Lovely things.

I've spent a good deal of my morning shopping. Online. And not actually buying anything. Just monitor-shopping. And since I don't have anything to post about (I've given you all the sappy love I can the past couple of days,) I figured I would present you with links. Links to things I desire, or just plain love to look at.

• First off, I like these mugs. I like the retro look, and I think they're just plain cute.
• Next, I bring you salt and pepper shakers that so adorable I think I may just have to buy them. Although, I'm not sure if "adorable" is necessarily what my husband wants on his dinner table.
• These I would buy if I had a little baby girl, even if they are totally useless. Anyone know of a little baby girl I can buy these for?
• I love this bracelet, even though I don't wear jewelry. I just think it's oh so pretty.
• I'd love 4 of these to go on my front porch and upstairs balcony. In white, please.
• And I'd love this sofa to go in my front room. In a different color, though.

And now I must go - my husband is dragging me to the gym. I haven't been in a while and I think he's ready to knock me over the head and take me there whether I want to go or not. (And not because he thinks I need to lose weight or anything, he wants the company. Oh no, he'd love it if I put on a little weight, not lost any it.)

Sharing the love.

Do you know what I love? What I love with all of my little heart (that some people think has no room for love?) Jalapeno Cream Cheese Poppers.

(What? You were expecting a person? Or maybe an activity? We're talking about me here people.)

And let me tell you, I worship at the altar that is cream cheese and jalapenos. Throw in some breading and deep frying, and I'm in it for life. I may, in fact, love it so much that I am eating it for breakfast right now. Just maybe. And just maybe, I had a little bit yesterday too. And if I didn't think my husband would have me commited for an unusual obsession with these tasty treats, I would eat it every day. Every. Day.

Instead, I buy them every once in a while and dole myself out some, little by little. For this, my arteries thank me. My hips are also grateful. Oh, and my husband; he's grateful too. You see, he hates the stuff. Anything with cream cheese in or around it makes him gag at the mere thought of it passing his lips.

But me, I am in love.

No candles, but we had flashlights.

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday dear hubby,

Happy birthday to you.

The day started off really crappy with a Tropical Depression and the power going out at 3 AM. While most people would sleep right through a power outage, we were all up and miserable. And with less than 3 hours of sleep, I am not a woman anyone would want to be around. (I hope I can talk the kids into going to sleep for several hours this afternoon.) But I want you to know that I love you, you old man!

Special Anniversary Edition.

Today is the day, seven years ago, that B and I got married. I'll never forget the feeling of pure bliss - giddiness - that came over me.

We did not have a traditional wedding. Ours was a spur of the moment, justice of the peace wedding. We had to wait for the judge to come back from lunch (I think) and we excitedly called the few friends and family members who were close by and able to make a mad dash to the courthouse.

Then we were officially married!

But lest you think I am the type who would just run off and get married (because I'm never spontaneous, ever) know that this was the man that I already knew I would be spending the rest of my life with, married or not. This man was the one for me; he was such a good match for me.

We've been through so much in such a short time. If you were to look at that list of things that are huge 'life stressors' you would see that we have been through several of them. Some more than once. And we've come out the other side. Even when we've been on opposite sides of an issue, we've come out just fine. And I give a lot of the credit to B and his ability to know when not to have the last word; to let it go and wait for the cool-down.

B is a successful man. He's a smart man. He's an amazing father, an amazing person, and an amazing husband. (And he's big and strong, and I like that very much.) I'm very lucky to have found him.

I love you, honey. Happy Anniversary.


(And that is as romantic as I get. I'm about as romantic as a - oh, I don't know - something that's not romantic at all. It's a good thing that he knows that. Which is why he's the perfect man for me.)

My space on MySpace.

So I joined MySpace.

I talked about joining before, and then decided to go ahead and "just do it" (to quote Nike.) (Can anyone every say that without thinking of Nike?)

I'm glad I did. I've been poking around there, typing in various names of people I knew a long time ago, and also people I've just met. I've been looking at friends of friends and finding folks I hadn't even remembered I knew. (Most of them from high school. I like that I can search people from my high school, and narrow down the ages to see all the people who were there when I was.) I've seen pictures of people that look exactly the same as they did over 10 years ago, and some who look so different that I wouldn't have recognized them if not for their names. I've looked at pictures of their children and spouses (or significant others) and it's all made me smile.

I'm hesitant to ask people to be my 'friends', though, because I'm so afraid that they will not remember me. I don't want to be presumptuous and assume that they knew me as well as I knew them. And believe me, I knew who they were. I've always been a people watcher; filing away names and faces to be recalled at a later date. But I've always felt like I'm not as obvious as they are - not invisible, but just not as noticeable - and my name and face won't ring a bell for them.

(I don't really want to know what that says about my psyche. But rest assured, my self esteem is not nearly as non-existent as that last statement made it sound. In fact, it's very healthy, thank you very much. But I don't think it was very healthy back then.)

Except, well, there's this one girl who is friends with lots of people I used to know, and um... I have no frickin' idea who she is. No clue. Her name doesn't ring a bell. Her picture confuses the hell out of me because she looks nothing like anyone I've ever known. All I can think is that maybe she's undergone major plastic surgery (horrific accident? crows feet?) since then, and nobody recognizes her either. (I probably sat next to her every day for 2 years and I'll feel like an a** when I remember who she is.)

So I'm glad I joined MySpace. But if I haven't asked to be your 'friend', and you see me on there, you better ask me. I'm too afraid you won't know me, and I'm just not prepared for the rejection. Chances are, I know who you are and will be more than happy to make you my 'friend'.

(Unless you're that girl.)

For the rest of you.

I wanted to do Primus, Rage Against the Machine, Fugazi, Temple of the Dog, Soundgarden (I'm in love with Chris Cornell,) Nine Inch Nails, Fishbone, Dinosaur Jr., L7, Jane's Addiction, The Jesus and Mary Chain, REM, Alice in Chains, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Helmet, Tool... oh what the heck, let's enjoy a little Tool - Sober...





and there are so many more good songs I would love to hear again. But I think this'll conclude my little tour down memory lane.

Gosh, now I'm all nostalgic and stuff. *sniff*

For a friend I missed very much.

U2 - One

I had Joshua Tree on vinyl. That was my first exposure to U2. And it was love at first listen. I listened to them so much, you would have thought I would grow tired of it all. But I never did. In high school, I went to see them in concert (along with Stereo MC's) in England. It was my first concert ever. And the music was so good.

I love U2. My husband, however, hates them. It's hard for me to believe I married a man who can't listen to this song, or any of their others, without cringing. But that's okay, I love him anyway. (And I hate Faster Pussycat, so we're even.) (Although you don't really hear Faster Pussycat on the radio much, so maybe we're not so even after all.)

This song reminds me of a time in my life when I felt very lonely. I was missing someone who had moved away, and I spent an excessive amount of time alone in my dorm room playing this song over and over again. (Thank goodness I'm not in high school anymore, and I no longer have such a dramatic side. Although I suspect my daughter may be even worse than I was, as she already has such a flair for the dramatics. And that frightens me very, very much.)

Not a music post.

I don't know if you're tiring of my music posts or not. If you are, I've got some bad news for you - I've got 2 more of them waiting in the wings. If you're not, well, good news - I've got 2 more of them waiting in the wings!

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Tonight I'm wearing a Crest Whitestrip. (And clothes too. Because some smart-aleck will make a comment about blogging in only a Whitestrip, and I thought I'd stop the email before it came.) Anyway, I'm assuming you know what it is I'm talking about. Unless you've lived under a rock. If that's the case, you (and your yellow teeth) can go ahead and skip this post.

I've seen the commercials that touted the Whitestrip and it's invisibility. Women were wearing them while at work; while talking on the phone; while going about their everyday routines and no one was privy to the fact that all the while they were whitening their teeth. You've seen those commercials too, right?

Well, those darn advertisers have gotten the best of me, again. Because I'm wearing one right now, and if you were here in the room with me, you sure as hell would know it. It's not invisible. It's very obvious. And it gives me a lisp.

I read the kids their bedtime story while wearing it, and they kept staring at my mouth as if something very awful was happening to it. Like my teeth would fall out at any minute, and they dare not look away lest they miss the spectacle. And, my friends, I was trying very hard to enunciate while speaking, but I swear I sounded worse than a twelve year old wearing a retainer. You should have heard the bedtime song - Thwinkle, thwinkle litthle ssssthar.

Those Crest people - they lure me in with their promises of getting whiter teeth whilst I go about my everyday life, and instead I'm reduced to sitting at my computer and typing while I anxiously await my thirty minutes to be up.

For all of you that hung out at the AYA.

Beastie Boys - Pass The Mic

Oh, the Beastie Boys *sigh* mean so much to me. I loved them back when I was in 6th grade and had Licensed to Ill and learned all the words to all the songs and thought myself such a rebel for singing along with them. And I had a huge crush on Ad Rock (don't laugh, I was young.) I loved them all the way into my high school and college years, although they kind of lost me when they started appearing on MTV spouting all that political stuff. And I wanted to be a big fan of their newest CD, but it just wasn't there for me anymore. Check Your Head, however, will always be one of my favorites because it not only had this song and So Watcha Want, but because it reminds me of all my friends down at the AYA.

(And I still have a little crush on Ad Rock.)

This is for Sara.

Ned's Atomic Dustbin - Kill Your Television



(Notice it's on VH1 Classics - my god, I'm old.)

Thank you Sara for reminding me of Ned's. I had forgotten how much I used to listen to them. I remember that they were going to play at the Corn Exchange (Cambridge, England) and we wanted to go see them so darn bad. But the only time I ever set foot into the Corn Exchange was for our graduation. And I remember that we were there on your birthday (for rehearsal?) and that when they called your name they messed up your middle name and said "Ellen". Funny - the big things I forget, and the little things I remember.

More blast-from-the-past music.

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Taste the Pain

Folks, this song is listed as my song in my high school yearbook. That's how much love I feel for it. I spent more years than I'd like to admit writing the lyrics to this song over and over again. It was also part of the mind numbingly repetetive loop of music I played on my walkman on the plane ride over to England when we moved there in 1989. And, most importantly, it is the song that reminds me of a very good friend of mine - a friend that is no longer a part of my life due to, well, stupidity, I guess. Anyway, enough of my sappy reminiscing - enjoy the song.

Children, all of us.

My husband must work with a bunch of twelve year olds. Or one twelve year old, at least. You see, he fired - oh sorry, "let go" - someone today. And after stomping around and throwing a fit like a child, this guy came back and surprised my husband with a punch in the jaw. And all I can say is, what a stupid move on that man's part. Don't you think?

(Oh, I forget that some of you do not know my husband. Well, let me tell you a little bit about him. He's a big guy. Very big. As in, he used to be a competitive power lifter. Very, very big. When he was training hard, he would bench press well over 500 hundred pounds. Even now that he's not training for competition anymore, he still benches over 400 pounds. He's built like a tank. Oh, and he used to be a bouncer at clubs during his pre-marriage days.)

So anyway, this man comes and lands a punch on my husband's jaw. And my husband picks him up over his head and puts him down on the floor. Then covers him while all the office ladies are a-twitter and someone yells, "Don't hurt him!" To which my husband replies, "If I wanted to hurt him, I wouldn't be holding him down on the floor, I would be wiping blood off of my hands!" (Or something like that. I may have dramatized for effect.) And after the police arrived, everyone calmed down, and then all the twelve year olds left the building.

And now my husband has a sore jaw and he has to go take my daughter to her Kindergarten assessment. Nothing like showing up at the Kindergarten classroom after leaving a brawl.

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My son is now well into his first day of First Grade. He decided he wanted my husband to walk him to his classroom this morning, so that's what my husband did. And he reported back that my son was thrilled to be there and knew right where his classroom was. He even managed to chat up some little girl on his way down the hall (my son did, not my husband.) He's going to be a lady-killer, that boy.

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As you may have noticed, I removed my name (again) from this site. I'm incognito. So SHHHH, don't tell anyone who I am. I try my hardest to not name names and say anything malicious about anyone on here, but I figured that it would be safer if I made it a little harder for just anyone to happen upon this site. Oh, I know, people can still find it. And with my big ol' face up there, it's not hard to know it's me writing this. But, you know, it makes me feel like I'm hidden. And it's all about how I feel, right?

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I must go now. I have lint in my mouth and I have to go scrape my tongue. You see, I had a mint in my pocket and when I found it in there (Surprise! Candy!) I popped it into my mouth. And it was covered in pocket lint. Yes, evidently, I am 8 years old.

Musical Interlude.

Here's a little music for your listening pleasure. The Pixies* -

Here Comes Your Man.

*I had a love affair with the Pixies when I was in high school that lasted for several years. (No, not a real one - did you actually get a look at those guys!? Man, what kind of girl do you think I am?) This song still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside just from the memories.

Don't remember this song? Well, that's okay. I'll forgive you just this once. But it really is a classic and I highly recommend the CD (or tape, which is what I had back in the day.)

Not-Really-Anything (the whole bunch of it version)

And now, a whole bunch of not-really-anything for your day!

(are you excited? even just a little? oh c'mon, humor me.)

My son's doctor's appointment went well yesterday. He followed all instructions (stand on one foot, hop up and down, push against me, etc...) and then had to give a urine sample. He didn't understand why they needed a urine sample. "You want to see my pee-pee? It's yellow! It's fine!" And after a hilarious series of events in the little boys room, some of which included my husband yelling, "That's enough! Stop! Stop! Stop!" they returned the sample cup to the doctor triumphantly. And my son said, "See? Like I told you, it's yellow."

(And for those of you interested, (mainly family members, I'm sure,) the doctor gave us a stronger cream for his eczema and told us to give him an allergy pill every day. Even if the airborne allergens aren't bothering him per se, the allergy pill will help stop his itching. And also, we have to use all fragrance free detergents and soaps for him. Which I should have been doing anyway, really, but I just love the smell of freshly laundered clothes - preferably in Clean Breeze. But now I've emptied his dresser and am doing load after load of laundry in the stinky fragrance-free detergent. (My clothes, however, are still being washed in the old stuff because I can only sacrifice so much.))

(oooh, I used double parentheses there - and bad grammar. doesn't it make you kind of twitch, how I butcher the English language repeatedly?)

We went to orientation last night for my son's first grade class. We met his teacher, who is teaching for the first time this year. Oh, she's volunteered in schools and been a teacher's assistant before, but to have my son (and therefore, me) for her first year as a teacher is really unfortunate for her. You might want to send some good vibes her way. She might need them tomorrow on the first day of school.

That's right, tomorrow, I send my son back to school. He's going to be a big kid now. At least, that's what he's told me. He even gets to use the computer lab. He's excited. I haven't told him yet that all the computer work will not include Star Wars Battlefront or anything nearly as fun. I figure I'll just let him find out on his own. I hope it doesn't crush his spirit.

And my daughter - the one who I really would like to send to school tomorrow because she is driving me crazy - isn't starting until after Labor Day. Yeah, they'll attend the same school, but the kindergarteners start later. Sucks for her. She wants to go so badly, and has to watch her brother go and hear all about his day when he gets home. I keep telling her that patience is a virtue. She thinks I'm full of crap.

So today will be spent labeling various school supplies, and washing and folding mountains of clothes and towels and washcloths. Good times.

I'm not bitter and he's going to the doctor.

Apparently yesterday, when I posted, I came off as a little bitter. I don't know where in the world that idea came from (I plead the Fifth.) But no worries, I'm not really bitter. Nor am I really that jealous. I just feel it was a little bit unfair, and I felt like a good complaining was in order. No need to fear for my husband's well being. (Except for what all that restaurant food will do to his arteries. That you should fear.)

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Today my son is going to the doctor. He's going to get his skin checked out. He has eczema (thanks to my lovely genes) and he has it bad on his face and fingers. Which, really, if you're going to have something that looks like a communicable disease (which, it is not cummunicable, people, just looks like it,) is it really necessary to have it on the most visible parts of your body? I mean, really. The boy deserves a break, if you ask me. Oh wait, was I talking about the injustice of my son's skin condition? Um, no... oh yeah, I was talking about him going to the doctor. Anyway, my husband is going to take him to the doctor. This'll be a first, ya'll.

I've compiled a note card - cliff's notes, if you will - of the different lotions and medications my son is using. I've listed the questions I would ask if I were there. And I'm sending the boys off with a prayer.

Actually, I think it'll be better that my husband is the one taking my son. When I go I have a tendency to tell the doctor what is wrong, instead of vice versa. I have a tendency to be a little bit pushy. A teensy bit pushy. Oh, okay, a lot pushy. And the doctor barely gets a word in edgewise. Then I'm sure they mark my children's chart with a notation or some sort of color code they have adopted just for people like me. You know, something that says, This woman is a pushy lady and is a know-it-all who will not listen to you. And as a result my children do not receive the quality of care they deserve. But with my husband going, they will just mark the kids' chart with a code that says, This is a big motherf*cker who will break us into tiny pieces if we mess up his children's care, so make sure you do well.

And I think that's much more effective, don't you?

Wanting some cheese to go with my whine.

I have a wonderful husband. He's a good man and a great father. He's also hilarious and fun to be around. He thinks I'm beautiful and gives me compliments all the time. Also, he's smart and a hard worker.

But...

(And you knew that there would be a but, didn't you?)

I have one thing that I would like to complain about today: It's that he is all for our new thrifty lifestyle, and says with great conviction that he's tired of eating out and is happy to be eating at home more when in fact he eats at various yummy restaurants for lunch often. Yummy restaurants! Lunch! Often! While I sit at home and eat whatever the kids don't finish. (And this happens more than I'd like to admit.)

I think to myself, sure, you don't mind eating at home for supper because you went out for Chinese food for lunch. Or Mexican. Or Mongolian barbecue. And then I become very bitter.

Now, before you think he's a very bad man and spending all of our food budget on lunches out, let me say that most of the time he's not buying these lunches. Yesterday, for instance, he was taken to a Chinese restaurant by a sales rep. (He's lucky like that - people want him to do business with them and court him by feeding him good food and giving him mugs at Christmas time.)

But still, I'm bitter. And I'm rambling. Because I'm bitter. And now I'm going into the kitchen to heat up a box of Crab Rangoon that I bought at WalMart last night and I'm going to enjoy it, dammit, because it's all I have. All my bitter little heart has. Dammit.



(Love you Honey!)

Edited to add: My husband called me this afternoon after reading this - he asked if he needed to take me out to eat tonight. But that would totally defeat the purpose. We are not eating out as much to try and keep from spending money. And if we went out to eat, what would I have to complain about on here?!? (Except for spending the money, of course.)

Spending way too much time obsessing.

It's the time of year that makes me drool. Drool longingly for things. Things I want to buy, and never end up buying.

No, I'm not talking about wanting cars or houses or fabulously expensive jewelry. I'm talking about clothes.

I should tell you that I'm not the clothes horse type. I don't have a closet full of clothes for every day of the year. In fact, I have a closet that consists mainly of t-shirts. I'm definitely not a fashion plate. But once the fall clothes start appearing in the stores and catalogs, I become a woman obsessed.

I am obsessed with the feel of long pants, and sumptuous sweaters. Crisp white shirts and soft denim. I page through catalogs repeatedly and read descriptions of clothes I would never wear in every day life. I go online and view the newest additions, gazing longingly at black wool trousers with an amazing drape. I check on inseam lengths (my legs are impossibly short) and find my size. I imagine what shoes I would buy with what pants, and even imagine myself at the perfect "event" for each outfit. I long for the donegal wool blazer in a moss green color (which brings out the red in my hair) and the perfect khaki pants. I have made it my mission to find the best fitting pair of jeans among the hundreds of pairs in existence (maybe not hundreds, but thousands, millions even.)

When I do find the perfect clothes, do I buy them? No. I mentally compile a list of "must-haves" and then I move on. I think the thrill is in the hunt for me. Whenever I find something I absolutely, positively must have and I buy it, it is never as wonderful in reality as it is in my head. So I go with the jeans that fit pretty well and the t-shirt that is comfortable. I stick with the casual button down shirt and khakis in size extra short. Because while I'm in love with the classic clothes at Ann Taylor, I'm much more of an Eddie Bauer kind of girl.

And I anxiously await the end of summer the next year, when they roll out the newest fall clothing and I can begin to drool all over again.

A little nervous laughter for your day.

Recently, ha ha, we became a little, ha ha ha ha, overdrawn on our checking account. Ha ha ha ha ha... *ahem*

Okay, so that was nervous laughter, not the Ha! kind of laughter I'd like it to be. Because it's true. We were overdrawn.

We used our debit card to pay for everything. Groceries, bill payments, gas, meals at McDonald's, stops at the Quick Stop for Gatorade... everything. And due to a serious math error, we kept on using the debit card even when there was no more money in our bank account. And thankfully, our bank kept on honoring our overdrawn purchases. So we didn't end up on anybody's Must Pay Cash list. Thanks for that, BB&T.

And no thanks, BB&T*, for charging us $35 a pop every time you honored our debits. You see, some of those debits were for, like, $1.50 and less. So my husband drank a $36.50 bottle of Gatorade. And the kids ate McDonald's Happy Meals that cost us well over $40.00.

In the end, we were actually overdrawn for very little. I mean, our actual purchases were not that much, and I could have put a little bit of cash into the account to cover the amount. But, but, the bank had charged us so much, there was no way my paycheck could cover the amount that our account was now in the negative. I mean, we had charges that would make you weep. (They may have made me weep just a little.)

But don't worry, this is not a plea for financial help. Once my husband's paycheck was direct deposited to the account, everything was back in the black. And we learned a very serious lesson. We learned not to overdraw our account, ever again. We also learned that we must ditch the debit cards and begin carrying cash. (Very little cash, for you would be robbers out there. Very little cash.)

The whole debacle did cost us a fortune, though. And during a time when we have lots of medical bills, and school supplies that cost me over $60.00 to get (not including backpacks and clothes and shoes, just actual supplies,) the fortune it cost us could not come at a worse time. But we're on a strict cash budget, and we're doing well with it.

Paying cash for everything leaves me with a very satisfied feeling. It means I don't have to check the checking account online, obsessively, until everything has cleared and breathe a sigh of relief when it finally does clear. It has a finality to it. It's done, paid for, and now we can move on. (Although it is very unsatisfying when I only have two bills left, and they are not bills of large denominations.)

Oh, somewhere along the way I had a point to this whole post. I'm not exactly sure what it was, though. So, um, I think I just shared too much information with you for no real reason at all. Except to tell you that I am not BB&T's biggest fan, and I am very satisfied when I pay with cash. But that's reason enough, isn't it?



*BB&T is a large bank here in the South. I'm sure they have lots of people who love banking with them, but we are not some of those people. They didn't tell us about their overdraft protection coverage that could have saved us a ton of money until after we had already paid them a ton of money. Also, they have a weird way of doing their online banking that does not let you see pending transactions, and posts the cleared transactions 2 days after they have cleared. So it makes it impossible to keep up with your checking account online. But please don't get mad at me, BB&T, because if you sue me for slander, I will not have any money to give you. You already have the equivalent of my car payment. And maybe even my mortgage payment too.

Eating well.

I've been asked how my 'healthy eating' is going. And it's, well, going, um, okay, I guess. I feel like I need to clarify the 'healthy eating' thing. I'm not really eating nuts and berries, or non-fat, preservative-free fare. More like, I'm trying to eat a little better and not eat as much junk. (Notice I said as much junk, not no junk at all.)

And that part is going well. I still have quite a sweet tooth, but I've managed to keep from eating sweets morning, noon and night. Also, we've cut back on our trips to McDonalds and other fast food establishments. Instead, we stocked up on hotdogs and ramen noodles for those night we don't have enough time to cook. And while that's not healthy food by any means, it certainly is a little better for you than a Big Mac and large fries. I also baked two chickens on Monday, and we're heating up chicken as needed.

On a totally unrelated side note, anyone want a chicken sandwich? I've got a little bit of extra chicken here and I'm getting a little sick of eating chicken for lunch and chicken for dinner and chicken in between. (How many times can I work the word chicken into a sentence? A lot, apparantly.)

But I have lost 5 pounds and that makes me happy, especially since I haven't been to the gym in like 2 weeks and I'm not trying to lose weight. (My husband has lost more, but I'm not holding that against him.)

So, you know, that's how the healthy eating is going.

Now I must go because the three year old bit my son. And left big old teeth marks. And I'm writing about it after I've put an ice pack on my son's arm and the offender is in time-out (which is really pissing him off and made him try to bite me.) We're having some fun now!

The influence of planets.

The planets must be out of alignment today. That's the only reason I can think of for all of the kids here today to be this whiney.

The three year old I babysit has just started to wear underwear during the day. And he's been doing wonderfully. But today... today he pooped in his pants. And then he peed in his pants. And I'm remembering how much I hated cleaning poop out of children's underwear. (Lucky me, I just flush what I can and then put the soiled clothes into a plastic bag for his parents. Not so lucky for his parents.)

The soon-to-be one year old I babysit has discovered that the best way to rid his highchair tray of food is to throw it overboard. Sometimes he just lets the little pieces of food drop over the side. Sometimes he practices his fastball, and pitches the food across the room. And I'm remembering how much I loved having a dog around to clean up the floor. (Too bad the dog isn't here anymore.)

My son speaks in a constant whine. And if I didn't know any better I'd say he has a hearing problem because he speaks so loudly and ignores me. But I know better. He's just a loud boy.

My daughter is a know-it-all today. And, really, that's not unlike most days. Except for today she's an extra-annoying know-it-all. (That particular breed of know-it-all makes semi-regular appearances around here.)

And, well, it seems that I'm whiney today too.

Must be the planets.

School supplies.

Yesterday we went shopping for some new school clothes.

Before we set out on our mad dash through various children's clothing stores to fight the throngs of people, I had a mental list of items I wanted to get for the kids. Jacket for my son, jeans and pants for both of them (enough to make it through a week, at least) and athletic shoes for both too. The rest, I figured, we could get as needed. They are growing so fast, I'm afraid to get too many things ahead of time. By the time they need the long sleeve shirts and coats, they may just be a full size larger.

Anyway, off we went to the store. And off my son went to whining. His head hurt; he couldn't walk. And my daughter, she wanted to stay with dad outside the store; she didn't want to try on the jacket for her brother. (It's wonderful that they wear the same size. I just have to bring one child along and have him/her try on the clothes. Of course, neither of them is too crazy about trying on clothes for the opposite sex. But I'll pay for their therapy bills later, so they can just hush.)

And what did we get on our trip? A Jacket. And a pair of pants for my son. (Just one pair.) And athletic shoes for my son too. My daughter? She didn't find anything that she needed, except for these:

And everyone knows a little girl absolutely needs a pair of pink cowboy boots. As for all those other things she needs for school, they pale in comparison. (And I guess I need to go back to the store.)

On top of my lap.

Guess where I'm typing this from!

My kitchen table! Via a laptop. Laptop. Yippee!

It was a freebie. An old laptop that is missing the R button. (But it still works, as you can plainly see.) And it makes me oh so happy.

Oh, but also... The screen is messed up a little so that you can't read the type if it's normal sized. So I've got it set up so the type is at 150%. Which, if you've ever done that to you computer, you know is really f*cking big. I've got to scroll all over the place just to read the weather. But did I mention that it was free?!?

(Dear Santa, I'd like to add New Laptop to the list of things I want but don't really need. You can put it right below Maid Service, and immediately above Sleep Number Bed. Thank you.)

So, I'm off to the store to buy a laptop bag and several matching outfits that say, 'I need to carry this laptop with me at all times because I'm a very important person.'

(Not really, but a girl can dream, can't she?) *sigh*

Picture pages, picture pages, lots of fun with picture pages...

Yesterday's post was such a long, drawn out post - sorry for that. So for today, I give you some pictures (woo-hoo!). They're old, but they're two of my favorites.

(You can almost hear her do that little clicking sound with her mouth to go along with that wink.)

(And that's my boy, he's a sweetie pie. He looks so young in this picture.)

The update you've been waiting for (if you were one of the people who emailed me and asked me to tell you what the heck happened.)

I've been trying to find the motivation to sit down here and write about our adventure at the hospital. I know that I left some people hanging on my last post, never even saying whether or not my husband was home, safe and sound. Well, I apologize. I've been out of my routine, and I'm still trying to get the details from the past few days straight in my head. He is home. (Actually, he's at work right now.) So don't worry, all's well.

I think it's all best described in a timeline - otherwise, my paragraphs would be full of 'and then this happened, and then this, then this...'

Monday, August 7
4:30 am - We get up and get a shower. Hubby's up before the alarm clock because he couldn't sleep at all the night before.

5:30 am - Leave the house and start the drive to the hospital. I have a cup of coffee in a travel mug and some peanut butter crackers in my purse. But I don't eat them because hubby is not allowed to eat anything before the surgery. I do, however, drink the coffee because it still feels like the middle of the damn night!

6:15 am - Arrive at hospital and check in at the required time on the dot. I'm proud that we're actually on time for once. I think it has to do with the fact that we didn't have the kids with us. (They are at home with Gran - Hubby's mom.) We go from one waiting room to another, and hubby fills out various forms and such. I think about the peanut butter crackers in my purse, and my mouth waters. But I resist. (I'm strong like that.)

7:00 am - The nurse that is going to prep him for surgery comes for him and brings us to a 'prep' area (I have no idea what's it's actually called back there.) She brings us to a room (more like a curtained area) and gives him a gown to change into. (This room is also where all of your dignity is stripped from you, not just your clothes.) She then leaves and tells us she'll be right back. Which, in hospital terms, means she'll be back eventually. The anesthesiologist comes in to check hubby. Hubby tells the man he has Sleep Apnea (important detail, here) and the guy does not say that will be a problem in any way. The nurse comes back and starts hubby on an IV (which is enough to start a panic attack for him, but he was strong, and resists.) She also gives him a shot to 'take the edge off of any anxiety' and he reports back that it does not seem to be taking any edge off at all. He's still anxious.

8:00 am - I'm told they are going to 'take him on back', and shown on a map how to get to the waiting room. I have to consult the map several times on my way to finding the waiting room. Evidently, it's supposed to be easy to get there. It's not for me. Once there, I find a seat and take out the book I brought (for the procedure that's supposed to last about an hour or so) and break out my peanut butter crackers. It's then that I notice a sign that tells people not to eat in the waiting room. I eat 2 crackers anyway. But then I put them away, because I'm afraid I'll get thrown out of the waiting room for excessive cracker eating.

8:25 am - The doctor comes into the waiting room looking for me. I'm nervous. Then I wonder if it's over already, and I get happy. Then he looks at me with serious eyes. I'm nervous again. He says they are going to have to keep hubby overnight. He says it has to do with his sleep apnea and that he'll need his CPAP machine. Which means I'll need to go home and get it. All I can think is, 'Man, hubby's not going to like this. He hates the hospital.' So I ask the doctor is hubby knows he's going to have to stay. Doctor says, "Yes, he knows, and he's not happy." Doctor kindly offers to take my cell phone number and call me when the procedure is over, because now I'll be in the car heading home for his CPAP machine instead of waiting in the waiting room for any news. Man, I think, this sucks.

9:00 am - I am lost. I am driving around the beltline, and I do not recognize anything. I am silently thanking my dear hubby for filling up my gas tank right before we arrived at the hospital that morning because I surely would have run out of gas otherwise. I call my mother-in-law at home and ask her if she knows where in the heck I am. Luckily, she knows that I am heading in the wrong direction. So I turn around.

9:45 am - I am now almost home. And the doctor calls to tell me they got the kidney stone. Hubby is in recovery. The stone was 8mm big, and they had to laser it to break it up and then remove all the pieces. And he tells me a few other details that I will not share with you to spare hubby's dignity. But let's just say, um, they didn't cut into him, they went into him in a very invasive way, and there were special instructions.

10:00 am - I am back on the road after stopping at home and packing a few things and kissing my kids (who are having fun with Gran.) I am hurrying because I think they'll need his CPAP machine for him in recovery. I want him to be able to breathe!

10:35 am - I arrive at the hospital and verify the fact that I cannot park in parking garages. It takes me two tries to park in a choice spot before I just say to heck with it and decide to park way up at the top where there are lots of empty spaces.

10:40 am - I curse the fact that I parked so far away and now have to lug the heavy bag I packed down three flights of stairs. Darn parking garage and it's tiny little parking spaces!

10:50 am - Arrive back at waiting room and hurriedly tell volunteer that I have the CPAP machine my hubby so desperately needed. She calls recovery and says he doesn't need it right now, and that I can wait until he's given a room. I think some very bad words, and park myself right next to her desk so she doesn't forget about me. And I wait, and wait, and wait.

12:45 pm - The doctor comes in to give a report to another family and sees me waiting there. He asks if I have hubby's machine. The he goes and calls Recovery himself to make sure hubby doesn't need the machine. Hubby doesn't, and I wait, again.

1:00 pm - I'm told I can go back to his room. I'm told he's in ICU. As in, Intensive Care Unit. I didn't know he was there. I thought he was going to be put into a regular old room. Now I'm worried. I go into his room, which really isn't much of a room. It's got three walls, and a curtain forms the other wall. The nurses desk faces the bed. Hubby's in the bed hooked up to all kinds of machines. He's got oxygen going into his nose. And if he hadn't been awake and talking, I would have been scared to death to see him in there like that. But he is awake, and talking, and mad as hell about having to be kept overnight.

(This is the part of the story I was not privy to until later: when they wheeled him back into the operating room, the anesthesiologist told him they would do a spinal (epidural) instead of putting him under. Because of his sleep apnea, he said. But what they didn't know was that my dear hubby was nervous as heck about them operating on him. So hubby told them if they were going to be doing what they were going to be doing to him, they would have to put him under. There was no way he would let them otherwise. So they put him under. And they had trouble with a breathing tube - his throat had such a tiny airway, they couldn't get the breathing tube into it. So they brought in a special tube. It didn't go in easily either. Which meant they had to shove. And for a while they had to keep him alive by manually giving him oxygen with one of those bags you squeeze (I have no idea what they're called.) Which is why he ended up in ICU. They were worried the effects of the anesthesia would cause his airways to relax to the point that no air would be able to get in at all. Which is what happened while he was on the operating table.)

1:00 - 6:30 pm - We watch way too much A&E on TV - including Dog the Bounty Hunter and Flip This House. (None or which I would recommend to anyone.) Hubby has a severe sore throat (from them shoving a tube down it) and he is sore. But mostly, he's mad that he has to be there hooked up to so many machines when he was supposed to just go in for an hour or so and them go home. He's unable to walk around because of the pulse/oxygen monitor, oxygen tube, IV and EKG. He finally talks the nurse into removing the oxygen. And she's such a champion for him, she calls around to all the doctors to see if they can remove some of the other tubes too. She's successful in getting the IV tube taken off, but he has to keep the needle in his hand, just in case. Hubby argues (nicely, not belligerently) with various doctors to try and get himself discharged, but to no avail. One doctor even sends in reinforcements to argue her case. I head to the little cafe down the hall to get food and drink. I find muffins and coffee. Which is much better that nothing, but still not much sustenance. I bring them back to ICU and notice a sign on the door that says no food or drink allowed. I go in anyway. Heck, I've only had 2 peanut butter crackers all day, and at this point I really don't care if I'm breaking any rules. So I savor my muffin (which is dry) and my latte (which I should have gotten in a bigger size.) And then, after sitting in the world's most uncomfortable chair for a very long time, I have to go. In ICU they are only allowed visitors for 15 - 20 minutes. I've obviously been there for much longer (and brought in contraband food, bad me) but now my time is up. It's shift change time and they won't allow anyone to be there. Also, I'm exhausted, and there are kids and Gran waiting for me at home. So I kiss hubby goodbye, and go. And I cry. Because he seems fine, but he's still in ICU and that means they think something bad could happen at any time, otherwise they would have put him in a regular old room. I hope nothing bad happens while I'm not there.

7:00 pm - I arrive home without getting lost. The kids and Gran are out at the store, and it feels so lonely in the house. I go get a shower and realize that that was the longest I have ever been away from my children. And I miss them so. I get them to bed and all tucked in. Hubby calls from the hospital (illegally using a phone that's only supposed to be used for him to order food, but his nurses have told him they'll look the other way) and he sings Itsy Bitsy Spider and tells the kids goodnight. I tell him that instead of being there when visiting hours start in the morning, I plan on coming early. So if they release him early, I'll be there, waiting in the waiting room and he doesn't have to be there any longer than necessary. I want him home. He wants to be home.

8:30 pm - I fall exhaustedly into bed, and sleep pretty soundly, considering.

Tuesday, August 8th
I'll spare you the timeline now, because, really, it's uneventful from here. I went to the hospital early, and he was released early. He didn't sleep but for 3 hours the previous night, and is exhausted. He refuses to be wheeled out in a wheelchair, and his nurse (who I love, by the way) finally gives in and compromises with him. He can walk out if only if a staff member walks him out. So that's what happens. And he arrives home, finally, a day late from his outpatient surgery which turned into a near death experience, and a lot sore.

Homecoming (?)

Well... where do I start?

The routine outpatient surgery that my husband went in for yesterday ended up being a night in the ICU.

As far as I know, everything went fine last night, and he can be released this morning. So I'm headed up there to camp out in the horrible, cramped waiting room and bring him home as soon as they say he can go.

The good news is, he is kidney stone-less at the moment. (We're going to try our hardest to keep him that way, but sometimes nature has a different idea.)

Keep your fingers crossed for a speedy return home for him - and hope I don't get myself turned around (or just darn lost) in the city on my way home (like I did yesterday.)

Because all the self pity embarasses me.

I just deleted a post that went a little like this: whine, whine, whine, and a little more whine.

So if you read it, well, sorry. That was written by a woman who just needed to be hit upside the head and told to get over herself. (And that's what I did.)

If you didn't read it, good for you. It was enough to make you throw up a little bit in your mouth because of all the silly self pity and whining.

Enjoy your weekend.

She's friendly.

My daughter has been working on writing sentences this summer. She tells me the sentence she wants to write, and I write the words in no particular order. Then she pieces them together to form sentences. These are the words I wrote for her the other night:

loves
even
me
if
I
everybody
them
like
don't

Guess what sentence she wanted to make.

"Everybody loves me even if I don't like them."

I think that tells you a lot about my daughter. She's humble. And kind.

Out of the loop.

So... I just found out some news. School here doesn't start the 6th of September, like I thought. Instead, it starts the 25th of August. I'm just sitting here thinking, huh, how did I not know that?

But in my defense, let me back up a minute and tell you why I thought it would be September before I gleefully sent my precious little ones out of my house! Oh, I mean, back to school. When I registered my daughter for Kindergarten, they told me her fist day would be either September 6th or 7th. (Half went one day, the other half went the next.) So being the queen of assumptions that I am, (and, no, you don't have to tell me the ass before u and me thing, thank you) I just assumed the first day of school is the 6th. Wouldn't you?

Well, what they didn't tell me was that the kindergarteners start later than everyone else. Huh.

Also, what they did not tell me when they gave out all the information regarding the early pick up on the last day of school was, wait for it... the date of the first day of school in the fall. It would seem to me that a simple, "Have a great summer and we'll see you again on the 25th of August!" would have been in order here. It would seem...

So, am I the only one who didn't know? Also, am I the only one who feels so out of the loop? I have no idea what the protocols are for starting school, registering, and getting supplies. I do not know when we find out which teacher my kids have and what supplies to send them with on the first day. I just seem to have no idea, period.

I guess I'll have to break down and call the school. Then, I'll sound like a woman who is totally unfit to be a mother when I ask things like, oh, for instance, where do I drop them off at and when's the latest I can pick them up.

TMI

Somewhere along the way, my husband and I decided that we would make an effort to not have our children worry about money. As in, we would not ever let them be a part of the 'we don't have enough money for this or that so that's why you can't have that/go there, etc...'

Now, we are not dirt poor (although it feels that way sometimes) and we are not filthy rich either. We live a comfortable life in a nice house in a nice neighborhood and have a nice car. Nothing too big, nor too extravagant, but just, well, nice.

But in this world there comes the dreaded 'unexpected expenses' and we don't have a wad of money lying around to use for such things. We just live life with the 'hope it doesn't get too bad' attitude. And so far, although it has been bad at times, it's never been 'too bad'. We've made it through all sorts of situations that could have been financially and emotionally devistating, yet through some weird twist of fate (and a lot of wishing and hoping,) it never ruined us (financially or emotionally.)

This is one of those times when we are hit with a few 'unexpected expenses'. And because of said expenses, I have had to stop letting the kids go with a babysitter twice a week. (And I know some of you are going, no big deal!) To me, however, it is a big deal. The kids Loved (with a capital L) going with Little T and his mom. They went to the movies, the library, the pool, and to great playgrounds. They looked forward to time away from the little ones I babysit, and time to do big kid stuff.

I had to dissapoint them, and it makes me sad.

(Because I like to spoil them and make them happy. That makes me happy.)

My daughter asked me today why they weren't going with Little T and his mom. I gave her some fluff answer about it being close to the end of the summer and we had to work on reading and other pre-school kind of things. I could tell by the look she gave me that she really didn't buy my answer. Thank goodness she didn't ask any more questions, though, because the next words out of my mouth would have been, "Because we can't afford it right now!"

And that, that, my friends, would have gone against everything my husband and I agreed upon.

(And my husband is of the firm belief that talking about this is sharing too much information, so, um, let's not talk about it anymore. Okay? Okay.)

I just thought I'd share.

This is what is on my mind:

• My husband has to go in for surgery on Monday. Outpatient, but surgery all the same.
• The temperature outside is hitting well above 100 degrees (literally, and also in 'real feel') and will be doing so for the next week or so, causing my air conditioner to run constantly.
• Although it is August, school still doesn't start here for over a month. The kids are getting bored and I am getting tired.
• The heat. Did I mention the heat?
• The kids will need school supplies, clothes, etc...
• Surgery. Have I mentioned surgery?
• The cost of all of the above is enough to make my head pop right off of my body, and go spinning into outer space.

Revisited.

The hubby's kidney stones - they're ba-ack.

So no report from the trenches until later.

Peaches and camping.

I've spent most of my morning watching a baby feed himself. Not the most exciting way to spend a morning, I'll grant you that, but it is very entertaining. I watched those chubby little fingers chase peaches across the highchair tray. He was so focused on his agenda, his toes were curling and his tongue was sticking out if his mouth. His fingers would grab a piece of peach, and the food would squirt out of his fingers. Slimy things, those peaches. The boy, however, was determined, and would not let a little peach get the best of him. He focused on one piece, never letting up until he had gotten that specific piece into his mouth. Then he would choose his next piece carefully, selecting the largest first, and the scrawny pieces last. It seemed to me to be so much work just to get a few pieces into his mouth, but obviously it was worth the effort. He hummed a happy little mmmm sound while he gummed the peaches. Tasty things, those peaches.

I envy the baby's determination. If eating something turned out to be so much work and such a challenge, I don't think I would eat that specific food again. And that goes for more than just food - if anything is that hard or takes that long, my focus gets shifted to something easier and quicker. I'll take the easy way any day.

-----------------------

The other children are playing 'campout' upstairs. It involves sleeping bags, dress up clothes, and plastic dishes. Oh, and wooden food. And a general mess of gargantuan proportions. The mess, however, is worth it, because they are playing peacefully. The kids can get into such little snits over the most trivial of things. Now that it's too hot to be outside in the afternoons (hello, heatstroke) they get very cranky about being stuck in the house. I get cranky too. The difference between me getting cranky and a 3,5, or 6 year old getting cranky is that I don't hit and push. Much. (Joking, no need to call child protection services.) Yesterday afternoon we had several emotional breakdowns. I wasn't sure we were going to make it until 5:30 when the other two get picked up for the day. I'm just glad that no one was hurt in any way and thankful nothing in the house was broken. That's what I consider a successful day. Keep your fingers crossed for today.

The cycle that will never be broken (unless I yell and threaten)

This is what I hear on a regular basis: (imagine a whiney voice accompanying all requests)

"Mom, can we go outside?"

and once outside, this is what I hear:

"It's too hot. Can we go back inside?"

then 10 minutes later, this is what I hear:

Can we go back outside?"

and then, once outside, I hear:

"It's too hot. Can we please go back inside."

and it continues, over and over and over again all day long.

Baked.

My kids are getting dark. They spend a lot of time outside and at the pool. No matter how much sunscreen I coat them with, their skin seems to soak up the sun. And I guess it's genetic, because my skin does the same.

However, that doesn't mean I am pleased with their tans. On the contrary, I am very horrified about the fact that their skin cells are being damaged every time they step outside. I try my hardest to keep them in the shade and covered in sunscreen. But the damage, it keeps happening.

The other day my daughter looked up at me, looking very pleased, and stated that her skin was getting darker and darker. I was flabbergasted by her pleasure. And immediately I took steps to stop her misguided love of sun damage - or tanning as you sun-lovers might call it.

I told her that the darkening of her skin was actually the sun cooking her skin. Every time she goes outside, I informed her, she is being cooked. Well, I think that the cooking analogy might have scared her a little. She looked at me, with a very frightened look on her face, and said, "Cooking me?!?"

So score another bad parent point for me. Now I've made my daughter envision herself as the main dish served on a big platter with a little parsley garnish on the side - after she's been thoroughly cooked, that is.

(I seem to subscribe to the school of thought that thinks this: if a little bit of healthy fear is good, well, then let's go ahead and scare the shit out of them so it can be that much better. Um, mission accomplished.)

Carpet lint and espresso.

Last night I had another bought with my 2 am insomnia. I get it now and then. I wake up in the middle of the night, and can't fall back asleep no matter what I do. And then, if I do finally manage to get back to sleep, it's always about an hour before the alarm goes off, which just royally pisses me off.

So in honor of my lack of focus and sleepiness, here are just a few random observations:

• The same baby who turns his nose up at chicken vegetable dinner will savor carpet lint like it is a delicacy. You will have to pry it out of his mouth while he screams and kicks and frantically turns his head back and forth so he can thwart your efforts to remove the precious carpet lint from his mouth.
• The little girl who is an angel all morning will go and whisper instructions to the 3 year old on how to torture her brother by repeatedly yelling his name in a shriller than shrill voice, thus ending her morning of being an angel.
• The fact that you are trying to cut back on caffeine will make you desire a double shot of espresso even more that you ever thought possible.
• The fact that you are trying to eat healthier will make you desire double chocolate brownies even more than the espresso.
• The rain outside will force you to have to find things to entertain 4 children who never want to do the same thing at once - and you will work your ass off. Darn rain. What, exactly, are the odds that one of them will get hit by lightening if I put them out in the rain to play? Not that I want them to get hit, mind you, but just that I'm trying to weigh the pros and cons of kicking them out of the house for a while.

I'm thinking she'd fetch a good sum, if we can keep her quiet long enough.

Blogger has been giving me problems today. As in, it wouldn't let me log in, and then when it did let me log in, it laughed in my face when I tried to create a new post. Okay, so maybe it didn't laugh at me, but I sure did feel like it was. Therefore, anything I was going to tell you was driven out of my mind around 10:00 by my shorter-than-short attention span.

I do remember wanting to tell you about my trip to the theater. It was the first time I had gone without kids in seven years. Seven. Years. That trip was way overdue. And I had fun. And I loved Clerks 2 with all my Kevin Smith loving heart. (If you can't stand foul language, do not go see that movie, all I'm saying.) After the movie, we went out to eat. At Macaroni Grill. And I had the most delicious Chicken Scallopine ever. Ever. It was so good, I ate more than I ever should have. All that, and we were home by 6:30. (What can I say, we're party people.)

This morning my daughter told the mother of the baby I babysit that she feeds him Gerber snacks when I am too busy playing games on the computer to feed him. Oh. My. God. Maybe you should go back and read that again. She told the baby's mother that I play games on the computer and let a 5 year old feed the baby!! When she said it, I was just flabbergasted. And the mom either didn't process what my daughter said, or just ignored it, because she just went on with the conversation. Meanwhile, I wanted to yell, "Liar! Liar!" at my daughter and make her fess up that I have never once played computer games while the kids are here! Even when I'm on here typing, the kids are either in the same room with me, or sleeping. Sometimes they are watching TV. But never do I rely on a 5 year old to feed them while I merrily play games. (I only do that when it's just my own children. They regularly fend for themselves.) (Kidding.) (Kinda.)

Sometimes I want to take off my daughter's head and give it a good shake. Because, obviously, something is loose in there and her brain is not working. At all. I love her, yet at times, I fantasize about her black market value. Lately, it's been more of the latter.

She's not bossy, and I bought crackers.

This morning:

Me: "You sure are being a good friend this morning, (daughter's name)"

Daughter: "Yeah. I'm not being bossy at all today. I'm only bossy sometimes. A lot."

Me: *chuckle*

Daughter: "Okay, here's what we're going to do...."

And the bossiness began. But for a few moments, a few blessed moments, she was being a good friend to the 3 year old I babysit. (I really need to come up with pseudonyms for these kids!) She was helping him get Hungry, Hungry Hippos set up and even thought of a solution to the problem of keeping the little balls away from the baby. (She set up a pop-up house and had him play the game in there while she and the baby played outside the house.)

----------------------

Last night I went grocery shopping for the second time this week. It seems like I am doomed to go at least twice a week no matter what I stock up on the first time around.

This time it was laundry detergent that I this-close to running out of. And as we all know, running out of laundry detergent is like daring fate not to take a knock at you. If you run out of detergent, and figure you'll just go to the store tomorrow because you've got plenty of clean clothes, then of course your children will spill an entire glass of grape juice on their white shirts. Never fails. Anyway, I digress...

I went to the store and got the detergent. Also, I picked up several other things we were in need of - including those orange peanut butter crackers. You know, the cheese crackers with peanut butter in the middle. Honestly, I had never eaten them in my life until I moved down here. Apparently, they are a food staple where my husband is from. They call them "nabs". (Don't ask me why, I couldn't explain it to you, but that's just the way it is.) I find them handy for when you don't have time to make a meal, and you need something portable and quick. (I'm not going to tell you how many times I've eaten them in place of something nutritious.) Oh boy... digressing again.

I picked up the biggest package of crackers I could find, patting myself on the back for making such a wise decision in getting the extra-large-family-size. (We're an extra-large-family-size kind of family.) And even though my husband complained that they weren't Lance, I was still proud of my purchase.

So imagine my surprise, when last night I opened a package to have as a snack, and found that instead of peanut butter-y goodness inside the neon orange cracker, there was cheese. At least, that's what the package called that light orange squishy goo inside the cracker. I bought the damned cheese crackers filled with cheddar cheese instead of the cheese crackers filled with peanut butter - *s-word*.

And what did I do? What any other person who hated those darned cheese-filled crackers and was faced with a serious cracker-buying error would do - I ate them.

Hey, I was hungry. What did you expect?

Happy and Hungry.

After yesterday's post, I thought I should lighten things up a bit. I feel like I should clarify, lest you all think I am a shell of a woman huddled in a corner weeping silently. Because I'm not! (Not lately, anyway.) (Ha! I jest.)

Sometimes, I get it in my mind that I need to vent. So I vent a little. Then all's well. Because I vented, and I no longer have to think about it. That's how I work. I do not dwell, nor do I even brood (much.) I'm the type of gal who feels unhappy for a minute, when all is crazy around me, then I get distracted by something shiny or pretty (or my personal favorite, clean) and I'm happy again.

So fear not my good internet friends - I am not going to lock the kids in a closet and throw away the key just so I can be alone for a little bit. Nah, I'm just going to drink my coffee, and then we're going to paint. And do something with that egg carton I saved for the sole purpose of doing something craft-y with. Maybe, also, we'll go outside before the crushing heat and humidity kills us all.

Oh, and I think I'll eat breakfast. Because the baby is starting to look all yummy and delicious to me with his chubby little legs and puffy little cheeks... marinated in a little garlic and oil... mmmm... hmmm? What? What was I saying? Oh yeah, I better go eat.

I'm a loner.

Once upon a time I had lots of time. Time to myself. Time to do whatever I pleased, be it clean the house, read a book, watch TV, or even just sit.

Then I had kids. And my time was gone.

Then the kids reached an age where they could entertain themselves by playing in their rooms or the playroom. And it was so nice, but they were still there all the time.

Then they went to preschool. My oldest went until noon, 5 days a week. My youngest went until noon, 3 days a week. And while I did cry when I first dropped them off, it was so nice to have that time again. Time all to myself. (It was only 3 hours, but 'only 3 hours' is like manna from heaven when you have little kids.)

(And while I worked off and on during this time, it was always part time, and I always managed to have the time I craved.)

When we moved here in November, I had a good deal of time to get settled in, unpack, and just be in our new house. But my daughter was with me the entire time. She didn't resume preschool (for many reasons) and it drove me crazy after a while.

And now, now that I babysit kids, and my daughter is still here, and my son is out of school for the summer, I have no time. No time to let my mind wander. No time to let myself relax and do whatever strikes my fancy. No time that is mine alone. And I miss it so much.

I have come to the realization that I need that time for my sanity. I am a solo being - introverted and quiet by nature - and I crave that solo time. It is really hard for me to constantly be listening for children, to constantly be interacting with someone. It is very stressful on my mind, and consequently, very stressful on my body. I have been sick more often, tired all the time, and I get cranky. Very, very cranky. It seems to me that someone is always asking something of me - whether it's help they need, or just attention - and it is a strain.
(Yet I feel as if I should tell you that I enjoy children. I enjoy their laughter, their thought processes and the way they view things. I would much rather be working with children from home than be working full time in an office somewhere. That would surely be the death of me.)

Hopefully the strain on my psyche will lessen when school starts in the fall and (ohmygod) both of my kids will be in school. Until then, just know that my psyche is barely holding on. Just understand that if I don't keep up my standard of friendliness (or cleanliness, for that matter), it's because some days I am barely holding on to my standards, period.

I just never really knew how much I craved that solo time. And please don't call it 'me time' because when I hear people say that it makes me cringe. I don't know why, it just does. I don't want to spoil myself in any way. I don't want a manicure, or to go shopping - I just want to be alone. To not be listening and to not be needed. I don't want to talk to anyone or solve any problems. I just want to be.

It would have been more fun had the bottles contained ketchup and mustard.

I decided it would be fun to take the kids outside and let them go wild with water, water guns, and squeeze bottles. Yeah, squeeze bottles. (We're fancy around here.) Here's my son, armed and dangerous:

(The water shoes he has on are 2 sizes too big, can you tell?)

And then his sister armed herself too:

(And while she was squirting her shoe, he got her good!)

Then she got smart, and grabbed a container that allowed her to throw a whole lot of water at her brother:

(She got him right in the face!)

Then he got smart, and grabbed the SUPERSOAKER:

(Not pictured: the 3 year old I babysit ('cause he's not mine, ya'll, and I can't show his picture here!) who also had a grand old time with the water and ended up thoughroughly soaked. And his little brother, the 10 month old, who played in the exersaucer and laughed hysterically whenever anyone got splashed.)

Too hot to handle.

Today is supposed to be the hottest day of the week. I may even hazard a guess and say it's the hottest day of the year. (But I'm not positive on that one.) So what on earth am I supposed to do with 4 children?!?

I know, I know, your first thought was: TV, lots and lots of TV. But I'm not so sure if that will be the answer to my prayers today. You see, there are 3 very distinct opinions here on what we should be watching on TV. And that's not even counting my opinion, because, as the sole adult, my opinion does not matter. (And the baby can't yet tell me his opinion. But I'm sure he has strong ones.) I can't just leave the TV channel on, say, Nick or Cartoon Network without someone complaining, loudly. And frequently. And did I mention loudly? They can't even come to a consensus over a movie. Any efforts on my part to smooth the way ("We'll watch this one now, and the one you want next! Everyone gets their way! We are happy!") are met with severe resistance, even from the person who would be getting their way, because, I mean, it's not them making the decision, it's an adult. And surely any decision an adult makes is just crazy talk.

I'm also wondering exactly how long I can bear them playing "peacefully" upstairs. For while they are being "peaceful" they are also making a mess of gargantuan proportions. A mess that will be cleaned by me. (Oh, they say they cleaned, after hours of nagging, but, really, they just made a quick once-over. They know that mom will be back up there soon to get the place in order.)

And...well, crap. This entry will be continued later. Or I'll write a whole new one about how I killed one of my children and solved part of my problem completely.

Because my husband called to make sure I was okay since I haven't written on my blog yet today.

So...

How are you? Good? Good.

Sure is hot out there. Hot where you are? Yeah. That's summer for you - hot.

Mmmkay - that's all I've got.

Really, um, I've got nothing to talk about. So, you know, just passing through to say 'hi'. Enjoy your day. Take care. Keep cool. And see you tomorrow.

Daughters.

"There is a tone of voice that she takes with me that makes me want to pick her up, cradle her gently in my arms, stroke her hair, and then put her in the blender on puree. This tone of voice says that she fails to understand how I remember to breathe, what with the enormous burden of stupidity I carry, day in and day out."

Mir, over at Woulda Coulda Shoulda, has a daughter just like mine, evidently, because this is how I feel too when my little angel (and I use that term loosely) uses that tone of voice. And that tone, oh goodness, that tone, is enough to drive a woman crazy.

What my inner 12 year old loves:

Whatcha doing on July 21st?

Want to come babysit my kids?

Because I want to go see this:



Or maybe you'd rather go see it with me?

If so, anyone else wanna watch my kids?


(seriously, a cameo by Ben Affleck and Jason Lee makes me so happy I giggle like a 12 year old girl with a crush)

A bunch of nothing turns into something.

I just want you to know that I tried.

I tried to think of something remotely interesting or even kind of informative to tell you today, but I just couldn't. I've got nothing.

I thought I might tell you about my daughter running around last night yelling, "Pork! Pork! Pork! Pork!" and how that made me giggle like the 12 year old I really am. But I really couldn't make that into a whole story.

I also thought I might talk about how I ran out of coffee filters and tried my darndest to rinse out the used one from yesterday and use it again. Which, for those of you who may think of trying this, is a f*cking stupid idea and it ended up folded over onto itself and there were grounds in my pot of coffee. The coffee that I wanted so bad. Then I figured that story would just make you think I was a desperate woman who may be in need of an intervention. So I'll skip the details on that one too.

Also, I considered letting you know that I thought I was having an anaphylactic reaction to my antibiotic last night. I could have sworn my throat was closing. So I took some Benadryl and went to bed. (What, that's not the proper procedure when you think your airways are going to swell shut?) But it ended up just being an itchy throat. Hee hee hee. So, you know, not much of a story there either.

I guess I'll just let you know that I'm feeling better. My throat is not hurting nearly as bad. And I have a little more energy than before. Speaking of energy, I had no idea that this strep throat thing would knock me on my ass. For instance, I had to rest after cooking dinner last night. I took the kids to the postal center to check the mail, and am now feeling like I hiked the Appalachian Trail. But the good news is, I am getting better. And even more good news is that the kids are playing nicely together, which gives me a bit of a break from my job as a referee.

(Well, lookey there, I did end up telling you a little something, didn't I. No applause necessary.)

Confession is good for the soul.

Have you ever checked out this site: True Wife Confessions?

It leaves me alternating between 'Oh my God I can't believe these people feel this way about the people they married' and 'Yowza, you are an evil woman' and 'Thank goodness I'm not in your situation' and, occasionaly, because it's rare to see something positive there, 'Awww, you are a lucky woman'.

But, um, if you are a man who is insecure about your relationship, then you may not want to visit that site. Just saying.

And then, if you love to read confessions of people you do not know (or maybe you do!) then also visit PostSecret. It's done in a really cool way (so artsy!) Sometimes that site leaves me alternating between feeling uplifted and feeling very, very sad. So, you know, if you're the delicate and sensitive type (which I am so not, right honey?) then you may want to skip that too. Otherwise, it is very interesting.


What does that say about me - that I like to read other's confessions and secrets? Bah, nothing bad, I hope. I just figure it means I'm nosey.

(And I am. Very, very nosey.)

Other uses for Vodka.

The other day I posted about my throat hurting. And I got a very nice comment from Meryl giving me a few tips and a 'hope you feel better soon'. Thanks Meryl.

But, um, if you didn't check out that comment, do it now, and then come back here. Go ahead. I'll wait....

Okay, did you read the one that said this: *Vodka, used on the outside and on the inside! And plenty of vitamin C! Now, tell me, what exactly am I supposed to do with the vodka on the outside? I get the inside part - drink it, right? But, um, am I supposed to rub it on me somehow? On my throat? (Gosh, I hope it's my throat she was talking about!) Is there something I've not known all these years that includes using vodka on the outside of your body?!? If you happen to know, please share the knowledge, because I'm really not sure, and my mind, it is going haywire trying to process this.

Hand me the coffee and step away quickly.

Elleana's body: "Hmmm. How can I torture her even more than before? Oh, I know, I know... I'll make her throat hurt even worse than yesterday. And, because it's just darn fun, I'll make her tired and lathargic too."

Elleana: "Unnnggghhh. Miserable... must sleep... can't sleep... kids... everywhere kids. Unnnggghhh."


Edited to add at 1:49 PM: Two words for you: Strep. Throat.
(Just got back from the doctor's office. I can't imagine where I got it from, because I don't know anyone who has it. The only place I can think of is the gym. Goes to show that going to the gym may not be so good for me after all.)

Who's the idiot?

Overheard a few minutes ago:

Daughter saying to little boy I babysit who was whining after falling down: "My daddy said if you're an idiot you get hurt a lot. You must be an idiot because you sure do get hurt a lot."

Thanks, hon, for sharing that bit of wisdom with our daughter. And I'm so very glad that she has chosen, out of all the good, smart things you say, to repeat that one statement. Let's hope he goes home and repeats that to his parents. Also, let's hope he tells them that he learned that from Ms. Elleana.

(I was being sarcastic there, in case you thought I was serious.)

Can't stop shaking...

My throat is hurting. Badly. And I'm not liking it one bit.

The one thing that seems to make it feel better is hot coffee. But, man, I really need to get ahold of some decaf, because I've had enough coffee to make me feel like I'm coming out of my skin.

Holy super-caffeinated woman, Batman!

So that whole cut back on caffeine thing is going to have to wait until I die from caffeine consumption, or my throat feels better. Whichever comes first.

Mid-year's resolutions.

I'm trying something new. Well, new, kinda.

I'm trying to eat better. As in, choose healthier foods. I know, I know, you've heard that one before. But it's my latest idea.

(A lame one.)

What brought this on, you ask? For starters, I still have a little bit of weight to lose. And I'm so scared of getting diabetes (my health worry du jour.) I have diabetes risk factors (hypoglycemic... having babies over 8 lbs... among others) and can legitimately worry about it. So I've decided to take baby steps and gain control over my diet. (Ha! As if I have control over anything.)

In my quest to ward off diabetes, I am willing to try lots of things. I am willing to take supplements, exercise, and a few other things. But, um, give up sugary and starchy foods? Are you crazy?? I'm not made of steel, people. So you see, my diet overhaul is already off to a rocky start.

Another area that I need to overhaul is my caffeine consumption. This morning my husband saw my pot of coffee brewing and said, "That's a whole lot of coffee for just one person." To which I replied, "I only drink 3 cups, 2 in the morning, and one in the afternoon." Then, being an observant and wise person, my husband said, "Yeah, but those coffee mugs the size of your head are more than just one cup." And, um, he was right.

Now why didn't I ever think of that? Why did it never really occur to me that when I fill the pot up to the 6 line, it means I'm drinking 6 cups of coffee?!? Add a few Diet Cokes to the mix, and yikes. Holy caffeinated woman, batman!

(Add 'cut back on caffeine' to the 'cut back on sugary, starchy foods list'.)

There's also the little matter of the brownies I ate for breakfast. And a snack. And also maybe lunch. I know what you're thinking - how is this woman still alive? - and, really, I'm not even sure how I'm still functioning either. But I'm sure I'm not at my best. So I'm going to cut back here and there. And keep up my exercise (because I'm doing really well at that and I am strong as sh*t now.)

Maybe, just maybe, I'm going to get myself healthy.

Or healthy-er, at least.

Out of the mouths of babes.

We have a new nemesis in our house lately: cuss words (or curse words, depending on what you call them.)

My kids went to the playground with the kids across the street and their mom. The next day, when my daughter was just hanging out with me, she told me that my son said 'shit' at the playground. And my first thought? 'Oh shit.'

So the theme for the next few days was 'What is a cuss word'.

Here's a snippet of a conversation we had in the car recently:

My son: "What bad words do they say on the Green Day CD?" (we have American Idiot, and let the kids listen to it in the car, but I won't play it when other children are in the car with us because of all the times they say "f*ck"

Me: "Um... a word that rhymes with luck."

My son: "You mean shit?"

Me: "No, but that's a bad word too. Please don't say that again."

My son: "Mom, shit is a bad word, right?"

Me: "Yes. Don't say it again."

My daughter: "What is the bad word they say on Green Day?!?"

My husband: "F*ck, okay, it's f*ck. Now just don't say it."

My son: "Yeah, you shouldn't say it. It' s a bad word like shit, right Mom?"

Me: "Yes, but don't say that."

My son: "What? Shit?"

Me and my husband: "Yes!"

My daughter: "And f*ck. Don't say that either."

Me: "Right. Let's just say the f-word and the s-word, okay?"

My daughter: "Like silly. That's an s-word."

Me: "No. Well, yes, it is an s-word, but you can say that word. Just call the bad words s-word and f-word when you are talking about them or telling me what someone said. Please don't say them any more."

My son: "Yeah. Don't say shit anymore."

Me: (banging my head against the dashboard out of sheer frustration) "Yeah, sweetie. Don't say that anymore." *sigh*




(I was going to title this post, 'Don't f*ck with me, you little sh*t' but I thought that might be a little harsh. Don't you think?)

A milestone, of sorts.

That last post was my 100th post.

(Man, I sure do talk a lot.)

(Or, should I say, write a lot.)

But I'm finding a theme to my most recent posts - and that theme is: CRAZY. I'm not even sure if what I write is making any sense any more. During the day there are several things that happen that make me think, hmmm, this is good blogging material. Then by the time I sit down to write (usually the next day) I cannot think of what it was I was going to write about. I never can remember any conversations that were blog-worthy. And my kids say lots of funny things. Too bad I can't remember a word of it. (I think I'm just pretty lucky if I remember where I live and what my name is.)

Oh, but I do remember this: wait, I forgot. Was going to say something about my son, then got distracted with the kids, and forgot. See what I mean?

Anyway, happy 100th (101 now) posts to me. Can't believe we've come this far. Stick with me. Once school starts again, I'll be more in my right mind. (I'm hoping, at least.)

No pool for you!

Today I had to be a mean parent. And I hate it.

My son - my precious little angel boy - kicked the 3 year old I babysit. Twice. The first time I told him not to do it again or he would not be able to go to the pool today with Little T and his mom. So what did he do? Yeah, he kicked him again. And fairly hard too.

The whole incident was not un-provoked, mind you. The little boy was all over my son. (Oh, that sounded bad - he was tackling him, that's what I meant by 'all over'.) The little boy has a problem with boundaries and not grabbing and hitting other children. I've been working with him on appropriate behavior. So when my own children can't behave appropriately, it really makes me angry. And frustrated. When my son kicked the boy, it was not his only option. He could have just stood up. Or maybe even 'used his words', which is something I am constantly telling the little one to do. But no, my son, he kicked the pudding out of the boy. (Don't worry, he's okay. Just cried for a second, then was back to playing.)

But the damage was done. I had told him that he wouldn't be able to go swimming if he kicked again. And he kicked again. And now - no pool. I'm a woman of my word, and I have to show that I am serious. (Or I have to make them think so, anyway.)

Darn it though, I really hate that he can't go. I need to make my threats a little less, um, threatening, so that the consequences are not so bad. Why? Because this is what he'll be missing:

(Maybe next time he'll heed my words. Ha!, who am I kidding.)

Edited to add: After I wrote this, I changed him back into his swimsuit. I felt bad about not letting him go. And he was being very good. And what am I, some sort of disciplinarian or something?!?

Now I'm going crazy with the pictures.

Finally. Finally, I have put my picture in my profile. I had to enlist the help of my daughter to take my picture because I'm the family photographer, and there are no recent pictures of just me. I'm not too crazy about the picture, but I figured it was better than nothing. It is better than nothing, right? I mean, if you would rather not have it there because, say, it makes you feel kinda ookey, then I guess I can take it down. And for god's sake, do not, I repeat, do not see that picture full size. Then you can see every freckle and assorted other skin imperfections, and really, who needs to see that?

(Oh crap, I just made it so you actually are going to click it to full size now, didn't I? You just can't wait to see all that awfulness (is so a word!) can you? Just consider yourself warned.)

A Day at the Coast (now with pictures!)

For the Fourth of July, we went on a little day trip.

Here are the kids on the drive to the coast:

(Pay no attention to the date at the bottom of the picture. It seems the digital camera date feature is too hard a feature for me to figure out. This was indeed taken on July 4th.)

Notice the looks of anticipation on their faces. Also, notice how nice and clean and presentable they look. And also, notice the wireless headphones. Which meant they got to watch Chicken Little, and mom and dad got to listen to the radio and talk. It made for such a pleasant ride!

Next, we went to a Battleship. One from WWII - and it was very big, very big. We went into the bowels of the ship, got very turned around, and then could not find our way back out again. It was hot and still inside that ship, and once we came up onto the deck the hot, humid air had never tasted so sweet. When we were blocked off by various chains and DO NOT ENTER signs, I feared we would be required to go back down into the pit of hell (inside the ship) and thought I would weep if I had to go back down. Luckily, we found a way off. And I thanked the good Lord we were free. Here are the kids after the whole ship adventure. They were begging to leave at this point.

Our next stop was an Aquarium. It was small, crowded and very hot there too. But it was nice. And that's basically all I have to say about it.

(Notice how hot the kids look.)

After that picture was taken, the whole family went back to the van and changed into their bathing suits. In the freakin' minivan! I had never done that before, and would not normally recommend trying to dress in an automobile, but we were desperate, and the beach was right next to the aquarium, so it was desperate times. Then we went to the beach.

(Insert beach picture here.)

I forgot to bring the camera with us from here on out. So the tour in pictures has come to an end. But let me say, the kids loved the beach. This was surprising to us because the previous times we went, they didn't even want to walk out on the sand. This time, however, they not only played with the sand, but they also went into the water! Next time we go to the beach, we are getting a hotel room and staying at least overnight. It was that fun. And the kids were so good. They hardly complained - and they had plenty of opportunity to do so.

Hope you enjoyed your day - and now we're going to spend today trying to rest up. It was an exhausting trip. Some of us may be just a teensy bit cranky. (Oh who am I kidding - all of us here are very cranky and now I'm going to go consume more coffee that any single human being should ever consume. Cheers.)

Caution: Work Zone

As I write this, my house is being torn down. Piece by little piece. I am alternately holding my hands over my ears to block out the noise, and holding them over my head to protect my very life. The demolition crew consists of very tiny hands and very loud voices - all aged 6 and under. But don't let their size fool you - they are very effective.

Tomorrow, however, I will be basking in the glory that is the beach. Hopefully, my troubles will seem far, far away. (Or my children will hate the hot sand, and complain about the car ride there, and be hot, and tired, and want to go home.)

Happy Fourth! Enjoy yourselves.