchange one accessory for something glittery. So go ahead and wear your power suit, but add a sequined blouse. For men, apparently belts are a big deal. I've never noticed a belt on a man in my life, but according to the internet, it's ok for your belt to be a just a leetle extra shiny for a holiday party. Rock on, dudes.

3. "Don't act like a slut." This seemed to be a pretty big deal on the internet, so I have to assume that people acting slutty is fairly common at office parties, even as its frowned upon by higher ups. Most of the articles seemed to place all the work in this department on the women, as "men are pigs" (not my words -- the Internet told me) and there is clearly nothing we can do about that.

4. While slutty behavior is a no-no, it seems that the office party is THE ONLY chance you'll ever have to find out if your office crush is crushing back. The only solid advice I could find on this one was "try to stick with singles to avoid that 'deer-in-the-headlights' look come Monday morning." Ya think, Internet?

5. I did read one article that allowed drinking, but only after every other coworker is completely wasted. In this way, you will avoid any recollection of your bad behavior and from my understanding, the boss is supposed to show up in your office the next day to promote you directly after he's done firing everybody else.

6. Your shoes must contain glitter. This HAS to happen or you'll have to give up all tax exemptions in the new year. (Women only on this one, fellas...but don't forget your festive belt!)

7. You are not allowed to talk about work, religion, politics, or anything too personal, but somehow karaoke has been deemed acceptable. This means that the only time your mouth is moving is when it's embarrassing you into a microphone. I can't tell you how much I love this.

8. Every article I read warned not to forget your dance moves. This, along with karaoke, makes me question the maker of The Rules. I know I am new to this, but does a world really exist where one cannot imbibe of drinks in the presence of one's coworkers, but is allowed -- nay, expected -- to dance? Also, in my case, if there is public dancing involved people are pretty much going to assume I've been drinking no matter how well I followed the rules.

9. Do not either lavish praise on or complain about your boss. These areas of conversation are to be confined to the workplace.

10. Bring your spouse, but only if they also follow the rules on drinking and not speaking.

11. Don't do anything that anybody will remember. We have social media now. Not only will you go down in office gossip history, but you'll most likely go viral as well.

12. Your entire outfit should fit into a briefcase to eliminate crowding the bathroom. I don't know why, yo. I guess if the party is directly after work, people are all in there trying to glitter up their wardrobe so it's best to keep you glitter at your desk. Or something. It definitely involved glitter, though. And briefcases. I don't have a briefcase, but I also have my own bathroom so I think I can skip this one.

13. You are supposed to make conversation with your boss's wife. I am not sure how you are to do that what with all the rules about what not to talk about. Maybe you could do some kind of karaoke duet with her. I don't know. I didn't make the rules, guys.

14. If your boss gets drunk and falls off the table he's dancing on, you are NEVER allowed to speak of it. This is kind of a bummer, but don't do it. Career suicide, that one. Seriously. Don't talk about it. Also, check to see if you've friended him on Facebook before posting the pictures.

15. This one was a shocker to me, but apparently, you are NOT to sneak leftovers into your pockets to take home for later. I thought this was the traditional means of asking for a raise, but it is apparently a pretty big item on the Do Not list. Who knew?

Happy Thanksgiving, Interwebz!

2011-11-24T08:39:00.000-06:00

Oh, HAI Interwebz! heh I guess I didn't see you there. I've been meaning to call, you know. I've just been so busy. You know me! Busy, busy, busy! Sorry 'bout that! haha I mean, I've only casually been seeing this other blog and it's not like it means anything. It's just better for me. My only true love is you, of course. heh

So anyway, how are you Interwebz? I want to hear alllllll about you. I have a turkey sitting in the oven getting all cooked without any intervention from me, so I have approximately four more hours to hear about you.

Oh, who am I kidding? Blogging = self-centered chit-chat about me, right?

I have been very busy working and also I hate school now. I wanted to quit, but instead I'm just trying to get done super fast so I don't have to go anymore. My new need to spend all spare time on homework has brought out the crazy in my kids. For every hour I spend working on that, they spend two either making messes or learning new words they aren't allowed to say.

At church on Sunday, Donovan was being a terror as usual. He was making noise and running through the pews and banging the kneelers and hitting his siblings. I took him outside and had a Big Talk with him about being good. He promised me he would. We sat back down and he climbed behind me in the pew while I was kneeling down. It occurred to him that I may need a child to hang from my back, so he made a flying leap onto me and used my sweater to hold on. Only my sweater was designed more for a quiet day at the office rather than flying ~~monkey~~ children, which didn't occur to Donovan until he slid all the way down to my feet, taking my sweater with him.

We come from a fairly traditional parish, and people losing clothes halfway through mass is frowned upon to say the least. I was glaring at him, trying to telepathically convince him that he was in HUGE amounts of trouble as soon as I could put my clothes back together. He crawled into my lap, put his arms around my neck, looked deep into my eyes with this innocent little expression on his face, and ever so sweetly whispered the one word he knew would get a reaction out of me: "Butthole"

Five Minutes

2011-11-02T23:08:00.000-05:00

Hi, Interwebz!

It's been awhile, but that's because the new Interwebz I work for pays me to write stuff, and you guys, sadly, do not. But this Interwebz is nicer than the other because I don't have to be all worried about "facts" and "spelling" and "where to put quotation marks." In short, I missed you guys.

Yesterday, I had a meeting at work, class and an interview I decided to skip (for the real-people job), and six parent-teacher conferences. I nearly DIIIIIED, yo. But it was still better than last week when I choked on a cough drop in front of an entire office full of new coworkers.

The kids' dad is going to have surgery in a couple of weeks to remove tumors from the pituitary gland. I was trying to explain this to the kids, and hoping they wouldn't freak out. They asked me where the pituitary gland is, and I hesitantly told them it was in the brain. I explained that they would do the surgery through the nose, I thought it might make it easier for the kids to accept.

I held my breath at the silence that filled the car while they processed this new bit of information. Warrick grasped it first, "So...they go in his nose, and pull out tumors?" "Yes," I said, "but you don't have to worry..." He interrupted, "So the doctor is gonna be like 'Man, why don't you try blowing your nose every once in awhile? You'd save everyone a lot of trouble!'"

As the car erupted into giggles, I quit worrying about my kids. They got this. They are very hopeful that their dad is going to be better when this is done, but they are realistic in their expectations. More importantly, they can still find the humor in anything. If there was one lesson I wanted them to take over the last two years, it was this. There is always fun, there is always laughter, and we are always blessed -- we just have to give those things the attention they deserve.

Jail Time

2011-10-17T22:50:00.000-05:00

So all three of me have been very lazy about writing these days, mostly because I write for work now. I am trying, though, Interwebz, I really am. Please keep me famous until I get back!

I have a job opportunity to make some normal-people money, but I'm not sure I want to take it because I'm pretty sure there would be a boss involved. It's not that I don't like bosses, it's more the whole people-telling-me-what-to-do that bothers me. But oh well, I guess to make normal-people money, you have to have a normal-people boss. (I also hate business attire and offices and anything that requires me to drive on pavement.)

We shall see.

Things are going much better with the kids' teachers, although we had a little bullying issue that made me go all HULKSMASH on the ten year olds. I am trying to clean up my language on this blog, but let me tell you something: I may be the parent fighting with the teachers, ignoring the PTA, skipping field trips and parties, and NOT caring how many SmartBoards are available to my children, but at least my kid isn't an A-hole.

It's a good thing I couldn't find that little snot, 'cause mama be goin to jail if you start picking on her kids.Can someone tell me what would happen if I skip smashing the fifth grader and just go straight to smashing his parents? That's not as much jail time, is it? Maybe some community service? And does community service involve having a boss?

If all else fails, I'ma teach my kids this move.

A Talk with Myself

2011-10-16T12:06:00.000-05:00

Me: :::looks at the messy house::: What do you DO all day?

Myself: Excuse me? I am in school every day.

Me: So? I am working two jobs and getting roughly three hours of sleep per night. I don't think it's a huge expectation for the floor to be mopped once a year.

Myself: What about you? Why don't you ever help out around here?

I: Seriously? Like getting six short people dressed for school, hauling them all over town, waiting in lines for them, emailing teachers, dealing with bullies, brushing hair, feeding everyone, changing poopy pants, washing all the laundry, making the beds,putting everyone to bed, and taking care of the dog and two cats is 'not helping'? School is only three hours a day, what's up with that, Myself?

Myself: Is it only three hours a day? Is it? It adds two hours just for driving, not to mention homework and the utter STRESS that goes into trying to complete all these hours in half the time allotted. If you want me to be finished with school this semester, you're going to have to be more supportive. This should have been a three-year undertaking.

I: Me, you work from home...would it be so hard for you to mop the floor every once in awhile?

Me: Would it be a big deal for you to quit whining? I am going to go get a drink. I can't listen to this anymore.

I: No, I'm getting a drink. Give me the keys. You guys are always going out and leaving me to watch the kids.

Myself: Nobody is going anywhere. Everyone just calm down and get back to work.

I: Let's just all agree that it's a good thing there are three of us. We should all be helping each other and not fighting and threatening to leave all the time. Even "intact" families only have two adults -- I don't know how they do it!

Me: This is true, I don't know how I'd get through the day if I had to do all the work for Me, Myself, and I. Let's get a sitter this weekend and we can all go relax a little.

Myself: We can't, we have to fix the hole in the wall the kids made and paint over all the crayon. Also, I have to work.

I: Ok, let's just split a couple bottles of wine later.

Me: Awesome.

Myself: Three. Make it three bottles...one each.

How Emma got Madilynn's Birthday Present

2011-09-27T22:22:00.000-05:00

For Madilynn's seventh birthday last week, the only thing she wanted was to have her ears pierced. After school today, I surprised her with a trip to the mall to get it done. She was so excited on the way there that it got to be contagious; Emma, and even the boys, were begging to be allowed the coveted ear-holes.

I finally agreed (for Emma, not the boys) (I told the boys they had to wait until they were old enough to handle being called a punk by all our friends -- and only after their first tattoo), and Madilynn asked for Emma to go first so she wouldn't be so scared.

Emma bravely climbed up on the chair, sat down, and dealt with the pain. For a second. I think it hurt her more than she expected, and she didn't want to have the second one done. I had to appeal to her sense of vanity (by telling her the one earring would make her walk crooked for the rest of elementary school) to get her to do the second one.

As soon as she was done, she was was thrilled, and looked at herself in the mirror at the store for the rest of the time we were there. Madilynn was less than impressed. She immediately started screaming and running around the store, hiding behind display racks as if a crazed ear-piercing monster were on the loose.

When I managed to catch her, I told her that the drama wasn't needed. She could either sit down and do it, or we would leave. She decided to go through with it. Until the girl doing it showed her how it worked.

The running and screaming resumed, and I finally found her under a stack of wide-brimmed leather hats. She was terrified. I told her that I was, under no circumstances, coming back to the mall any time within the next two years (I was only being honest -- I hate the mall). That convinced her to climb back in the chair.

For an entire five seconds.

The look on her face was so classically terrified (wide eyes, ends of the lips drawn way down) that I couldn't continue to let her try. I paid for Emma's and tried not to go all HULKSMASHMADILYNN for dragging me to the mall for no reason.

I fully expected some serious jealousy on on the way home, complete with all the drama my little seven year old girly girl can muster, but it didn't happen. I see no future of pierced ears for the child -- she has been traumatized enough by the experience of watching her sister (who didn't even cry) and doesn't want any part of it -- even for vanity.

My Madi: Can do rounds and rounds of vaccinations just to prove to her brothers she isn't as big a wuss as they are, but she can't sit for some sparkles in her ears.

Tweets and Emergencies -- Both Fake

2011-09-26T19:43:00.000-05:00

If you are on Twitter, you have to check out this site. It mashes up your previous tweets and makes them into wonderful things...I first saw it on The Bloggess, so props to her for giving me a new internet toy! Here are some of the suggestions I got:

The return of Huston's blanket fort, children to vote!

New Truck needs a chicken attack.

There comes a name! Working and do what I say already.

So far, today involved broken windows, the two?

Time to take a time in melted crayon, and putting children covered in life when you have to take a time. (I vote this one Most Profound)

There comes a time in the two thumbs, speaks a good look at yourself and putting children to vote!

Time to take a little French, and a name!

Working and putting children to take a liquor license? (This one I vote for Best Life Hack EVER)

Time to take a good look at yourself and wonder...how did I get here? And do what I say already. (This one is just true.)

Ok, so that was fun.

I took the kids to the fair the other day, and we were there for ten whole hours. It was so much fun! I don't know if all fairs are like this, but in our state, you get a People of Walmart parade as you walk around. Since that site already exists, I don't have to go into detail about that.

But I do have to tell you guys my one People of the Fair story. We were walking through a building when the alarm system sounded. It was a pretty tame alarm sound -- some beeping like when the security thing gets you at Walmart even though you didn't steal anything; then a woman's voice asking everyone to calmly leave through the nearest exit, there had been an emergency. Not really a big deal, I figured someone pulled the fire alarm or something. None of the employees were freaking out, so I was just doing what the robot told me: walking calmly to the nearest exit.

The next thing I knew, some woman came crashing through my family, using my children's heads to propel herself forward and yelling, "I don't know WHAT it is, but there's an emergency and I'm GETTIN' OUTTA HERE!" My kids were like, "Chill, yo." And I was trying to be mad at her, but I was too busy laughing at her. There is nothing worse than proving that you are a horrible person in the face of a fake emergency.

I Don't Even Know

2011-09-19T22:03:00.000-05:00

School has started and things have become crazy again. It's 10:00 and we just got done with homework. :::sigh:::

In other news, I got a job. Did I tell you that? I got a job playing pranks on Google. Or something like that. Also there is writing, so it's pretty much awesome. The un-awesome thing is that jobs want you to work and stuff. So for the last few weeks, I've been working from homework time (10 pm) to bedtime (2 am), and on Saturdays until I am done. This leaves little time for remember the funny stuff that happened to me while I was doing homework and Google pranking.

My sister sent me a picture of my little niece Boo, all dressed up in a Wonder Woman costume. Since my niece isn't as old as I, she doesn't know who Wonder Woman is. So she's going by...

Du-du-du-DAH!!!! SKIRTY GIRL! This continues to crack me up every time I think of it. Change the rules all you want, society, my niece is still Skirty Girl.

My kids' school has been totally screwing with me. Shocker, right? If you wonder why they want to mess with me, I will totally admit it's because I'm still a rebel and I hate their rules. Probably if I would just let my kids to go class in peace there wouldn't be a problem. But I just can't do it, yo. I think that over nine hours a day of sitting in a desk is for ~~boring people~~ grown-ups. Not for children. But hey, that's just my opinion.

Anyway, so the school has me pegged as a troublemaker and they are determined to make me see things their way. Except I hate when someone makes me do anything. And it causes a switch to flip in my brain which keeps me from being able to wake up to an alarm clock. See how this works? The more I get griped at, the later we will run each morning, because my brain HATES RULES.

I am going to take the kids to the fair tomorrow. We are skipping class, and we gonna party. As long as party means eat fried things on sticks and come home with aching feet cotton candy in our hair. But if my kids don't stop their bedtime party, I'm not taking them anywhere. This is why I have time to blog right now -- I can't work if six people are sitting right by my desk whining about how they can't sleep.

I have to ask, why would standing up and whining make is easier to fall asleep? I want to know. I asked the kids, but they just whined even more. They suck at philosophical questions. But for now, they are whining in bed instead of at my desk, so I'm back to work.

The Votes Are In

2011-09-13T21:53:00.000-05:00

Thank you all for your submissions and your help naming the truck.

I really liked both final names, even though they were vastly different.

The winner is....

OPTIMUS PRIME!

First things first, right? After ball joints comes the semi grille....it'll be EPIC.

Also, a note to the reader who submitted "Greg". I never replied to your supportive post a few weeks ago, and I want to publicly thank you. Your comments have repeatedly lifted my spirits, made me laugh, and even shed a few tears. You are an AWESOME Interwebz friend. Also? Greg still cracks me up every time I think about it. Because, you know, obviously.

And to the rest of you, thank you as well. You guys have kept me cheerful when I was trying so hard not to be. I appreciate that, and in return, I will try to lay off the truck talk and bring back The Funny in the coming weeks. I love you all!

One more night -- that's it

2011-09-12T22:32:00.000-05:00

All right, Optimus Prime or Greg? It's down to two choices because that is what Anonymous said to do. And I always listen to Anonymous. Those two names are winning right now -- which one do y'all think?

Monday is kind of a busy night for me right now, so Donovan has decided to grab my attention back by pooping his pants four times since I put him in bed two hours ago. This is the least awesome thing I have ever dealt with. As if Mondays weren't already Mondays.

Let me know what you think on the names, guys! Like last night, comment here or on the FB page.

C'mon Guys

2011-09-11T22:03:00.001-05:00

So far, I have a bunch of name submissions and no actual votes. So...since the Interwebz closes for the weekends, I am going to update the list, and everyone can vote on the names.

Blue Burb of Happiness (A take on Blue Bird of Happiness)

George Straight (because he's awesome)

Optimus Prime (do I have to explain this one?)

Blue Pickle II (my mom's old blue kid-hauler - a 12 passenger van - was nicknamed "The Big Blue Pickle" by two of my friends from driver's ed)

Sammie the Suburban (another obvs one)

Greg (because why not??)

Super Sexy Hot Mama Suburban Machine (And yes, it IS.)
Smurfburban
Cobalt Cab
True Blue
Mania Mobile
Boy Blue
Blue Lightning
Muscle Buster

This is the final list...you can cast your vote in the comments or go "like" your favorite on Facebook. You have until ten tomorrow evening.

Thanks!

Time to Vote!

2011-09-09T23:13:00.000-05:00

Ok, the final submissions are in!

It should be noted that "The Truck" had a proper initiation into the family last night, when two hours after we bought it, Donovan pooped in it, Madi stepped in the poop, then walked literally on every square inch of the truck including five seats, two armrests, and many square feet of carpet.

This does NOT mean that anyone gets to call it anything having to do with poop. My life is already nicknamed after poop, so the truck doesn't get it.

I am not saying who came up with any names (Even if some of them have already been given away), just to be fair. I will explain a couple of them so you have the whole story. AND, if the name I came up with (and I won't tell which) wins, the prize will go to the first person who stuck with it on the Facebook feed.

BTW, if you aren't "friends" with LLB on Facebook -- WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Seriously, though, just search the fan pages for "Life's Laundry Basket". And the Twitter name is MannyTheRee. I demand followers.

Now :::drumroll::: cast your vote in the next 24 hours!

Blue Burb of Happiness (A take on Blue Bird of Happiness)

George Straight (because he's awesome)

Optimus Prime (do I have to explain this one?)

Blue Pickle II (my mom's old blue kid-hauler - a 12 passenger van - was nicknamed "The Big Blue Pickle" by two of my friends from driver's ed)

Sammie the Suburban (another obvs one)

Greg (because why not??)

Super Sexy Hot Mama Suburban Machine (And yes, it IS.)

And here is a picture (that I tried to upload last night) to help you decide. You can cast your votes in the comments or on Facebook. I can't wait to see what you guys pick -- make it a good one, because his name is going in big letters on the back window!

First Ever LLB Contest

2011-09-08T22:31:00.001-05:00

Ok, Interwebz. It's official. We gotta come up with a name for my truck.

The winner will receive a fantastic (or not) gift, and an autographed photo of the new truck (autographed by him, of course).

These are the names that have been submitted via Facebook:

Blue Burb of Happiness

George Straight

Optimus Prime

Blue Pickle II

Sammie the Suburban

If you want to enter the contest, please put your submission in the comments below or comment on FB, and I'll have the final list available for voting tomorrow. Twenty-four hours, guys, because this is an emergency...I'm not sure I even feel comfortable driving it without a name.

We will vote on Saturday and the winner will be announced the following day.

Guess What? Chicken Butt.

2011-09-07T22:06:00.000-05:00

Living in the county has its perks. I don't have to worry if the kids ride their bikes down the road, I know everyone around me, and if I hear a gunshot I feel more safe rather than less.

But there are also a few things that make life far more interesting than city life.

Like chickens.

Today, the weather was incredible and we had all the doors open while dinner was cooking. The kids were in and out of the house, riding bikes and checking in on their waffle status (because waffles for dinner? Heck yeah) The chickens (who don't belong to us) were running around the yard chasing grasshoppers and ignoring Shucks' requests to get in his belly.

Until one fowl rebel decides to come in the house and see what's up. The kids started freaking out "There's a CHICKEN IN THE HOUSE!!!!! MOMMMAAAYYYY!"

The chicken wasn't scared of the kids at all, but joined in on the freaking out because everyone else was doing it and she figured there must be a good reason. She also figured that reason was outside, so she ran further into the house. When chickens get freaked out, they also poop. So, quite naturally, she ran through Dalton's bedroom pooping all over the floor. When that got boring, she jumped up on his bed and pooped there too. Because really, why not???

We tried to shoo her outside, but she hadn't forgotten that the Thing About Which To Be Freaked Out was out there, and didn't want to go. So she ran into the girls' bedroom.

When I had a kid, we had a rooster named Loodle-Loo. Sometimes, to escape from our dogs, he would run into the house. Natural laws for the rooster, lined up exactly with my two year old brother's, including the "if I can't see you then you clearly can't see me" rule. So Loodle-Loo would hide his head in a corner and make worried clucking sounds until the dogs gave up.

I guess this is universal, because this chicken also hid her head in a corner. I tried to make her leave and go out, so she hopped into the girls' wardrobe and stuck her face in that corner. Eventually, I had to pick her up and take her outside and set her down. She glared at me without moving for a good thirty seconds, then strode away in a huff. I thought that would be the end of that.

Little did I know.

Halfway through dinner, I hear noises at the front door. Our little chicken friend had gone and told all her buddies that I was having a chicken tea party or something, because the entire flock was lined up on my front porch waiting to get in. I told them no, but one chicken didn't like that and I had to physically take her house of my house twice before I finally chased her all the way home and shut my gate and my front door.

And the moral of the story is: No matter how old my kids get, how well-trained my dog is, how many animals/children I don't let move in with me, I will -- forever and always -- be dealing with crap.

Death of Ninja Truck

2011-08-30T22:56:00.000-05:00

It looks as if Ninja Truck has met his doom. He went to the new mechanic yesterday, and after lots of looking and talking and a few tears on my part, I have decided that I just can't risk fixing him and having him possibly let me down again.

This is not a happy day. But more because the girls came home from school with lice. This means hours of combing and washing and laundry and I don't really even know what else because I can't even think about it right now. I soaked both their heads in vinegar, then again in olive oil, then wrapped them up in plastic wrap. They are actually pretty adorable, but I am completely overwhelmed.

After one dose of olive oil, I started combing through Madilynn's hair, just a few strands at a time. I realized that the first round hadn't worked and had to start over. I poured it all over their heads. They are going to have some shiny hair when this is all over with. And also really great shoulder skin, if olive oil is good for skin. If not, then really bad shoulder skin.

After the plastic wrap turbans were in place, the olive oil began to seep out all over their faces and down their backs. I just told the girls to put socks on and now they are walking wood floor polishers.

My mom made the late-night Walmart trip for me to secure tiny combs, bug spray, and whatever else you can use in a war with tiny bugs. I'm glad she did, because my girls' plastic beehive 'dos would have garnered more attention that I probably need right now.

They are excited because they got to stay up late, play hair all night, and they get to skip school tomorrow. Not shockingly, Warrick managed to develop a stomach ache as soon as staying home from school was mentioned. After all the trouble I got into last year with sick kids, that school isn't sending my kids back home without a doctor's note.

The search is on for a new truck, yo. We aren't going to name this one until we buy it this time, guys...I completely ran out of names for the last truck. What I want y'all to do is to start thinking of a really good name for my truck (and don't be all lame about it, ok?) It's probably going to be another Suburban, if I can afford it. Otherwise, it'll be a Scooby van, in which case we are SO calling it the Mystery Machine. But if I get the Suburban, you guys have to help me think of a name. We can vote and everything, yo. It'll be fun.

Meatball Eggs and Other Nonsense

2011-08-28T23:09:00.000-05:00

Today was Walmart day. :::Queue scary dramatic music::: I didn't even have the kids with me and it was still ridiculous.

There were about eleventy billion people in there, and they were an awful sort. They seem to want to claim the aisle. If their cart is parked in the aisle, they are the only one allowed access to that aisle until they choose to move on. I asked one woman to please let me by, and she scoffed and moved her cart a quarter of an inch. For the record, this quarter of an inch did NOT let my cart through. So I said "Thanks, lady, that was just awesome of you" and bumper carted her cart out of the way. Seriously? Why can't I just get some darn toothpaste in peace?

Then I overheard this conversation between a woman and her little boy, about seven years old:

Mom: No, I'm not buying those eggs. They're not vegetarian.
Boy: :::literally breaking into a screaming wail::: But I don't caaaaaaaaaaaare! I'm NOT A VEGETARIAN! I don't care if the eggs are vegetarian!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mom: I'm not buying them...they're not the vegetarian ones.
Boy: But who cares? Why can't we just get them anyway?
Mom: :::voice dripping with horror and disgust::: Because! Who wants to eat eggs that come from chickens that are fed MEATBALLS? That's just disgusting.
Boy: ME! I want to eat them!

I'm not into all the organic blah, blah, blah, but are people really feeding their chickens meatballs? I mean, is this woman trying to tell me that the chickens which produce the eggs at my local Walmart eat better than my kids? And this is a problem why? Clearly I am out of some loop I probably don't want to be in anyway.

I ran into them later in the cookie aisle. This made me giggle, because I rarely let my kids eat packaged cookies. Not because of meatballs or anything, but because they'd rather have a piece of fruit or something, and find any cookies not homemade to be below their tastes. The mother was screaming, "I'm going to buy cookies ONE MORE TIME. But if you eat them like you did last week, you NEVER GET COOKIES AGAIN!" I'm like, Woman! If you're so concerned about giving your kid meatball eggs, then why not monitor the cookies a little bit?

I mean seriously...if the kid has free access to eat as many cookies as he wants, is it really going to kill him to get a meatball egg every once in awhile? The funny thing was, the kid was throwing a much larger tantrum over the eggs than over the cookies.

I honestly don't understand people in this town. Or maybe people anywhere, but definitely not people from here. Poor kid...all he wants is a meatball omelet and instead he gets processed cookie rationing and a screaming mother in Walmart.

Westboro and Train Horns and other Thursday Stuff

2011-08-25T23:09:00.002-05:00

Today some friends of ours buried their cousin, a young man with a family who died serving our country. The Westboro Baptist Church cult decided to show up in our town for the second time in the last month. This is not cool with us.

My little sister and I, along with a friend, drove by with my dad's truck, and there may or may not have been some train horn usage. We may or may not have made Westboro popcorn.

We joined a line of people leading up to the church who stood outside and waved their flags in support of this soldier and his family and friends. We got to see a lot of cool stuff, including these guys:

You can't tell from the picture, but there were about five or six of these, plus a few smaller ones. Very cool. These guys and the Patriot Guard are my new favorite people.

After that, I went home to get ready for class, and Shucks was freaking out. He was telling me that there was a member of the WBC in my backyard. I thought that was crazy, because how can popcorn follow you home? But he insisted, so I went to check, and sure enough....right in the middle of my backyard...............

It's a Giant Westboro rattlemouthacin.

Bergershnerger, Interwebz

2011-08-22T21:15:00.000-05:00

I get a lot of advice for some reason. Perhaps I seem to need it.

For instance -- divorce. People see you're in a bad situation. They know that it's not really safe for you. They argue with any protestation of standing for marriage.

Then you finally do it. You leave.

Then you realize that you're doing everything you can and it's just not good enough. Nothing will ever meet anyone's standards again for the rest of your life. Your kids misbehave, they have crap on their faces, they rip their jeans and lose their shoes. Your can't fix your stupid truck no matter how hard you try. It takes two weeks to fix the dryer because you sometimes have to stop being the dad and be the mom. You eat chicken nuggets for dinner because there isn't time in the day to use the stove or the oven. You decide between going back to work for minimum wage or going back to school and trying to be successful. You work your ass off at school because you know that you have to be dependent on other people until you're done. You try to balance raising your children and cleaning your house and mowing your yard and getting your oil changed and feeding the dog and making sure there are groceries in the house and you never even have a chance to find out how your son's first day of school really went because you had to worry about keeping everyone else from ripping your head off.

Because you know what? Leaving a marriage takes about a week. But I'm going to be doing this job FOREVER.

So guess what? I'm sorry, Interwebz. I will never be good enough. I never was, and I never will be. I'm ok with that. I'm even more sorry that you're not. But this is what you get. I can't do any more, and I can't even do what I've been doing for much longer. Thanks for all the support -- it's really awesome to that people will always be available to tell me HOW everything should be done. It's more awesome that people can be so smugly assured of how much better than I they would handle my situation. I'm sure they would -- I am the LEAST qualified person in the world to be raising these kids and trying to keep everything from caving in. I mean that. But I'm who I'm stuck with, so please lay off. I'm doing the best I can.

Trickery

2011-08-20T22:03:00.001-05:00

Remember awhile back when I joined Aunt Becky in a giant prank on you, Interwebz? And anyone who Googled Jason F. Brown got me instead? (As a matter of fact, if you Google it now, I'm still the second link -- poor guy.)

Apparently, their are people who get paid for doing stuff like that. I wuvs me some Internet.

I think I need to quit worrying so much about numbers and start looking for classes in Internet Trickery.

School is going well, though -- four days back and I haven't completely lost it. I finished two tests and the only class I am taking so far is Financial Accounting (I HATE Financial Accounting!!), so I really need to pick up some more classes in fun stuff like Speedy Calculators to break up the monotony. I swear I'm going to have a degree in Cool when this is all over with.

This is my weekend with the kids, and I've already missed two awesome parties. On the other hand, my kitchen is clean and I learned a lot about Internet Trickery, so I've still got a couple things going for me. And it's nice having a full weekend with the kids, too -- Donovan has only pooped his pants once, and Emma told me not to worry about it, because grown ups are supposed to have big butts. All-in-all a pretty fantastic Saturday, wouldn't you say?

First Day of School

2011-08-19T21:41:00.000-05:00

School started today (for the rugrats), and it went very well. It took about an hour to get from the road to the parking lot, prompting phrases like "Oh sure, just park right there, SNOB...your kid is WAY more important than the eight thousand other people waiting out here." And the hallways were jammed -- not with kids finding their classrooms, but with parents who decided to stand right between all the boxes of school supplies to catch up on the summer gossip. I may or may not have yelled "Everyone please find a doorway and just STAND in it -- CLEARLY you didn't graduate from the elite school you are sending your children to!" I don't know why I don't have friends there. But if having friends means getting in the way of people trying to claw their way through their damn day, then I don't want friends anyway.

Today, I heard a story about Huston standing up for Emma on the playground. I was so proud! Big brother defending little sister from some (stupid-face-booger-butt) kid punching her....makes me want to take him to Disney World or something. So he was telling me how the kids was saying that it was an accident, and then Huston said, "But clearly he was lying." (Wow -- he does listen to me -- what 8 year old says "clearly"?)

When Madi started Pre-k two years ago, she said "I missed you today, Mommy, but I didn't get all sad about it." (Which is just smartass enough to also sound like her mother.) Today was her first day of first grade, meaning her two and a half hour school day turned into seven hours. She did get a little sad about it today, but then she "got over it and got back to hanging out with her friends."

Donovan's only criteria in making decisions is whether something is absolutely fatal. If not, he will go ahead and do his thing.

Me: Donovan, go to bed.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?

Me: Donovan, put shoes on before you go outside.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?

Me: Brush your teeth.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?

So when he was telling me about his first ever day of school:
"We ate a snack, we didn't watch movies, we colored, and I didn't die."

Sounds like a success.

Train of Thought - the Panic Version

2011-08-17T21:37:00.000-05:00

My babies all got home today, and also got enrolled in school -- a mere two days before it starts. Donovan lucked out and managed to crawl his way off the Pre-K waiting list, but I still have to convince him not to poop his pants between the hours of 12 and 4 to make this work. Otherwise, insanity begins anew on Friday.

I seriously considered quitting school this year. My household is already dysfunctional enough when I'm here alone -- the trauma of last school year is sure to be repeated this fall. But for now, I'll see how it goes. There is a chance that God is going to decide I've had enough at some point and things will slow down. There is a slightly better chance I just made Him laugh.

Ninja Truck is still un-fixed. I found him a doctor today, and from what I've heard, this new guy doesn't tell lies and such. Maybe things will start coming together.

The laundry is almost all the way caught up from when the washer and dryer broke. A few more days, and it'll be back to only holding up the walls in the laundry room instead of the entire house. And it's rained, so mowing will have to commence. And something needs to be done about the half a tree we lost in the front yard. Well, we didn't lose it so much as the tree lost it -- I found it on the birdbath amongst the lilies. And there are some major household projects that need to be started within a week. Basically, I am praying for an army of handymen to show up at my house and fix shit while I'm not looking because I still have kids and homework and meals and a dog and groceries and class and church and - most importantly - a blog. So really, I am short on time and long on things needing done.

Clearly, this pisses me off a little bit. But I can't remember a time we weren't running around crazy, so I'm guessing we will get through this, as well. You know what would be nice, though, would be some time to just raise my kids. Teach them things like "how to find your shoes" and "don't poop in your pants" and "coloring is only for paper". The urgent is always getting in the way of the important around here. I wonder how to make that stop?

I think a few beers, a good football game, and some mud to play in ought to fix everything. Maybe next month.

Train of Thought Post

2011-08-11T20:57:00.000-05:00

There's one thing you should probably understand. I'm just not funny without my kids.

When they are home, I don't have time to think about anything...not so much because I am physically busy, but because they use my entire brain with their questions.

"How do babies get out of their mommy's tummy?"
"How do they get IN there?"
"What is a billion kazillion times fifty-four?"
"What's for dinner?"
"What was I like when I was a baby?"
"Can Huston be grounded for bothering me?"
"No, can Emma be grounded for bothering me?"
"What is your daddy's name?"
"Are you getting married?"
"Is Santa real?"
"What's the longest you can drive without pushing the gas pedal?"

And so on.

So when they're home, and it's about midnight and they're finally asleep; I just sit down and type my first few random thoughts and hit the publish button.

But when they're gone, I get to use my brain for my own purposes; like fixing the truck, Facebook, perfecting a fake British accent, and watching YouTube videos about people who fall off of things. So when I sit down at night, I don't really have any thoughts to write about (other than "I miss my kids, bring them home because I'm pretty much useless without them.")

The truck is still broken, although I have removed and replaced the wheel about eighteen times. Somehow, that hasn't fixed anything. I learned how to use a floor jack and also that they don't work well on muddy driveways. There are videos on YouTube that aren't just about people falling -- they have some about how to take trucks apart. It's pretty sweet...I just need to park my truck in the living room so I can watch as I go. Then I'll make my own video about how to not ruin your manicure under your truck and also how to be as greasy as possible while doing very little in the way of actual repair. (I am very good at that.)

One thing I have discovered this week is that there is still an entire movie industry out there, and they still make films that aren't animated! I watched a real movie, y'all! Did you know about this, Interwebz? I thought they went out of business back around the time Warrick was born...

Shucks is really mad at me for getting rid of the kids for another week. He thinks I'm pretty boring even though I let him in the house and also rode my bike around for his entertainment. Stupid dog -- if he had a video camera he could post YouTubes of me falling off my bike and become really popular. But he's obv not that smart. We already knew that, though, because if he'd figured out how to post my secrets, the Interwebz would have broken up with me by now -- but you still love me, right?

Top Ten Reasons Not to Fight on Facebook

2011-08-08T00:58:00.000-05:00

10) That awkward moment when someone takes your side and you go check out their profile, only to realize they are an idiot.

9) Passive-aggressive "likes" are just enough to piss you off but not enough to argue with.

8) People can find a website for ANY point of view.

7) You will never convince them that the Interwebz is a giant liar.

6) Trolls.

5) You are bound to get called the one name that will actually bother you.

4) You will never EVER make someone see your point of view.

3) Context is off -- people get mad if you say they're an asshole because they can't tell that you meant to call them totally awesome.

2) Just when you come up with a brilliant argument, you log on to see that the person has stated their intention to stop responding/defriended you and blocked all comments/deleted the entire conversation.

1) Everyone else in the Land of Facebook is laughing at you and wondering why you care.

Forget the Zombie Apocolypse Guys, We Got Wasps

2011-08-06T22:15:00.000-05:00

During the hottest day of this year (and for this year, that's pretty dang hot), we were out for about five hours in the middle of the afternoon. When we got home, I noticed that the kids had left the door open.

After being in the hot truck, I figured this was something to care about, because my house doesn't stay very cool as it is, and a wide open door meant a very hot house. I was pretty upset when I saw that it was nearly 100 degrees in the house, and our little AC was just chugging non-stop.

Then I looked around and suddenly gave not a single shit that it was hot because it was the FREAKINGWASPOCOLYPSE in my house. Every ceiling of every room I could see was covered in wasps. While I will admit that I DID wonder how I could snap a picture for the Blog of Awesomeness, I did not want to take my eyes off those suckers for one second.

Instead, I held one hand toward the ceiling in the universal gesture of "STOP", did some ninja moves with the other hand in the universal gesture of "There are six little helpless kids RIGHT HERE, so nobody needs to bother with stinging ME!", and ducked. The wasps didn't really care to notice me because they were busy electing members of Congress for their new ceiling country.

I went outside, but they had left guards stationed out there. While I'm over my extreme fear of wasps, I still have a tiny one. And you know that buggy feeling you get like they're crawling all over you and you think "this is what a 'bad trip' must feel like?" I felt safer in the house where they were holding town hall debates instead of outside where they seemed more ready for combat.

I texted my brother and said "IT'S AN EMERGENCY! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIIIIIIIE!"

I'm not sure what happened after that, but at some point my dad showed up with two giant black cans of Wasp Death. I took some time to fashion holsters out of pantyhose so I could feel all awesome with my dual cans, said "bring it on" (only because of my accent it sounded more like "ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap"), and started shooting.

The wasps said "thwumpthwumpthwump" and I screamed a lot and there were maybe a few tears of terror. But in the end, nobody got stung and I felt like a badass and my house smelled really bad. And so ended the Epic Wasp Annihilation of 2011. Songs were written and sung, feasts were prepared, and rejoicing was heard throughout the land in the form of six short people who never once looked up from their movie the entire time.

Ms. Fix-It...or not

2011-08-05T23:19:00.000-05:00

I haven't been around a lot lately because lots of things broke around my house and as hard as I looked, the only person around to fix them was me.

I'm not really all that handy, but I did manage to order a heating element for my dryer. I even installed it myself! After about a week of waiting on the part, I got it all put back together and the dryer still didn't work.

I need a dryer -- as you have seen, laundry is kind of a big deal around here. I couldn't afford to wait a week in between each trial repair, so I ordered something called Everything That Can Go Wrong Will Go Wrong Dryer Kit. It had replacement parts for pretty much everything.

I started with what I was fairly sure was the problem -- the thermostat. Since the original thermostat is no longer available, I need to modify my dryer somewhat to fit the new one. I got this, yo. Dryer modification ain't no thang.

But then there was a problem...the new thermostat only had two pluggie innie things, whereas the old one had three. This left me with one wire hanging around with no place to go. I consulted the instructions that came with the kit. They were helpful:

"NOTE: If there is a 3/16" terminal connected to the direct connect thermostat then one end of the jumper wire must be cut off and the male/female combination must be attached to the thermostat. The 3/16' female terminal must also be cut off of the wire harness and the 1/4' female terminal crimped onto the wire. Then that wire must be attached to the male/female combination ternimal. See Fig. 2."

Figure 2 contained a giant picture of the heating element (which was already installed) and a line, representing a cord that seemed to be attached to nothing in particular and drifting off to the end of the page. It should also be noted that the only thing described that I could point out was the thermostat -- jumper wires, terminals, harnesses...I have no idea what these things are.

What is basically wanted me to do was cut some wires, put new thingies on the ends of them, install new thingies for them to plug into, and say a prayer that nothing exploded. I was hoping I didn't accidentally purchase the kit from a terrorist masquerading as a parts site, whose intention is to get people to inadvertently turn their home appliances into WMDs.

I also installed a new fuse or something, some more wires, and some little black round thing. I put the dryer back together. It didn't heat up.

I said some choice words under my breath, but out loud I just said "SHIIIIIITTTT! Eff you, you damn dryer." Little ears around here, you know. I started throwing tools, old parts, and trash into a box to deal with after a smoke. That was when I found an entirely different little black round thing that I hadn't replaced.

It was about the size of a quarter, and I knew there was no way this little thing had caused so much drama, but I decided to put it on anyway, just to say I tried.

I took the dryer apart for the millionth time, replaced the piece, and now, my dryer is heating up. It's perfectly fine that the walls are a little melty all around it and that the National Guard is stationed in my yard with radioactive testing equipment...especially when I force them to babysit.

When I Have a Life, I'll Quit Talking About my Truck

2011-07-30T10:37:00.000-05:00

Ninja Truck has disgraced the family. He went to a shop. This is uncool.

Even less cool is the series of phone calls I received from the mechanic over the next two days.

Him: MannyRee? Hi, uh...it looks like you'll need about $4000 to fix your truck.

Me: Uh...I could buy three of my trucks with that much money. What's going on? I just needed an alignment.

Him: Well....you have a tail light out.

Me: No I don't.

Him: Yes, it doesn't work...we can replace the bulb for you.

Me: Have fun with that, because you have to take the door off and use four different screwdrivers and then once you get the bulbs in, you realize that there is a wiring problem.

Him: Oh. That sucks. I don't do wiring. But you also have a power steering leak.

Me: Ok. But what about an alignment?

Him: You need new tie rods.

Me: Those are new tie rods. Alignment?

Him: You need new ball joints.

Me: Those are new ball joints.

Him: Well, they don't fit the control arm. You need a new control arm.

Me: Can you tell if the control arm is forged or stamped?

Him: ...

Me: If it's forged, maybe we could tack weld the ball joints. The stamped control arms are more uniform.

Him: MY computer didn't tell me that.

Me: Put my truck back together, I'm coming to get him.

I don't know an awful lot about cars, but when the shop mechanic argues with me based on what his shop computer told him -- it's time to find a garage mechanic. Like my brother. Yay, for brother! He gets to spend more time under Ninja Truck, which is basically his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. (Don't tell him, though, I want to see the look of excitement on his face when I surprise him.)

I went to the shop to surprise the mechanic yesterday, and boy was he happy about it. I made him show me everything he was talking about and he was so glad for that opportunity. I'm sure he appreciates the more "hands-on" customers. When I called later, the guy on the phone told me I was close to winning the Most Annoying Customer Ever Award. They are scoring big points up there, let me tell ya. I think they quoted the $4000 just to get rid of me. I don't understand why it's such a big deal that I want to understand exactly why they want to charge me more than my truck is worth to fix it. If this isn't a time to ask questions, I don't know what is.

Anyway, Ninja Truck is on his way home, and I have about two weeks to fix him before school starts again. And he can forget about a new air conditioner, because he is being all high maintenance and I'm feeling used. When school starts, we get to start the whole other type of stress, so the truck is going to have to suck it up until next summer.

I'm Not Even Sure What I'm Saying Here

2011-07-25T13:09:00.000-05:00

Today I learned that there is a good reason for the "delete" button.

Also, I can still be upset by things that happened five years ago.

Also? I can't wait to see my babies again and make them clean their rooms. There is nothing better than an afternoon spent telling people to clean their rooms to make you feel more in touch with reality.

It rained last night, so I went for a walk. It was lovely...it was totally dark outside and the air had that awesome scent. I took Shucks and a flashlight and my phone (in case I got attacked by cows or something). The thing with walking in the dark in the country with a flashlight is that you get mauled by giant bugs that you really can't see coming until they smack you in the face. They liked the flashlight, so I turned it off. It was really dark and scary, so I turned it back on.

I had taken Shucks so I wouldn't be scared, but he was on a mission to pee on every blade of grass and didn't really care that I was being eaten alive by pterodactyl sized bugs. Even after I said "fweep." Eventually, the bugs went home because of the rain, but the cows started following me. They are bigger than bugs, so I went home.

Here's the thing about dirt roads: If you own a 4WD, 7.3l Powerstroke and can't go more than 10mph because you're worried about a rock hitting your paint, please trade me cars because you aren't using your truck correctly and I can absolutely find something to do with it. Or let me pass. Because WOW, annoying. If you don't have a cloud of dust in your rear view or mud splattering your truck bed, you aren't doing the dirt road thing right.

Ooooo, baby!

So yeah.

Most romantic date EVER.

Anyway, speed up or hand over the truck -- redneck law.

Laundry and Wasp Armies

2011-07-23T20:37:00.001-05:00

I was multitasking like a boss today, trying to fix my broken washer and dryer (while also doing laundry) and cooking dinner and trying to find something to wear. I innocently reached for the bottle of fabric softener when I looked right above it and saw this:

It's hard to tell from this picture, but that is a group of GIANT KILLER WASPS that are covering the wall. I said "FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!" (because I'm ninja like that) and the wasps weren't scared of me at all. Instead, they simultaneously turned to stare at me and decided to eat me.

To give you an idea of how GIANT and KILLER these wasps are, I also snapped a picture of the one that ate Ninja Truck. It's a sad day -- due to the no wheels, Ninja Truck was defenseless and there was no hope for him.

After I said "FWEEP", the wasps brought their leader out.


"Leave the fabric softener and we won't eat you."

Me: But I'm washing sheets.

"Leave it or DIIIIIIIIE!"

Me: But I said "Fweep."

"Yeah, what was THAT, anyway?"

Me: That means I'm the boss and you guys don't live in the house.

"Fweep? Look, lady...we live here. What are you gonna do about it?"

Me: Fweep?


"Still not working. I suggest you pack your bags, hun. Leave the fabric softener and the dinner, and just pretend we never met."

Me: *sigh* ok...

Papaw

2011-07-22T00:47:00.000-05:00

This week has been a whirlwind of truck fixing and hanging with friends and hospital visits. It's already been documented that my family has a crazy gene that only shows up in the dark quiet halls of hospitals late at night. My grandfather's move to ICU a couple of days ago has given us all lots of time to be roaming and driving nurses up the wall.

I think my grandpa is getting tired of our antics, too, and tried this morning to trick the hospital staff into taking him back for surgery (any old surgery he could get, I think) early in order to get out and go home sooner. I can't blame him, either. They should totally allow the barter system when it comes to surgery. "I'll take your amputation today if you take my gall bladder surgery tomorrow. I go home sooner and you get free meals for an extra day -- win/win, right?"

The thing about my Papaw is that he's very funny, but he's usually very serious, so not everyone gets to see that side. It's what made us grandkids love him growing up, though. Here is my Papaw Triolet, from a family assignment a few years back.

Oogly Googly Goo!
Hey, Hey, good lookin'.
I am speaking the language of you-know-who.
Oogly Googly Goo!
Keep your belly in, or he'll get you!
Good chili cookin'.
Oogly Googly Goo!
Hey, Hey, good lookin'.

Only our family would understand this, but it sums things up pretty well. Please, my friends, say an extra prayer for him tomorrow!

The Good Doctor/Dealer

2011-07-18T22:59:00.001-05:00

Ninja Truck is still feeling down, and my neighbors have got to be wondering how long they get to enjoy the epic reneckiness of this:

This is some BS right here -- I don't know who put all that mess there and left that Chevy on blocks, but it's lowering property values. Also? What's up with the vacuum leaning against the house? PSHHH...some people.

I had to go visit the doctor today, and he didn't tell me to quit smoking once. It was a WIN for me. He also gave me one single pill that is supposed to help with bronchitis, the TUMOROFDEATH on my ribs, and the broken leg from the Fourth of July....anyone else think he's lying to me and trying to placebo me out of his office. He needs to recognize that it literally costs three dollars per second to have a conversation with him and that placebo pats-on-the-back should get a serious discount. That was some BS, too.

He did assure me that the magic pills would work, just so long as I took SIX of them at once. Dude, anytime someone tells you to take six pills at once and you'll feel better all over your whole entire self? That means DRUGS, yo. Not the doctor/pharmacy kind, either. The kind that you learn to say no to in second grade. Too bad second grade was a loooong time ago for me, because I put all six of those pills in my hand, looked at them and said "REALLY? Six of them? At once?" Then swallowed them anyway because I'm not going to pay three dollars a second and not do what the man says.

On a completely unrelated note, my walls were purple and melty when I got home tonight, so guess who's getting a phone call from their favorite tenant tomorrow! Landlord these days...I may have to get a pill to help me deal with the purple melty walls, and also the roof keeps telling me what kind of dog food to buy. But on the bright side, my leg doesn't hurt AT ALL.

Bits and Pieces and No Parts

2011-07-15T00:27:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow, my kids leave for twelve entire days. I am predicting a major freak-out on about day four. Me, not them. But my house will be so clean! But I'm probably going to throw laundry and goldfish crackers all over the place just so it feels like home. But my truck will be clean! But it is currently sans wheels in the driveway. But WHATEVER.

I plan to clean and buy groceries in peace. I also plan to sit in the driveway and supervise the dudes of fame while they fix Ninja Truck. Not that they need the supervision, but I figure I should watch anyway, because how many other times in my life do twelve guys show up in my driveway with coolers full of beer? Never. That's how many times.

They took the truck apart tonight, but due to my failure to obtain the parts (which was due to the fifteenth time Donovan pooped his pants in one day), they couldn't really fix it all the way. I assume, anyway. I'm pretty sure driving without ball joints is exactly what the original problem was in the first place. (That's what all the scraping sounds were and also why the driver's seat was sitting directly on top of the parking lot.) Get some ball joints, is my point -- they're necessary.

After my truck is fixed, I need to get the AC fixed also because 110 degrees means that I can't show up anywhere before 10pm without being half melted. Half melted is better than all the way melted, but still not as good as not melted in any way whatsoever. Trust me on this...it's not good for you. Or anyone who has to be around you. You get all your melty pieces on them and they get all pissy about it and it just turns into a big disaster.

I watched my baby cousin today and only hurt her face one time. She's still mad at me for it, and when her mom got here she went all "AAAAH! MOM! Guess what they DID!!!!" And I was all "She totally started it!" And since the baby can't make sentences yet, her mom totally believed me over her so I won that one. Except now she knows where I sleep so you can bet I'll be keeping one eye open for the next few nights.

Simultaneous Surprise Low-Rider Ninja

2011-07-12T23:44:00.000-05:00

As I was innocently driving the kids to bible school this evening, Ninja Truck decided he was done with the whole "being on wheels" nonsense and just jumped off of them.

I heard this horrible scraping and managed to turn into the parking lot before he gave up and quit going. I got out, fearing for a tire, and discovered this:

It's hard to tell, but trucks don't belong at that angle. There was no tire involved...but the frame was on the ground. I don't know an awful lot about cars, but I think the framework pretty much belongs somewhere higher than the tires.

I had to call my brother Anthony who kindly left a bucket of beer in the presence of some friends and called AAA for me. My coffee date with Tracy was doomed, as we waited two hours for the tow truck to show up. Tracy drove me to get coffee at the gas station and we hung out in her car, smoking ciggies and waving at Baptists.

AAA has a truck that WALKS (which apparently is Ninja Truck's plan, what with the forgoing of wheels and such). It walked under my truck and picked him up. In the shot above, you could hear Ninja Truck screaming, "OW!!! My bumper! My FACE!!!" I told him he deserved it. He said it was a lifestyle choice and there was nothing he could do about it...he was born to not be on wheels and he wasn't going to continue the farce of driving around on those horrid things anymore.

I'm all for diversity and everything, but no truck of mine is going to be running around on its framework. We argued and fought for the rest of the evening. For now, Ninja Truck is grounded.

Literally.

People are Friends, Not Food

2011-07-12T12:02:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Dalton and the neighbor boy had an Epic Spider Hunt in the house. They spent the entire afternoon tracking a wolf spider they found in the bedroom. This was literally hours of entertainment for them. Every time they found the spider, they would call me in to kill it. I told them no, I like wolf spiders and he was more than welcome in the house as far as I was concerned. I like spiders unless they are inebriated.

A couple houses ago, there was a giant wolf spider who lived in my kitchen. The first time I saw him, I tried to sweep him up and he ended up losing a leg in the Battle of the Broom. I can't remember where I put him, but he showed back up the next day -- seven legs and a sign saying "MannyRee's Kitchen or Bust." I had to let him stay after that, because there are laws about squatters and stuff; and rather than go through all the legal channels and possibly lose the house to a spider, I let him have the kitchen and named him Pete.

Pete was an awesome pet. I didn't have to feed or water him, and he made sure we didn't have flies. It was a pretty good arrangement, but he freaked everyone else out with his crazy spiderness paired with the horror-movie gait he acquired with the loss of his leg.

Pete lived in my kitchen for a very long time, and was the only thing left in the house when we moved. I like to think the new occupants have let him hang around.

My boys didn't think it was ok to let Pete Number Two live in their bedroom, so they tracked him down, jumped on the top bunk and screamed for me every hour for about four hours. They tried to Febreeze him, but Pete Number Two said "Not today, yo." Pete Number Two is my new best friend because anyone who can keep those two eight-year-old boys occupied inside the house for that long is pretty cool. Basically, Shucks is a crappy baby-sitter and just got replaced with a spider. Shucks is ashamed and moved under the house.

I'm looking to hire a squirrel to keep the girls occupied, and I'm working on training the killer dust bunnies to keep track of Donovan.

I Have No Feelings. And I Can Talk. Shut Up.

2011-07-11T22:17:00.000-05:00

When it's 110 degrees outside and your air conditioner doesn't work, you shouldn't try to get groceries. I dropped the kid off at bible school this afternoon and went to the store planning to have enough groceries in the house until their next visit with their dad. I bought twelve different kinds of fruit, twenty gallons of things to drink, and some ice cream. Nothing else. I think fruit will work for breakfast and lunch, but I'm not sure how many nights I can get away with ice cream for dinner. I'm not going back, though, because I'll just stock up on lemonade, which was gone before I even got home to unload the groceries.

We stopped to put gas in Ninja Truck tonight and Donovan's window was rolled down and he was yelling at everyone in the parking lot. "HEEEYYY! WHAS YO NAME?????" This guy walking out beside me was cracking up and Donovan was telling me to move the truck so he could see better. It was attracting quite a bit of attention, to the embarrassment of his older siblings.

As we pulled out, Madilynn was lecturing him on talking to strangers. She said, "I didn't tell him not to talk to the guy for two reasons. One was because mommy was right there, and also because I didn't want to hurt his feelings." Donovan had an inexplicably adverse reaction to her statement.

Donovan: I don't have FEELINGS!!!! I'll talk a BUNCH! YOU STOP IT, MADILYNN! AAAAHHH!!!!!" :::spits on Madilynn:::

He earned a couple swats or a grounding for that, but I couldn't do anything because I was laughing so hard. Don't tell him he has feelings. That boy will talk a bunch...whenever he WANTS. Dammit, yo! Why do people gotta mess with him anyway?

BTW, Ninja Truck is grounded for using enough gas for Donovan to make forty friends in a parking lot while we fill the truck up halfway.

Who Peed on the Cat?

2011-06-30T23:00:00.000-05:00

Today, my sister was babysitting our four year old nephew, and she noticed him outside peeing on the new kittens they just got for their girls. When asked why he would do such a thing, he said, "They wanted to play in the water." And here's the thing -- he was serious. Poor kid was just helping a kitty out and ended up sitting in a corner. Being kind never pays off, is my point. And now the kitties have no sprinkler anymore. This is a tragic story, and I'm sorry to make you read it.

To lighten the mood, some Facebook statuses because my brain beat me to sleep again and I have nothing to write:

Dalton: "Did you say ribbit?" Me: "No." Dalton: "Well...I heard a ribbit and it came from you."

Emma, while holding a stick to her nose: "I'm a neuroticus!" (meaning rhinoceros)

OK, who parked a Mack truck on my face while I was asleep?

Hello, limit. Now that I've reached you, you may want to stand down -- you don't want to meet my Backup.

Thoughts on working out from Ashers: "Isn't 'ripped' the same as 'rippled?'"

...what if something happens and I need to talk about it while being simultaneously anti-social?!?!

Stupid rooster.

And...that's pretty much all I have for tonight, folks. Sorry about the lame use of Facebook, but at least I wrote all of that, even if it was spread out over the last twelve months and didn't make any sense...writing is the point, right?

The One Where I Make Art

2011-06-29T22:19:00.000-05:00

Madilynn has never been the "graceful" one. When she was about three, she was sitting in an arm chair, all the way back at the back...like, her feet didn't even come to the end of the seat she was so far into that chair. I heard "THWACK-SPLAT!" she started screaming. She had fallen - forcefully - out of a chair that she was practically buried in. As in, this was an impossible thing to do, yet she managed to do it and also be injured. It was actually quite spectacular.

We were getting into the truck this evening and the kids were standing in the parking lot arguing about who got to sit where. I've told them a thousand times to get in, shut the door, THEN argue. But they don't listen. So I was screaming at them to follow the Seat Fighting Rules and Madi finally climbed in and started to shut the door. But she fell out. Right in front of an entire parking lot of parents exiting the same kids' movie we had just left, who were already staring at us because of all the screaming.

Only she didn't fall out in a regular way. Which, really? IS there a regular way to fall out of a parked car???
But if there were, I'm picturing something like this:

Stop laughing...this is serious art, yo. And her head is totally shaped like that due to the fact that she also has no face. And Ninja Truck does too look like a bulldog/beetle mix.

In reality, the fall was more along these lines:

She totally DID TOO grow a face and hair on the way down! Shut UP! She wasn't hurt, but lay spattered on the concrete for dramatic effect, screaming, while the other kids all piled back out of the car to see if she was ok...while the other parents looked uncertain as to whether they should shuffle their kids out of sight or step in and yell at me for something. It was awesome. Really...mind=blown. She really was ok, and she really is a lot prettier in person, but she won't be for long if she can't figure out how to sit without falling violently into the ground.

Stop laughing at my pictures, yo...

Summer Update

2011-06-28T19:48:00.002-05:00

Interestingly (not really), all the spare time we've had over the summer break has made me way too busy to write. My days are very full of figuring out where my kids are and wondering how many days in a row it's ok to have potato chips for breakfast before I have to go to the store.

It's also really hot here. I'm thinking of taking up an addiction in order to spend the rest of the summer in rehab...they have air conditioners there, right?

Dalton was telling me about a trip to Walmart with his dad...

     Dalton: We went to Walmart, and there was this, like, four year old girl walking around in a bookini.

     Me: Really?

     Dalton: Yeah, I mean, how stupid? She was four! FOUR! In a BOOKINI. What is wrong with people?

He is entirely too judgmental for someone who can't pronounce bikini properly.
One set of neighbors moved away while my kids were at their dad's this past weekend. Everyone, with the possible exception of Donovan, knew they were leaving and had already said their goodbyes.

Today, sitting on the porch, Donovan pointed to their house and said "The Emilies left." (That wasn't their name, but the name of their daughter.) I said, "Yeah, they moved, didn't they?" He made the saddest face and said, "Yeah....they're dead."

Also, I was sitting out on the steps the other night after the kids had gone to bed. Donovan opened the door and stepped outside. He didn't see me and proceeded to pee on the porch from the doorway. This explains his excellence in potty training -- it simply hasn't happened. Porches = cheaper than diapers, is my point.

And finally, I will be single someday, I will be single someday, I will be single someday. So far, I have agreed to give up half my own furniture, any and all child support, and both kidneys. Shiny-Haired Lawyer says I don't have to agree to all of that, so he's gonna file some papers to that effect. I don't really care at this point. Eventually, I'll be single, broke, sitting on half a couch, and connected to a dialysis machine, and THEN we're gonna party, yo! (Can you get one of those dialysis thingies into the club? I NEED TO KNOW, INTERWEBZ!)

Summer Time and the Livin's Easy....

2011-06-08T23:13:00.000-05:00

This week has been a prime example of what I can accomplish when I don't have fourth grade homework to contend with. We have cleared out the entire house. The kids are down to two ammunition boxes for toys, a box of costumes, and a bookshelf. That means we have eliminated a total of eight other giant toy boxes, along with anything that was on the floor.

Donovan is finally out of diapers, which means no more buying diapers for me EVER. Or changing them. Sorry, yo, I can't even babysit kids in diapers anymore.

This morning, when I was all ready to go, I couldn't find Dalton anywhere. Thirty minutes later, he comes walking up the drive, soaking wet from taking a forbidden dip in the neighbor's pool. I have never been so mad in my life. I scared the neighbors, my son, two cops, and the dude who works at the gas station with my death glare, but I didn't lay a hand on the kid, so they can DHS me all they want. That boy is in Trouble.
Then, Ninja Truck was an ass and ran over a stop stick on the highway today (that's my story and I'm stickin' to it). I thought the kids were dancing too much in the backseat and making us drive all over four lanes, but it turns out that pancake tires will cause that as well. Luckily, we were the only ones on that portion of the highway or we would have been in about six wrecks by the time I got the truck under control.

My dad and DUSTIN THE BRAVE (the famous brother-in-law, you know?) came and fixed my tire. Ashers picked up the kids since the AC still isn't working. I had to ride across the highway with my dad, who drives as if the entire world is on the road just to piss him off. We bought him a train horn for his last birthday, and he scares the snot out of people when they make him mad. It's actually kind of hilarious and cathartic. It's hard to stay mad when you can turn people into popcorn just by pressing a button.

We fixed the tire and put it back on. Nothing has exploded so I think it's all good now. My kids are mad at me because they didn't get to swim today, so they all get to sleep in the truck until they learn to appreciate the little things in life, like NOT DYING IN SIX CAR WRECKS.

Ninja Truck is in Trouble, too. First the AC and the not going, now the running over Bad Things at 75 mph...he's being a jerk. Maybe a little tequila in the radiator will calm him down a bit...throw a Xanax in the gas tank...air filter made of special brownies...

Ok, I'm half asleep. But seriously, my truck needs to CHILL.

Fast Like Slugs

2011-06-06T23:29:00.000-05:00

Me: Ninja Truck, it's hot.

Ninja Truck: Yeah

Me: Can you do something about this?

Ninja Truck: AC is broken. Roll down the windows.

Me: But it's still hot. Especially when we're stuck in traffic.

NT: Sorry, yo.

Me: Let's fix the AC.

NT: Whatevs (he's really quite the linguist, no?)

_____________________________________________________________________

Me: There, you are now the proud recipient of of R-2938753984752 or whatever makes the AC work.

Ninja Truck: Yeah.

Me: So make it colder, bitch!

NT: Ok :::blows some non-hot air:::

Me: That's not cold.

NT: Gimme some more of that stuff.

Me: No. You're an addict. Just make it cold now.

NT: Can't.

Me: Fine...not-hot air is still better. Let's go.

NT: Nah.

Me: What? Go, dude...people are waiting.

NT: I'm fast like lightening. I'm still zero to sixty in 4.3.

Me: Minutes, Ninja Truck, those are minutes. 4.3 minutes isn't a thing...it's just slow.

NT: Well, you get one or the other. Speed or not-hot air. Which would you like.

Me: Both. I require two things out of my vehicle -- going and coldness. I don't even ask you to retain oil like a normal truck. All I ask is that you go and that you make it not hot.

NT: Gimme some druuuuuuugs. I want some more of that R-92837429380295826092384502394683024957820349803582093482039850293458

Me: Fine. Then will you go?

NT: Nope. But I'll do the whole not-hot thing until I need another fix. Hey -- stop and grab me a couple quarts of oil on your way home, would ya?

Me: Are you serious? You have a problem.

NT: Just do it. Or I will sit in this driveway forever more.

Me: This is why I'm afraid of commitment, Ninja Truck.

NT: Just get me the oil and the drugs.

Hmph

2011-06-05T22:49:00.001-05:00

Watching the kids at the funeral on Saturday really touched my heart. I won't mention their names, but they are the children of three sisters who grew up with our family. Reflecting on the conflict I have seen in our family and others over the last few years, I feel compelled to write an uppity holier-than-thou piece. Please feel free to disregard it and wait until tomorrow's post on a talk I had with Ninja Truck this afternoon.

Ten Reasons NOT to Write Off Family

1. Parents - When you are twenty, you are so much smarter than when you were sixteen. Multiply that by a thousand and see how much you learn in your twenties. You are basically an idiot until you are thirty, is my point. Possibly later, although I am pretty much a genius at this point, so thirty is the magic age as far as I'm concerned. Your parents have made mistakes. You are going to kick their asses at mistake-making with your own kids, so get off your high-horse and call your mama. You're going to need her when you're up at 3am with a feverish baby, nine months pregnant while your husband is out of town. Your dad is the only one who is going to forget how dumb you are the first time you do something smart, too. So keep him around -- he may be your last remaining cheerleader.

2. Grandparents - Your grandparents have spent their lives preparing the world for your precious little butt to get here. Don't screw it up for them.

3. Sisters - One day, you're going to cry over something you have no desire to talk to your parents about. That is what sisters are for. One day, you're going to do something so stupid you can never talk about it again. Sisters will forget it. One day, you're going to be holding the hand of your mother or father as they die. Your sister will take your place when you have to leave the room.

4. Brothers - One day, you're going to realize that you're old and your life sucks and you never did have enough fun. Your brother is going to buy you beer and pretend like you're both twenty until you realize that you don't want to be that young again anyway. One day, your boyfriend/husband is going to piss you off. Your brother is the reason he won't do it again. One day, you're going to find yourself old and alone, rattling around in a big old house you can't take care of. Your brother is going to help you get things working again.

5. Aunts - Aunts love you as much as your mama, but don't get nearly as mad. They are the voice of reason we all need, but can't always hear from our own mothers. And they are the best to laugh with.

6. Uncles - Uncles are for trouble. Getting into it or out of it, either one. And they will tell you all the dirt on your mom and dad.

7. Cousins - This is what I learned this week, watching the injured little girl who didn't look up all day. Her cousins brought her cookies and they had "tea". Then each cousin grabbed a handle on her wheelchair and sped her around until she was giggling. They took her to look at picture of her brothers, and she told them stories about each picture. They said "where do you want to go now?" and she pointed and they raced away. Cousins cross the line between family and friend. They are close enough to care, yet far enough to take your mind off of things. Cousins are the friends God chose for you.

8. In general - Have you ever heard someone say, "Oh, I don't talk to my family because...blah blah blah...?" It sounds trashy and hateful, no matter what the reason.

9. If you can write off your family, you can write off ANYONE, and I don't trust that.

10. We aren't here forever, and we aren't all going to die of old age. Being "right" isn't worth telling someone you're sorry while you are standing over a headstone. Holding a grudge isn't worth spending your last breath in regret. Saving face isn't worth a lifetime of pretending to ignore a kindred spirit. Petty pride isn't worth withholding comfort in dark times. Anger is bad enough alone, but when it replaces love, you may as well lay down and give up, because you have chosen to be unhappy.

A final note: NONE of this applies to me. In my singular coolness, I have never made a mistake, my parents are insane, my cousins are assholes, and my aunts pinch cheeks. Unforgivable, the lot of them. But for the rest of you, be cool, yo.

Today

2011-05-26T22:33:00.000-05:00

Our community has been hit hard this time by the devastating tornadoes that swept across our state earlier in the week. Four families from our parish have lost their homes, and one of them, the Hamils, have lost their two little boys.

There are no words to describe the sadness and loss people feel in this situation. Life works in such a way that it's a heartbreaking birthright for children to plan their parents' funerals, but when that situation is reversed, the world reels with injustice.

I am blown away imagining the pain my friends are enduring as they begin the long journey in learning to cope with this loss. When I picked my kids up from school today and saw them standing outside, laughing and playing like always, I felt the pangs of guilt. When my three year old son ran up to me at daycare I grabbed him into my arms and sobbed. I feel humbled and anguished that I get to spend another day with all of my children while my friends are going to be missing their sons, their nephews, their grandsons.

I am going to miss those boys. I am guilty of spending quite a few moments during mass trying to get Cole to smile at me, and waving at Ryan when his mother wasn't looking. I have shared knowing smiles with both parents as they took turns taking their boys out of the chapel because they were being rambunctious. I have watched sweet little Cathleen try to keep Ryan quiet while their mother was taking care of Cole. I have seen the pride and happiness on Hank's face when he looks at his family.

I spent many a slumber party with the boys' Aunt Jennifer, back in the days when things were simple and our biggest worry was waking up with bed hair and ten friends as witnesses. Driving around today, my heart yearned for those days. I want to see my friend worried about her hair instead of her nephews. I want to see her older sister yelling at us for the hundredth time to be quiet instead of mourning the loss of her little boys. I want to her her mom and dad come unloading the stuff we packed and putting on my parents' front porch from when we "moved out" and sort of lived out of her dad's truck for a couple weeks. I want our biggest problem to be which one of us can score a car big enough to live in again.

These things happen and they change who we are. We become the aftermath of tragedy. For those of us who aren't as close to the situation, we eventually pick up and move on. For the parents and grandparents and sisters and aunts and uncles, I cannot pretend to understand. I don't know the right things to say. But I will say that those boys will never be forgotten. They are known and they are loved, and they are enjoying an eternity in which their biggest worry is having nothing to worry about. They are meeting my baby cousin Jadlyn, and pleading directly to Our Lord for peace and comfort for their families. That is my prayer, as well.

A New Deal

2011-05-19T22:03:00.000-05:00

I was going to take a break from writing until school is out, because honestly. But I had to come back to start a new campaign.

I have witnessed atrocities over the last week that are so unbelievable that I can't believe these things are still going on in our country. Young men and women who are desperately looking for a job are promised hundreds of dollars for a few hours' work every evening. They are expected to do hard physical labor with little rest and no complaining.

At the end of their work day, they are put before a committee of bored, wealthy individuals and berated for every mistake they have made. They are then put on trial for every mistake their fellow employees make, and even blamed for things that have gone wrong in the committee members' personal lives. The committee then docks their pay, many times until there isn't a single dollar left, for all issues -- real or perceived, and tells them to come back the next day and try again.

The young men and women are the people who work in the service industry in our country, and the committee members are the self-righteous idiots whom they serve. I watched a lady literally scream at a server for bringing too much food to the table. I see people set dollars at the table and dramatically remove one every time their server doesn't guess exactly what's going on in their tiny little brains. I seen men complain to managers about their service in order to get a free meal, then brag about it to their friends as the waitress is getting fired in the background.

I've seen tables of twenty people keep a server running back and forth to the bar to bring hundreds of dollars' worth of beer, and then suddenly run out of money at tip time. I've seen people sit at a table and complain about the rude people at work ruining their day while they simultaneously allow a human being to wait on them hand and foot without so much as a thank you.

When you are out to dinner, don't be an asshole. If you need something, you wait until all the stuff in your server's hands is set on the table before you expect her to get you anything else. You ask for everything you need at once, so she doesn't have to run back and forth for you. If you need a second thing, you freaking apologize for being inconsiderate, and ask nicely for the thing you forgot. If your food is cooked wrong or you don't like it, remember that the person bringing it to you is rarely the same person responsible for making it taste good.

And if you break any rule of etiquette, you can get out your little food journal and go ahead and note that you probably just ate spaghetti with spit-sauce. Ask your personal trainer (if you even speak to him) how many lunges you need to do in order to work off the extra floor-dirt that got mixed into your steak seasoning. Find out what diseases your waitstaff may have and have yourself tested for anything that can be transferred through ice or pickles or licking your spoon after you sent it back because it had a scratch on it. And know that anything "extra" you may have been served was absolutely deserved.

Grow up, people.

And if you see someone abusing their server, stand up and say something.

Not Sure What this is About

2011-05-10T21:15:00.000-05:00

I thought yesterday was scary, but today beat it. I got into a little argument with someone who I do my best not to fight with, and I don't ever want to do that again. But I probably will.

Comes with the circumstances, I guess.

I also finished all my work for the rest of the year at school, so I get to spend the next four weeks doing the All Important Sitting in a Chair to finish the semester, or else I will get suspended. It makes sense, really. They are trying to prepare us for the workplace, and as of yet, I am the only student who hasn't figured out how to waste an entire day on Facebook and hide it from the boss. This, I hear, is an important corporate skill.

:::sigh::: almost there....almost there....

The kids are excited for the end of homework and waking up early, which, hell yeah! I can't wait, either. It looks like we're going to spend the summer converting Ninja Truck into a water-powered vehicle. Or can cars go on screams? Because when the kids are in the car, there is always a surplus of screaming. Or maybe hair. Donovan always gets out of the car with a fist full of hair he pulled out of one of the girls' heads. Anyway, something more inexpensively replenishable, is my point.

My roses are blooming. The first time I saw my house, there was this beautiful rose bush covering the fence, and it was a large part of my falling in love with the place. It quit blooming the week we moved in, and I have feared for its life ever since. I am no green thumb, and can kill plants just by association. Anyway, it looks like it'll be in full bloom by tomorrow, just in time for tornadoes, so I'll try to snap a pic before the flowers blow away.

And I think that is all for today. Except this piece of advice: never fight with your mother-in-law on the same day you have to get groceries. It makes you all stabby.

Too Classy for Shoes

2011-05-09T21:01:00.000-05:00

It's hot outside, yo. Like, middle of summer, Fourth of July, forgot to bring water hot. It requires an entirely different wardrobe that is not at all appropriate for leaving the house. I think we're going on day three of it.

The good part of that is school is almost out. Three more weeks for the kids and four for me. Then we're going to fill up the gas tank and drive till we run out and hope that's somewhere near a lake. An air conditioned lake.

The kids are convinced we're going to Mexico for the summer. All I said was, "Mexico would be a fun trip...when it's not all scary and expensive." Two minutes later they had their bags packed and were sitting in the car waiting for me to leave. I don't know whose kids they think they are, but not once has our family done anything that would cause these children to believe we are going to just up and go to Mexico. Ever.

Well, there was that one time I said, "We need to get groceries," and we left about twelve hours later; but that's as crazy as it gets around here.

On a different note, Donovan officially has no shoes. I am not sure what happened, because he had the most diverse footwear wardrobe of any kid I've ever known. Somehow, he has managed to ruin or lose every singe pair. Sunday, he wore the right side to each of his two pairs of black shoes, because all the lefts were missing. Today, he wore shoes made of mud -- the product of a trip through the pasture last week after it rained and the discovery of a pond. I told him he can't have more shoes till he gets a job, but he's totally fine with that. He has hobbit feet, anyway.

Today, I almost got divorced. It was the scariest morning of my life, and now I know why people have to bring their posse to the courtroom with them. But it didn't happen, and it turns out court was like sitting in a sauna in professional attire while lawyers discussed how they may be too hungover on July 5 to present their cases. If I ever DO get divorced, I'm taking my sisters and my mom and my brothers and my dad and all my friends and a bodyguard.

The End.

Mothers Day Goodies

2011-05-06T21:38:00.000-05:00

Today I was treated to Mothers Day Tea with Dalton, which was totally adorable.

He made a picture of me.

Note the detail of the wood floors and my awesome ripped up jeans. My son knows me well.

Huston made me a book that was mostly about my chocolate chip cookies. Each of the boys also made various things that listed things about me. All three of them included "cool," which, of course...look at those jeans. Huston's also said "cookies," so I'm not sure that he realizes that there is much more to me than cookies. Warrick said "hero," which he explained to me was because he didn't have room to write "tomboy".

I love my kids' takes on who I am.

After the tea, we had to rush Dalton to the doctor because he had some weird spots on him. I crossed paths with a woman who had four little girls and our kids got all mixed up on which mom to follow so we each just grabbed the right number of them and called it good. I think I made it home with the same kids, though, including my niece...at least, I haven't had any freaked out phone calls from my sister about dropping off the wrong kid, so pretty sure it's all good.

Then, we went to the pharmacy and drove home in the dreaded rush hour traffic, which caused this:

And I'm off to do the same.

Lawn Fairies

2011-05-05T21:05:00.000-05:00

I did stuff today that nobody should ever have to do. For instance, I took the kids to Walmart. Also? Other stuff.

I had to keep reminding myself that public meltdowns are lots of fun, but never for the person doing the melting.

Then, I came home to ALLLLL the grass being cut. I haven't had a minute to spend working on the lawn since it started growing again. The most I do outside is make sure the front porch is swept, and even that is sporadic. I had sort of given up, thinking that school is three weeks away from being out; and I would have all the time in the world to beautify my surroundings after that.

Coming home to such a huge task being done made up for pretty much everything I've been through over the last couple months. Also, there was a note on the door that said "Happy Mothers' Day." Assuming it was my neighbors/landlords, this isn't even the nicest thing they have done for me, and I am reminded of what a huge blessing this house and the people who live near it have been for me and the kids.

I think I am done with being angry and depressed. At least for now. It's the little things that make all the difference. As much as I try to live by that, I really needed a reminder in my life right now.

Trying to Quit, as My Dad Would Say

2011-05-04T20:47:00.000-05:00

*ahem* :::smooths hair, adjusts clothing:::

I am sorry for the rant last night. I think I am better now.

In sharp contrast to the children's school, MY classes are going beautifully. They are going so well, in fact, that I am actually getting myself in trouble. However, I have learned once again that I am a grammar snob; and I could take English classes forever and be truly happy. Too bad there aren't many jobs requiring "someone to correct my text messages, status updates, and tweets."

This week we are working on a biography (for fourth grade, that is) and a covered wagon. It should be quite interesting. The covered wagon requires my meeting at least five other parents from the third grade. People I have spent all year not meeting, and now we need to find at least one free evening in common so that we can come together and create a covered wagon.

This project will take about three weeks' preparation, and provide a total of one hour of fun for the kiddos. Unless it is anything like the land run we did when I was a kid. In that case, it's one hour of sitting inside a circle formed with rope, getting eaten by bugs, and hanging out with four random kids I hadn't bothered to like all year long. (Not getting to know people is a long-standing habit of mine, it seems.)

Anyway, it's a great bonding experience or something, I'm sure. So yay that!

I'm not being sarcastic.

No I'm not.

Nuh-uh.

Shut up.

I do like my kids and I even like their teachers. I just don't like anyone who puts things on my calendar unless they are me. And since I much prefer a calendar with all blank squares, I'm pretty sure I don't like the people filling in all that beautiful blankness with STUFF.

Ok, I said I was done and apparently am not. Just wait, Interwebz....when May is over, I'll be so full of happy giddiness that you'll think I started working at Starbucks.

Ready for Summer

2011-05-03T21:38:00.000-05:00

I got to go through over 300 papers that came home in the kids' backpacks last night. After sorting through them, I found only five that I really needed to see.

Contained in those five pieces of paper were what amounted to the schedule for every second of my time for the rest of the month.

Dear School,

I have tried all year to hold my tongue, but I hate you.

I hate your 300 papers.

I hate your stupid homework.

I hate your weekly letters telling me how to parent.

I hate your monthly menu with a grocery list of healthy food for me to buy at home.

I hate your month of May, into which you have crammed every extra activity for every child for the entire school year.

I hate your recorded messages that urge me to send more dollars to the school for the kids to buy stinky pencils to benefit the PTA.

Oh, I hate your PTA.

I hate your presidential addresses.

I HATE YOUR STINKING GUTS, School.

I am not one of those parents who just wants to drop their kids off somewhere every day for free. I would like to see my kids and know which friend taught them the latest butt joke so I can make them quit talking to that disgusting kid. I want to see what they look like when they wake up in the morning because they want to instead of because they're going to get yelled at.

I want to take a Monday folder and use it to start a bonfire in the backyard. I want to have one free evening without thinking about you at all.

You can consider this summer to be a very bad break up between the two of us. I will burn all your pictures and letters, I will ignore your phone calls and emails, I will lose contact with everyone I've met through you, and I will only think of you to remember how bad it used to be, and even that will be seldom.

Oh sure, I'll be back. It's the cycle of an abusive relationship, after all. But I know who you are and I know you won't change. You'll eat away at my freedom until I can't take it anymore, and I'll leave again. And then, School, that will be the last time.

Finally, School, I want all my stuff back. You can leave it at the front door, please. I need my 160 evenings back that I wasted on goofball homework and projects. I need my dining room table back, which has been covered with your propaganda for eight months. I need all the peace I nurtured into my kids over the summer, only to have thrown out the window with your high-stress teaching styles.

I need six sweet innocent faces smiling at breakfast, because they have been ruined with bullying and pressure and spoiled rotten other-peoples'-kids and work work work. Please pack this up nicely and I will pick it up on the last day of class.

At last, School, Goodbye.

Very Sincerely,
MannyRee

Bad (Hair) Day

2011-05-02T21:53:00.001-05:00

Today, I discovered that the more I tried to fix my hair, the more this one piece wanted to jut out directly to the side. Every time I tried to straighten it, it got worse. Every product I used enhanced its stupidity.

Then, I discovered my hair was laughing at me because it's just like my life.

Boo that, yo.

Recipe for InstaRage

2011-04-28T20:10:00.000-05:00

I think I have a concussion. From what I can tell about them, the only thing doctors can really do about them is talk, so rather than fork over the dough for an ER visit, I'm talking about it here.

I was putting leftovers away and barely hit my head on the freezer door. Just a little tap, nothing, really. But it hurt. And it made me SO MAD. I'm a pretty chill individual, but if you ever want to make me insta-pissed, hurt my head. There is an anger trigger in my hair follicles, and if it gets hurt, I go all HULKSMASHEVERYTHINGICANSEE. That was symptom number one. Luckily, the kids were gone, so I yelled at the pork chops.

Symptom number two was that I couldn't see anything for a minute.

The third sign of concussion was the immediate need for a nap. I don't think you're supposed to take those when you have a concussion, but I know you're not supposed to take them when you're a mom, so I didn't do that....as far as I remember. There are about ten minutes missing from the evening, but it looked like some more leftovers got put away, so I am assuming I did that, rather than napping.

The fourth sign is that now my head hurts really bad, and also I was nice to some strangers.

Now that I've talked about it, I do think I'm feeling a little better.

Too Classy for Criminals

2011-04-27T20:53:00.000-05:00

This afternoon, I was working on the accounting project from hell. It took two weeks, but I finally got enough courage up to take it back out of its drawer and look at it a second time. After working steadily for a couple hours, a took a break and checked my phone.

There was a missed call from a number I didn't recognize, and a voicemail from Sgt. Somebody calling about a criminal investigation and really needing to talk to me.

Immediately, thousands of awful scenarios were running through my head about what could have happened at the kids' schools, what goofball ex could have said about me this time, which of my friends were more likely to be involved in something requiring a criminal investigation, and of utmost likelihood, who the ex would have owed enough money to that they could gain that kind of clout.

It turned out to be none of those things, but instead, a lesson in how much information a person can scare out of me by allowing me to believe something terrible had happened and then letting me off the hook and telling me I just need to answer some questions. In the euphoria of relief, I told that sergeant everything about the last eleven years that I could squeeze into a fifteen minute conversation, including names, addresses, phone numbers and a promise to answer anything else he wanted to ask just as soon as he could come up with more questions.

I quickly figured out that he was investigating the ex, but not for anything that had actually happened. Also, I made a plan to never talk to anyone while I am that scared for the rest of my life, because he honestly could have been anybody and I was ready to hand over my social security number and a kidney or two in exchange for telling me I wasn't the one under investigation.

Don't tell me any secrets, is my point. I am not cut out to keep things secret if there is any sort of threat, real or perceived.

Mission Impossible

2011-04-26T19:05:00.001-05:00

At this point in my life, I hate grocery shopping to the point that I don't even care if we eat; I only shop so that I can have something to write about. Also? Still not quite worth it.

Yesterday was the Big Day (as in we didn't have anything for dinner, requiring a trip to the store as soon as school got out).

When we walked in, we got all the normal stares and pretty much ignored them because I was really busy trying to keep a vague list of things we needed in my head. Until one guy, who stopped and hollered "CAN I TAKE ONE HOME?"

This is actually a common question. Being in a cranky mood because of the whole Being at the Store thing, I told him he could just pick the noisiest one. He grabbed Warrick by the arm and said he wanted that one. That's where it gets less common, because people aren't normally too comfortable grabbing kids who don't belong to them in Walmart. This guy had made a point to be extremely drunk so that his level of comfort was somewhat different than, say, mine.

Just to reiterate:
People asking to keep a kid = common. People actually trying to take one = uncommon.
Drinking before grocery shopping = WIN. Drinking and grabbing my kids = FAIL.

Dude reeked of alcohol, then proceeded to squat down and try to talk to each one of my kids, who were terrified. I finally just grabbed them all and walked away. As I left, he leaned down into the face of this little old lady in a wheelchair and told her she was the most beautiful girl he'd seen in a long time. She hit the turbo on her chair and didn't stop until she got to the garden center.

After we lost Really Drunk Kidnapper, we happened into a guy with what seemed to be Cerebral Palsy, although I don't know for certain. By "happened into" I mean that Donovan tripped him and they both fell into the paper towel display. After the man yanked Donovan back to my side of the aisle, he decided to figure out what exactly was going on with me having all these short people at Walmart in the first place.

Dude: Are these all yours?
Me: Yes
Dude: No, I mean ALL of them.
Me: Yes, all of them.
Dude: And you brought them to Walmart?
Me: Yes.
Dude: Who helped you?
Me: Um...I helped myself?
Dude: No, I mean who helped you get all these kids?
Me: Get them...into the store?
Dude: No, just get them...it takes two people, right?
Me: Oh....uh...he's not here.
Dude: Well, he should be. He should be right here pushing another cart and holding a couple kids! How are you going to push the cart while you're holding that kid?
Me: I've got lots of practice.
Dude: I'll help you!

So the followed me for three or four aisles, counting my kids over and over out loud, stopping every time to say "I can't believe you have three kids!" I would say "There are six." And then he would scream "SIX?? WHO HAS SIX KIDS???" My kids were also afraid of this guy, either because of the way he walked or because of the experience with Drunk Dude, so they stayed right next to me for once. And all the people looked at me and wondered what the heck was up with that woman, and tried really hard not to be anywhere near me, which turned out to be pretty awesome.

Things to Know

2011-04-24T21:15:00.000-05:00

Today, I was called "an incredible writer". By a spammer and you know they never lie, which means that, in order to continue being a pertinent member of society, you must continue reading this blog. Also? I must begin writing it again, or we're all gonna DIIIIIIIIIE.

Here are some random facts about this weekend, Things You Must Know before work tomorrow or you'll look like an idiot when everyone else is talking about it:

1. My brother in law did an ENORMOUS hiccup in the middle of mass last night. It was the funniest thing that ever happened in the history of the world. I had to turn into a statue to keep from laughing, and apparently squeezed my laugh muscles so tight that they didn't release until about twelve hours later when I spent thirty minutes doing that laugh-cry-snort uncontrollably thing in front of my entire family at Easter brunch.

2. My youngest sister is about three years pregnant, and it reminds me of the one good thing about not being able to get pregnant which is not BEING pregnant. Once the baby is born, I'll go back to being jealous of baby-havers and start plotting how the baby can come live at my house.

3. One of my nieces came down with a fever after we were all together today. There was a memo about how my kids and I can't get sick until 2012 because if we miss one more day of school, the earth will fly off its axis and splash into the sun, and we'll all DIIIIIIE...or some kind of big deal like that requiring numerous warnings on card stock letterheads about how we can't miss any more school. That being said, I'm glad the family was together for Easter, and I don't really care if anyone gets sick because they're going to school either way....what's 500 more kids getting a cold compared to The Thing That Happens If You Miss School After Getting A Warning On Letterhead?

4. There isn't a fourth thing, but I just want you all to be fully aware that an "Incredible Writer" has written these words, and you must pay attention, yo.

Happy Easter!

2011-04-24T00:06:00.000-05:00

I guess I kind of gave up blogging for Lent.

But guess what?!?! HAPPY EASTER!

I took the kids to the Easter Vigil this evening, and it was an amazing experience. It took about twelve hours to get ready, and we were still twenty minutes late. But the liturgy was absolutely beautiful, punctuated only by an occasional cry from Donovan who "had to poop". Which apparently required an announcement on his part and extreme shushing on mine.

The service was about three hours long...wow. That's pretty long. I had the kids all dressed up, which was quite a feat after discovering an hour before we had to leave that half their shoes don't fit anymore, two of the boys lost their suit jackets, and three pairs of pants needed to be hemmed.

Going to mass as a "single mom" (or a married mom sans husband) is always difficult. Midnight mass, even if it does start at eight, is actually a pretty stupid thing to do. I started out wearing a pink T-shirt and the only problem with it was some teeny tiny skulls printed on it, but I didn't think anyone would notice. After carrying around three very heavy and very tired kids for two hours, the shirt began to have other issues that rendered the skulls even less noticeable than they had been before.

I finally rocked Donovan to sleep, and he only woke up a couple times to scream about needing to go potty again. Then, Emma wanted to be held, and began to fake a panic attack over being so tired. She was breathing all heavy and going "tired, tired, tired, soooo tired, tired..." I told her that being tired typically made people more calm rather than less, but she didn't agree. At that point, three of the others broke into tears over how incredibly tired they were and could we please just go home.

These are the same kids who stay up until at least eleven every single night of the year just to piss me off. They weren't tired, yo. Or if they were, I'm going to start taking them to church every night around seven and just leaving them there until morning, because they sure don't want to sleep like that at home.

After all of the whining and sleeping and holding and rocking and covering faces with jackets, and really really really needing sleep, they got into the car and wrestled and cracked up all the way home, and are even now -- an hour after leaving church -- talking in their beds wondering what the Easter Bunny is going to bring them.

Yeah, right. This Easter Bunny is off the clock, yo.

potpourri

2011-04-19T06:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday kicked my bootay, which is kind of pathetic, because nothing really went wrong. It was just an alarmingly long day, and I had to go to the bank, and I hate my bank so much that I don't even want to have to go there to mess with closing my account, so I just avoid going there until my debit card quits working. I went to put more money in the account, which apparently takes 45 minutes. You would think people who work in a bank would have a lot of experience taking money and would be a little bit more fast about it, but they're not.

We are also going on week eight (I think) of the ex being in the hospital, which really sucks because the kids aren't understanding why they can't talk to their dad, and why they can't go see their other grandparents, and in all honesty, there just aren't answers for those questions. Do you know how exhausting it is to have to answer questions for which there are no answers? Because if there's one thing kids can do really well and without stopping, it isn't chores or homework but it is definitely asking question.

Also, it seems that I have finished all of my easy courses at school, and now I have to do a bunch of hard stuff. I am working on corporate accounting, two words that can make someone fall over from tedium by merely being in the same sentence together.

I don't like corporations, yo. Not because of the evil empire take over the world thing, but mostly because they require a lot of counting and stuff.

This is why I can't seem to write more often. When I sit down, I am suddenly tempted to Google "calculating amortization on 20% of the premium on bonds payable" just to see if it's actually a "thing" or if it's a trick. Because seriously, does that sound like a thing? And does it really seem like something I should know how to do? I say never retire bonds early -- make the world a better place for the people who have to count everything.

Tree Fairies

2011-04-15T23:00:00.000-05:00

Tornadoes in Oklahoma are the embodiment of why we live here. Science, thrill, entertainment, family bonding...they have it all. This year has been pretty scant on the fun stuff so far, even though we went from 90 degrees to below freezing since last night. Whatever, tornadoes, don't make us start getting actual "culture" up in here.

Today, we had serious straight-line winds. I was going to pick the kids up from school, when some lady coming from the opposite direction flashed her lights and started pointing behind her vehicle. I thought she was warning me about a police cruiser, but when I got over the hill, there was a tree laying across the road. Two SUVs were driving up into a field to go around it.

Ninja Truck isn't quite ready for four wheeling, as he is only 2WD, so we stopped to see if we could move the tree. There was another guy pulling up who got out to help. I didn't really look up, but shortly, two more men got out to help and we got the tree and the loose branches cleared out of the road in about five minutes.

When I looked back up, I realized there were about twenty vehicles waiting on each side of the tree. One guy in a silver Charger, who I swear is the same guy who cuts me off every day on my way home from class, had pulled up to get in front of my truck, and then proceeded to sit in his car and watch the four of us move an entire tree.

None of the other people got out to help, either. I ran back to my truck thinking that maybe those other people just figured we were the magic tree fairies that clear things out of the road when they happen to fall into it. Then, I noticed a strange thing that proved my earlier post about what kind of people drive certain sorts of vehicles. The three guys who got out to help also happened to be driving the only three pickup trucks in that huge line of cars. Everyone else were either women in SUVs (like me, only my truck wasn't born in the last six months, and also, I stopped believing in tree fairies when I was five), or men in fancy cars.

So, point proven. And Charger Dude? Ninja Truck is on alert for you from now on....

Answer Your Phone, Is My Point

2011-04-14T20:23:00.000-05:00

I'm MannyRee, and if you know me personally, you are probably in the hospital or a missing person right now....

Today, we lost my mom. I mean, she's still alive; we literally lost her. Truthfully, she lost herself. I had a million frantic calls on my cell when I left class, all of them siblings and all wondering if I knew where mom was.

The first coherent sentence I got was "We found her car." Which, frankly, wasn't reassuring.

One sister had found my mom's car in the parking lot at the hospital (which is where most of the people we know are located today), so everyone was feeling better until they still couldn't get her to answer a cell phone call or a hospital page.

I was sent to my mom's house to raid the neighbors' mailbox to find a last name, because that was the most likely person for my mom to be visiting right then, only we don't actually know her name. So I did that, found the name, broke into my mom's house to see if her cell was laying around in there, then left. When I came out the door, I saw a car pulling out of the nighbors' driveway, and turns out, it was my missing mother.

I told her how mad my sisters were, and she told me her cell had been broken. I'm still not sure exactly what happened, but my mom was lost and now is found.

Then about three minutes later, I got a call from a different sister to go check on the last sister yet to enter this story, because her husband was worried because she hadn't been answering her phone. So I woke up my VERY PREGNANT sister from a MUCH NEEDED nap to make her re-join the cell phone world.

The moral of the story is, no matter how badly you want to get away from my family, we will find you.

Laughter is the best medicine, but only if you're the patient

2011-04-13T23:29:00.000-05:00

It's been so long since I've blogged that my site doesn't even recognize me anymore.

This week has been insane. My grandmother had a heart attack Saturday, and has been in the hospital. My sisters and I went up Monday and Tuesday evening to visit her. Monday, as we were leaving, there was an elderly woman being carted to another room from the elevator. As her bed wheeled past me, my two pregnant sisters, and the other sister carrying her newest baby, the woman got a somewhat terrified look on her face, turned around and asked the guy pushing her "Am I on the maternity ward??? Why am I on the maternity ward?" Poor lady....we frightened her. Then, we laughed so hard that the family on the elevator didn't want us with them and we had to wait for the next one. Apparently, it's not polite to giggle insanely in a hospital.

Which turned out to be a bummer the next night when we were visiting my grandmother who had just finished a procedure and was coming off the sedatives. She was hilarious, emphasis on the HI. We were trying so hard not to laugh, because every time we did, she would suddenly become extremely aware and ask why we were laughing.

She asked for some "not cold" water, so when April tried to give it to her, my grandmother asked if it was cold. April said "Well, it's a little chilly". So my grandmother, forgetting her previous question, said "There's the thermostat right there." She then proceeded to blow into the straw, at which Ashley suggested that maybe our grandma thought April was the respiratory therapist. I had to hide behind the bed to laugh and told my sisters they were all grounded from talking.

We asked the nurse if we could perhaps have some of whatever they were giving my grandma (the meds, not the pudding), but she said no. Which was too bad, because Marcy could have used it when she left her cell phone with my aunt right before her husband started sending naughty text messages. (Which wasn't actually a true story, but it was really funny while we thought it was.)

My cousin in at the same hospital, so we got to go visit her a little, too. She wasn't high or anything but she's still kinda funny. My family is inappropriately hilarious at hospitals, is my point, which is why we like to go visit sick people so much, but maybe also why sick people don't want us to.

Whipping Boy

2011-04-07T21:59:00.000-05:00

One thing I can't stand is being blamed for things. Even if said things are my fault, I will find a way to wriggle out of the blame. I hate it.

But, it seems to be my lot in life to be blamed for the most random I-wasn't-even-there-that-day crap, so I wanted to invite you, Interewebz, to BlameFest2011. (It's so epic, it's all one word.)

Have you recently had a bad day? Blame it on me!
Was that bad day caused by an over-abundant consumption of alcohol for three days in a row? I made you drink!
Have you ever accidentally swallowed a few extra Ambien? Totally my fault.
Recent ride in an ambulance? Yup, that was me.
Coma, anyone? My bad, yo!
How about high blood pressure? Oops.
Sudden black-outs? All over it.
Do you hate an entire group of people totaling over 1 billion??? Sorry, billion peeps....I'm such a bad example.
Did you not get your work done because you were too busy doing nothing? Not your fault, bro, it's all me!

You see, I am so bored on a day to day basis, what with all the maids and nannies and shit, that I don't have anything better to do than mess with people. It's just who I am, there's nothing I can do about it. Sorry, but it's all my fault. Do not, under any circumstances, blame yourself.

Choices

2011-04-05T20:42:00.000-05:00

Today, I read a book that was second on my list of Things That Have Wasted My Time. The first was "Children are from Heaven" by John Gray. I highly recommend his book on relationships...he's not so great with the kids.

Anyway, the book I read today was supposed to be a mindless novel, intended to steer me away from my usual genre and toward something less twisted and scary. Instead, it was way more twisted than Steven King, poorly written, and centered around a brand of feminism that I just cannot tolerate.

What I got from it was this: Burn the book and never read anything by this author, nay - this publisher, again.

I hated it. But I got two good ideas from it. One was to make a dream list. Every week, dream something and later, when things aren't so crazy, make it happen. I love lists, so this was perfect. I can list out the crazy things I want to do and make sure I have some time to do them in the next fifty years. Number one is to ... make a dream list. Actually, find some time to make a dream list. Number two would be the list. Actually, number two would be to not spend the time I find watching everything in which Nathan Fillion has ever had a role. Number three -- The List.

The other idea I got from the book was how great it would be to be able to chose something. As free as I have felt over the last year and half, in reality, all of my choices are made for me. I had to find a place to live, I had to go back to school, I have to wake up to that alarm every single morning, I have to take the kids to school, take myself to school, feed people, clean things, wear the same clothes, find everyone's shoes, put people to bed, go to bed myself, start all over the next day....

It was actually quite depressing.

I can't wait for summer.

Last summer was spent scrambling to find a place to live and figure out what to do about a job. This summer is mine.

I'm going to take a road trip with no notice and no plan.
I'm going to have a serious tan because I'm only going in the house when the temps are over 100.
I'm going to walk.
I'm going to turn off all the clocks for a week.
I'm going to get purple feather extensions in my hair.
I'm going to get this divorce finalized if it kills me.
I'm going to spend every Friday babying Ninja Truck.
I'm going to look at Corvettes until my eyeballs fall out and I find The One I will eventually own and drive when my kids are grown.
I'm going to hang out on my front porch by myself and with anyone I can get to come over.
I'm going to jump on the trampoline with the kids every day.
I'm going to clean my house and fix up the yard and give the dog a bath and all the big chores I don't have time for anymore.
I'm going to read 50 pointless novels. Some of them better be good.
I'm going to go see my aunt and uncle and cousins.

It's going to be a glorious eight weeks. Or seven, because of the snow days.

Ok, that sounds like a lot of work. Mostly, I'm going to sit on my porch. Come over, I've got beer.

Chats with Emma

2011-04-04T22:22:00.000-05:00

In explanation of my huge driving rant yesterday, I had been cut off by a guy in a pickup, and I just think they should have more manners than that...or else drive something more jerky, like a Porsche. I was disillusioned, and I don't like that. Dudes in pickups shouldn't act like dudes in jerk-mobiles, is my point.

Today, I had a quiet dinner with Emma, because the other kids failed to come home in time to eat. It was very interesting, because that girl can talk non-stop for hours with no need for me to make any reply. I sometimes forget this because Madilynn is usually present to divert Emma's attention.

She told me all about why she had to bring rocks to school in her pockets today. It seems that her preschool teacher suffers from arithmomania and is always insisting the kids bring things to class to let her count them. Emma brought rocks because she could fit a lot of them in her pocket, and was hoping that her teacher would be able to finally count to 142, because she never gets to count that high. I think a mark of a good teacher is that the kids have no idea they're the ones learning something, and this teacher has it down. Or maybe she became a preschool teacher because she is Count von Count from Sesame Street. You never know.

Emma and her teacher

Whatever the case may be, rocks were required, as well as a two-hour long discussion over dinner.

Truck Rules

2011-04-03T22:55:00.000-05:00

Some guys think that the hot car is going to get them the hot girls. They're probably right. At least for a time, and there is a certain kind of "hot" that is attracted to expensive cars. It's the kind that comes with a side of gold-digger and nothing else at all.

Because I can't seem to figure girls out most of the time, I honestly can't say what sort of car most girls would like to see their man drive, but I do have very strong opinions myself. Those opinions are turning into pet peeves the more I have to drive in the city.

I can't stand expensive cars. You know the people who have to park far away from everyone else? They take up two parking spots and always sit near a window so they can make sure nobody walks too close to their baby. Oh, and they call their car "baby". The car has no quirks, other than it's stupid name. A real car should have quirks, yo...the things you have to tell people about when they borrow it. A real car should be able to be borrowed in the first place, without your friends and family feeling like you've given them your last remaining kidney. If you have to spend ten hours a day thinking about your car, it's too expensive and not worth the worry.

I dated a guy once who had a brand new something-something, bright red, perfect everything, fast as hell. He picked me up for dinner and we had a pleasant conversation about his car all the way there. When we got out of the car, he carefully inspected every inch of it before we went inside. He went out to check on it twice. I called a friend to pick me up and never talked to him again.

Also, no man should ever drive a "compensation" car. Because really, it's jerky and doesn't work. Buy compensation cars for your wife, not for yourself. This will prove whatever you are trying to prove while still allowing you to appear like a non-wuss.

If you want to spend a ton of money on your vehicle, put the money into the vehicle, not into a dealer's pocket. Buy a diesel. Used. Then blow the rest of your money on super chips, cat-backs, stacks, intakes and a killer sound system.

Or buy a gas beater and fix it up. Spend the extra cash on custom paint or something. Don't buy something girly, is my point, even if it's expensive.

And for the love of Pete, buy American. I know our cars don't always out perform the others, but at least you can take the damn things apart and still get them back together. It is very manly to fix your own car; it is not manly at all to not be able to find the oil filter because it's shoved up under a Toyota passenger seat or something. The other countries make their cars like this so they can laugh at people dropping their cars off at a dealer for repair, sinking even more cash into their company because nothing on a foreign car can be fixed in a home garage.

If your car is super-loud, that's fine. But you don't have to rev the engine to show off, because most girls can't tell the difference between Loud on Purpose and Loud Because this Car SUCKS. If you find a girl who does know the difference, marry her instantly.

Nothing will ever beat the pickup in the manliness category. But if you drive a pickup, you must also follow the rules. Cowboy hats go on the dash, guns go in the back....never the opposite. Always wave at passers-by on a dirt road. You must wave at other trucks no matter where you are. If you happen to drive a diesel and need to fill up, it is necessary to trade specs with the guy on the other side. If you don't drive a diesel, you don't have to do this unless the guy on the other side has a similar truck of a different make...then you must compare until you WIN, yo. Also? Girls get the right of way at a four-way intersection. Always.

These are my own redneck girl's rules for manliness in driving. Take them or leave them, but mostly take them because y'all are starting to drive me crazy.

Just Like Epic Badassery, Except That it’s Not

2011-03-30T20:14:00.003-05:00

Facebook may need to be turned off for awhile until I don't feel the need to splat about stuff anymore.

What I need is a good old fashioned Interwebz fight. Interwebz, why won't you fight with me anymore? I'm not even famous enough for "Ban American Women" dude. Ban American Women Dude, why won't you ban people in my comment section? It would make me feel better, and I promise to tell all the American women to stop trying so desperately to date you.

I met a guy named Thaddeus the other day. This allowed me to cross one thing off my bucket list.

Bucket List:

1. Keep the house clean for ten minutes in a row.

2. Take an epic walk. (In the style of Frodo)

3. Meet someone whose actual name is Thaddeus.

4. Call him "Thad."

This was quite exciting…I'm 25% finished being alive, yo! If I continue at this rate, I'll finally keep the house clean for ten minutes when I'm 124 years old. Sounds about right.

Donovan made it through his pictures today, even though I tortured him with a tie. I can't blame him. I would have let him take the pics in pajamas, but the daycare liked the suit and it was for their scrapbook. He managed to smile in one picture. In the others, he's looking off away from the camera with an expression that clearly asks why he should have things tied around his neck when he has a box full of perfectly good sweatpants and T-shirts.

I agree.

X-Men in Daycare

2011-03-29T20:29:00.010-05:00

Because nobody ever sleeps at my house and also there is a definite lack of chocolate due to the Lenten season, serious crankiness abounds. I think we all need therapy.

Maybe that will be our summer activity. It'll give the kids something interesting to talk about when they go back after the break. Last year, we went to the lake for two days, and they talked about that like we "spent our summer at our lake house".

Today, we only had three hours of homework, so we luxuriated in screaming about bed time during all that extra time we had. Donovan has pictures tomorrow at school (daycare). We are going to work on combing his Wolverine 'do into something more befitting a three year old trouble-maker. Although he does rock the Wolverine look pretty hard, I'm just not sure he will be so impressed with it when he looks back on pictures ten years from now. Especially because he usually attains that look by using macaroni and cheese as hair gel. Now picture it on a three year old, stained fake-cheese orange. Awesome, right? That's my boy. Unfortunately, his nails aren't quite there yet and he's still working on the glare. This face was more of an "I know I asked for those green beans, but why the hell didn't you realize I'm only three and don't know what I want" look. (Photo by: Tracy the Famous Italian Cousin) But like I said, he's working on it. Anyway, if I clean that gunk off his face and remember he hates green beans and break out the comb and hide the mac and cheese....he should be just fine for pictures tomorrow, right?

Party at My House

2011-03-26T20:16:00.002-05:00

Saturday nights are wilder than ever now that I'm single again.

At the moment, I am drinking heavily trying to get enough of a buzz to get through the rest of the night. The coffee was a must, because it's cold in here and I was falling asleep at 6:30.

There are six people running the halls in various states of undress, hair all wet and piles of clothing scattered around the living room. Bath time at its finest, church clothes all set out and ready to be misplaced sometime between falling asleep and waking up. I am pretty sure there is a sleepwalking clothing-loser living in this house.

I told the kids to go to bed. Hijinks ensued. They are still ensuing. I am giving up.

Another thing I noticed today about being single is how bad headaches suck. When you're a single mom, you don't get to just have a headache. You say "I have a headache" and six thousand people scream at you. Or maybe six. Either way, though, really. And nobody tells them to stop except you, and they can't hear you because it hurts to be heard over them. And you don't get a nap or even to sit down for five minutes, because if you do, people are spilling orange slushie all over the floor you just mopped and pulling all the clean clothes out of the closet.

Also, when you're single, you don't get to be in a bad mood because you are in charge of the mood for your entire house. This applies even if you don't have kids. I hate when the house is in a bad mood, but sometimes, I just want to be bitchy and I can't. Hence the hateful post this evening...if I can't bitch up the house, I'll have to settle for bitching up the internet. Sorry, Interwebz, but something has to give here.

I am going to go to bed and hope they don't burn the house down before I wake up.

Fourth Grade is a Jerk

2011-03-24T20:56:00.002-05:00

I have been owned by Warrick's fourth grade state project. I had to read the assignment 12 times, and I'm still not sure we did it right. I can't imagine what my son was thinking as he was trying to figure it out on his own.

I am done with school projects until next year. I don't want to do any more homework or anymore artwork. I would like to have just one family meal without papers spread all over the table. I want to go for a walk after dinner instead of searching for pencils and crayons and glue. I want to sit out on the truck and watch the sun set. Do you see the negative way in which my kids' homework is affecting our well-being? Do ya? Stupid homework.

Warrick gave me a hug and told me he couldn't have done it without me and thank you. I cried. So maybe the homework brought us closer together, but could we honestly not have bonded over a beer just as well? I'm just sayin.

In other news, I got word that the kids' dad may be "inpatient" for another six months. If Donovan isn't potty trained by then, I call dibs on the next hospital stay.

He is the last kid in diapers, and he's hanging onto them for dear life. I was kind of hoping the day care would do the training, but apparently not. We are stocking up on skittles and undies and staying in this weekend to see what happens. I keep telling him to use the big boy potty, and he says "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh", but I don't think he's really getting it, or else he doesn't understand what "Ohhh" means. Either way, no success so far. If it doesn't work, I'm going to teach him to change diapers so either way, win for me.

This is a pointless, rambling post, showcasing the utter brain-drain that results from countless hours spent on an Alaskan deca-ball project (I know, I just made one and I still don't know what it is), so I'm going to sleep.

Good night.

Something has gone terribly wrong here

2011-03-22T23:15:00.005-05:00

I am not a morning person. I like the night time. I like it when everyone else is asleep and there isn't traffic or waking up or Things Needing Doing or whatever.

It's not that I don't like mornings. I do. I just despise doing things during them. Unless those things are drinking coffee and wearing giant pajamas and watching the sun rise through the window.

I can't stand rushing and fighting over the bathroom and waking up children who are perfectly asleep and going anywhere at all.

Before Noon:

You see? This should never happen to anybody. At first glance, it looks like my glasses are crooked here, but that is not the case. It's my eyes. My eyes are crooked, and that's what mornings do. This is bad, people, it's really bad. We need to do something. (Also, pay no attention to the misleading smile. When this was taken, I hadn't completely woken from a dream in which our pediatrician had prescribed Ambien and no homework to all the kids.)

I say we find all the morning people in the world (there can only be like ten of them, anyway), and their new job is to make the coffee. The rest of us can start everything at noon. The morning people are only allowed to talk to each other, because pep before noon is honestly too much, yo.

The rest of us should resume avoiding eye contact and develop a system of communication using only grunts and flipping the bird. Any speaking beyond that can begin at sunset, when the day gets fun and people aren't all down about having to go to work or making sure their cell phone is charged or whatever is bothering everyone during the day. Then it can be happy and there will be merriment and laughter throughout the land until we all go back to sleep around 6am.

The Reason for Everything, with Sparkles and Spikes

2011-03-22T17:26:00.007-05:00

There is a bracelet. It belongs to me because one day I had ten dollars to my name, and for some reason, when have very little money, I have a desperate need to spend it on things for which I have no use at all. So I bought the bracelet.

It is a leather sparkly-spiked bracelet. It looks like this:

It clearly says that the wearer is amazingly intelligent, not too old for it at all, and totally into being attractive and stylish.

To further that point, I wear it upside down, like this:

Because that's how I roll, yo....put the best parts where nobody can see them and the functional parts up high to show how excessively functional I am...and also how very sparkly I am if only you look under my wrists.

The ring is a bonus...it's actually two rings, because the one just wasn't accomplishing what I wanted, which was to border both sides of yet another ring that says "FAITH", only I lost my faith ring, which is symbolic of absolutely nothing except maybe that I don't always put things were they belong. Anyway, I wear the rings in case I ever need to punch someone really hard in the forehead with my left hand, which happens a lot more often than you might think, but still less often than, say, Christmas. Still, you obviously don't want to make me angry.

Anyway, the point to all of this is that I lost my bracelet (again). I like to drive with the windows down, so I'm guessing the bracelet jumped ship because I hadn't been out of the truck yet.

Did I mention how much this bracelet means to me? As in, I would drive around for miles looking for it in ditches and possibly even attack 12 year old skater chicks because they may have one that looks almost similar, or not really at all similar unless you're driving 45 miles down a dirt road? Because that's exactly what I did for this bracelet today.

His name is Toby the Awesome Bracelet.

And he was lost.

I didn't find him in any ditches, and if there were a 12 year old skater chick who learned a lesson about talking to crazy old lady strangers today, it wasn't on her, either. I spent hours or maybe minutes looking for Toby.

Toby may not love me as much as I love him. Figures.

I found him sitting right by my computer where I left him because he isn't made for typing. Even though I specifically remember telling him to get in the truck when it was time to go. For that, he's not going out next weekend or next month or whenever the next time I have a spare evening may be. Although he probably won't mind, because the last time he went out, he was kidnapped by a woman who is wayyyy older than I, and I had to get my friend's husband to get him back.

Either way, as the only symbol of my utter awesomness, Toby isn't going to be worn anymore, which is symbolic of why neither my functionality nor my sparkliness are EVER seen outside my home (because I lose them when I bring them out, is my point.)

Chats with Shucks

2011-03-21T19:38:00.003-05:00

Shucks: Can I have your dinner, please?

Me: No. Get out of the kitchen.

Shucks: Ok. I'm just going to sit here and watch you eat.

Me: Don't.

Shucks: I'm just looking at you. Because you're pretty. Not at all because I want your food.

Me: No. Get out of the kitchen and stop whining.

Shucks: I'm not whining, that's dinner music. For you.

Me: You can't have this food.

Shucks: Good, because that is precisely what I don't want...that food right there.

Me: You're breathing on me. Don't breathe on me while I'm eating. Or ever.

Shucks: I'll scoot back a little if you give me a bite.

Me: No. Get out.

Shucks: Joking! That was a joke! hahahahaha! I don't want your food. I'm guarding you.

Me: Mmmmm.....this is really good. A dog would love this food. But you're not a dog. You're a cat. And a fox. You're a....well, there's no good way to combine those two words, but that's what you are. If you were a dog I would give you a bite.

Shucks: Good thing I'm not a dog, because I don't want a bite of that. It looks gross.

Me: It's not gross...it's sooooo good. It has bacon.

Shucks: That wasn't drool you just saw...I was...crying. Out of my mouth. Crying tears of joy out of my mouth because I don't have to eat disgusting bacon.

Me: It has chiiiiiicken....

Shucks: I gave up chickens for lent.

Me: It has cheeeeeeeese....soooo yummy....

Shucks: Cheese? And bacon, huh? And some chickens in there, too? Sounds....gross.

Me: Good, because I'm not sharing.

Shucks: :::Super Death Bark:::

Me: nope.

Shucks: I was talking to the kids. Warning them not to eat the bacon and chickens.

Me: Sure you were. Go outside. You're weird. Don't be weird at the table.

Shucks: Really? That's a rule now? I don't want your food, yo!

Me: :::throws bacon at the dog:::

Shucks: :::eats bacon in mid-air::: Gross! Yuk! Can I have more???

Me: No.

Shucks: Fine. :::sulks away:::

Me: ::::continues dinner:::

Shucks: :::sneak attacks Donovan's plate and eats all the chicken:::

Me: I thought you gave that up for Lent.

Shucks: No. Beer. I gave up beer and smoking.

hollahollahollahollahollahollaholla

2011-03-20T21:45:00.002-05:00

This week has been absolutely crazy. My plans for a relaxing spring break were not realized, but I think the kids had a good time, so I guess that's what counts.

I went out to the local hole in the wall bar with my oldest brother this weekend. I messed up his pool game, but he still hung out with me. Nothing like brothers for sticking with you. Also, nothing like being the driver for people sticking with you, either.

There was a dude there who told me he was gonna' have to "holla'" after he asked if I had a boyfriend. I don't like being holla'd at (or on or with whichever thing you do when you holla'). I tried to brush him off with the claim that I had enough kids to scare anyone away. He said "Oh, I love kids...I can support 'em. I'll support those kids, I'm an electrician." Clearly, the man was very drunk. He hadn't even asked for a phone number, yet was offering to support my kids.

A friend of his came to drag him away, and he told me he needed to get my digits first. I said that if digits had anything to do with holla-ing, I didn't have any. His friend thought I was very funny, but the electrician thought I was mean. I wasn't mean, only confused. I am obviously too old for that scene and have no desire to keep up with the lingo.

I stayed out until four that morning, and stayed up until six. When I went to bed, I left my phone out in the living room and woke up to about forty missed calls and eight thousand text messages from everyone who had my kids. I was scared until I realized only one of them was trying to find me for anything having to do with the kids, and the rest thought I had died. That's what happens when you get the flu after drinking one night...nobody believes that you can hold your liquor, and everyone thinks you're dead when you're only sleeping in. Never get the flu when people can mistake it for a hangover. Just don't do it. You'll never live it down.

That about sums up what this week has been like, which, if that doesn't explain why I haven't been posting, throw the kids on top of it and add some lack of sleep. Tomorrow is Monday, so if that doesn't give me some complaint to blog about, I don't know what will.

Call Me Ishmael

2011-03-17T22:58:00.005-05:00

I finally got my kids back from my other-mother-in-law yesterday, and I was so excited because my house is boring when I'm the only one in it. They weren't so excited to see me, but they were happy to get home and play with the neighbors. I didn't see them until bedtime.

So today, I decided to force them to spend time with me by trapping them in the car. We headed out for coffee with Tracy, where they made me question my desire to spend time with them because they became instantly high-maintenance.

We (read: I) decided to plan a garden, so we went in search of garden-y things. We got sidetracked by a tiny little used-book store tucked in the back corner of a giant strip mall. We ditched the garden-y stuff and went in search of literature. The store is run by a nice little old lady, who loved my kids. They spent an hour picking out the Perfect Book. This included three books with famous cartoon characters on the front cover, which discouraged me somewhat. I think that the notion of writing what kids will read over kids reading the good stuff that has been written is making our nation stupider. But I digress....they got "character books", full of crappy writing and political correctness. I allowed it because, hey, whatever gets them reading, right?

Dalton chose a book on tsunamis. It turned out to be quite frightening. "The last major tsunami killed over 500,000 people, and workers found at least 500 dead bodies every day for months! Stay tuned for a chapter on earthquakes and hurricanes! Here is the definition of 'disaster'!" I was hoping for some comforting words on how to stay safe and maybe a hopeful survival story or two, considering it was written for children, but no.

Huston was in search of "horror". I don't know how he even knew there was a genre for horror, but I told him absolutely not. He settled for an inspiration book about a person called Captain Underpants. Truly, he is my little genius. So proud of that boy, he finished the book before we got home. This child, around whom I have carefully planted the classics that inspired my own love of reading. He's been reading Mark Twain for two years, C.S. Lewis since he could read words instead of pictures, and here he is, in a quaint little book store full of forgotten treasure, purchasing "Captain Underpants." :::sigh:::

Warrick searched every shelf for "Moby Dick". I don't know why, but his search was intense enough to parallel the story itself. Sadly, there wasn't a copy to be found in the store, so he settled for something else, with a promise to obtain Moby after dinner. I was very impressed when he strolled in and asked "Where do you put the classics?"

After book shopping we met my mother-in-law for dinner, during which Huston quoted the underpants dude at least a thousand times.

We got halfway home and remembered about the garden, so we went to Wal-Mart. We sat on the patio furniture for about two hours, wondering how long it would take to save up enough to buy it, then, just as we were starting to fall asleep and get strange looks from the employees, I decided it was time to go home.

I love spring break. We don't have a garden or patio furniture or anything else we set out to see, but we had a great time, we got half price on the books because they were well-behaved, and I didn't have to cook dinner. All in all, a pretty good day.

Ninja Truck vs. British Petroleum

2011-03-16T22:10:00.004-05:00

Ninja Truck: Ok, I'm good now. Just put everything back where you found it and I promise not to leak oil anymore.

Me: Are you sure?

NT: Yes.

Me: Because the last time you said that, you were lying. Remember that?

NT: I thought I was good. But now I know I'm good, just do it.

Me: Ok, because I pretty much just did the exact same thing a second time.

NT: I know...that's all I needed...two times of that, now I'm good to go.

Me: :::puts everything back together:::

Anthony: Hey! Almost done?

Me: Yup! Just replacing the lines.

Anthony: Don't get them too tight.

Me: Pshhhh....I know what I'm doing, yo.

Anthony: :::trying to be patient::: Ok, because sometimes, too tight can leak just as much as too loose.

Me: It took me forever to take these off, so I think they started out pretty tight.

Anthony: :::wisely says nothing:::

Me: Ok, that should do it.

Anthony: Awesome! Start it up and I'll watch for leaks. :::moves oil pan out of the way::: :::positions face directly under former oil drip:::

Me: :::turns on the truck and looks underneath:::

Anthony: Turn it off! Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!

NT: :::major oil gushage all over Anthony's face:::

Me: :::scrambles back out from under the truck, fiddles with the keys, slips off the truck, starts over, finally turns off the truck:::

Anthony: I think these lines may be too tight.

Me: Oh.

NT: Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!

:::Thirty minutes later:::

Me: Anthony, did you get a black eye?

Anthony: :::pauses::: I think it's oil.

Me: Oh, yeah. From my truck?

Anthony: Probably.

Me: Oh. Sorry. The lines were too tight.

Anthony: Yeah.

Me: Ok. Soooo.....you wanna get back under there and see what's leaking now?

First Ever Review Post (Sorta)

2011-03-14T16:15:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, I was oh so sick, which I deserved after the way I handled the other sick people in my life by saying "Quit whining and get out of bed." So I basically laid in bed and whined while Tracy brought me food and my mom texted me all day to make sure I was alive and my mother-in-law got the kids an extra few days.

Today, I feel like I was hit by a truck, but still much better than yesterday, which felt like being hit by a truck over and over for six consecutive hours. Much better, and now I'm done whining and back to hating on the whining of others.

Being sick without the kids in the house has been a new experience for me. I got to really be a baby about it, and not have to cook dinner or change any diapers. That meant watching a LOT of TV.

I got addicted to the series "Firefly" which is an amazingly nerdy and awesome show that was cancelled after one season. It ran on Fox in 2002-2003, and featured a world 500 years into the future where Earth had been depleted and humans were forced to terraform and colonize other planets. (Terraforming = almost as nerdy as accounting.)

Nathan Fillion plays the lead, in what is the best (and possibly only) blend of sci-fi and western action I have ever seen. Are you getting clues to how much of a nerd I am deep down? It also stars Adam Baldwin whom I have long had a crush on from his role in Chuck because of the fact that he almost never talks and exists only for extreme badassery.

So, day two of being sick and I have run out of TV shows to watch. I decided to download Serenity (the movie made after the show), because nerds download their nerdy movies and whatnot. I can't wait...this will be the best date ever - Gatorade, Tylenol, and Space Cowboys who are NOT Clint Eastwood, cause, not really a fan of ol' Clint, myself.

Hopefully, when I am well, I can write more than TV reviews for you, Interwebz, but for now, this is what you get.

A Week's Worth of Random

2011-03-11T23:06:00.002-06:00

I have been away for awhile because my mother-in-law fell and hurt her knee at work, so the kids and I moved in with her until my father-in-law got back into town. You'd think this would provide a couple thousand excellent blog posts, but sadly, I had access to only a laptop, and I can't type on those, which means no blogging about the last week.

The kids are going to stay with my other-mother-in-law this weekend, so I'm going to be doing some serious partying in the form of studying and cleaning the house and washing all the clothes and bathing the dog.

Here's another thing: Did you know they got rid of the extra space between sentences? When I was learning to type as a kid, there were TWO spaces between sentences. Now, all of a sudden, with no warning, someone decided there should only be one space. Right before I have to take a bunch of typing tests that require only one space. Who did this and what is the meaning of it? I don't think it's right to just arbitrarily change something so fundamental as the two spaces. That's like saying we should all start inhaling twice before we get to exhale. Or we all need to start looking behind us before we reverse the car, right? Ridiculous.

In other news, I have found a job. I found it, but I don't have it yet. The main requirements are smiling and the ability to run a cash register. I can do both of those things as long as I have coffee and nobody tells me what to do. That is what I plan to tell them at the interview, so I'm pretty sure I can land it, no problem.

I took two weeks off from homework and received a note from Huston's teacher about a report he didn't turn in. I should say, I allowed the kids to take off from homework, because they've had a rough week and I just couldn't fight them over it anymore. I warned Huston that he was going to get an "F" on his report, and he chose to flub it and take the grade. The note informed me of this fact. At the end, his teacher apologized for the "bad news". I wanted to move into her house as soon as I read it.

If there is a world where a third grader's F on a book report can be big enough of a deal to be labeled "bad news", I want to go to there. Please, take me there. Because in my house, "Daddy's in a coma" is bad news; "Grandma needs us to move in for a week" is bad news; even "Donovan has screamed for three days straight" is bad news. "The child who can nearly out read his mother got the first bad grade of his life because he was bored with the assignment" is akin to "Emma went outside barefoot and stepped on a sticker". It's not bad news, it's just sh*t that happens, yo. Here's how long I care about a bad grade he got because of laziness: As long as it takes for the report card to go from my hand into the trash can.

Not to say that it's ok for him to be lazy or disobedient with his schoolwork. He was punished for that part of it. I only mean that I just can't bring myself to work up a real good upset over it, because in the grand scheme of things, that book report isn't going to matter a bit. My sincere hope is that I can get to a point where I can worry about book reports and where my keys are and if my cell phone is charged and if someone is going to break into my car and who stepped on a sticker and who made their bed and where the dog went, because oh! what a beautiful world that would be.

Until then, I am going to try to convince Donovan that the people in Japan have it worse than he does this week, and maybe even convince myself that my bad news still pales in comparison to someone else's.

The Cost of A Penny

2011-03-04T20:11:00.003-06:00

Tomorrow is fort-building day, except that I'm pretty sure my kids all ditched me in favor of hanging out with their friends. I thought this would be a good bonding thing or whatever. But whatever.

I kind of need their help, because when I sit out there with a hammer and box of nails and build something that looks like a first grader did it, I should at least be able to tell people that a first grader actually did build it.

This is another instance where it's proven that I should have kept the tools and let the couch go, because we never sit in the living room, and I am pretty sure that my ex hasn't...uh...used them. It's so hard to be diplomatic sometimes. Anyway, I should have kept the tools. Because I live somewhere and living somewhere means fixing things and building forts and basically a lot of things involving more than a hammer and a teeny tiny screwdriver for changing batteries in Thomas the Train.

Also, today we discovered that Lowe's is not somewhere you go as a family. It's more like a one person at a time kind of place, because everyone has their favorite part of the store and it's never the same part for any two people. I needed nails, that was it. Easy to find, right at the front of the store. Then, we decided to find a tarp. Those aren't easy to find. We went past the hardware for cabinetry, which enthralled Madilynn. Then, Emma fell in love with the giant toolboxes for pickup beds. Donovan liked the appliances because he quite dangerously fit into most of them. Huston liked the plants. Dalton was entranced by the variety of doors. And Warrick just had to go to the bathroom (note: the bathroom in a home improvement store is always a mile away from what you're there for...it's faster to just go home).

It turns out that the single common denominator for all the kids was handsaws. We were heading to check out and walked past a display of handsaws. Within two seconds, each child was armed and dangerous, playing Luke Skywalker: The Construction Worker. I kept walking and pretended I didn't know them, but it turns out that people had already seen them with me, so I had to "do something about it".

When the saws were all put back in their original spots, more or less, we proceeded to have no less than two hundred arguments about why we couldn't buy all the flashlights near the register while the guy in front of me argued with the cashier about pricing. He wouldn't quit even after I rolled my eyes at the back of his head at least a dozen times.

After we finally got through the register and were all heading toward the door, the cashier (who I learned, during our wait, is currently in her EIGHTH YEAR of college) calls my kids back and asks them if they want a penny. Not if each of them wanted a penny. But if they all six wanted one penny. Again, I was already at the door, mission complete, you know? But no, because they all go running back to fight over the damn penny. So she held it over their heads and said "as long as you don't fight over it." Nice. Luckily, three of them have no interest in pennies, as they have learned that the only coin worth fighting over is one you can stick in a vending machine. The other kids, not so much.

Finally, one of them grabbed the penny and bolted for the door with the rest chasing after. I threw a handful of pennies into the truck and waited till the last kid jumped after them and slammed the doors. Somewhere in all that fuss, we lost the nails. So perhaps our fort will just be boards leaning against trees like the kind I used to spend hours making as a kid. Perhaps it is for the best. Perhaps not, but I now know the nails aren't worth it.

Rock Stars from Mars

2011-03-03T20:42:00.005-06:00

I tell you all my secrets, Interwebz. Except for the ones I don't want anyone to know about, because, let's face it, you're a horrible gossip.

Either way, most of the secrets I don't tell you aren't actually mine. Some of them belong to other people, or at least involve other people and I hate getting sued and I also hate getting yelled at, so I try not to tell those things.

Occasionally, celebrities, who live their lives in the public purely for our entertainment, do some things and I'm all "yup...I did that..." because their secrets are better than mine.

And sometimes, those same celebrities don't even bother with the secrets. They just go on 20/20 after their publicist quits and put it all out there. Aren't they kind? Purely for our edification. Celebrities are so giving, you know?

That being said, I may or may not have a very good personal reason that I would love to punch Charlie Sheen in the face, or anything that will make him just stop talking. Only I won't punch him...mostly because I wasn't the lucky person interviewing him, and also because I'm quite frightened of his fire-breathing fists. And clearly, it would be idiotic to mess around with any bitchin' rock star from Mars, but especially one named Sheen.

Since I am so very afraid, will somebody please make him stop? I appreciate his candor and ability to heal his mind with blinking, but I find it disturbing that one person be allowed to say so many words in so short an amount of time. And as much as I love and condone smoking, someone needs to warn him that only dragons should be breathing smoke with every single breath. However, he may actually be a dragon, and that could be the one secret he isn't telling. Possibly, it's why he no longer has a publicist...maybe it's hard to work for a dragon. Or maybe it's only his fists that are dragons? I don't know.

What I do know is that I would like to learn to defeat earthworms (and creatures that suck so bad we just call them earthworms) with my words. That is what this blog is all about -- Earthworm Defeatery! Also, sucky things defeatery. I was obviously lacking purpose before, pursuing all the wrong goals in my quest to live the life I want. From here on out, it's all about the words and the no-more-earthworms and the defeatage. And also the blinky-healy thing...that could be useful, too.

Mushy Stuff

2011-03-02T23:11:00.003-06:00

When people hear my story, they tend to wonder if I'm lying. At least, I assume they do, because I would think that if I wasn't the one living it. I have been asked so many times how I handle everything, and I feel the need to clear this up. I don't handle anything.

Mostly, I just drive.

When things go terribly wrong, and I need some time to take care of it, my sisters and my parents are the ones who pick up the slack, not me. They watch my kids, listen to me complain, send over food, run errands and generally take over my real life so that I can focus on the disaster. And I'll tell you a secret, Interwebz, many times, the disaster is easier than my day-to-day life, so they're doing the dirty work while I get all the glory.

When I'm having a bad day, and I need to talk or to laugh, I have a BFF who always knows if I want to talk or just text, if I want coffee or beer, and will also tell me I'm pretty, which, WIN. She also knows when I want to just be left alone.

I have another friend I rarely talk to, who calls me at the just the right times to say just the right things. This has to be very stressful, but this friend has helped me through the darkest times.

I have more friends who live close to me. They do things like watch my kids, bring me things I need, check on me when I'm sick, and show up in my driveway when trouble's brewing.

I have brothers who get late-night phone calls and bring me cigs when I forget to buy them. And I can't tell you how many times they have helped me put my kids to bed, which is the worst thing in the world to do.

My dad loans me money and is always there when I just want to be mad about it all. He helps me think of the best words to use. I know he'll be mad at me for this, but he's also a softie. He's brought me heaters and even (don't tell anyone) babysat a few times.

The people who own Donovan's daycare have helped me find a lawyer, they have sent goodies over for the kids, they have told me to put them on speed dial in case I ever need them (ahem...28 years in the Marine Corps, that's some serious backup), and are even helping me pick out my very own gun. Because I live in the country, now.

My neighbors, who also own my house, have let my kids spend countless hours playing at their house, they take my boys out to do guy stuff, they jump my truck when the kids leave the lights on, and have become very good friends in the short time I've lived here.

Today, as I went through my normal routine, it struck me that these people I see every day, from the couple who owns my favorite gas station, to all of my neighbors, even the people at my school and my kids' school, have become very important to my life. Without them, I wouldn't get through any of this. I would have quit a long time ago. They are the people who keep my life on track. They are the ones who "handle it". I'm just along for the ride.

Second Best Mom, Bless Your Heart

2011-03-01T20:42:00.003-06:00

Here's the thing about being a mom...it's a thankless job. Nobody ever comes to you and says "You know? If it weren't for you, the inside of the washing machine would never be clean", because they don't even know it has to be done. Nobody appreciates the fact that it literally takes six hours to obtain food and install it into the pantry. The closest you're going to get is when someone yells "Mom?? Do I have any pants?" and you say yes and they wear them. Instead of pajamas. Basically, when your kid leaves the house in clothing, consider yourself thanked.

Last night, Dalton (who is the king of charm) told me that I am the best mommy in the world and he would've cried if he got any mom but me and the only mom who was ever better than me was Mary, because she was Jesus' mom, but otherwise, I was the best. Warrick, not wanting to get left out, said "I agree. And other parents think you're great, too...that's why they always say 'bless your heart'".

Which, ok, I guess it's not always thankless, because that made me laugh and cry all at once. But it reminded me of a conversation in which someone was explaining why "bless your heart" is deemed as an insult. After reading a little and talking to a few people, I realized that the phrase seems to be an insult if you're from the south. In the south, it's used for people who have just really messed things up. "Oh, well, ever since he got fired, Johnny just sits in the basement and drinks all day, bless his heart." Something like that.

Although I like to think of myself as southern, we don't have the same manners, the same food or the same phrases here, so I know some of my readers are from the south, can you clear this up for me please? Because when someone blesses my heart, I'm all "thanks, man, because dragging these kids through Walmart can't be good for the ticker, ya know?"

Last Week

2011-02-28T20:46:00.002-06:00

This last week has been absolutely crazy and I'm sure everyone is waiting on the tell-all expose...

First of all, there was Monday. The day of the crazy texts and kids throwing up. Also? Monday.

Then on Tuesday, Donovan had a fever and it broke his whine filter.

On Wednesday, we stayed home from school one last day to make sure nobody was sick, and Donovan's whine filter repaired around midnight. And I need a word for those text messages you just don't know what to do with...the crazy ones. Crexts? Tazies? ... Psycotixts?

Thursday, we stayed home from school even though nobody in my house was sick. This had mostly to do with who else may be sick, and how badly we didn't want to get involved in it.

On Friday, I finally got brave enough for class and sent the boys on their way. I spent the morning sorting paperwork at yet another government office, and answered phone calls including one from the long-lost shiny-haired lawyer, whom I had presumed dead since November. Apparently, he lives, and was full of advice that involved a cooperative ex. Meanwhile, Mr. Cooperative Himself was battling many illnesses in the ICU, but I didn't know that yet. This is one of those cases where you wish you had just answered your mother-in-law's calls before you found your lawyer's, ya know? Right? Anyone? .... Oh.

Saturday was full of medical updates and text messages. It was not a particularly enjoyable day. My aunt told me that sending mass texts while someone was in the hospital was like being a pitcher in a baseball game, only when you throw one pitch, everyone in the stands throws a ball at you....and she was right. I broke my thumbs trying to relay texts to my family, and glean information from his.

One problem with inlaws is that, when someone is in the hospital, it's already stressful enough; then it's also the time you find out how vastly different two families can be. I imagine that being an ex-inlaw isn't the best thing to be, either, but I'll give it to both our families, they have all been very kind to me, to him, and to each other.

Sunday, we got word that he was suddenly doing much better, and was expected to make a full recovery. We celebrated by tailgating in our driveway while we watched the sun set, and I may or may not have had a couple beers and they may or may not have made my nervous tummy ache finally go away...

And then, Interwebz, it was Monday again. We all went back to our normal routine, only I called a ban on homework until we can sort out our life a little bit. Then I recalled the ban, because honestly....then I called it back on again because if the kids don't go to bed at some point in the next month, I'm not going to make it.

So that is the story of our week, most of it is true, some of it is tabloidesque in it's embellishments. I was told once that a writer never reveals which is which. I also plan on breaking that rule but only when I totally sell out...then, Interwebz, I will have to change my name and run away somewhere warm and ocean-y where nobody will ever find me. Darn.

It started out as a post, then turned into I can't think straight

2011-02-26T20:42:00.003-06:00

Our family has had a rough couple of days. I have spent quite a few hours trying to write about it, but Interwebz, I just can't do it! Instead, I'll throw it in my book, and you can read this....

Police, Field Trips, and Why Emma gets Left at School from Now On...

I took the kids to the police station today on the way home from school. I thought this would be a great way to break up the screaming/fighting/murdering that goes on in the back seat all the way home, and also be a chance for the kids to learn something. We all piled out of the car, went inside and sat in the lobby.

Officer: Ma'am, can I help you with something?

Me: :::looks closely at the officer::: Prolly not...got any big scary officers back there we can talk to?

Officer: Is there something you need help with?

Me: Yes, but I just don't think you're quite the right public servant...I need someone scary.

Officer: Ma'am, I'm not sure what you think you're doing, but if you are here for a reason, you can tell me about it and I will direct you to the right person.

Me: Well, my kids were trying to kill each other on the way home from school. After my ears started bleeding and I was tempted to just get out and let my fourth grader take the wheel, I decided to bring them here.

Officer: We don't arrest children.

Me: :::puppy face::: pwwweeeease????

Officer: :::sighs::: I think you need to leave.

Me: Wait! I've seen those talk shows where you guys get a big scary officer and have him yell at the bad kids until they cry and then they change their ways and their moms are so happy and relaxed after that...can I get some of that?

Officer: This isn't a drive-through.

Me: Aren't you a public servant? Well....I'm part of the public, right? So fix my kid, I order thee!

Officer: Ma'am, if I have to go get a big scary officer, he will be coming after you, not the kids.

Me: Oh. :::sad face:::

Officer: :::taps foot:::

Me: Ok, wait, I have one more question...

Officer: ...

Me: Oh, well, uh, see, my daughter Emma? She screams all the way home, and she's like, unnaturally loud. I thought maybe you could give her a job? Help her work out some of her frustrations? She's four, but she's very precocious.

Officer: A job?

Me: ....yes?

Officer: Are you serious?

Me: yes?

Officer: You want your four year old little girl to be a police officer? I'm calling CPS...

Me: No! :::grabs the phone from him and hangs it up::: :::chuckles::: Of course not! I thought she could be a siren.

Officer: A...siren?

Me: Yeah, like the thing that makes all the noise when you need people to get out of the way? She's good at that. When we left the school today, we didn't have to worry about traffic because she was pulling people over all the way here.

Officer: Are you talking about (my kids' school) right when it got out? Because we did have an emergency in that area, and there was a minivan that would not get out of the officer's way. Would that have been you?

Me: No, I saw that van, it wasn't me. I was in the van who pulled that officer over because even he thought I was an emergency vehicle.

Officer: You need to go. Now.

Me: So, we'll just get back to you on the job...? No?

Open House

2011-02-24T20:04:00.002-06:00

Kindergarten and Pre-K had an open house at school this evening. I seriously considered skipping it, but my girls had been so excited about it, and have missed so much fun at school this week, I decided we should go.

Because of my late decision making, we weren't really prepared for an evening in public of Hoity Toity Town. I left the house thinking "at least we're all dressed". Emma was wearing all black, including a little skirt that kept falling off of her, because she wanted to "match" and "be fancy". She also had on purple snow boots. Madi's outfit was more pulled together, except her pants didn't exactly fit and I forgot to pull her hair back. I didn't even want to notice what the boys were wearing. Didn't matter, anyway, because I pulled a tight jacket over a giant t-shirt and stuck my hair in a baseball cap.

When we got there, I thought maybe they had sent home a "black tie" notice on one of our sick days. All the dads were in their work clothes, which, you would think I could identify with, but I didn't see one blue collar type dad there. The scrubbiest-dressed dads were literally wearing surgeon's scrubs.

I overheard a few conversations between the men who were just meeting, talking about flying to so-and-so and trying to get back in time to catch a plane to somewhere-else. If one guy had more places to go, the other guy would go all "Well, nice to meet ya, man" all loud, because it doesn't matter where you're going if you're louder than the other guy.

It reminded me of a scene I witnessed yesterday when a strange dog was barking at Shucks through the fence. They barked for awhile, then Shucks chased him about halfway along the fence line. The strange dog stopped to pee on a fence post. As soon as he turned away, Shucks went and peed on the same post. The other dog, not to be outdone, came back to pee in the same spot. Shucks said, "You can pee all you want, but it's still my fence. Nice to meet ya, man!" and walked away with his head held high.

There was one mom dressed like me tonight, meaning, she hadn't had time for makeup and curling irons or even a brush, and her jacket may not have been smaller than her t-shirt, but her sweatpants were. I couldn't stop to make friends, though, because she was also surrounded by a ten-foot circle of kids...we just gave each other a nod from across our sea of children and went on our way.

I did try to talk to a few of the elite crowd, but Donovan had an unfortunate case of the gassies, and because he insisted I carry him the entire time, there weren't many people who wanted to get close enough to us to chat.

The girls had a great time showing off their classrooms, which made the evening worth it. Who needs Hoity Toity when we can be country together? Or whatever you call little black dress with purple snow boots.

Disclaimer: This is About Puke

2011-02-22T20:57:00.003-06:00

Right in the middle of last night's drama text war, Donovan threw up. No warning or anything, just puked all over the place and sat in it and cried. This is a first for him. My kids don't get the "urps" because I got it enough as a kid for all of us. I said "Did you throw up?" even though he doesn't even know what that means. Donovan, not knowing how or why any of this was happening, was completely offended and in the most appalled voice a three year old boy can muster said "Yes??!?!"

I cannot stress enough how little I deal with these situations. I had no clue what to do about it. I couldn't decide if I cleaned up the bed or him first, or even how to clean those things, or whether I should just run up and down the road screaming for help.

I said "Hold on, baby, I'm going to get some paper towels."
Donovan screamed, "NOooooo..........I throw uuuuuuuuup..."
I ran to the kitchen, then couldn't quite figure out what I was going to do with the paper towels, anyway, so I put them back. I went to check on Donovan -- still screaming, still sitting in puke.

I said "Hang on, you wanna take a bath?"
He continued screaming. I took it as a yes.

I left to run the bath.

Then I came back and patted him on the back. It takes awhile for the bath to be ready, so I left again to find towels and new pajamas and new bedding, in what resulted in my running back and forth about twenty times from his room to every other room in the house, basically accomplishing nothing. He screamed some more.

When the bath was ready, I picked him up strategically so that he wouldn't get any disgustingness on me. He was offended by that, as well. I washed him, and then he was freezing.

After I got him dressed again and covered up, I laid him on the couch so I could go clean up his room. He immediately puked again, all over the couch and his new cleanliness.

:::sigh:::

I said, "Ok, don't move."
He got up and started running in circles, screaming about something he needed but he doesn't really speak very well, and I didn't know what he wanted. I finally figured out he wanted paper towels, so I handed some over to him while I did the rest.

I had given him a bucket...he is now convinced that the bucket is the evil device that caused all of this, and that his bed is also in on the scheme. He wants nothing to do with either of those things that make him throw up.

I stayed up most of the night, cleaning and making sure he was all settled in before I went to bed. When I climbed into my own bed in the wee hours of the morning, I heard him running down the hall. He wanted to sleep in my bed. Awwwwwwwww....the little puke machine wants mommy! Dang it! I said "Honey, maybe your bed is better...you still sleep on things that are covered in plastic. Mommy's bed is permanent." He didn't agree, so I let him in. Poor kid. He spent the rest of the night chasing my face around in his sleep so he could cough directly on it.

Fantastic.

Bipolar Shoes

2011-02-21T20:44:00.003-06:00

In the wake of OMGSIXSNOWDAYS, the kids' school has decided to extend the length of the school year over most of the rest of the year. Because they missed six days....like, couldn't they just write it up as all the kids were sick or something?

I live in a town of double income, career driven families. This is my first school fight with other-parent backup. Exciting, no? I wish they would get on board about the family projects and stuff.

I had an entire hour to myself today, so I filed my taxes. I got a congratulations for my awesome tax planning because I didn't owe anything nor did they owe me. I was all "yeah, I'm an awesome tax planner. My whole plan is called 'Make 1000 dollars for the Whole Year'...pretty sweet, yo."

So now, I'm relaxing and enjoying drama-through-text because who wants to just sit and relax on Monday evening when they can be called exciting names every few minutes by someone who is too scared to call because they know I can out-smartassery them? The answer to the question is most definitely "me".

I just have some scheduling issues, because if school starts earlier, then I really can't do psychotic texts at midnight...I could possibly squeeze them in while I am waiting in line to pick up the kids. That is pretty much my down time.

I now understand those people who throw parties for their divorce. Which is another life lesson: Don't judge someone until you've walked ten years in their shoes, and then spent another two years trying to take off their shoes while their shoes call you a bitch and stalk you and mess up your kids.

In Hindsight, Maybe I Do Look a Little Pregnant

2011-02-20T21:51:00.003-06:00

I had a call from the mother of Warrick's best friend at school. We haven't met in person yet, but our sons have been wanting us to talk so they can try to score some sleepovers. She told me that she had expressed concern to the teacher over allowing her son to visit my house, but the teacher said, "If I had kids, I would absolutely allow them to stay with Mandy." I was all what?!?! Because of all five teachers, she is the one who I know I drive up the wall with my inability to be a parent of a public school child. But I guess, when it doesn't come to school, she thinks I'm all right, and probably because she shares my awesome coffee shop and knows I have good judgement even though I can't get to school on time or do enough homework for a fourth grader.

That made me feel a lot better about myself, until I became all scandalous today with my secret baby.

I figured that being a single mother of six children would have garnered all the judgemental looks one person could possibly receive in today's society. The fact that I can have no more children, while not obvious to anyone who doesn't know me, is well known by my circle of friends. So today, when I showed up at church with my friends' new baby, I did not expect any more looks than I normally get just from the attention Donovan draws with his normal insanity during mass.

It seems that some people may have missed the news about the no-more-kids thing, completely ignored the single thing, and obviously never noticed before that I am NOT the kind of girl who can hide a pregnancy. On the contrary, I would start showing about three minutes after conception, and by week three, people were asking if I was having twins.

I had a few people ask me where I got the baby, but a couple more just gaped at me in shock. I couldn't figure out what the problem was so I figured my shirt was too low or something, until I realized they were looking at the baby.

It was a little awkward because they didn't actually say anything to me, and I didn't want to just randomly walk up to people and say "Oh, this isn't my kid, you know." I thought maybe I should put a sign on the baby that said "No, this isn't my mom", but then I didn't want anyone to think I kidnapped her, either, because my friend wouldn't be too impressed with my babysitting skills if I got arrested while I was watching her daughter. Don't ask me how I know, just trust me on that.

I have to wonder what they're going to think next week when I show up without her.

:::yawn:::

2011-02-19T19:52:00.002-06:00

The kids got to go to their dad's last night, and I took advantage of it by not sleeping at all. Which, by the way, is the perfect way to get ready for a weekend with a new baby.

In the interest of getting a little sleep while the baby is napping, a repost:

What I Learned from Hip-Hop

Well, it seems that sitting in the house for ten years eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches is not the best thing for your waistline, especially if you have been pregnant eight times within nine years. Pregnancy teaches your tummy how to grow so that your body knows exactly what to do with any extra calories you may consume. If it weren't for this phenomenon, mothers would never have the joy of being asked "When are you due" when they are not, in fact, pregnant. This is something about which I hope to one day discuss with Eve during our conversation on "Why did you eat the damn apple?".

I have noticed that I only enjoy one type of physical activity, and that is dance. I am not a dancer, and have restraining orders against my ever trying to dance again, so I try to only do it at home with the blinds shut because I don't like jail.

Diets make me angry. Not the lack of food, but diets in general. If I hear someone say "diet" I have an immediate attack of rage, so I thought maybe some new dance work-outs would be the best way for me to get back into shape. (Notice the use of the word "back", as if "shape" was a place I have ever been -- the only shape I know is circle.) I have a salsa DVD, which I love, but I am bored with it, so yesterday I was in the store trying to decide between swing and hip-hop. The logical choice would be swing -- I love swing, it's somewhat applicable to real life, and it's easier on my poor old back than jumping around punching at air. So, after thinking it through, I chose to buy hip-hop so that I could come back and get swing when I realize how old I am.

This morning, after a healthy breakfast, I was feeling really on track. I warmed up by kicking everything on the living room floor into one corner. There were a lot of things on the floor, so this was a great warm up. I put in the DVD and banished my oldest two children from the living room. The boys have a history of giggling at my dancing, saying things like, "Mommy, show Daddy that dance you were doing -- it was FUNNY!" or "heeheehee -- look at Mommy! Is she trying to do the same thing that girl on TV is doing???". Knowing that I shouldn't be attempting hip-hop, I knew that I had no choice but to banish the boys.

So, at the start of the video, all you have to do is take steps side-to-side, and I'm thinking "I so got this". That lasts about two and a half seconds until the girl starts kicking and doing these things with her feet that make no sense whatsoever. She's saying "up, up, down-down-down, crazy march and back-of-the-room and punch it!", and it seems that someone has led her to believe that these words somehow correspond with what she's doing with her feet. After a couple minutes of that, she says "Now for the arms!" I hurt my foot somewhere between the second "up" and "back-of-the-room", so I was excited about arms. At least until I realized that "arms" go with "feet", and as I was trying to do a "cross-over-pull-it-up" at the same time as a "jiggy-jump", I fell over. Since my foot was really hurting and I could hear my boys giggling from their spying spot in the hallway, I figured that it would be best to stay on the floor and just watch the rest so that I would know what is coming tomorrow and be awesome at it. If I can be perfectly honest here, I didn't even have the energy to watch it, so instead I wrote a list of things I had learned. Here ya' go...

What I Learned From Hip-Hop
1. Half of making the dance look good is the clothes -- the hillbilly look I currently sport doesn't fly.
2. I need better shoes.
3. Jumping and punching is a good way to learn the areas which need toning.
4. People who can dance like this and rap at the same time are true athletes.
5. I don't have cute, bouncy, dancer hair, nor do I know how to acquire it.
6. "Jiggy-jump" and "jiggy-kick" go together only if you can "pull-it-up" with your arms.
7. "Pull-it-up" does NOT apply to the baggy pants as I had previously thought.
8. Barring a desperate need to embarrass my children, there will never be an occasion for me to use the steps I learned today.
9. "Bootie" is required, not for looks, but for balance. (Looks like I have one thing going for me.)
10. I do have the ability to go "up, up, down-down-down", but just because you can do something does not mean you should.

Random Bits and Pieces, Because I Have Nothing to Say

2011-02-17T20:02:00.002-06:00

The kids are finally going to see their dad tomorrow, which they are thrilled about. Also, I am even more thrilled because I'm 'bout to go NUTS.

I have plans to see my long-lost cousin and his wife, who is my long-lost roommate. They better wanna party even if they did just have a baby like ten minutes ago, because I am not even going to sleep until ... well, probably till Monday.

I am babysitting my other long-lost roommates little (like, really little) girl for the weekend, too. I don't remember a lot about infants, but I seem to recall there was very little sleeping involved.

My kids are all freaked out excited that we get to borrow a baby for the weekend, and I have to admit that I'm a little happy about it, too. I kinda like babies, and I haven't had one for a long time...like, long enough that I am not allowed to claim "baby weight" anymore.

I am a little nervous, because my house is pretty chaotic already, but when my kids were little, things were more calm. I am hoping that the baby brings enough calm for us all to share. Babies come with their own calm, right? And I hope she can clean a living room, because Madilynn has that chore this week, and girl is laaaazyyyy. She wouldn't pick something up off the floor if it was diamonds dipped in chocolate. She will, however, kick things under the couch.

Anyway, back to the weekend...I'ma party. With my old friends (these are The Gate friends, yo). Then, I'm going to sleeeeep. As long as I want. Then I am getting coffee at my favorite place for which my mother in law gave me a $50 gift card and that's a lot of coffee. Then I get the baby and my own kids for Saturday night. Then, I'm off Monday, but my kids got their day off taken away because of snow days, which means I get to be one of those people who stays home while their kids are at school for one afternoon. Also, it means that Monday will hardly exist this week, which pretty much makes it a perfect week.

What? Random blathering, you say? Yes, but would you rather I write some more poems? Pshhh.
Good night!

Ode 2

2011-02-16T23:10:00.003-06:00

My house may be drafty and messy and old,
And the squirrels in the attic have gotten quite bold.

One leak in the roof when it rains really hard,
And the dog may have dug up some holes in the yard.

The garden grows mud and the roses are dead,
And half of our stuff is boxed up in the shed.

There's a puddle of mud at the end of the drive,
And just under the rafters is where the wasps thrive.

The kitchen is country and not quite my style,
The bathroom desperately needs some new tile.

The blinds are all torn from the kids looking out,
And the bathtub could really use a new spout.

The windows need caulked and the siding replaced,
And the kids' bedroom walls have all been defaced.

But one thing I've learned is it's all relative,
Last year at this time, I had no place to live.

I stayed with my family and they were so kind,
But I wanted a place that I could call mine.

To have my own kitchen with all my own dishes,
The decor all done to my exact wishes.

My own comfy bed and six little ones, too,
Places for their clothes and their coats and their shoes.

I love the front porch and the old wooden floors,
I live in the country, no need to lock doors.

I love our big yard and the okie red dirt road,
I even learned to fix toilets when they all overflowed!

This last year was tough but I loved every minute,
Our house is the best house to all who live in it.

PS: I DO lock my doors, so don't come get me...and someone please piss me off and save me from corny poems! I need some material...fast!

Ode

2011-02-15T21:47:00.005-06:00

For fifteen years we've stayed the course,
You've seen high school breakups and one divorce.

You've been through the wringer a few million times,
And been my companion as I wrote silly rhymes.

We've been fishing and camping and worked on our truck,
And when I had a test, you were there for good luck.

You were there the first time that I saw those two lines,
And when they showed up the other five times.

You rocked every baby and never complained,
And you were my comfort when I had a migraine.

You have spent many nights curled up in my bed,
And I hope to be buried with you when I'm dead.

You were there for every gained and lost pound,
And when I asked if my butt looked big, you didn't make a sound.

You're falling apart now, and covered in dirt,
But I'll always love you, my favorite T-shirt.

In Honor of St. Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T21:57:00.002-06:00

It is NOT sucky to be single on Valentine's Day. I got a call today that was dripping with pity for me, because I don't have a Valentine.

Here's the thing...
I haven't met many people who know what to do with this day. There is all this stress over what you are supposed to get the person, and both people are saying they don't really want anything, and both people are upset when they get nothing, and you can't get into a restaurant to save your life....It's exhausting.

So I haven't ever really done much to celebrate this day. There was a time a couple years ago that I got to spend the whole evening listening to my husband snore, because he felt it would be more romantic if he slept on the couch while I watched TV, rather than going to bed right after work. So that was something.

This year was great. Donovan and my mom gave me chocolate. I had a burger. I went to Walmart OMGalone. Best. Valentine's Day. Ever.

Sometimes, it's hard to be single, but I save those days for when I have to carry all the groceries in by myself or if I really want to take a nap and nobody can watch the kids. Valentine's Day? Nah.

Weddings...those I understand, because you need someone to gossip with afterward. But there isn't much V-Day gossip except what's already all over Facebook. And you don't need to come home to gossip about Facebook, that's the beauty of it, you just splat whatever you want on someone's status and you're done. No gossip needed.

So, to my single friends (who are few), I'm not even talking to you today, because I don't feel sorry for you at all. Unless you had to put my kids to bed after...then I feel bad for you, and also apologize. That is a sad situation.

Donovan at Church

2011-02-13T23:06:00.002-06:00

So...today at church went like this...

Donovan: :::acts like a terror just like every week::: :::tries to bite my hand:::
Me: Don't you dare. I will bite you back, son.
Donovan: NOOOOOOOO Mommy! Don't bite me! Mooooommmmyyyyy......
Me: :::holds his mouth closed and runs outside::: (I didn't even do it!)
Guy Behind Me: :::wonders how I can abuse my child so badly but can't tell exactly what I did:::
Me: Donovan, you can't act like that. That was very bad.
Donovan: Ohhhhhh

I took him back inside. We sit down. He runs away.

I catch him.

Donovan: No...Mama!!! I have to poooooooop!!!!
Guy Behind Me: :::rolls his eyes::: (this poor guy always ends up next to us, and is always completely unimpressed with how cute my kids are and seems to think I should find a better place to put them during mass)
Me: Donovan, don't say poop at mass.
Donovan: :::whispering::: but I have to poop.

Ten minutes later, Donovan is making all kinds of noise and pulling his sisters' hair.
I put my jacket on him backwards with his arms trapped in it, button it behind him and pull the hoodie over his face.

Guy Behind Me is wondering what in the world I am doing to this kid. Other guy behind me (who has a kid) is smirking. Everyone else just thinks I have a large, weird-shaped jacket.

Donovan: :::from behind the hood::: I don't want this onnnnn
Me: Will you be quiet?
Hood of my Jacket: seems to be nodding

So I take off the hood. After a few minutes, I let him out of the jacket. He quickly pulled a page out of a hymnal, yelled that he had to poop, and dropped the kneeler on Madilynn's foot before booking it to the back door.

And so it goes...

To Mardi Gras or Not To Mardi Gras?

2011-02-12T23:21:00.003-06:00

We are trying to figure out if we can go to Louisiana for Mardi Gras this year.

Last year was so much fun. This year, I have a bigger truck, and my kids are one year older and easier to keep an eye on; but we also have school that week and if Ninja Truck breaks, we are in deep trouble.

Last year, we spent twelve hours driving. I had my friend Q with me, so that made it easier. This year, Q doesn't live here anymore, and I will be all aloooone.

Last year, we were following one of my sisters who was driving my mom's car. I was on the phone with her figuring out dinner plans. This is our conversation:

Sis: Oooooooooooooooo
Me: What?
Sis: :::sounds terrified::: Oooooooooooo
Me: Are you ok?
Sis: ....peanut
Me: Peanut? Is James in the car? (My nephew is allergic to peanuts, but wasn't in that car...that was the only reason I could think of to be scared of a peanut)
Sis: I found a .... PEANUT. Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Me: What's wrong???
Sis: :::heavy breathing::: PEANUT
Me: :::starts laughing uncontrollably because what else could I do?:::
Sis: oooooooooooooo
My friend Q: :::cracking up just because I am::::
Sis: Oh, ok, so where do you want to eat?
Me: Wait...what's up with the peanut?
Sis: Oh, I'm scared of driving on bridges.
Me: And the peanut?
Sis: I was singing that song....you know..."found a peanut, found a peanut"...

So really, could this year top last year? Probably not.

For Kids: The Step-by-Step Guide to Cleaning Your Room

2011-02-10T13:12:00.003-06:00

Step One: Mom says "go clean your room", ignore that until it turns into "GO CLEAN YOUR ROOM", or she invokes the middle name usage, whichever comes first.

Step Two: Gather all siblings who share the room with you, and jump on the bed.

Step Three: Go tell mom it's done.

Step Four: Mom says you're not coming out until it's really done.

Step Five: Get angry at the sibling who shares your room. It's all their stuff, and if you had the room to yourself, it would never be messy.

Step Six: Throw the things that belong to aforementioned sibling at their head.

Step Seven: Go tell Mom your sibling's head is bleeding.

Step Eight: Convince sibling that they can't clean the room since their head hurts. And that they need you to take care of them.

Step Nine: Pick up two things off the floor and put them somewhere else.

Step Ten: Find a toy you haven't seen in awhile and play with that for four hours.

Step Eleven: Go tell Mom you're hungry. Cry when she says you can't eat until your room is clean. If this doesn't work, get angry at the roommate again.

Step Twelve: Put everything in the room under the bed or in your closet.

Step Thirteen: Go tell Mom you're done.

Step Fourteen: Scream in agony as she pulls everything back out from under the bed and in the closet.

Step Fifteen: Finally clean the room.

Step Sixteen: Go tell Mom you're done.

Step Seventeen: Tell Mom you have no idea how all those torn up bits of paper get all over your room every day.

Step Eighteen: Fall asleep in your laundry hamper.

Step Nineteen: Put on your Cinderella dress since mom made you clean stuff.

Step Twenty: Stay up until three in the morning because of your laundry hamper nap.

Too Mad for the Interwebz

2011-02-09T21:12:00.003-06:00

Dear Interwebz,

I know I am very blessed. I have six sweet children, a huge awesome family, Ninja Truck, amazing friends, and possibly even a job that I like.

But today, I am bitchy.

My kids haven't seen their dad since 2010, they NEVER SLEEP, it's still winter, and I already finished the book I got to keep me occupied this week.

Gr.

So I'm not writing tonight, but not because I don't love you, because I do love you, Interwebz...I'm just not in love with you right now. It's not you, it's me. Maybe tomorrow?

MannyRee

Orange Cones Rule the World

2011-02-08T20:37:00.004-06:00

Today was Get Ready For Blizzardage, Round Two. Half of North America was at my Walmart, so we went to Target. The other half was at Target, so I don't know who all the people were blocking all the streets and buying all the firewood. I remember the millennium, and it wasn't as bad as OMGIt'sGonnaSnowTWICE day.

I started the new job today, and it's a little sad, because I think I would really enjoy it, but I am so overwhelmed by what it took out of my family to get there.

This morning, Madi had to dress up like she was 100 years old for school. So we got up super early, we dressed Madi like a weirdo, and then the rest of us wore normal stuff. Then we left. Then we were thirty minutes behind. I don't know how, other than that's just how we roll.

My mom watched the girls, and Donovan's daycare agreed to take him early. I dropped the other boys at school and waited in line for fifteen minutes because all those people who were at Walmart after school were also in line at my kids' school this morning.

I was finally on my way, and I got pulled over. For speeding. Like a kid. Only I checked my speed and I wasn't speeding. There did happen to be two orange cones near the side of the road, which apparently designates a construction zone during for the times when there is no actual construction but they still want people to think things are getting done. So the speed limit was lowered 15mph, and I got my first speeding ticket.

I got lucky, though, because Ninja Truck is legally challenged, and so am I, but I didn't know that. I didn't get a ticket for that, and I didn't even have to cry. All in all, I call it a win.

Officer: I pulled you over for speeding.
Me: I was speeding?
Officer: See that cone? That means construction, little lady.
Me: That cone means "construction"?
Officer: Well, it's orange.
Me: Ohhh...so, orange cone equals construction? As opposed to actual men standing around literally constructing things?
Officer: Yip.
Me: I didn't know.
Officer: Yip.
Me: I thought it was a Christmas tree.
Officer: Construction
Me: I'ma get me some cones to put around my house.
Officer: Driver's license?
Me: Oh sure! Absolutely.
Officer: This is expired.
Me: Wha...?
Officer: Yip. Last week.
Me: Here, lemme see it.... :::draws a cone shape with orange sharpie on the license::: See? I'm working on it.
Officer: Are you a government employee?
Me: No
Officer: Cones don't count for you.
Me: Damn.
Officer: Did you steal this truck?
Me: Only if you ask the Nazi Truck Lady.
Officer: Ma'am, you realize how many tickets I can give you? You are in violation of Regulation No.874: Smartassery in the first degree.
Me: :::pause::: I didn't know that was a thing.
Officer: See that orange cone on this ticket? I'm working on making it a thing.
Me: Damn.
Officer: I'm going to let you off with one ticket for ten over so it won't affect your :::ahem::: insurance (which you'll note I didn't ask you to show me).
Me: Um....thank you?
Officer: But only if you get that license taken care of tomorrow.
Me: Ok, but there's a OMGBlizzard tomorrow.
Officer: Yip.
Me: Ok... :(
Officer: Lates, yo.

100%

2011-02-07T22:50:00.002-06:00

Right before the snow day(s), I took a test, but I forgot about it. I had to have a "meeting" with my teacher today...I don't know why, really, only we do that on Mondays. Anyway, she gave me a LOOK and asked if I checked my grade on that test. I was like "uhhhh...." So she pointed at it.

That was scary, because she'll usually just holler across the room what grade I got because she knows I hate stopping what I'm doing. But it was a perfect grade...the first perfect grade I have received.

So I strutted back to my desk all "Oh, yeah, I got a hundred...I am the best...the rest of you suck..." until I thought about what it was at which I was so perfect and I couldn't remember. I got a perfect grade on a test I don't remember taking. I don't even remember what the chapter was about. I remember that it was chapter 19, because I remember writing that a few times, but for the life of me, I don't remember what I did in that chapter.

I know it wasn't payroll or inventory. And I know I took the test in about ten minutes because I wanted to get credit for at least one thing before we got blizzardized. I also slightly remember thinking I didn't care what grade I got, because I was going to screw up my week with stupid Excel anyway. And it wasn't on amortization, because that was awful and I wouldn't have played around with anything as serious as amortization.

So do any of you know what Chapter 19 was about? Because I guess I need to get a job doing that.

Snow Days

2011-02-06T23:16:00.003-06:00

After nearly a week cooped up in the house with the kids, I have had so many phone calls and texts sympathizing with my plight and telling me I need to get out of the house. I was shocked, because I loved every minute of it. I have always loved snow days, but this year, I love them even more.

There is not a day of the week when I get to be at home. Every weekday is three hours in the car getting everyone where they need to go for school and nine hours away from the house. Saturdays I drive out to the kids' dad's house to pick them up (this is a three hour trip). Sundays are chaotic, with church and two families to visit. I feel like I don't even live at my house most of the time, and no matter how crazy people think I am for it, I love my house.

Snow days are like this:
Sleep in
Drink coffee and read a book
(Did you hear that? I said read a book.)
Make fire
Sit by fire
Cook stuff that tastes good and isn't nuggets
Clean things I haven't had time to clean since last winter
Watch movies with the kids
Read some more
Talk on the phone
Play on the computer
Sit by the fire some more
Play in the snow
Stay up late

New Flash, Interwebz, this is my dream life. I know I am lazy and anti-social and whatever else you want to call that, but snow days are the only days when the world lets me do exactly what I want to do.

There are definite good things about warm weather and I do miss them, but snow days are specifically tailored to my top priorities in life. Coffee and books. Oh, and the kids. I used to be a mom. Here lately, I am a mom for about five minutes a day. It's nice to hang out with my kids. And it's nice to read three novels in a week. And it's nice to hear the fire crackling and blog about nothing because nothing has happened.

Tomorrow is Monday, and I guess now that the snow is gone, we have to go to school again. The teachers will resume telling me how to raise my kids, the kids will resume acting like the little monsters that school turns them into, I will resume kicking butt at adding things, and we will resume eating nuggets for dinner. But it's all coming back on Wednesday, and we get another vacation at home, and I'm going to be ALL OVER IT after a little trip to Barnes and Noble and the firewood place (or wherever it is you get firewood). And if they try to take summer break away because of all the snow days, we are skipping class, because I heart summer even more than snow days. Also because I get to be lazy.

Chats with Shucks

2011-02-05T20:40:00.002-06:00

Shucks: What the...???

Me: It's just snow...go potty then you can come back in.

Shucks: It coldses my feet!

Me: Just go so I can shut the door.

Shucks: I don't have to go.

Me: :::shuts the door:::

Shucks: Wait. I do have to go.

Me: :::opens the door::: Go.

Shucks: But it's cold.

Me: GO.

Shucks: :::takes one step outside and slips off the porch::: GAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Me: :::slams the door and sits by the fire:::

Shucks: :::buries himself in a snow drift, flings snow everywhere, barks at it::: OK! Ize all done...lemme in lemme in lemme in!!!!

Me: Hurry, it's cold.

Shucks: :::standing in the doorway::: But WAIT! If I stand right here, I can play in the snow and still be warm! AHA!

Me: :::kicks him back outside and shuts the door:::

Shucks: NOOOoooo! Lemme in!

me: In or out, dude, it's 20 below out there, and you're not paying to heat this place.

Shucks: In! I think in...yes, I believe I want to go in...no OUT! That's it, I would like to go out, please. Out it is....except out is cold, so IN...please let me in. But the snow is fun, so out, but it's cold, so in....AW....what do I do????

Me: You stink. You're staying out.

Shucks: Did you feed the kids nuggets? I need to come in.

Me: No.

Shucks: If I don't bark at them all through dinner, they will choke and also eat too much because I won't be there to eat half their dinner.

Me: You stink.

Shucks: Fine. Let me in and I'll stay right here by the window.

Me: Fine.

Shucks: :::pulls the blinds down with his paw so he can see outside.:::

Squirrel: :::hops across the yard:::

Shucks: :::SUPER DEATH BARK:::: ::::tries to jump out the window:::

Me: I don't care about the pupsicle thing, you're going outside.

Shucks::: Hurry, that squirrel is going DOWN.

Drama Queens

2011-02-03T20:23:00.002-06:00

Being stuck in the house for the last week has reminded me of what drama queens kids can be, and how easily offended they are by absolutely nothing.

Here are some conversations that happened this week:

Donovan: I want some of dat.
Emma: NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's THAT, not DAT!!!! :::smack Donovan upside the head:::

Dalton: :::sings::: I been workin on the rail road, allllll the ling long day...
Huston: DALTON! You're doing it wrong.
Dalton: That's just how I sing it.
Huston: Well it's wrong.
Dalton: You're wrong.
Huston: I can't be wrong.
Dalton: JUST BECAUSE YOU KNOW HOW TO READ DOESN'T MEAN YOU'RE ALWAYS RIGHT!
Huston: Yes it does.
Dalton: :::throws Huston's lunch in the trash:::
Huston: I don't need to eat...at least I know how to sing the song.

All Six Kids: :::scream:::
Me: What happened?
Emma: It was a commercial.
Me: A scary one?
Warrick: No, just the show wasn't on for a second.

Me: See this little pile of stuff? I want you all to have that picked up in ten minutes.
Everyone: Ten minutes??? You're so mean! I hate you! That's not even my stuff! I'm moving out.

Needless to say, we are ready to go searching for Ninja Truck tomorrow and see how he drives in the snow.

Who Broke the Interwebz?

2011-02-02T21:44:00.003-06:00

So, basically, what happened was it snowed. Apparently, it snowed a LOT, in a LOT of places, only the only place I'm sure about is my particular driveway (and my laundry room) because I can't find Ninja Truck and because I don't watch the news. And I don't really care if that didn't make sense, because IT SNOWED, PEOPLE is my point.

It snowed and the snow broke the Interwebz.

Suddenly, everyone on Facebook is all OMG, SNOW, and all the blogs (including mine own) are all OMG MY SNOW! And we all seemed to forget that it's winter and sometimes snow is something that occurs in the winter and it's just fluffy and white and cold, and as long as we all listen to the news (oops), we won't DIIIIE.

It does seem that the water fairies don't like the snow, so they all flew south for the winter. But the good thing about this is that, if you get some snow in a bucket, and set it by your fireplace for three hours, it will turn into something you can pour into your toilet to make it flush.

Also, if you thaw your pipes, but they are broken, and it's still -1123 degrees, you make a skating rink. Nevermind if it's in your wellhouse or under your floor...fun is fun, right?

And nevermind that I'm an Official Unofficial Plumber now, I am not hogging all that fun to myself, so my besties the plumbers are coming over for skating and pipe repair tomorrow, and to do a snow dance to entice the water fairies back to my house.

I hope the water fairies and the plumbers aren't hungry, because Ninja Truck is either stolen or under that giant drift of snow, and I'm not even going looking for him until at least Friday, which means I am rationing the groceries and can't really share with fairies, which may be why they took off in the first place. Next time, I'm making chili even if my kids don't eat it, because I gosta have those water fairies (do you think they like chili) because seven people in one house means I need some coffee or someone's gonna get hurt. It also means that taking three hours to flush the toilet is asking a little too much of my patience.

I am hoping that the EPIC SNOW OF 2011 or whatever they're calling will go away by the weekend, that the fairies will return, and Ninja Truck will still be running after I flushed the radiator (oh yeah, I FLUSHED THE RADIATOR!!!! Or I watched my brothers do it, or something...but I know my hands were all greasy afterward, so I'm pretty sure I did something with the radiator), and Interwebz will start functioning correctly again. This is my hope for the world, or wherever it is that the SNOW is happening, aside from my laundry room.