Drink up.

This cartoon reminds me of a drink we bought - I think it's made out of the same things.

Over the weekend we bought a drink called Twisted Tea. It's a malt beverage - part of our new drinking lifestyle (HA! Funny!) - and we thought, hmmm, something that tastes kinda like iced tea can't be too bad. Holy heck we were so wrong. It is awful. I mean, I can drink that iced tea in a can stuff and think it's yummy (my husband wouldn't touch the stuff if you bribed him.) But this twisted tea concoction, well, it is not meant to be consumed. Ever.

And now a totally unrelated side note: Would anybody like some Twisted Tea? Come on over. I've got plenty and I will share because I'm just generous like that. Isn't that nice of me?

Gone crazy

Because I am completely fried, I am not going to write an entry this morning. Instead, I am going to lock myself in the bathroom, put my fingers in my ears, and say "lalalalalalaIcan'thearyouIcan'thearyouIcan'thearyou!"

Maybe I'll write later...

Throwing the online equivalent of a temper tantrum. Ignore it if that sort of thing annoys you.

Tonight I am pouting. Why? Because!

I feel like stomping my feet, closing my eyes and yelling. I want to throw a good temper tantrum. But, alas, temper tantrums aren't really the thing for an adult to do - especially with the kids here in the room. So I'm doing the next best thing - blogging about it!

(This is where you put your arm around my shoulders and ask me what's wrong.)

Well, I'm glad you asked. Because I feel like talking about it. You see, the little boy, you know, the babysit-ee, is driving me crazy. He's three. That's probably enough to drive people crazy. But wait, there's more. I'm not going to use this as a chance to publicly bash a small child (only because he's not my own - my own children would be up for public bashing, of course,) so all I'm going to say is we have issues. Issues with patience... sharing... and violence. Yeah, you read that right, violence. Towards me, my children, and my walls.

Now, he hasn't destroyed anything (except a few random toys, but they were probably on their last legs anyway.) But he is, um, difficult. Especially difficult lately. And it's driving me bananas. It takes all my energy to deal with him, watch him, and generally interact with him. I am trying my darndest to be positive with him; to tell him how wonderful all the good things he does are; to give him praise when praise is due; to not beat him into the ground (emotionally, not physically!) And still, still, he is always in trouble.

I have taught preschool. I have been in classrooms full of three year olds, and I have never had to deal with all this. Never.

The boy can be such a lovely boy. He can be very good and very sweet. But when he's bad... well, you know. When he first started coming over to my house, he had the usual three year old issues. The little bits of mischief every small child has. That I can take. But now, well, now it is getting extreme.

I am hoping it gets better. Pray for us (or keep your fingers crossed, whatever it is you can do.)

No rabid mommy monsters here.

Yesterday, the little one who practically calls my house home (or the child I babysit - same thing) told me this: "My mommy bit my hand."

Yeah. A little on the strange side, don't you think? So I was there talking with him, and frantically trying to figure out how it came to be that his mommy bit him. "Did you feed her some food and she bit your finger?," I asked. "No, she bit my hand," he said "and it hurt." Well, all I could think of was that, indeed, she accidentally bit his finger or something. Like he was giving her a bite of something, and he didn't let go with his fingers. I mean, that could happen, right?

So I asked him to show me where she bit his hand, thinking that this would shed a little more light on his statement. He showed me the side of his hand. The meaty part. The part you would bite if you were some rabid mommy monster trying to eat your child. But I was still sure this was not the case with this particular mommy. Pretty sure, anyway.

After he told me, over and over again, how his mommy bit him and it hurt, I decided we needed to change the subject. So of course, I changed it with, "Who wants a snack?" (A little bit of Goldfish can make a child forget about his woes with the quickness.)

It wasn't until later that his statement made more sense. It wasn't until he was being lectured on the merits of not hitting, pushing or grabbing his friends (ie my kids) that he added the one thing to the list of things he shouldn't do that revealed the reason his mommy bit him. He said, "No biting your friends, it hurts them. My mommy bit me, and it hurt. I put her in time out."

Aha!


(Those of you who have kids that were 'biters' know that some will resort to biting their own child to show them that it hurts others. I didn't have 'biters' so I didn't know. But now it all makes sense.)

Someone sick? Send 'em on over. They'll fit right in.

The sickness is back in our house.

Between me, my children, and the kids I babysit, we have not had a sick-free week in a long time. That's not an exaggeration either. Not one sick-free week. Do you know the kind of toll that takes on a woman? Let's just say it's rough.

This time it's my daughter who is sick. She woke up from a nap yesterday and said she had a headache. Then by the time she got out of the bathtub last night, she was shivering with a fever. And this morning the fever is still there - 101.8 - but I think after some Tylenol, it's on it's way down. She's also started to play a little bit now. Before, she was huddled under the blankets on the couch looking downright pitiful. It's good to see her back to her usual bossy, loud self, even if it is toned down a little (which is actually much nicer - but keeping a child sick so she's subdued is frowned upon, and impossible, I think.)

Now, what I'm really worried about is that she's had a bunch of mousquito bites lately. Or something that causes red, swollen, itchy bumps on her. And I mean several. I thought that maybe she had something in her bed, and washed all her sheets, covers, etc. But I didn't see anything on her bed. And I've checked the house obsessivly, but no one else has that many bites/bumps. (I did have a musquito bite on my a**, but that's more than you needed to know, huh.) So I'm thinking, oh my god, it's West Nile. Or some rare rash and sickness that's going to land her in the hospital. I'm checking WebMD every few hours or so whenever I get another idea of what it might be. And I've even checked the CDC website for instances of West Nile. I think - just think, mind you - that I'm going a little overboard. It's probably just a little regular virus, or maybe a small reaction to having bug bites (she swells a lot whenever something bites her) and her body is just having a mild reaction. Is that possible?? Or - here's a novel idea - it may have nothing to do with the bug bites at all. But I'm keeping a close eye on it, and if that fever gets any worse, her butt is going to the doctor ASAP.

You know, maybe I should just open up a sick daycare - take care of all the kids who are too sick to go to regular daycare. It seems like that's what I'm doing anyway, and maybe I can charge more. A heck of a lot more.

Not very interesting... but still a weekend update.

The baby... The baby I keep here at my house during the week... He has learned to crawl. Dude, (and I don't normally say dude, but I think this warrants it) I am so screwed. Before, he would kind of scoot around on his bottom and slowly be able to make it around the room. He was slow enough that I was able to make a sandwich, or help another child, and still stop him from getting into anything he wasn't supposed to be around. But now, now, he can get wherever he wants to go, and quickly too. And my house is a death-trap. He isn't crawling at max baby speed yet, but I see the future, and it includes a climbing, crawling baby who gets into everything. I am so screwed.

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My aim to not spend any money this weekend didn't work out very well. Besides the trip to the grocery store (twice, dammit) and the gas station (yikes) I really didn't spend all that much. (Um, okay, yeah, there was a trip to a restaurant involved, but it was a cheap one.) What did we do? We went to the gym, went to the pool, took a sinfully long nap Saturday afternoon, went for a drive around, went out to eat, went to the Museum of Natural History, and also another History museum that I don't remember the name of (and they were FREE.) Not too bad, huh. My bank account will thank me.

Linking up

Okay everyone, I have gotten permission from the lovely Sara to put her link on here. So of course I put it up first thing this morning because I am excited! There it is, over there on the side, Sara's World ------->

Now you must go there immediately and see the picture of what happened to her little girl. (Nah, don't worry, it's nothing too gruesome - would I send you over there if it was?) But it is bad enough to make me want to give that little girl the biggest hug ever. And maybe Sara could use some comforting too, because, of course, it involved a trip to the emergency room with two small kids and happened when her husband was out of town. (Husbands being out of town must initiate some weird fate/karma thing that makes all kinds of emergencies happen.)

So, like I said, be good to her over there.

Socks!

We have a problem here at my house. I know, I can hear you saying, "Just one problem?" But seriously, it's morphing into epic proportions, and I really need to solve it.

My son (oh, those problems always seem to start with that statement) can't sleep at night without socks on his feet. And when I say 'can't sleep' I literally mean, can't sleep. It's as if the minute his sock slips off his little foot, his body instantly recognizes the fact that said foot is uncovered and then wakes itself up. Not only does he wake up, but he also works himself into a panic - can't find sock, can't find sock, CAN'T FIND SOCK! Foot must be covered, foot must be covered, FOOT MUST BE COVERED! So then, being six and a momma's boy, he walks his little half-socked self into my room and wakes me up. And I, being a martyr of a mother, walk myself into his room where I proceed to lift up his comforter and retrieve his sock. Then, because he's not spoiled enough, I put the errant sock on his foot and tuck him back into bed. It happened 3 times last night!

These socks, they must be stopped. I am becoming sleep-deprived and grumpy. And the boy is too. I have tried encouraging him to find his sock himself. We've even had practice runs during non-sleeping hours with him lifting the comforter and finding the sock himself. And does this work? Nope. I've even suggested (or maybe demanded) that he sleep without socks. But that did not go over well. Short of putting him in those foot-y PJ's with the zipper down the front, I'm not so sure what to do next. I guess it's off to the store with me to find the tightest socks I can find - ones that cover not just his feet, but also the majority of his legs. Because, really, that seems to be the only other thing I can think of. (And maybe I should scold the comforter and sheets harshly for their involvement in this. Bad covers!)



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And, ooh ooh, I have something exciting to tell you! My friend - who lives so far away and whom I miss so dearly (did I use whom correctly?) - has started her own blog! I inspired her to do so. Inspired! Me - inspired someone! Wheee!

I have to check with her to see if it's okay for me to put a link to her blog over there on the side. Because I'm not sure if she's up to uninvited guests just dropping by. But if she says yes, you all must be really nice to her. Tell her you love her new place and don't make a mess of things over there. Oh, and feel free to tell her how gorgeous her kids are, because, oh my god, they are so gorgeous.

Get Fuzzy

Yeah, I feel like I'm pretty far out of sane too.

Postcards to the edge.

The kids survived their trip to the movie theater yesterday. My daughter managed to make it home before she broke out in tears and said, over and over again, "I want Mommy!" (We're talking about a five year old here. She's a little over the top, you think?) But I finally got them to tell me about the trip several hours later, and the general consensus was that they had fun. Which is a good thing, because they're going over to Little T's house again tomorrow - for a few hours, thank god. And they're going to continue to go over there a day or two each week until school starts again. Or until I run out of money. Or until Little T's mom shoves my kids out of the door of her minivan and burns rubber out of my driveway. Whichever comes first.

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My son had a pre-paid postcard that is part of a campaign to send letters to the troops overseas. He brought it to me and said he wanted to mail it to the "hunters." (The camouflage the soldiers wear and the camouflage your average hunter wears are one and the same to him. They are all "hunters" no matter what I tell him.) (And really, aren't they all one sort of hunter or another at times? So he is probably more correct than I am comfortable admitting.) Anyway, he wanted to mail off this postcard. So I told him to go write something on it, and that we would mail it. The following is what he wrote:

"Dear Hunters,

I hope you are having a good time.

Love, E****"

Now, as a mom who wants her son to know nothing of the horrors of war and conflicts or even being away from your family in a hostile land, I didn't say a thing to him about them probably not having much fun at all. I was just thankful that his writing was illegible, and that all you could make out was "Love, E****." But I myself just can't get over what he wrote. He's a sweetie, and I'm glad he wants people to have a good time. And I'm sure that the soldiers have moments when they are not not having a good time. And then there's the part of me who imagines shootings and all kinds of horrific horrors and hopes like hell that someone involved in that sort of thing is not having a good time! (As always, I go a little overboard in my thinking.)

So what did I do with the postcard? I mailed it. Or, rather, I let him mail it himself, and he was so happy.

Sometimes we all require a big shove.

Today I am sending my children out into the world on their own. Well, not really on their own. They are going with Little T and his mom. You see, I've hired myself a babysitter.

Yeah, I know how weird that sounds. (Or maybe pathetic is the right word.) I'm a stay at home mom who babysits other children, and I've hired a babysitter for my children. But! I have a good reason!

The children I watch are younger than mine. A lot younger. They are 3 and 10 months. And in case you don't currently have children in that age range, the difference between 3 and 5/6 is big. At 5/6 they can ride bikes, swing themselves, play at the pool and generally do big-kid stuff. But the little ones, well, they require a lot of hands on involvement. So I have to restrict the activities we do during the weekdays to things that can be done by a 3 year old, and that require the kind of hands on involvement that can be given by a parent holding a squirming baby.

So my thought was, if I can find a parent who had children my children's age and older, then the kids could do big-kid stuff. Which is what they are doing today. They are going to a movie. And then maybe some play time afterwards where they can run, jump, and hopefully not kill themselves. And I'll be available to do more with the 3 year old - like play Thomas trains while balancing a 10 month old on his teeny little feet so he can practice standing.

That's the plan anyway. I hope all goes well. My daughter is nervous about going, and has practically begged me to not make her go. She's too shy, she said. But I've stuck to my guns on this one and am making her go. She will have fun. She will, in fact, love it. But her nervousness is making it hard for her to take the leap of faith that is required to start something new. So I'm pushing her out the door. (Bad mom, bad mom!) What she doesn't know is that if I were in her place, I too would be so nervous about going that I would need someone to push me out the door. (I think I'll tell her, and then give her a big shove.)

Oh, and also, I've hired the babysitter so that I can have some peace. Four kids who fight constantly is about to kill me. I can't wait for school to start again. How far away is September again?

Ice cream for sore backsides.

Yesterday we bought bicycles.

For. Real. Bicycles!

(We bought them at Target. I feel like I need to say that so you know that we are not seriously planning on becoming those road-warrior-bike types. No, we're much more the leisurely-ride type. And those are the kind of bikes you buy at Target.)

I hadn't been on a bicycle for a very long time. And to be honest with you, I wasn't sure I wouldn't just fall right off of the thing. But, like they say, you never forget how to ride a bike. Also, you never forget how fun it is. Remember? The wind in your hair (except, now you are supposed to wear helmets all the time) and the feeling of coasting down hill - ahhhh.

But what I have never experienced before is the sore rear end. And I would have guessed I had plenty of padding back there - but it seems that the soreness of your behind is not directly related to how much padding you have back there, but more to how long it has been since you've been on a bicycle. Also, how old you are. That being the case, I am too sore to ride again for a day or so. (But! I have plenty of ibuprofen and some ice cream - ice cream will make anything feel better.)

Father's Day

There are two fathers in my life. Well, actually there are more if you count in-laws and step parents. But there are two that mean the most to me: (sorry in-laws and step parents) my dad and my husband.

My dad is a great man who will always hold a special place in my heart. He raised me on his own from the time I was 5. In case you missed that, let me tell you again. It was just him and me. (He was a very brave man. Oh yes, brave.) We went through an awful lot together, and in that time he never wavered or let me know how hard it was raising a child on his own. (and an emotional girl child, at that.) I took him for granted and gave him a lot of grief. Mostly because that's just what children do when they are growing up. But through it all he remained a constant in an ever changing life, which is exactly what I needed. It wasn't until I was an adult and a parent that I realized how hard it must have been for him to always be the responsible one; to always be the one to make the hard decisions and sacrifices. So Dad, thank you. Happy Father's Day.

My husband is such a wonderful man. He has taken on the task of living with me and raising our two children without so much as a complaint (not much, anyway.) And believe me, it is a task to live with us. Being married... Well, people say it's hard work. But what I've found is that it is instead a matter of knowing when it's best to keep quiet, and best to concede. He does this well. (And sometimes I do it too.) He is also a wonderful father to our children. He loves them so much. And it's evident in all that he does with/for them. Who else would take two tired children with them to the driving range when all he wanted to do was go hit golf balls, but the kids wanted to go too, and they seriously interfere with his hitting? He is encouraging, protective, loving, and strong (emotionally and physically.) And he is the perfect counterpoint to my sometimes strict mothering. He's the fun one, which is exactly what the kids need. Exactly what I need too. Happy Father's Day, honey.

I should come with a disclaimer.

It has been brought to my attention that I may have been a bit too sarcastic and exaggerated just a little bit too much. So let me back up a few steps.

There is no Project Relax. I mean, we really don't have a "project" to drink. We are, however, taking the advice of my hubby's doctor and trying a drink a day. And we are doing it at night after our days of work/kids and trips to the gym or errands so that it will help us relax a little bit more and maybe help us wind down quicker. But there is no organized attempt to become the next members of AA. I mean, really, do you think I'd be such a geek as to have a project, and name it too? (What do you mean, yes?)

Also, I am a dish that is to be taken with a grain of salt. Or maybe a whole darn pantry full of the stuff. Because I have a tendency to go a little overboard. Sometimes. (Oh heck, all the time.) So please do not take me literally. Unless I'm giving you a compliment, then you may assume that I do not exaggerate nearly enough.

But please, please know that what I write here is not a journal, per se, and more like a place to post little snippets of information I deemed funny, thoughtful, or just darn interesting. And sometimes I am bored and this is kind of like talking just to hear my own voice. Know what I mean? Good. Then go about your day knowing that I am not an alcoholic, God hating, socially inept moron (at least not right now, anyway.)

Links and obsessions.

Links! You gotta love 'em.

• More Cowbell interactive - this one is for my husband. If you don't know the SNL sketch this comes from, you may not find it as fun as I do.
• Family Guy - go to the lower left and click on Classic Clips, and then watch Dammit Janet because I think it's so funny. Also, Brian Wallows and Stewie's Swallows - it's like my kids on apple juice.
• Baby Drummer - okay, I've got to put in something cute with a baby on it. Don't hate me for it.
• Rubik's cube - this boy, wow, this boy is amazing
• Last, but not least, is a video that is a shining example of why cats freak me out. They are unnatural, I tell you, unnatural.

And also, I bring you this:

I have an obsession with this man. And I don't know why. I've seen pictures that make him look awful. I don't agree with all of his political views. And the whole JLo thing - sheesh. But still, I am obsessed.

What? You don't want to hear about me?

I have a problem. A problem besides the fact that I am socially inept. Well, actually, I guess you could say the two problems cross paths periodically. What's wrong, you ask? Well...

I talk about myself. A lot. I talk about things I have experienced and things I have seen and thing I have heard and... Well, you get the picture. It seems to be the way I interact with people. Because what better way to show people you are listening and understand their topic than to tell them of your own personal experiences in that area? Except, after a while, people get tired of hearing about you (or me, whichever the case may be.)

I have found it to be especially troublesome in areas concerning children. Someone can start to tell me about their child, or, god forbid, ask my opinion. And when I open my mouth to start giving an intelligent answer, out pops a story about what I did (or saw, or heard.) Sometimes, oh gosh, sometimes, I don't even let them finish what they are saying. Because they talk about something I have done and my face lights up like it's Christmas and I start in on me (and my kids.)

It's a severe problem. I am now oh so conscious of it and I try to stop. But it's like a disease. It has permeated my brain, and my impulses, so that now I don't even know I'm doing it. Until, that is, I see that I have interrupted the conversation, or started to tell something that really isn't going to help the person I'm talking to.

So please be patient with me. Please know that I have noticed that I am telling you about me once again, and I'm just trying to finish the story so that I can shut up already.

(You see how this goes hand in hand with me having social anxiety and my basic social inept-ness (I am creative! Can make up words!) Yeah.)

Project Relax.

Thanks to my tempermental internet connection, I was unable to get online most of the day. And believe me, I tried. And often. But, thank goodness, I am now able to partake in all the internet goodness. Some of which I will share with you soon via good 'ole links.

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But what I am here to tell you about today is our new project. It is called: Project Relax. We've been working on it for a week or two. So far it seems to be a success, but I have to admit that I have not stuck with it every night. Why, you ask? Because I just don't like it. But I am trying. For my health. And sanity. (But my hubby, well, he's not skipping any nights. Because it has helped him wind the f*ck down - excuse my language.) What is it? This:

I have never been a drinker. I have never liked the taste of anything with alcohol in it. But I am game for doing the drink-a-day thing that is recommended. (My hubby's doctor told him to start, and I've read several things that have convinced me to give it a try.) I tried wine. All different kinds of wine. All I can say is, yuck. And I sure as heck know that hard liquor or beer are not my things. Nor are too-sweet wine coolers. But Smirnoff Ice in Wild Grape or Mandarin Orange are not that bad. Most nights I can manage to suck one down - some nights I just can't make myself drink one because I still don't like the taste. The relaxation benefits, however, are pretty good.

Better than other things that are supposed to relax you, and legal too. (Hee!) And probably better for me than a nip of NyQuil or Tylenol PM. (Don't judge. It works.)

Rainy mornings can be so peaceful.

To my husband who says I never write anything positive on my blog: Maybe you're just reading it in a negative way? And did you not see doggies?? And also, I am very lucky to have such a wonderful husband. (I'm grinning because, ha, I got you there! How can I not be positive when I say something like that?)

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I'm enjoying my morning. It's raining cats and dogs out here - remnants of a tropical storm that has been downgraded to a depression. You would think I would be depressed about so much rain, and I might be later on. Right now, however, I'm feeling rather cozy. I've drank 2 cups of coffee, ate some oatmeal, and am now spending quality time with my computer and my beloved Internet. *contented sigh*

The kids are just in hang-out mode also. They spent a good 45 minutes playing together nicely. That could be a record. There was Foo Fighters blasting in my son's room and GI Joe playing going on. It warms my heart when they actually play together and no one gets hurt. *another contented sigh*

The kids I babysit are not here yet. The baby is sick with some mysterious ailment (poor, poor little guy) and their mom is spending the morning home with him. The 3 year old is heading over soon, though. I'm hoping all is going to continue to go well for the rest of the day. It all hinges on a 3 year old and his moods. You may need to pray for me.

I guess I better start thinking about getting my two children into something besides their pajamas. But then again, I may let them hang out in them all morning. Or all day.

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(See how boring my posts are, dear hubby, when I just write positive things? Wouldn't it be much more interesting if I was ranting and raving about various things that bug me? Or things that have gone wrong? Isn't the train-wreck much more interesting? No?)

Lockers, darn lockers.

On Saturday I took my son to a kid's birthday party at the local skating rink.

(Yeah, that statement deserves it's own paragraph. If you've ever been to a birthday party for a 6 year old at a crowded skating rink, you might be able to qualify for sainthood.)

As I've shared with you before, I can't skate. Not in any form that remotely resembles gracefully, anyway. So this time - this time - I was smart and didn't strap a pair of skates onto my clumsy feet. Instead, I sent my son out there all alone (Ha!) to brave the roller derby of 6 year olds. No, actually, I got him some starter skates - the kind that don't roll very well - and he stayed upright the majority of the time.

What was horrific about the event were the lockers. You know, the kind where you insert 2 quarters and then remove the little key? Well, I inserted 2 quarters, and it didn't give me the key. So I read the instructions again. And tried again. No key, again. Now, if you're paying attention, you know that I ended up putting a darn dollar's worth of quarters in the darn locker, and it has given me nothing. Not even a thank you.

So it was off to the nearest employee for me. And the nearest employees happened to be the foreign couple who were manning the skate rental counter. I shrieked something about the locker and 4 quarters and no key, to which they replied, "No, no, you only supposed put in 2 quarters, not 4." (Did I mention they were foreign, and not very good with English? No? Well, they were.) I told them in a very calm manner (okay, not so calm I guess, I was stressed) that I started with 2 quarters, and then tried again because I thought I did something wrong. Then the lady proceeded to roll her eyes at me and told me to go to the window and get my money back. What window, I asked. After rolling her eyes a second time and doing a little huff of impatience, she went to the window herself and got my money back. Then she led me directly to another locker and said, "This is good. That over there is no good. Do not try again." And I had to reign in my temper. I mean, I know that I was stupid enough to try the bad locker twice, but did she think I would get my money back and then go back to the very same locker? (I don't know, maybe I seemed that stupid. After all, I was the lady who was worked up into a frenzy over a locker in a skating rink.)

By this time I was ready to call my husband and tell him to come rescue me. And I may or may not have even dialed his phone number and let it ring once before I hung up and got enough courage to go it alone. But I did go it alone. And I did brave the mothers who all knew each other, but not me. And I also braved the hot little party room that contained over twenty 6 year olds on roller skates all hopped up on soda and cake. And I also braved the inflatable slide and obstacle course they had in the middle of the skating rink. And I also braved the very rude lady who accused my child of cutting in line when she was standing with her small child in the wrong darn line. But what scarred me most of all were the lockers. The money stealing lockers.

*shudders*

And now to change the subject:

Look, let me dazzle you with cute. Let me, please, change the subject from something that I probably shouldn't be talking about to something I love: doggies. Cute fluffy doggies. And a baby doggie. Look at the cute little baby with his momma. Awwww. How cute. Have you forgotten about me being offensive yet? No? Look at the doggies again then. There, now that's better.

The one where I try not to offend the whole Southern United States.

My son had a wonderful time at Church. He met some new people, and they talked about "love" he said. I'm so proud of him for going and doing so well. This was the first time he had ever gone alone with anyone else's parents (besides school field trips.) He was good. And I am glad.

Little T.'s parents told me to let them know if he was interested in going next Sunday too. Evidently, they are willing to take my son to Church every Sunday. Wow.

(I wrote lots of paragraphs about religion and church, then deleted it. I do not possess the abilty to argue my point without offending. And I don't want to do that. Lets just say I have a problem with the whole Evangelical side of Christianity, and leave it at that. I am all for Church. I am all for having faith. I am all for leading a good, honorable life.)

What else would he do on a Sunday?

My son...
My son is going...
My son is going to...
Church!
Church, people!

Holy hell! I mean, oh my God! I mean, by golly! My son is going to church with a friend of his from school. Their family invited him to go along today for "bring a friend" day at their Baptist church. And he was so excited to be going.

Now, this is not the first time he has set foot in a church. My kids both attended preschool at a Presbyterian church. They attended Chapel every Monday. So he is not totally unschooled in the ways of worship and the teachings of the Bible. (Not totally, but pretty much so.) But we have not attended church on a Sunday as a family - ever. So I'm a little nervous for him.

I'm so proud of my big guy though. He went with little T. and his family with no problem. He's excited, and I'm excited for him. I hope he enjoys himself.

And he looked so dapper in his church-going clothes!


(My husband and daughter went golfing. They are such heathens.) (Joke, people, just a joke.)

(I've been left all alone in the house for an hour or so. I have been commanded to take a nap. But I'm all giddy with the freedom and cannot make myself fall asleep. That, and it's too quiet.)

Time to celebrate!

I have the day off!!

The kids I babysit for are at another babysitter's house today. All because of the horrible plague I seem to have come down with (it's not that bad at all, but I want the sympathy.) (I sure hope they are coming back on Monday, but that's a whole other post.) Their mom was worried that they would get sick too, so she made other arrangements. And I'm oh so happy!

I had forgotten the joys of doing grocery shopping at 9 am on a weekday - there is no one at the store! And also, I had forgotten the joys of having just my own kids.

My son's last day of school for the summer was yesterday. So he's on his vacation. And I get to take him around and do fun stuff. I am loving it!!

I wish it could be like this every day. But, well, no one is paying me to hang out with my kids. But I would be totally appreciative if someone decided they wanted to!

Enjoy your day. I'm going to enjoy mine.


(Here it is, honey, the positive post you were looking for! And look!! Exclamation marks!!!)

Positive I'm not.

My husband told me that my blog was not very positive anymore. Negative, he said, all negative. So today I was going to write something very positive to let you all know that everything is okay in our part of the world.

Did you notice I said was going to write something very positive?

Well, darn it, I'm not. Because? I'm sick. I've been throwing up and I have the worst headache. It seems that yesterday's little tension headache wasn't really that, it was just a harbinger of what was to come.

Try back later, when I might have kicked my headache into submission and settled my testy stomach. Then, maybe, I might have something positive to say.

But besides the sickness? I am fine. Really. Happy as a lark.

It's okay to say No.

Yesterday I went to the gym. Again. I know, yay for me! But hold your applause, because I do not really deserve it. You see, after the gym I ate doughnuts. I think (and this is just a theory here) that I am sabotaging my body's fitness by eating junk food. Just maybe.

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When I retrieved my kids from the gym nursery, I asked about bringing the kids I babysit there on occasion. Their parents are also members, so I was wondering how it would work if I brought them - we pay with punch cards, and I wanted to know how I would go about getting them a punch card for me to use. Well, the lady in charge of the nursery said, "We discourage that kind of thing. But you've got to do what you've got to do."

So I took that to mean, We don't want other people to do that, but you totally can. We'll let you.

But, I know that what she was really saying is, No, you can't do that, but there is no official rule against it. I just don't want to offend you by saying so.

So why didn't she just come out and say that? I am getting a little tired of people dancing around what they really want to say, and trying to be polite instead. I'm all for politeness, don't get me wrong. But just hoping that I'll get what your trying to say by reading into the actual words? That's not going to work. Because? I have a hard time doing that. If you say, "It's not a problem" I think, it's not a problem. Not, it's kind of a problem, but I'm worried about saying no to you and you getting upset with me.

I'm a big girl. I can take no for an answer.

(Unless I really, really want to do it, and you tell me no. Then I'm going to whine. And whine. And whine. But only to my husband. Because he's just lucky like that.)

He's his own Individual, and they both are getting big.

My son got an award on Monday. It was for Individuality. Yeah. Not for anything normal like Most Caring, Friendliest, or even Best Smile (I think he'd win all of those!) It was for Individuality. I totally think they made that one up just for him. But? I. Am. Proud. He's such a unique individual, and oh so special. I'm thinking of framing it so that when he hits puberty and is lamenting the fact that he's not really like the other children, I can show it to him and tell him how wonderful it is that he was given an award for being an individual. Or maybe that'll just make him roll his eyes at me and say, "God mom, you're such a dork." Eh, I still might frame it.

I can't believe he will be out of Kindergarten as of Thursday. And my daughter will be starting Kindergarten in the fall. It is really just amazing to me how they are getting to be older and yet I still see them as little. Then, all of a sudden, I will look at them and see big kids. It's like, wow, when did you get big? Sometimes it's the activity they are doing (like reading!) or sometimes it's the way they handle themselves that brings their physical and emotional growth to my attention. But sometimes it's not what they do that shocks me, it's just their sheer size. And I don't notice it until they stand next to me and their heads reach past my elbows. Or when my daughter puts her feet next to mine and I notice that her feet are not that much smaller than mine. And sometimes, it's the things they say. Like saying Mom instead of Mommy.

And then, just when you think they've outgrown the little child phase that has been so much a part of your life, they want to crawl into your lap and cuddle. That (the cuddling) is what I love.

Because I'm the sharing type...

This was over at GoFugYourself.com and it is hilarious. Well, to me, anyway. I thought I'd share it with you. You can thank me (or not) later, depending on your sense of humor. I've learned, over the years, that things I find funny may not actually be funny. And that if, for some reason, I find something so damn hilarious that I post it on my blog, there will only be, like, 4 other people in the world who find it as snort-when-you-laugh funny as I do. So here you go:

MTV Movie Awards Fug Carpet: Donald Faison and Zach Braff

Donald Faison and Zach Braff approach the red carpet:

DONALD FAISON: Shit, dude.

ZACH BRAFF: Stay calm. Just. Stay. Calm.

DF: Dude! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO STAY CALM? We're at some awards show! I thought the driver was taking us to Autozone! I'm not even wearing pants!

ZB: There must have been some kind of miscommunication. Just....look like we meant to dress like this. It's MTV. We're....just....laid back! We're laid back.

DF: Have you even looked in a mirror? Do you know how you look right now? Are you and Mandy having a contest to see who can go the longest without showering, or something?

ZB: I know. I know, okay. I thought the driver was dropping us off at Easy Ed's Mini Putt and Mega-Arcade. But we're here, and we have to act like we did this all on purpose.

DF: My girlfriend is gonna kill me when she sees these pictures. I probably shouldn't even go home tonight. Or ever.

ZB: Okay, we're almost to the photographers. Just...just look fierce, Donald! Just look fierce!

To do list.

Things I should be doing today:

• Washing clothes. Because a family of four cannot exist without having to do laundry on at least an every-other-day schedule. If the clothes do not get washed, someone is going to be wearing socks that do not match, or underwear that is a size too small and causes the wearer to constantly tug on the wedgie that will not go away. And I know what you're saying, buy more socks and underwear, but I can honestly tell you that it does not matter how many pairs we own, they will all be dirty/have holes in them in a matter of days.
• Putting away books. Now that may seem like an odd sort of thing to you. But I just received a big order from Scholastic Books from my son's school (that I am pressured to buy because it is for the class.) And also, I have several paperbacks lying around. However, I have run out of places to put the books, so I have to find somewhere new to shove them. (Maybe the empty underwear and socks drawers?)
• Mopping the floor. Oh, this one, this one is waaay past due. But with the kids running around it never fails that one will run into the kitchen and hit a wet spot with their socks and slide to their death across the floor. Or just get a wet sock and whine about it.
• Dusting. Yeah, this one is waaay past due too. I'm thinking that when the kids leave graffiti on the end table, it means it is time to bite the bullet and just do it.
• Answering email. Um, yeah, if you're one of those people that haven't heard from me in a while, I'm sorry. I'm busy. Sometimes. And sometimes I'm just tired. And sometimes I'm just easily distracted and when I sit down to write email I also check out People to see the latest gossip and then I never get around to email. Because, oh my goodness, did you know that Olivia Newton-John's missing boyfriend has been spotted? I mean, people, this is important stuff!
• And now, the last thing I should be doing: Cleaning up the mess my daughter made in the kitchen with scissors and napkins while I typed this entry. She made snowflakes. And there are tiny bits of paper napkins all over the floor, the table, and sticking to her clothes.

I think I'll start with that last item. Because the baby is due to wake up any second, and I really don't want to pick napkin out of a baby's mouth. Babies... they do not like for you to pick anything out of their mouths. They only want you to put your fingers in their mouths when they can bite down on them with their razor sharp teeth and then giggle nonstop while you try to remove your fingers from the jaws of death. Seriously.

Monday, Monday

Okay, so it's Monday, and I felt so unprepared for it, and we had to go to an awards ceremony for Kindergarteners, and I dragged 3 kids into a crowded, hot cafeteria to watch, and then came home to feed the baby, and feed the kids, and then oh my god, get that out of your mouth who gave you the tiny bouncing ball?!? Ahem, I will get back to you later. Right now I have to go prevent a small child from choking to death. Happy Monday.

Giving thanks.

Thank God for the cooler weather. Sure, I had to withstand huge amounts of ice cold rain before the blessed sun came out, but, to me, it was worth it. It was worth dashing wildly to the gym this morning while yelling, "Go, Go, Go!" to the kids and prodding them to keep them from stopping halfway out of the parking lot and getting absolutely soaking wet. (Because they get into the rain and just freeze. They just stop moving as if the rain will stop too once it realizes they have stopped.) It was worth making another dash to the car after our workout. Only this time, we sent my hubby out to get the car and drive it to the front so we could just get in. But he had the windshield wipers on high, and they were throwing massive amounts of ice cold water onto me while I tried to simultaneously get in and close the back door behind the kids.

Oh but it was worth it. Because now it is not blazing a** hot, and I can go outside without breaking into a sweat within the first five minutes. Thank God.

Warning: Have tissues handy.

My usual routine in the morning is to read a few blogs while I drink a cup of coffee. I do this while my son's lunch is in the oven (chicken nuggets) and it is peaceful in the house. Well, this morning, one blog left me in tears. And I want to share it with you. Most of the time this writer is telling us about the daily challenges she faces with her children, and she most recently shared the joy of buying their first house. (I feel like I know her, but I'm really only a lurker at her blog.) But today's post... well, it is a powerful one. It left me feeling very sad.

http://shenuts.com/?p=1861

Let me just say: I, too, am sorry I didn't say more.

My space, your space, we all have a place on MySpace.

I admit, I'm a little late in the game, but I finally ventured over to the place called MySpace and checked it out.

I had heard all about the controversy regarding whether or not to allow kids to have MySpace accounts, and all that. But I never thought that actual adults may have accounts there too. Until, that is, I found out one of my favorite bloggers has an account. So of course, being a nosy woman, I went over to see her page. Or profile, or whatever the heck they call them.

And to my surprise (!) one of her "friends" was a girl I went to high school with. Not someone I knew well, but someone I did know all the same. That got me thinking - who else do I know in MySpace?

Apparently, I know several people. I looked up my high school, and found quite a few that I knew. And, being nosy again, I went to their pages (or profiles, whatever.) Some of them keep blogs on there, some have pictures posted, and most of them have a running dialog on there. So I actually learned quite a bit about what a lot of them are up to. (And bonus! I now feel like a creepy stalker!) Most of the people even have pictures that you can see, but only if you're a member.

So here's my dilemma. Well, it's not really a dilemma, but just, well, a thought. Should I sign up for MySpace? To do what, you ask? Well, to see their pictures (I'm nosey, remember?) And maybe catch up with a few people. But then I'm thinking, do I really want to catch up with them? Become computer friends? Because I have a hard enough time keeping up with my current friends, and, really, what makes me think I can do it with more. I'm not really a chat on the phone type of person. I do email though (occasionally.)

What am I going to do? I think I'm going to skip MySpace for now. I don't really know if I want to find and be found. But you? You should totally check it out and see if there is anyone you know in there. And tell me if you join. Because I will - if you do it first. (Quit bawking at me - I am not chicken!)

Thankful it's not the end of the world, but wishing I could go back to bed.

Let me just say: when it rains, it pours.

Bad things have happened. Not bad things as in, someone in our family was mortally wounded and we lost our home to spontaneous combustion, but more like, this sh*t is making me angry and I'm in a bad mood!

Let me share.

My son threw up again yesterday. All over the cafeteria. Because it was the day my husband was scheduled to make his class presentation, and my son's nervous stomach got the best of him. So he had to go home (school policy when they throw up) and my husband has abandoned the idea of talking to the class. And my son feels bad about it, because he really was excited about his dad being there. But we just can't do another day of throwing up in the cafeteria. And I think the school janitor will thank us for that decision.

Last night we went to the gym. With plans to go to the pool afterwards. So we brought half of our belongings with us in a gym bag. My husband was meeting us there straight from work, so we had to have his workout clothes, shoes, my swimsuit, shoes, etc, etc. And of course the sunscreen and towels. Well, the gym has gotten new equipment. And that equipment totally sucks. They have replaced my beloved elliptical machines with new ones that hurt my knees. And while trying to adjust one of the other new machines, I squished my thumb. Painfully. Then, oh my gosh people, then, my husband came out of the locker room with his wallet, and it was empty. Yep. We're victims of petty theft.

But we go on to the pool anyway, because, heck, we were already there and the kids were promised a swim. My daughter's knee, which she badly skinned earlier in the day, stung in the water. Otherwise, the pool trip was fairly uneventful.

Then dinner came. I had marinated steaks, sliced up zucchini, portabello mushrooms and some corn already prepped and ready to grill. I figured my husband could grill them while I put the kids to bed (they ate earlier and had a small snack when we got home.) But the propane tank was hissing, which meant it was leaking, and we had to unhook it and hook it back up again, along with some general fussing with the grill. And the zucchini burnt into shriveled black strips. I tried to make baked potatoes in the microwave to replace the charred vegetables, but the rest of the meal was ready before the potatoes. So we had a potato dessert.

The late workout, the trip to the pool, and the late meal kept me from sleeping. I tossed and turned. And then, finally, around 3 am I fell asleep. My son woke me up at 5:20 with a bloody leg. He had scratched it, and scratched it good. After fumbling around with a band-aid in my sleepy stupor, I laid back down, only to have the alarm go off 10 minutes later.

This morning, my husband was getting dressed for work and said, "Have you seen my work boots?" And we remembered that he didn't bring them home from the gym. So he put on his sneakers and left for work, stopping by the gym on his way. But then 10 minutes later he came back in the front door, fuming. His boots? The ones he left in the cubby at the gym? They were gone. They were not in the locker room anywhere. Nor where they in the lost and found. They were gone. And, crap, now we have to go shopping for a new pair.

To top off the good karma we were experiencing (Ha!), I burnt my hand on the oven. Now my hand is officially hurt, what with the crushed, purple thumb and the burn and all. The oldest child I babysit for? He came over this morning a crying mess, and is the grumpiest child I have ever seen. Or experienced. And that's saying a lot.

So it's good times here at our house. Good times.