Hill: The Unedited Version

Independence Day

2012-01-15T21:10:00.004-06:00

Back in 1993, Martina McBride released a song called "Independence Day". Now, while I'm not a huge fan of country music, and really paid very little to this song when it was a hit, this past year of my life has given that song new meaning, and those of you who know me best will understand why.

One year ago today, after nearly three years of playing a cruel game that nearly broke me in two, I got my independence day. I'll be honest, as I was filling box after box with almost thirteen years of memories, every one as vivid as the day they happened, carefully wrapping them up in a year's-worth of plastic Walmart sacks that I had accumulated in the garage, especially for that inevitable day, I felt far from independent. There was no joy or triumph that day. No pride. No enthusiasm. Only exhaustion, bewilderment, and a U-Haul truck full of fear and unknown, as I sat alone on the wooden steps of my then empty, echoing home, with a faceful of tears, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I stood up. I walked out the door. Closed it. Locked it. Drove away, and never looked back.

Across town, seemingly in another universe, was my new home-- our new home. The kids and me and the dogs-- all dumped into this 100 year-old house, along with a life's worth of cardboard boxes, all waiting to be dealt with. Half of the house was without electricity. The stove wouldn't light. It was bitter cold. The bathroom was dark. The shower curtain came down on me while I was showering (in the dark). Nothing about my "new life" was remotely encouraging.

There was no time to assemble beds that day, so we took the boys' two twin mattresses, and Quincy's crib mattress, and pushed them together on the floor in the boys' room, and piled in with every blanket we could find (and two of the dogs). The kids (and dogs) were quickly asleep, as I wandered around the house, cold, drained, and overwhelmed. After giving up on the idea of even trying to begin unpacking that night, I shuffled back into the boys' room, where I saw something I will never forget. There was my family-- what was left of it-- sleeping in a pile, on makeshift beds, in a home that was a far cry from what we'd been used to, peacefully, despite the cold and chaos. I knew then that we were going to be just fine.

Standing there, absorbing that moment, I never could have predicted what the next 365 days would have in store for me. They have been, by far, the most... significant?... influential?... memorable?... of my life.

People lost. I had to face the day I had been dreading since I was a child, when I got the phone call that I never wanted to get, but knew was coming. I hung up, took the kids to their dad's house, came home, and began absently packing a bag to drive to St. Louis to bury my Grandma. I remember, standing there in the doorway of my closet, looking in at the color-coded racks of garments, thinking how dumb it felt to be standing there, in that moment, choosing clothes for the funeral of someone I wasn't sure I could live without. I love clothes, but in that moment, nothing felt suitable. Nothing would ever be right for that event. Choosing something to wear meant that I had to acknowledge that it was happening, and at the sake of sounding like a child, I thought, "You can't make me." The days that followed were a blur of tears, miles, vodka, and tattoo ink-- except for the smell of the flowers and the weight of her casket, hanging like the weight of the world in my left hand. Those are as clear as day.

People gained. Despite loss, this past year has graced my life with many new faces and relationships. People who have pushed me to work harder and be better. People who have pleasantly surprised me. People who have inspired me and made me enormously proud. People who have put me in my place. People who have made me laugh, and ones who have made me cry (and ones who have let me cry). People with whom I've shared talent, war stories, sushi, inside jokes, Oreo pizza, battle scars, conversations that lasted until the sun came up, the occasional coffee or drink, and great music. All wonderfully-enriching experiences that only these particular people could bring to the table that is my life. People who have reminded me that life lies in hope and change-- not in expectation.

People remained. I can't forget the ones who have been around for the long-haul, despite my many neuroses. It's stunning how, as we get older, our true circles begin to show themselves through the people who stick around, no matter what. No matter how scattered I've become over the last year, my "people" have patiently tolerated the growth of my new wings-- supporting me, cheering me on, and calling me out. I would be floudering, still, without them.

Professionally, I hit the jackpot. I wound up in a position that I truly love. Granted, that position has left me with a wicked scar on my forehead, bite marks, and bruises, but I can honestly say that I have belly-laughed every single day I've worked there, and not many people can say that about their jobs. Photography took on a life of its own and finally evolved into something that has forced me to take another look at where this once-hobby is taking me. There is a huge sense of responsiblility that comes with seeing and reflecting the beauty of the world, and I thank God every day that my life experiences have helped me grow into a person who can do that, and do it well.

Making money isn't what makes for a living. Before January 15, I had not truly been "on my own", since, well, I was 19. Crazy. Not that I wasn't prepared, but there came an odd and startling dichotomy of freedom and responsibility when I left my suburban marital home and settled into my much more urban surroundings. Truth be told, it's what I had always wanted-- An ancient house. A view of downtown. My rules. My design. However, exhaustion and sometimes overwhelming pressure to set up shop came hand-in-hand with the freedom and satisfaction of being on my own. Luckily, the thrill that comes with real independence has won out over being absolutely spent at the end of every day, and when I come barreling down the highway entrance ramp every morning on my way to work, and see the sun rising over downtown, I am happily reminded of how that gorgeous view was hard-won-- how I won.

This last year has been lived. On top of being surrounded by wonderful relationships and success:

-I was mere feet from Josh Groban.
-I was able to travel to all over.
-I got to watch loved ones get married.
-I was kissed by a drag queen.
-I had the privelege of witnessing an adoption.
-I stood in the inner circle at a U2 concert, with the Irish boys directly overhead, in 110-degree weather.
-I was fortunate enough to be able to help a family rebuild their lives after a fire.
-I got the news that I was going to be an aunt again.
-I adopted a turtle, a guinea pig, a puppy, and now a cat.

All within the span of a year. Hot diggity-dog.

Yeah, at this time, one year ago, I didn't know where to begin, what to think, or how to move forward. A year later, I don't know how to stop.

Now I ain't saying it's right or it's wrong, but maybe it's the only way.
Talk about your revolution, it's independence day.

The Present

2011-04-28T22:07:00.002-05:00

Look at us. Running around, always rushed, always late. I guess that's why they call it the 'human race'. What we crave most in this world, is connection. And for some people it happens at first sight. It's, 'When you know, you know.' It's fate, working its magic. And that's great for them. They get to live in a pop song, ride the express train. But that's not the way it really works. For the rest of us, it's a bit less romantic. It's complicated and it's messy. It's about horrible timing and fumbled opportunities, and not being able to say what you need to say, when you need to say it.

--Jason Bateman, "The Switch"

Time. It's the inevitable, fleeting, precious thing of which we never seem to have enough. Our lives get filled up with careers, traffic, deadlines, homework, trips to the gym, grocery shopping, soccer practice, reality shows, and dirty dishes. Perhaps "filled up" isn't the correct choice of words, because I don't believe that it's these things that make our lives "full". A better description would be that our lives are "consumed" by these things-- swallowed up, leaving time for little else that actually implies "living" at all.

It is as if nobody wants to stand still anymore. Why is that? Is it that we feel such a sense of obligation to the things that eat up our time that we can't justify dropping everything in order to really remember what it's like to breathe, and if so, why do we feel such a loyalty to the aspects of our lives that keep us from truly living? We are so hell-bent on moving on to the next thing-- the next job, the next car, the next step-- that we rarely, if ever seem to absorb the step we are currently experiencing in our lives. Equally tragic is when we feel pulled backwards, trapped by the things we can't change, the wrongs we can't right, and we end up caging ourselves to the point that present and future opportunities get blown, or worse yet, go completely unnoticed altogether.

Why does it have to be a race? Do the dishes have to be washed tonight? Are you going to get more out of watching people compete for a million dollars on television, or laying down in the grass, closing your eyes, and listening to the world around you? If you take a day off of work, or blow off an assignment, just for a few hours of happiness, is that a bad thing, in the grand scheme of your life? Why must we make everything so complicated and dramatic? Does that fulfill us somehow?-- No, of course not. It only serves to devour more of our time. As human beings, it's as if we have become obsessed, and it's not with the good stuff.

However, if we're lucky, and if we're aware, we can make those almost magical connections that make life more inspiring. We can find ourselves relating to a song, crying over a television commercial, meeting someone who challenges us, or feeling at home in a new city. I believe that the reason we crave connection is because it always leads to self-growth, and sadly so many of us put self-growth on the back-burner to far less important things that demand our time. We become stuck in the past or so focused on the future that we forget that the present is where it's at. The past is done, and the future may never happen, so the here and now is really all we have.

This has been my soap-box for years. The fact that so many of us take the present so much for granted, mostly because life isn't perfect, and yet we all seek that pristine life that doesn't exist-- the pop song. Even when we're fortunate enough to have those pop song moments, we grow dissatisfied with their staying power, instead of appreciating how lucky we were to have them in the first place. Life is complicated, and it is messy, and that's awesome, not scary. Timing sometimes blows and then opportunities pass us by, but rather than learn from those things, we tend to ignore them, and keep holding out for the good stuff-- for that perfect timing that better fits our obligations or baggage. We miss the message entirely and lessons go unlearned until it's all one big blur, and we're left realizing how much we missed out on, wishing we would've taken that complicated, messy, ill-timed ride.

There are no "do-over's"-- there are "do now's" and "be now's". In a life of take-it-or-leave-it, I, for one, would much rather take it, good or bad. Fear of the future shouldn't rule us, and neither should regrets of the past. Present. Savor that. (I love the word "savor"-- it implies so many wonderful things). The past and the future only seem to exhaust us, but the present carries with it an energy and beauty that can be found nowhere else. Live for the goosebumps, because they are our bodies' way of letting us know how much we are truly feeling life, inside and out.

It's been an insightful week for me, full of talk and reminders of the brevity of life. I am so grateful that I absorb mine, and I encourage you all to do the same. You just never know.

(This video is so full of the energy and beauty that we should all harness from the present).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLqHDhF-028

I Think This Could Be The Opening To My Book

2011-02-04T21:41:00.003-06:00

Tonight, I exhaled, for probably the first time in nearly three years.

I have been told by many that this day would come, and that I would know it when it hit. They were right.

Tonight, in the spirit of purging that has taken over my existence since I began unpacking at my new house, I decided to tackle my three tiny desk drawers-- you know-- for good measure. I mean, if you're going to be thorough, you might as well invade every nook and cranny. Sure enough, my top drawer was a creative assortment of laptop cables, iPod accessories, lens filters, permanent markers, you name it. Amongst the hodge-podge were three packets of blank 4x6 photo paper, which I decided could be consolidated. I flipped through each packet, because I had a bad habit of storing extra prints in them, and there it was-- the single image that started my entire journey into motion.

In the past three years, I hadn't been able to look at it without cringing or feeling gut-wrenching remorse, sadness, or embarrassment. Often, the sight of it would actually startle me. Tonight was incredibly different. It was odd. I was able to study it closely, without a single flicker of emotion. It was clean, crisp, simple-- and most importantly-- it was honest. I know you, I thought. I remember you. Finally, finally, after nearly three years, I smiled at the sight of myself, and I swear I felt my very soul exhale.

So what does one do to celebrate a moment like this? Well, she grabs a small loop of packing tape (because it's all she can find amongst the piles of moving boxes), and she slaps that 4x6 right onto her desk, so she never, ever forgets again what it feels like to breathe.

The Sea Monkey Chronicles

2010-12-30T14:19:00.003-06:00

If it isn't blatantly obvious, I am procrastinating, so I don't have to go back to the arduous task of packing my kitchen. Why else would I be blogging about something like sea monkeys?

Gabe, (bless his strange, strange, little heart), has wanted to have his very own sea monkey habitat for, well, forever. He was happy to settle for this rudimentary option when I informed him awhile back that he couldn't have a fish tank yet, and must've been fairly dead-set on this little miracle of science, because it was one of the first things he scribbled down on his Christmas list this year. Considering he didn't give me a whole lot of "realistic" options on his list (a toy tornado?), I was happy to oblige his request, and on Christmas morning, he was thrilled to discover his very own sea monkey starter-kit under the tree.

It goes without saying that Christmas Day was beyond chaotic, shuffling the kids between 87 different locations, so that everyone had their "turn" (sigh). By the time they returned to my house late that afternoon, all of the day's excitement had not been enough to distract Gabe from the pressing task at hand-- the single most important thing he'd been waiting for-- hatching his sea monkeys. I had about a million other things to do that did not involve sea monkey birth, like collecting the mess of wrapping paper off the floor, beginning to unwire all of the toys from their packages (whoever invented toy packaging devices should be considered a terrorist, in my personal opinion), and tend to three whiny, very exhausted children. None of this mattered to Gabe, of course. He just wanted those darn sea monkeys, and he wanted them now.

Fine, fine. Give Mommy a chance to, I don't know, use the bathroom without being disturbed?-- and I'll get right on those sea monkeys. At this point, I was kind of questioning what must have been going through my mind when I decided to buy them, but I figured it couldn't be that hard, and began reading the instructions. Okay, there are three little packets here, clearly numbered in order. I can figure this out... Wait... Oh, c'mon! Oh, you've got to be joking! We have to wait 24-hours for the water to purify? I groaned, knowing this unpleasant news was going to send Gabe, (who was already cranky from the events of the day), spiraling into a wave of drama from which he would likely never recover.

Um, Gabe? Honey? Sweetheart? Sugar-plum? I have some bad news.... Well, that did it. The tears started, as well as a lot of groaning, and big, dramatic, sweeping hand gestures, that only served to highlight the absolute injustice that had just befallen him. It was, in fact, the end of the world. But I can't wait 24-hours! That will take forever! He was not to be consoled. After Gabe began to come to his senses a bit, I explained the necessity for the water purification, emphasizing the fact that his primitive new pets would, in fact, die, if he ignored the 24-hour rule. Although he was still incredibly disgusted by the idea, he agreed to wait until he returned Monday morning to introduce his sea monkey eggs to their new home.

Geez, all it takes is some lousy shrimp eggs to screw up one kid's holiday.

Bright and early, at 6:30 Monday morning, the kids returned home, and the very first words out of Gabe's mouth were, "Mommy! Let's do my sea monkeys now! It's been 24-hours!" Lovely, sweetheart. I've only been awake for 15-minutes, I broke my nose yesterday afternoon, have a splitting headache, and haven't even peed yet this morning, but sure, we'll be sure and hatch those sea monkeys. So, as promised, I tore open the little packet with the big number "2" on it, and dumped it into the water. The packaging reads "instant life--sea monkeys", but I instantly saw nothing. I mean, I knew they were teeny-tiny and everything, but there was nothing to be seen. Gabe was displeased (and that's putting it mildly). After managing to distract them for a bit with some breakfast, I decided to consult the official sea monkey website for some answers. The fact that there is an entire website devoted to the details of sea monkey life is a little disturbing, but then again, I'm devoting an entire blog (or more) to it, so who am I to talk?

Upon perusing the website, I discovered that I needed to stir the water gently after dumping the second packet into the tank. Well, it sure would be nice if they indicated that on the actual packaging, instead of just showing you a cartoon of someone sprinkling the contents in the water, but whatever. So, I stirred, and still, there was nothing. Great. There was absolutely no way on the planet that I was going to tell Gabe that our project had failed, so I side-stepped the issue and told him we'd check on the tank again in a little while, to see how things were going. Yeah, that little line continued on into Tuesday.

Highly dissatisfied with the progress of our little experiment, I took the kids to Toys 'R Us Wednesday morning to fetch a new starter packet. By golly, we are going to grow some darn sea monkeys if it's the last thing we do! Of course, this mind-set was also coming from someone who has failed at keeping a house plant alive, so the fact that I had yet to succeed at a scientific process that had an actual "guarantee" attached to it was not surprising. We returned home, starter packets in hand, and I once again consulted the website, to insure that I didn't screw this up again. I wasn't sure Gabe could take anymore disappointment, and if we had failed again, I'm pretty sure he would've started questioning the meaning of life at that point.

So, there I was, navigating their impossible website, when I ran across a portion that reminded new sea monkey owners that they might not see any signs of life at first, but that they should not dump out the water, because there could very well be tiny baby sea monkeys alive and well inside the tank. Well, I certainly couldn't risk adding "sea monkey murder" to my long list of sins, so I decided to check the tank one last time before adding the new eggs. Lo and behold, there they were! Teeny-tiny, little baby sea monkeys, propelling themselves around their new home! What the? Okay, these things look like sperm. Are you serious? Wow. I got my child a sperm farm for Christmas. I am officially Mother of the Year.

Although I was pretty disturbed by the sperm resemblance, I happily called Gabe into the kitchen to introduce him to his new pets. He grabbed the magnifying glass and excitedly peered into the tank with a huge, goofy grin on his face. I see them! There's a whole sea monkey family! He was beaming-- a proud new papa if I'd ever seen one. His faith in the world had been restored by the proven existence of baby shrimp in a little red plastic tank.

Since then, Gabe has been religiously checking on his first-born, and is quite excited to give them their first feeding tomorrow. After doing more reading on the website, I was shocked to find out that a sea monkey habitat can last as long as two years, because they reproduce and so forth (I knew sperm had to come into play somehow). So, providing Gabe is a responsible parent, this little project could last us some time to come, and I am sure there will be many an interesting tale involving our latest additions (hence the title of this particular entry). I just hope they survive the move, in approximately 16 days. Speaking of which, I should probably quit rambling about shrimp and get back to packing.

The Broken Nose Story

2010-12-29T14:45:00.003-06:00

So, although I should be packing for our move, which is in approximately 17 days, I've had enough demand for "The Broken Nose Story" that I need to get this out of the way. Geez, you people are pushy ;-)

So, without going into too much personal detail, the days surrounding Christmas were extremely stressful. I got notice that I was being kicked out of my house, had to secure a new place to live, and wrestled with the fact that I had only 3-weeks to pack up a family of four and a 2400 square-foot house on my own. On top of that, there was the typical, emotional, recently-divorced holiday drama, which was highly unpleasant, to say the least. Between all of that, and just the normal level of exhaustion that plagues us all around the holidays, I was pretty well spent.

After surviving Christmas Day (a miracle, if there ever was one), my brother came over that night so we could wrap up our viewing of "Megashark VS. Crocosaurus" (holiday classic, of course), and he brought some Sonic food with him. I was initially aggravated when he showed up, 8-mile long chili-cheese coney and fries in hand for himself, and nothing for me (sniff, sniff), but when the fast-food Gods smiled in my favor and screwed up his order, I scored some free tater tots, for which I happily gloated. My gloating, (as well as a few other rotten comments that will go unmentioned), came back to bite me in the rear around 4:30 in the morning.

Food poisoning! Yes! Just what everyone wants for Christmas, of course, and what caused me to shoot chunks of tater tots from my mouth and nose for a good 20-minutes. I knew that karma had paid me a visit in the wee hours of that morning, so I quickly acknowledged and apologized for my wrong-doing, and crawled back into bed. I awoke around 9:30, feeling decent enough to eat some breakfast, and around noon, I felt good enough to try to tackle some day-after-Christmas bargain shopping.

If there is one thing that I have never learned, it is how not to push myself. I'm stubborn and determined, so if I have my mind set on something, there isn't a whole lot that can successfully stand in my way. I managed to knock a few stores off of my list, purchasing some new bed pillows that I'd been coveting for months, as well as a new pair of boots for work. I felt pretty good, and was staying hydrated, so I ventured on to the next store so I could purchase some work pants with a gift card I had received for Christmas.

Even after what seemed like an eternity in the dressing room, I felt fine, albeit a little tired. I conceded that this would probably be my last store for the day, and that I should probably head home for a nap, and got in line to pay for my pants. Right before it was my turn at the register, a very strange feeling came over me that only reassured me that my decision to go home was the right one. I removed my coat, and took a drink of water, but nothing helped. I grew increasingly warm, light-headed, and a little nauseous, but made it to the register, where I apologized to the cashier for leaning on the counter, explaining I didn't feel well. She hurried through my transaction, and I asked her if there was a place I could sit down once I completed my purchase. She went to grab a chair, and pointed to where it was, and that was the last thing I remember.

I woke up on the cold tile floor, with people standing over me, asking me a battery of questions, like, "Can you hear us?" and "Do you have any conditions we should know about?" I could hear them, obviously, but everything was dark, and my nose hurt. When I finally opened my eyes, there were people talking to me, offering ways to help and so forth, but at that point, I felt a million times better, although my nose had grown increasingly painful. That's when it started bleeding profusely, and once I got to the point where I could stand up and walk to the aforementioned chair, I had already soaked through a couple of handfuls of paper towels. Good times.

So there I was, like a total rock star, sitting in a chair, holding a paper towel to my face. Stellar. I called my parents to come pick me up, and then called my brother to relay my hilarious story. It was clear that my body had basically reached its breaking point, and although I wish I could sit here and say that I got into a fight with someone over a really cute outfit, that simply wasn't the case. It's still funny, though.

After I got home and assessed the damage, I realized that I had actually split my nose, just below my septum, and along my right nostril, but nothing major. We figure I must have hit the counter on the way down, or something. My insurance wasn't due to kick in for another 6 days, so even if I had needed stitches, I probably wouldn't have gotten them. I was just thankful I didn't bust anything else. Lord knows I can't afford dental work as a working, single mom.

Now I'm just dealing with the joys of swelling and sinus congestion. My right nostril started to drain yesterday, which means that the swelling is going down, I guess. Not that I can blow my nose anyway, because it's far too uncomfortable, but it's better than being congested. Last night, I sneezed for the first time, and it shot pain clear down into my front teeth and back into my ears. Besides those rare occasions when the pain is escalated, it basically just feels like a bad sinus headache, and the splits are healing up nicely. Scars are cool, anyway.

So, that's it. Nobody beat me up. I wasn't in an accident. I was just a victim of holiday stress, who refused to let go of a cute pair of pants.

A Warning To All Adolescent Male Grocery Cashiers

2010-11-16T19:31:00.005-06:00

Keep in mind that I am not, by any means, a feminist, but tonight, I am feeling a bit snarky.

As if going to Walmart and grocery shopping for a family of four wasn't thrilling enough, tonight I was faced with a situation that, I feel, warrants a documentation of the inner monologue I was having after an adolescent male cashier asked me, "So, do you have a husband waiting for you at home?" Bad idea, man. Bad idea.

No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Just me. No husband, but thank you for reminding me of that fact. I appreciate it. As if I didn't have a long enough day, now I have to come here, alone (no husband, of course), to shove an overflowing cartful of stuff around, that now I have to be subjected to you, someone who is likely legally a juvenile, reminding me of my place in life, and/or attempting to hit on me. Bravo.

Oh wait, now you're probably wondering, "My goodness, woman! This heap of groceries is just for you?" Wrong again, blondie. Can I call you "Chad"? You look like a "Chad" to me. Well, Chad, not only do I not have the husband you inquired about, but I'm a single mom to three kids. Doesn't that just sound rad, Chad? I'll bet you're looking forward to the day when you, yourself, get to drop nearly $200 out of your teeny-tiny paycheck every week, to buy groceries, huh? It's fantastic, let me tell you.

Yes, Chad, I am without a husband. Please, oh please don't try to make up for your inappropriate question by asking if I have a boyfriend. You have dug yourself into a hole, and there is no getting out of it now. Nope, no boyfriend, either, Chad. Just me. Did you see anything in this cart that would indicate that I have a boyfriend? Had you been more observant, you would've noticed the bag of chocolate gem donuts and a few TV dinners, which are both standard-issue Single Mom With No Man In Her Life Equipment. Do those things just scream "romance" to you, Chad? Do they? Didn't think so.

Man, look at all of these groceries, Chad! Can you believe it? $178-worth of stuff. Oh, c'mon, you don't have to try to make me feel better by saying that I got a lot for $178. You can't redeem yourself, and you know it. The can of worms has been opened, and you have unleashed the fury of a single working mom, now. Time to just shut your mouth and nod your head, Chad, if you know what's good for ya. Two giant bags of dog food, this week's groceries, food-drive items, and would you believe that I get to unload all of this stuff by myself when I get home? That's all because of the husband I don't have, remember? Just me, unloading my groceries, eating my donuts, Chad. Man, I'm so glad you reminded me. I nearly forgot.

Yes, Chad, I'm going to pay for this stuff, out of my teeny-tiny paycheck, load it all into my trunk, hope I don't get mugged in the parking lot (since I don't have a big, strong man to protect me), and drive home, so I can make twenty trips to and from my car to drag it all inside, all when every other woman on the planet is sitting down to have a nice dinner with their husband, who is waiting for them at home. Thank you, Chad. Thank you so much for reminding me that I don't actually need someone waiting for me at home, because I'm doing just fine, all by myself.

Dear Casey

2010-11-09T19:34:00.009-06:00

Dear Casey,

I've been composing this in my head for weeks now, but, of course, you already know that. I can almost see you, squirming a little, trying so hard to come up with something sarcastic to say, a way to tease me for dwelling one it, but uncharacteristically able to combat my sincerity with any sort of suitable quip. Your heart was just too good for that. Bet you didn't know I knew that.

I've been thinking about you a lot lately, but, of course, you already know that, too. You're probably sick of seeing me, visiting you so often these days, and I'm sure the groundskeepers think I'm crazy, sitting there, undisturbed by the cool morning temperatures. The bench is nice, by the way. I think I've told you that. I'm glad they put it in, although it's frightfully cold to sit on, and I'm fairly confident that amuses you. I always figure that, when my butt goes numb on the cold marble, it's your way of telling me to go. It always seemed too formal to have to stand over you like that, anyway. So many timesI just felt like I should plop down on the grass instead, but I didn't figure you'd appreciate me sitting on you.

Yes, you've been on my mind so much, and I can't quite place why. Maybe it's because it's just that time of year. I can't believe it's been three years already. So much has happened since then, man-- I wouldn't even know where to start, but, of course, you know that, too. I know you've been here. Thanks. Just in the last couple of days, you've dropped in on me at work, in ways that have made the things in the room seem to almost go silent. Way to go, man. So often in the mornings, there you are, with a way to make me laugh, and you always have a way of letting me know it's you. That's funny, because you never struck me as a morning person. Oh well. Oh, and my good hair days?-- Yeah, well, those are all yours too, you know. Don't worry. I think it's fantastic that you can be hair-obsessed, even now.

I don't know. Maybe I've been unable to shake you because I'm getting my second chance at life, when you barely got one chance at your own. It's always easy for us to forget how fortunate we are in life-- to be alive, to embrace what we have, no matter how small or silly it all may seem. I got to turn thirty. You didn't. I got to have kids. You didn't. It doesn't seem fair to me, sometimes, that someone like you, so vibrant and who lived life with such zeal, wasn't given the gifts that I was given, when I'm not even half the personality that you were. Sometimes I think God takes the good ones in order to remind us how to live. Life is a gift, and it's sad that so many of us resent the lives we've been given, never satisfied, and always looking for something more or better, holding out for the big ticket, when it's all right in front of our face already. Our gift is today, not tomorrow.

I miss you. I miss you a lot. Sure, roll your eyes and "pssssh" me all you want. I can hear your voice as plain as day sometimes, you know, and see that cocky little strut you exuded with every move you made. It was a show, albeit an entertaining one. I'll give you that. I knew it then, and I know it now, and that's why I know that, while it would be in your character to try to find a way to give me a hard time for writing this, that at the heart of it all, you'd be touched. I know that's why you drop little reminders for me in the strangest places, because you'd never be able to actually find a way to drop the act, even now, and say, "Thanks, Hill, for thinking of me."

It isn't fair, what happened, but clearly we're not supposed to think it's fair. That's not the point. We're supposed to be reminded of the unexpected nature of life, and how life comes down to moments and choices. You made a choice that night, and it defined who you were. You dropped the act, for the sake of someone else, and we should all be so lucky to have that opportunity. It isn't about it being fair. It's about being fortunate enough to be chosen to have those defining moments in the first place. We don't have to go out and seek to save someone's life every day, in order to define ourselves, but we can choose to live each day, searching out ways to let the true nature of who we are radiate onto the world around us, and that's exactly what you did.

I know that it's okay that you're gone. I know that-- I just hate it. I can't let go of it, even three years later. Maybe I should be glad that I haven't. That's why I still drop by, I guess-- for you to help me understand somehow, for those little reminders that help me put it all in perspective. Don't get me wrong-- you know I look to God for my ultimate perspective, but sometimes I need someone like you-- someone a little more tangible, to dumb-it-down for me, to speak my language, to whack me upside the head, to make me laugh, to make me quit feeling sorry for myself, to help me along. In three years, you've never let me down, and it is because of that, that I write this to you. Thanks. Love you, man.

http://new.music.yahoo.com/other-desert-cities/tracks/walk-with-me--176773525

Change

2010-09-27T13:41:00.003-05:00

So I know I haven't posted anything in awhile, but I'm hoping to get back into it-- whether it be as a photo blog, or a single mommy blog, or something. Just gotta find the time. In the meantime, I wanted to post this, because I think we could all stand to hear it. It's my new mantra.

Like so many people, I was excited to catch the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy last week. Without going into detail, I kind of hated the episode. It was weird and detached and wrapped things up in nonsensical little packages, and I just sort of generally hated how they went about it. Meredith's character is growing more and more annoying, and more and more undeserving of Patrick Dempsey, but I digress. The only redeeming thing about her lately, was her monologue:

Every cell in the human body regenerates, on average, every seven years. Like snakes, in our own way, we shed our skin. Biologically, we're brand-new people. We may look the same. We probably do. The change isn't visible, at least, not in most of us, but we're all changed, completely, forever.

When we say things, like, "People don't change," it drives scientists crazy, because change is literally the only constant in all of science. Energy. Matter. It's always changing. Morphing. Merging. Growing. Dying. It's the way people try not to change that's unnatural. The way we cling to what things were, instead of letting them be what they are. The way we cling to old memories, instead of forming new ones. The way we insist on believing, despite every scientific indication, that anything in this lifetime is permanent.

Change is constant. How we experience change, that's up to us. It can feel like death. Or, it can feel like a second chance at life. If we open our fingers, loosen our grips, go with it, it can feel like pure adrenaline. Like, at any moment, we can have another chance at life. Like, at any moment, we can be born all over again.

This Isn't What Saturdays Are For

2010-03-27T17:55:00.008-05:00

What happened to the Spring weather? I woke up this morning to blue skies and sunshine, windchimes and chirping birds, and it was ever so lovely. Unfortunately, it also made me feel guilty that I haven't done a darn thing in the yard so far this Spring, and that I needed to stop procrastinating about mowing for the first time this season. Note: I have not missed mowing, at all.

In a vain attempt to find a way out of this annoying task, I managed to convince myself that the inside of the house, and its cleanliness, outranked what the outside of my house looked like. Sure, the house is on the market, but surely anyone who comes to look at it will understand that most people haven't even begun to whip out their lawn mowers yet, right? I'm so good at conning myself, plus, it's a little hard to get motivated to make the outside of your house look all pretty, investing in flowers and such, when it belongs to you on a limited-time-only basis.

Admittedly, the inside of the house needed a little rehab, but not too much. Mostly, just a good wipe-down, to rid it of dust, stains, crayon marks, and fingerprints. The way my house accumulates dust is truly uncanny. I could dust twice a week, and it wouldn't make a bit of difference, and as it is, I'm lucky if I get to dust every couple of weeks. As I was monotonously swiping a rag full of Pledge over every little thing in the house, I made a mental note: The less you take with you when you move, means the less you'll have to dust once you live there. Sounds good to me-- I've always wanted to pursue minimalism, and now a simple thing like dust gave me an excuse.

I know you're thinking, "How did you manage to successfully dust your house when you have three kids pestering you every four seconds?" The answer: I tossed them outside in the backyard, and issued the threat that, if any of them started fighting or screaming, they would have to come in and help me clean. Given the choices between playing outside in the sunshine, or helping Evil Mommy/Cleaning Demon, it's fairly obvious what they chose to do. Miraculously, they played peacefully for long enough to allow me to dust the entire house and tidy-up my disaster of a desk, and Gabe even gathered a lovely bouquet of weeds for me (awww!). I took the time to appreciate their very dainty, heart-shaped leaves, until all hell broke loose because Gabe wouldn't take turns with Quincy on the swing, and everyone wound up coming inside (sigh). So much for progress.

Soon after dragging them inside, it was time to tackle Quincy's room. I had been getting onto her all week about the Mt. Everest of messes that had taken center-stage on her bedroom floor, but she kept fiddling around, making excuses about why she couldn't/shouldn't clean it. She's very convincing, or at least she thinks she is, making attempts to negotiate her way out of cleaning it, somehow trying to persuade me that the house (and the world itself) will be a better place with the pile of Legos, plastic food, and puzzle pieces blocking passage through her room. I remained unconvinced, and decided to get tough, threatening to put her favorite toys in the trash if she didn't start making the pile smaller, immediately. After issuing this order, I went into my room, to finish putting some laundry away (my other mortal enemy, besides yard work), and after about fifteen minutes, I returned to check on her progress.

She was in her bed-- HER BED, lying down under the covers, all tucked in, nice and comfy, smiling at me as I stood in her doorway, fuming. She appeared confused by my anger, since according to her, she "was tired and needed to rest." Mmmmm-hmm. Yeah, sweetie. Mommy's tired and would like to rest, too, but I'm not, which means you're not either. One of my favorite phrases around this house is, "Mama didn't breed 'lazy'." I detest laziness, so when Quincy was lounging in her bed while she was supposed to be cleaning up her mess, you can imagine that didn't sit too well with me, and I was off to grab the roll of 39-gallon, lawn-n-leaf, heavy-duty, could possibly hold a dead body, trash bags.

Imagine shrieks so shrill that they are nearly above human hearing range, and those are what I heard when I started collecting Quincy's favorite toys for the garbage bag. Her giant, talking Buzz Lightyear (gasp!), her Buzz and Woody dolls (double-gasp!), her Toy Story books, her baby and various members of her core stuffed animal posse-- all being re-dubbed The Garbage Bag Gang. I'll admit, I felt a little awful doing this, but like I said, this Mama didn't breed "lazy", and I wasn't going to put up with her resistance any longer. I meant business, and she figured that out very quickly when she watched her most prized possessions disappear inside a big, black plastic void.

Feeling satisfied that this little tactic had motivated Quincy enough to begin chipping away at the mass of stuff on her floor, I took the opportunity to vacuum the upstairs, and felt a great deal of satisfaction when I was able to finally take a step without stepping on stray Cheerios, and the ceiling fans no longer appeared as if they were growing fur. Then I took a moment to help Quincy in her struggles, because she had started to do more pouting than cleaning, and then went downstairs to get started on the boys' lunch. This reminded me that I hadn't even stopped to eat breakfast, and considering it was after 12:00, I decided I should probably stop to eat something. So, I offered Quincy a reprieve from cleaning, and we all gathered around the table for lunch, where, as usual, they all wanted something off of my plate, and I was left to basically starve. I knew at that point that all I might succeed in consuming over the course of the day was a Little Debbie snack, if I was lucky.

Yay, nap time! Not for me, for them-- duh. I would never be that lucky. I was nice enough to let the boys nap in the living room, and even bestowed a little kindness onto Quincy by allowing her to rescue one member of the Garbage Bag Gang for nap time. To no surprise, she picked "Big Buzz". By this time, dark clouds had started to roll in outside, and the memory of hearing my neighbor's mower and weed-eater purring earlier in the day had begun to plague me with more of the guilt I originally felt when I woke up this morning. The last thing I wanted was for the Amazon jungle of weeds to grow higher and thicker, and for my already squishy yard to become even soggier and harder to mow, so I reluctantly (very reluctantly) ditched my pj's for some mowing attire, and trudged out to the shed, secretly praying that my suspicions about the mower's inability to start were true. Upon arriving at the shed, I realized that I had forgotten the key, and the little imaginary light-bulb clicked on, reminding me that I didn't have the foggiest idea where I had put the key at the end of last season. On top of that, I had actually packed things in the house since then, which meant that the key could, in fact, be lost forever. Oh, darn! Well, at least I won't have to mow, but the impending doom of the storm, and evil snarls that came from the jungle below my feet made me abandon that excuse pretty darn quickly.

Ah, yes! Check your desk drawer! Sure enough, there it was (whew!). I swear, I must put everything in my desk drawer. Now, back out through the mine-field of dog poo, to open the shed. I'm always a little nervous when I open the shed after several months of non-use, fearing I'll find a dead squirrel, hoards of gigantic spiders, or something worse (I'm not sure what would be worse, but you get the picture). Sure enough, there was one seriously ginormous spider, but I managed not to have a complete heart-attack, and quickly yanked the mower out into the daylight. Please let there be gas in the can. Please let there be gas in the can. Okay, whew! Just enough to mow the front and back. Now please start. Please start. Please start. Several pulls on the cord later, the mower came to life like Frankenstein, and I let it idle while I poked my head inside to make sure the boys hadn't destroyed the living room. All was well, so off I went to do what I'd been putting off for weeks now. Gross.

The front yard went fast, because it wasn't as weed-infested as the back, but I was still wishing I had a working weed-eater, so I could clean things up around the mailbox, but at that point I was just grateful that the mower was running. At the point I reached the backyard, I sort of went all cross-eyed, because it was hard to know where and how to start. This is a good time to mention that the self-propel feature on the mower quit at the beginning of last season, and never got repaired. Yeah, good times, especially when the weeds were so thick that they actually hid pieces of firewood-- no joke. No time to dilly-dally, though, since the wind was picking up, the clouds were getting darker, and the temperature was dropping.

I should take a moment to let all of you know that I don't typically allow my yard to look bad, like, ever, but as I stated earlier, it's hard to stay inspired to keep it pristine when it doesn't even feel like it's yours anymore. Technically, I don't even live in my house anymore-- I am the maid and the groundskeeper, so to speak. Still, I was a little embarassed when I saw just how bad it had gotten, and was still desperately wishing I had a weed-eater, so I could actually see the fruits of my labor more clearly, but no.

SCARY!

Now, I told myself when I went outside that I was only going to mow-- no weed pulling, sweeping, rearranging, sprucing, etc. No time for any of that today-- just mow. That was easier said than done when I rounded the north corner of the house, only to be reminded of how much mildew had grown on the siding in the past few months, to the point that I felt like I was looking at the inside of a dirty fish tank. This does not scream, "Buy me!" Just take care of this, but nothing else. So, because that side of my off-white house had now turned a disgusting shade of green, I went inside for a bucket of hot water, some bleach, and a scrub brush.

ALL CLEAN!

In case you were wondering, yes, the storm in the sky was still brewing, but there I was, like a completely obsessed moron, diligently scrubbing away on the north side of the house. I'm OCD, and I just couldn't stand it, and I didn't figure it would take too awful long. The problem was that bleach spray and strong winds don't mix... in your eyes. Mmmmmm, fun! I... will... not... be... deterred! I... will... get... this... done... if... it... means... blindness! Hey, at least if I was blind, I wouldn't have to look at it anymore if I didn't get it done.

When the house was returned to its original, algae-free color, I retreated inside, my hands and arms aching from pushing the busted lawn mower, and scouring the side of the house. Time for a shower. I pleaded with the boys to behave themselves for just a short while, so I could relish a hot shower in peace, and they agreed. Quincy was quarantined in her room, so I had no worries as far as she was concerned, although I was dreading what she had done to her room during nap time, despite the fact that the Garbage Bag Gang was still contained in their dark, plastic residence. Ahhhhh, shower! I even managed to shave my legs, which, in and of itself, was a huge accomplishment for the day, and not much unlike shredding the jungle in the backyard.

After emerging from the shower, and realizing that there weren't any shrieks coming from anywhere in the house, I decided to take advantage, and snag a few extra minutes to try on an outfit that I had discovered buried in the back of my closet earlier in the week, to decide whether or not to wear it to church tomorrow. This is going to be a matter of whether or not I want to take the time to alter the straps this evening, or not, and considering you've already had a busy day, I would be betting on "not". (Sigh), so cute-- ah well, there will be other Sundays. Now, get out of La-La Land, and go fix dinner.

Can I just take the opportunity right now to say that hot dogs kind of gross me out? Sure, kids love them, and they take no time at all to cook, but what's in them? Hmmmmmm. It's questionable, at best, but considering I was starving from my Jungle Workout 9000 (aka, the busted mower), I was not as dramatically opposed to hot dogs as I usually am. Gabe, for one, was tickled pink, eyes the size of dinner plates, and thankfully, all the kids ate without much complaint.

Now, after dinner was a different story. I went upstairs to clean Quincy's sink (which she had decorated with bright blue toothpaste and half a bottle of sunscreen earlier in the week), only to discover that she had gone to the sink, and used the faucet to fill up her Lego table with water, so she could "do her dishes". Yes, all of her plastic dishes were submerged in water, which was sloshing around inside her Lego table. Now, most of you might think this is just darling, but considering I have asked her countless times to stay out of the sink, and to stop using the water for dishes or tea parties, I was peaved. Had she not learned her lesson from earlier? Was she willing to risk "Big Buzz"'s safety, for the sake of nap time entertainment? Surely not. I summoned her upstairs (using my big, mean Mommy voice), and she immediately hid her face in her hands in guilt. Total shame. She tried to rattle off some quick and charming excuse about doing dishes, but I think even she knew it wasn't going to fly, so she helped me sop up the mess, and went back downstairs to wreak havoc on the boys' foam block hotel that they were building. I call her, "Godzilla".

After I managed to finish peeling the chunks of toothpaste off of Quincy's vanity, and vacuumed the downstairs, I heard wild, wailing outbursts coming from the boys, and saw Quincy running down the hall with some blocks in her hand. Lovely. Just lovely. If I hear anymore screaming or whining today, I'm going to the boys' ear/nose/throat doctor, and asking him if he can actually remove my eardrums, so that I no longer have to listen to any of this. It is at times like this that I would like to go hide in my closet-- my happy lil' safe place, where I am surrounded my all of my dear, sweet, comforting friends, on hangers, and in shoe-cubbies, and I can pretend that my kids aren't actually mine. Unfortunately, reality never actually allows me to do that, and even if I did, the kids would just find me anyway, so what would be the point?

Sure enough, the latest and greatest Gabe n' Josh Hotel had been demolished by the blonde-haired, terrorizing monster that is my daughter, and this just confirmed that it was, in fact (thank you, Jesus) bedtime. I herded them upstairs for pj's, and then Gabe wanted to sit and read the entire 60 pages of "Hop on Pop" out loud for all of us, which of course, I let him do. Josh just shook his head in impressed disbelief, gushing, "Gosh, he sure is good." I managed to contain my laughter at Josh's comment, and Gabe continued to read page after page to us. By the end of it, I had to agree with Josh, Gosh, he really is good. Even after the day I had with them, I had to say that they all really are good at the end of it all.

Now, with the peace and quiet that has taken over the house, I am putting my last batch of flash batteries on the charger for tomorrow's pictures for children's church, and trying to remember the settings I used the last time I shot pictures in there. I also need to devote at least an hour of my life to the bike (and Season One of Grey's Anatomy), or else I may be tempted to make chocolate-chip cookies instead. Truthfully, I really want to give myself a pedicure, but I can't very well do that before stuffing my feet inside of my cycling shoes, now can I? Considering it's after 9:00 already, I am thinking that my unsightly tootsies will have to wait for another day, because I might as well punish myself a little more while my body is already aching.

A VERY Whiny Blog

2010-03-23T15:26:00.007-05:00

When... are... these... boys... going... to... go... back... to... school?

To anyone who says that tonsil surgery is no big deal, I stick my tongue out at you (as well as throw up a few choice gestures). Here we are, nine days post-surgery, and I still have a couple of sick, worn-out little guys, who are ready for their lives to return to normal (as am I).

If I could just get them to eat consistently, I'd be happy. I think Gabe must've lived on fudgesicles for several days straight, but once they started proving to me that they could eat regular food, I started cracking the whip, and now they are incredibly upset to lose their ice cream diet (hey, I would be, too). One minute they're up, the next minute they're down, and if they could just give me one "solid" day, I'd be more than happy to let them go back to school, just so we could all return to some sort of normalcy.

Oh, and I'll be seriously happy to get away from the boys' dragon-breath. It's really beyond words, in terms of "awful". The doctors warned us about this, because they cartarize the wounds, but they really didn't give us enough warning. It's like a combination of really bad farts and burnt flesh. Sound appetizing? Mmmmmmm. Try being cooped up in the car with them, unable to roll the windows down? I'm not exaggerating-- even a very short car-ride is enough to make you want to choke, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. It's "all part of the healing process".

The combination of the time-change, Spring Break, surgery, weird diet, and completely whacky routine this weekend have all basically turned the kids into little monsters that need to be reprogrammed. Like, do they have a "restart" button? If so, where is it? LOL. I keep trying to tell myself that, by this time next week, things should be at least close to normal.

Of course it doesn't help that Quincy decides to get into things during her nap-- things that she has no business playing with. Today, it was a bottle of sunscreen. Fun. A few days ago, it was blue toothpaste. Like I needed one more mess to clean up, especially since I have a realtor bringing people to see the house later this week. Thanks, Quincy, for giving me another time-consuming thing to do, as I scramble to get the house ready to show! You are an angel!

Kooka also thinks this is a great time to pee a little extra in the house, creating more laundry and mopping than I already have to do. I also have a bone to pick with Mother Nature, for dumping a bunch of snow on us, and then immediately melting it, to create a yard that is full of overgrown weeds, but yet, is too soggy to mow. I hope my potential buyers don't mind the fact that the yard is a jungle, because I seriously doubt it will be dry enough to mow it anytime soon.

With Spring weeds, comes Spring weather, which is awesome, but it would be more awesome if I actually had time to ride my bike or run, or something this week. So yes, I'm bitter about the weather, too-- because I can be. LOL.

Yes, I'm whiny. This is a whiny blog. Whine, whine, whine. I'm entitled. My kids do it 837 times a day, so I'm entitled to at least one blog. So there.

First Blog In Forever/Boys' Surgery Synopsis/Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2010-03-17T12:37:00.020-05:00

Wow, okay. So I haven't posted since July (which, coincidentally, is when I joined FB). Now that I have finally figured out that I can link the two, I have the best of both worlds! Since I've had a lot of questions about Monday's surgery with the boys, I figured what better time than now to combine my FB and my blog, right?

So, Monday morning started early, and I mean EARLY. Like, sickening, should-be-against-the-law-early. I got up at 3:45, which actually felt like 2:45, given the stupid time change. I wondered, "Why did I even bother going to bed?" Unfortunately, the boys had to be at the ol' hospital by 5:30, so I didn't have much of a choice if I still wanted time to get dressed, feed the dogs, and eat a little breakfast (plus, I'm just a slow-mover-- mornings and I are not friends). I finally woke the boys up at 5:00, and they were less-than-thrilled, especially when I told them they couldn't have breakfast (Good morning, boys! It's so stinkin' early that it's still dark outside, AND you have to get up, AND you have to starve! Happy Monday!).

Their "I'm not very happy with you, Mommy!" attitude quickly changed once I informed them that they could wear their pajamas and slippers in the car. Considering we were the only ones in the waiting room, they got to watch Disney Channel, while we tried very hard not to pass out from exhaustion and boredom. Luckily, they took us back pretty quickly, and the boys were excited to discover that they each had a fancy backpack waiting for them on their beds, complete with a teddy bear in a doctor's coat. Given some of the squirrelly names that Gabe gives his animals, I was pretty surprised when he named it "Mr. Doctor Bear". B-O-R-I-N-G. Oh well, maybe it was still too early in the morning for him to be creative. In my opinion, it was too early in the morning to know my own name, much less come up with a name for someone else.

The nurses were all super nice, and a little before 7:00, one of them came in to give Gabe his "silly drink". Gabe was adamant against the idea of falling asleep, and insisted that I give the doctor his request, so I was glad that they gave each of the boys a little "liquid happy" to chill them out before taking them down for surgery. They warned us it would make them goofy within about 10 minutes or so, and while Gabe didn't seem all that phased by it, Josh was incredibly entertaining, to the point that I wished my phone was able to capture video clips. He absolutely insisted that he had eleven fingers, and just laughed at us when we told him he only had ten. Then, I guess his vision must have been getting blurry, because he told us that his "eyes were getting old, because he couldn't see very good" (laughing the whole time). The best part was when he was swatting at all of the invisible "bugs" that were in the room. I'm ashamed to say that we got a good laugh out of it all-- it was kind of like picking on the drunk guy at the party. Hey, anything to keep us awake, because I could hardly keep my eyes open, and the rocking chair they gave me to sit in certainly didn't help matters.

Gabe's tonsils, adenoids, and ear tubes only took about an hour, and then we were taken to the recovery room. A warning to all parents who have never had their child come out of anesthesia before: Be prepared for a violent child. I kind of wish someone would have warned us about how kids react when they start to wake up from surgery, because at least we would've been prepared for the angry, confused little monsters they turned into. By the time we arrived in recovery, Gabe had stripped his gown off, was trying to pull the IV out of his foot, swinging and kicking at anyone who was handling him, and screaming and crying. It wasn't fun. Luckily, they don't remember that part of things, according to the nurses, which is good. Plus, they felt like they couldn't breathe, because the numbing agent in their throats left them feeling like they had something stuck inside, so he kept gagging and coughing. The nurse warned us that it could last 30-4o minutes (jaw on floor at this point), but that most kids end up falling back asleep, which Gabe did after about 15 minutes or so, thank goodness.

Josh's tonsils and adenoids didn't take quite so long, but when he finally arrived in the recovery room, his whole waking-up process went the same way, only a nurse finally had to hold his feet, because he was kicking everyone so bad. He also stripped himself (ha-ha), but it took him a little longer to fall asleep. Once he calmed down, Gabe had started to wake up enough to want his pj's, and the first thing he asked was, "Where's Josh?" so we wheeled his bed into Josh's recovery room, where they both slept for a couple of hours. Once they were both able to drink, and we had Josh's pj's back on, they were ready to go. They must've been on a lot of pain meds, because they were having entirely too much fun wheeling themselves around in the wheel chairs at that point.

Once we got them home, they took over my bed, slept a lot, ate some yogurt, and watched TV. We began the lovely medication schedule, that will last until Monday at least. Every 4-6 hours, around the clock. Good times. That is why I finally passed out on the couch around 5:30 for about an hour, until Eric woke me up for dinner. Once we got them to bed, I took care of a few things around the house, and crashed about 10:30, because I had to get up again at midnight. The boys wanted to sleep in my bed, and I let them, which was kind of a huge mistake, because I didn't sleep a wink with all of their gurgling and coughing. Then, later in the night, Gabe threw up, which they warned us they would probably do from all the drainage (I won't gross you out with the details). Needless to say, it was a L-O-N-G night, especially after I had been awake since 3:45 the previous morning.

Yesterday, they both tanked, which they also warned us they would do. Gabe felt decent enough in the morning, even though he wasn't eating, because he had enough thought and energy to get into costume and make a silent (but noteworthy) appearance downstairs.

Not too long after that, everything went downhill, and they just sort of laid there, watching TV and sleeping, with their mouths hanging open, barely talking. They were like little zombies. While they are both usually really good about taking medicine, I've had to all but hold them down just to medicate them, which makes for a long process when you have to do it for two kids. Then, they refused to eat anything yesterday, and didn't want to drink much either, which can pose a real problem when the doctor wants them to drink 60 oz. per day. Yeah, right. I fell asleep for about 20 minutes sometime after 4:00, but that was about it. They wouldn't even eat dinner, but I at least convinced them to have a shower, which they were resistant to at first, but then enjoyed, when they realized how good it felt on their stiff neck, back, and shoulders (for some reason, this particular surgery causes those muscles to get stiff). I convinced them to sleep in their own bed, didn't have to completely wrestle and hog-tie them for their bedtime medicine, and got them into bed by 7:30. I finally got myself to bed a couple of hours later, so as to prepare (yet again) for the 12:00 and 5:00 doses of medicine.

Had I known how last night was going to go, I would've skipped the two hours-worth of cleaning-up I did after I got them in bed, and taken that time to sleep. Gabe threw up again once, and Josh threw up three times, once all over the floor, so I had to stay up to clean that up (for reasons I won't go into, due to the gross factor). Then, they wanted to come back to my room, but rather than try to move them in with me, I just told them I'd take the top bunk instead, and they seemed pleased with that. So, it was another night of gurgling, coughing, snoring, puking, and medicating, and I'm beginning to forget what it feels like to sleep. Words can't describe how excited I am about doing this little routine until Monday (but hey, at least it's probably only until then-- it could be worse).

Today they seem to be doing better, although now that they're talking more, I can definitely hear the change in their voices. It's really, really weird. Josh has fought me on his medicine, but Gabe is finally starting to take it like a man. Part of that is due to the fact that Josh is convinced that the medicine makes him throw up, but I've explained to him why that is not the case. Once he managed to hold down his medicine, he got brave enough to eat some Cheerios, and now some Spaghetti-O's (GAG ME). Gabe is on his third bowl of Cheerios today, so that's good, too. I'm just hoping they nap this afternoon, so I can squeeze in a power-nap, or a shower, or something along those lines. It's like having new babies all over again-- LOL.

Oh yeah, Happy St. Patrick's Day!

What A Morning

2009-07-07T10:40:00.004-05:00

I knew it was too good to be true. The kids actually let me sleep until 9:00 this morning, something that rarely happens, and I was ready to start a rather low-key day with them here at the house.

WRONG. To give you an indication of how the morning started, let me rewind to last night, around 10:30. Isis and Jester had gotten into a fight on Sunday night, over a treat that Jester just didn't eat fast enough. Picture a 65-lb Pit Bull, fighting with a 25-lb Boston Terrier. Not good. Luckily, Isis wasn't trying to hurt Jester, only put him in his place, because he didn't have a scratch on him Sunday night. So, after keeping them separated yesterday, I decided to reunite them at bedtime, around 10:30. Jester was acting very eager to be back with Isis, so I figured he was over the initial trauma he suffered on Sunday. No, instead of Isis pinning Jester down on the ground, Jester (in his infinite wisdom), decided to try to attack Isis, which is basically the equivalent of a goldfish trying to go after a great white shark. I got them apart, and took Jester upstairs to sleep, chastising him for being so completely stupid. Once again, he appeared to be just fine. Fast-forward to this morning, when I find him in my bathroom, with a sizable gash on his front leg. Given his dark coloring, I didn't see any injuries last night. Obviously, Isis hadn't been as gentle this time around, and Jester was obviously in pain. So, I had to drop everything, and clean it out the best I could. After he went downstairs to pee, I had to carry him back upstairs, because he seemed to be in too much pain to use the stairs. Keep in mind that this dog can be a bit of a drama queen. Then, with the kids screaming at me from downstairs, I tried to carry on a conversation with the vet about how much pain reliever to give him, and then had to cram it down his cranky throat. Lucky for Jester, he wasn't stupid enough to bite me.

Once that was all said and done, I hurried downstairs to tend to the kids and their whining. Were they whining for breakfast? No. They wanted the TV on, and for me to fetch their babies out of their room, and Quincy was wailing for "icy water". So, I raced back upstairs, located the boys' babies amongst the tangles of blankets in their bed, and also managed to find Quincy's cup without the help of a GPS tracking device. By this time, it was close to 9:30, and I couldn't believe they didn't want something to eat. Quincy, however, still wasn't feeling good (she was complaining about her ear hurting the night before), and she kept claiming she was going to get sick. Great. I tried to call her bluff, asking if she wanted breakfast (her absolute favorite meal of the day), and she said no, even when I tempted her with Frosted Flakes. Great, she's serious. So, I was bracing myself for her puking all over my new furniture, while I tried to get the dogs fed. The boys finally decided they wanted to eat, so I scrambled to get their breakfast on the table, only to have them tell me that they "needed to go potty downstairs, because Daddy said they couldn't pee in their toilet, because it was full." Huh? Mental note: Check the boys' toilet when a free moment presents itself. Then, it was time to rush off to tend to Quincy, who was whining for some medicine (Tylenol).

I went upstairs to get her medicine, only to be greeted by the most disgusting odor when I entered their bathroom. Sure enough, the toilet was "full", as the boys put it, obviously clogged by someone's giant poop. Great. Because I have time to deal with this right now. I held my nose, grabbed the Tylenol, and a clean diaper for Quincy, and ran back downstairs. By that time, the boys were trying to get my attention over the fact that they had finished their breakfast, and wanted a morning snack (already?), and I'm trying to wrestle, diaper, clothe, and medicate a cranky two year-old. I hastily acknowledged the boys' achievement, and wrangled a snack for them, as I passed by the sink and counter full of dirty dishes from the night before (since the dishwasher wasn't done running before I went to bed).

Oh yeah, the plunger. I was going to grab the plunger from downstairs so I could fix the boys' toilet. So, I dug the plunger out from under the bathroom sink downstairs, and went upstairs to conquer the beast (gag), after checking in on Jester once again (who was more pitiful than ever). I entered the Land Of Poo and flushed the toilet, only to have churning poo-water rising, and rising in the toilet. Oh please don't overflow! Please don't overflow! I so don't need this right now. Luckily, my prayers were answered, but the poo-stew remained at high levels. I plunged away, but to no avail. It was then I noticed the empty tub of flushable wipes in the corner of the bathroom floor. I immediately confronted the boys, trying to get the full story of what had happened, but I only got brief snippets of information. So, fearing a massive plumbing disaster, I was forced to call Eric at work, to see if he knew more about it than I did (and to find out why he hadn't told me about the clogged toilet to begin with). I was given no more information by going this route, and was left to fend for myself against the poo monster.

While the poo battle was going on, I could hear Quincy downstairs, yelling that she now wanted breakfast. That made me nervous, so I tried to be conservative by offering her some Rice Chex in her snack cup, knowing it would be more easily-digested than the Frosted Flakes I had tried to bribe her with earlier. It was then that my two year-old daughter turned into a howler monkey upon seeing the bland cereal. Okay, okay, okay. I'm not going to fight with you right now. If you puke, you puke. Instead, she wanted Corn Chex (whew!), and was at least momentarily content to sit and watch Dora while I ran upstairs to change out of my pj's. In the briefest moment of peace (well, I say "peace"-- I had a stupid Dora song stuck in my head at that point), I managed to get into some clean clothes and once again check on Jester, who was still acting as if he was dying. I took a moment to tease him about how much "better" he was acting before he received pain medicine, and how I wasn't buying into his lame attempt to guilt me into letting him sleep in my bed all day. Of course, that brief lull in my morning only crept back into frustration when I discovered several new grays while combing my hair. Screw the hair, today. This is just too depressing.

Aaaaaah, now I can finally grab some breakfast, and it's only 10:45! Fat chance, because now Quincy sees me retrieving a box of cereal from the cabinet, and decides she wants a "real" breakfast. Ugh, fine. So, I drop the idea of actually getting to eat before 11:00, and give her some Frosted Flakes and yogurt, fearing the worst. While she was scarfing down her cereal, I managed to shovel a few spoonfuls of my own into my mouth, before the boys started hassling me to build them a train track upstairs. By this time, I had actually used the phrase, "Just a minute," at least 479 times in response to this request, so I told them to go ahead and go upstairs to get it started, and that I would be there in "just a minute" (480!) Of course, the general curse that we all suffer as moms held true, as I wasn't even able to finish my meal before I could hear them screaming upstairs. Sigh. Sorry, my bowl of Oat Cluster Cheerios. It was nice knowing you.

Oh, the drama! Gabe was rolling around on the floor, pretending he was dying (must've learned it from Jester), all because Josh dismantled the train track bridge he had built over their Batcave. Cry... me... a... river. So, I got onto Josh for purposely upsetting his brother, but Gabe continued to scream and wail like the end of the world was drawing near. While listening to their sob story, I couldn't help but be distracted by the stench that was wafting in from their bathroom door. Okay, you can't avoid this forever. You have to fix the toilet. Thank goodness you bought those giant rubber gloves awhile back. I continued my valiant plunging efforts, without success, although I noticed that the stew had receded back into the toilet a bit, which left me slightly hopeful. I wrestled with the idea of flushing again, fearing that it would, in fact, pour out of the toilet this time around. I figured I really had no choice, as I held my breath, pushed the flush lever, and plunged like there was no tomorrow. Success! A very brown, but successful flush!

It wasn't long before the joy of my victory faded into utter annoyance over the fact that Gabe was still lamenting over his train track issues. At that point, I wasn't going to listen to them arguing about it, and boycotted the entire train track idea. Oh, then the real screaming began, as I told all three kids to march their happy butts downstairs until they could get their drama under control. Screaming, screaming, nothing but screaming. It is at times like these that I feel like I should sound-proof my house, because I'm convinced the neighbors can hear it, and think that I'm beating my children.

So here I am, at 11:30, typing this blog in order to vent my frustrations, rather than handling the pile of dishes that is still occupying my kitchen counter. Quincy is standing here, pestering me to go back upstairs, and all I can think is, "How long until nap time?"

Catching Up

2009-07-03T14:12:00.018-05:00

Yay, it's the Fourth of July!

Yep, this is one of those "catch-up" blogs. Where to start? Oh, well, Josh got his cast off last Monday, so that's fantastic news. He has some "restricted activity" rules for the next 2-3 weeks, but then he's free to act like a maniac again (which is good, because I'm dying to get the Slip n' Slide out). That isn't to say that the kids haven't been acting ridiculous. This week, Cameron came over for a play date, and it quickly turned into Who-Can-Cover-Themselves-In-The-Most-Mud-First. I hooked up the garden hose to the top of their slide, and it created one big mud puddle at the bottom. Before long, the kids stopped even trying to land on their feet, because it was way more fun to land on their rears, and make a big, muddy splash. When it was all said and done, we had to basically line them up and hose them off. It was hilarious. When they weren't getting muddy, they were trying to torment this poor, gigantic toad.

Cameron, with mud clear up on his face!
Goliath Man-Eating Toad
Miss Piggy in her mud puddle

I expected the next day to be crazier, since I was going to have six kids between the ages of 2-7 at the house for most of the day, but it actually remained pretty peaceful. The kids spent the day playing with Joey, Kaleb, and Emma, and miraculously, all of the kids (and the house) were still standing by the end of the day. The girls kept making me a little suspicious though, since everytime they went upstairs, they would close the door. When I would stick my head into Quincy's room, the girls would just get all bossy and say, "No! Don't come in!" Geez! Made me wonder what they were getting into.

Firewoman Emma, hard at work!

On a side note, either Jester or Isis just farted, and it smells really, really awful right now. I'm assuming it's Jester, since he is currently sitting here, looking up at me with his soulful, buggy, brown eyes, begging for my tuna sandwich. No, I do not have thermal-image technology which would enable me to post an actual picture of Jester farting (I know, you're so disappointed).

The boys have been busy enjoying the perks of summer vacation. We began a sunflower-planting project when school let out, and the boys have been very big on "working in their garden". On the 18th, we measured their sunflowers, and the tallest one was 16 inches tall (dont' the boys look SO thrilled in their picture?)

They also relished in the opportunity to sleep in a giant box for about a week, until they had all but torn it up. No joke, for a good week or more, they insisted on sleeping inside this box. Although it looked incredibly uncomfortable to me (even with all the padding I put in the bottom), they loved it. It goes without saying that they were really hacked when I finally put the box out with the trash.

Only my kids WANT to sleep in a box...

I have figured out that there should be two "p"'s in the word "summer". Pools and popsicles. If not for these two things, I think my kids (and I) would've gone crazy by now. Although we can't afford some big, fancy pool (oh, how I wish we could!), they are perfectly content with their kiddie pool, especially when they are paired with those super-cheap push-up popsicles. I mean, you can buy a pack of like, 100 of those silly things for $3.00 or something. Talk about cheap entertainment!

Mmmm, popsicles! She kinda looks like a vampire baby, though...

(No Renesmee jokes, Amanda!)

Nothing says "summer" like peeing outside, right Gabe?

Blowing pool water at me out of his bubble pipe. Ew.

Running for the pool!

On a picture note, we had the freakiest-looking clouds roll in yesterday morning, so of course I had to get my camera out. The boys kept asking me if we were going to have a tornado, since that's their big fascination these days. Tornados, of all things. They love watching tornado videos on You Tube, and looking at pictures online. They even checked out a couple of books from the library.

It looks like we are about to be invaded by space-aliens, or that a tornado is going to drop out of the sky. Either scenario is generally considered NOT good.

I am also starting to turn into one of those crazy coupon ladies. Well, I'm not quite that bad, but I've found myself becoming strangely addicted to the Thrifty Mama and Money-Saving Mom websites to find good deals. Just last week, I got some free quarts of paint from the Glidden website, along with a free children's DVD from Fisher Price. It also makes me aware of all the great deals at Walgreens, where you can make an absolute killing on products, if you use manufacturer's coupons. Of course, I use regular ol' coupons at the grocery store, too. Just today, between special offers, and coupons, I saved $13.65 with coupons, got $3.00 back in Walgreens Register Rewards (basically like a $3.00 Walgreens gift certificate), and picked up a free antibacterial hand-sanitizer at Bath & Body Works. The best part is, I didn't have to buy anything that I didn't actually need to pick up anyway. Go, me!

I got to go to an actual party last night-- one that didn't involve children! Yes, this does make headlines with me, because it is so rare anymore that I get to be out amongst adults! Seriously, ask my friends, and they are like, "We never get to hang out with you anymore! You're always stuck at home!" Yeah, yeah, I know. So, you can imagine my excitement about being able to go out, and see some friends. Wahoo! It was so great to see Jason and Maria, and getting to hang out with the ol' South Beech Court gang. Man, we are all getting old (ha-ha-ha). I've got some pictures on Amanda's camera, which I'll get posted soon.

I'm sure I'll be taking a lot of pictures tonight at Jarrod's annual Fireworks Extravaganza. I think that at some point, we need to feature a celebrity guest at this thing, since it keeps getting so big. I wonder what David Hasselhoff is doing next year? Nothing brings a tear to your eye like The Hoff singing "God Bless America", as Jarrod sets off the big finale (ha-ha-ha-ha).

Why?

2009-06-16T12:42:00.010-05:00

This is a little segment I like to call "Why?" I'll probably be doing blogs like these from time to time, because I never fail to come across things that make me scratch my head (which, of course, I feel the need to share with all of you).

Why? #1: All Camo, All The Time
There I was, a couple of weeks ago, minding my own business, running my errands, when I encounter an entirely mossy-oak camo Chevy Suburban in the parking lot. What is truly sad about that last sentence is that I actually know what type of camo these people used to cover their truck (sigh). They left no surface of this vehicle un-camo. The side mirrors? Camo. Chevy emblem? Camo. Door handles? Camo. "Why?", I ask you-- "Why?"

Why? #2: The Creepy Pirate Chimp
Okay, no offense to my brother, but I really believe he is the only person alive who would actually want this ugly thing as a lawn ornament. What I find sort of ironic about this tacky statue, is the fact that human pirates are often seen with crazy little monkeys on their shoulders, as an alternative to parrots. Interesting. Anyway, that doesn't change the fact that having this thing in my garden give me nightmares.

Why? #3: The X-Rated Bubble Wands
Now, you sit there and tell me, with a straight face, that these do not look like something you'd find in an adult gift shop. Nope, these are actually bubble wands, for children. I ran across these while I was in St. Louis for the kids' Spring Break. You, too, can have one of your very own if you visit your local Dollar Tree. I got a real good laugh when I read the "red hot summer toys" label. So wrong.

Why? #4: The "Chips" Boys Hanging Anywhere In An Actual Home
Awhile back, I actually saw another one with just Ponch, which said something about "Ponch's Love Meter" (I am not joking). No wonder these things were on clearance! Why would anyone hang this metal sign in their place of residence? "Always wear protection...", good grief.

So, that's what I have for this edition of "Why?". I'm sure there will be much more to come-- I'm always taking pictures of random, puzzling crap.

After 30 Comes 31

2009-06-16T11:16:00.015-05:00

Let me just say that 31 was so much less painful that 30. Yes, I'm referring to birthdays. Normally, I'm not a big fan of my own birthday, but I think I've finally reached the age where I just don't care. Good, bad, ugly, young, or, old, it just really isn't that big of a deal.

That isn't to say that this year's birthday wasn't good-- it was great! Fancy Nancy threw a birthday party for me (and my girlfriends) at the Purple Glaze a few days before my actual birthday. It was so nice of her! She even made some of the most delicious cookies, for which I am sharing the recipe, because I think everyone should experience these!

http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Peanut-Butter-Cup-Cookies/Detail.aspx?src=etaf

Anyway, Nancy figured a glazing party would be right up my artistic alley, and she was right-- I loved it! It's so cool, because you have all these fun pieces of pottery to choose from (seriously, everything from cookie jars, to plates, to figurines), and then you get to glaze them however you want. When you pick them up a few days later, they're all glossy and gorgeous.

I glazed a couple of plates. I totally love my pear plate, and my tree plate turned out okay, too. I wish I would've had more time to work on that one, but oh well-- it turned out pretty cute anyway. Amanda, Ami, Jen, Nancy, and I all had a fun time. Luckily, the glazing studio is one less than a mile from my house, and the price was really reasonable, too, so I am totally going back!

http://purpleglazestudio.com/

Then, on my actual birthday, Eric and the kids took me out to lunch at Big Daddy's for BBQ. Yum! You can't beat a smoked bologna sandwich and baked beans on your birthday. The kids were absolutely bonkers at the restaurant, but other than that, it was good. When we got back, Eric had to give me a "disclaimer" regarding my birthday present from the kids. That's always scary. He said that, when he asked the kids what they wanted to get me, Gabe said, "A spaceship." For the record, this is his answer whenever we ask this question. Just because he wants a spaceship, he assumes everyone else does, too. After Eric talked him out of it, there was apparently talk of a "pink ballerina" because "all girls like pink ballerinas, and Mommy is a girl". Thankfully, Eric talked them out of that, too. Then, the kids unanimously voted on buying me the new car I had my eye on about a month ago. Can I just say that I take back every bad thing I've ever said about my kids? SO sweet of them! Unfortunately, there's just no way we could afford to get Mommy a new car for her birthday, but it's the thought that counts. So, it was off to Bass Pro Shop. I know-- you're thinking, "Bass Pro Shop? For a birthday present for you?" Yes. However, I am happy to report that my kids know me all to well, because they immediately went to the shoe department to pick out my gift, and I wound up with a pair of zebra-print Sanuks (which I really had been wanting). So comfy.

After that, Jarrod and I went downtown to a little bike-themed art show called "Cranked". It was really cool to see some local talent, especially since it was all bike-related. We took down some info about one particular artist, because now we're both interested in getting some prints.

http://cullenkoger.com/

As we were leaving downtown, Jarrod got called in to work (server farm issues), so luckily we weren't far from the office. That's how we spent a good part of the afternoon, unfortunately, but what can you do? Then, we grabbed a quick bite, before getting called back downtown early that evening, which was really frustrating for Jarrod, since we had arena football tickets for the Talons. Nevertheless, Biv and Matt picked me up from Jarrod's work, and we went on to the game. On the ride over, Biv gave me an awesome, farting birthday card (yep, even at 31, I still enjoy good fart humor), and the new Dave Matthews album. Sweet!

I had never been to an arena football game, so I was pretty pumped. They should post a big warning sign outside, though, telling you of all the serious fashion victims you will witness during your time inside. One woman in particular (and I'm so bummed I couldn't get a picture of her), we named "Pretty In Pink". Picture this if you will: An overly-tanned, middle-aged fake blonde, wearing what appeared to be a matching set of gym shorts and a tank top, with flourescent pink and gray horizontal stripes running all over them. Normally, this wouldn't have been too terribly shocking, but this woman (in Biv's words) "made those shorts look like a thong". A lotta jiggling. I thought Biv was going to be sick. Anyway, given that her outfit was SO loud, we tried to locate her during the game, to snap a picture, but we failed (so you're just going to have to use your imagination). Overall, the game was good (we won). Part-way through the first half, the mascot, "Swoop" (a giant, blue eagle or hawk, or something), came and sat with us, and began tickling my ear. Nothing like being molested by a giant bird on your birthday-- every girl's dream. Ha-ha. Okay, so not true.

So, that was my birthday, in a nutshell. Pottery-painting, new shoes, an art show, a server farm, and getting molested by a giant, hairy, blue bird. Can't ask for more than that, right?

C'mon, Moms-- Be Honest

2009-06-12T12:47:00.002-05:00

Okay, this is just a random, TMI question that I have for all you moms:

Do you spontaneously get "felt-up" by your kids? Is this normal?

I ask because I can't tell you how often the boys grab my boobs, for no real apparent reason. I have given them the whole that's-not-good-manners lecture, but it doesn't seem to work. At this point, I am just waiting for them to violate some innocent woman in Walmart.

Yeah, no pictures for this one.

The Boys' First Trip To The Dentist

2009-06-12T12:05:00.009-05:00

Yes, I'm sure you're thinking, "They're five. They're just now going to the dentist?" The answer is yes.

I personally hate the dentist, which only happened after I popped out my grublets, and wound up with my teeth destroyed from all the fun stomach acid I yacked-up over the months of my pregnancies. Still, I probably should've taken the boys in before now. Oops.

So, Tuesday morning, they had their very first dentist appointment! I wasn't entirely sure how to prepare them for it, so I just made mention of "tooth-brushing machines" and "water vacuums". They actually grew excited just hearing about that, so I was relieved. The technicians preferred that Eric and I didn't go back there with the boys during their cleaning, which surprised me, but they did just fine. We finally got to go back when the dentist did their exam, and they looked so cute in their little sunglasses!

They were so excited to tell us about everything, running their mouths ninety-miles-a-minute. That's always fun when both of them are trying to talk. Geez. There was a lot of excited rambling about "Sponge-Bob toothpaste" and "special bubble-gum" and "picking a prize out of the basket". That's all I remember-- lots of enthusiastic noise.

So, the dentist told us that Gabe has skewed jaw alignment when he bites down. I could've told you that, just by the way the kid smiles (it's always cocked to one side). How long have I been telling people, "You can tell the boys apart by the way they smile"? Forever? This means he has to go to the orthodontist to get fitted for a retainer that will widen his jaw as he grows, so that they both fit into each other better. Anyway, Josh didn't have any real problems, but both of the boys got a little talking-to about thumb-sucking (thank you, Dr. Merrill!) Yep, five years old, and still sucking their thumbs sometimes. Ugh! We are thinking of putting dish soap on their thumbs as a deterent (which is better than what Eric originally suggested-- he wants to use that Apple Bitter stuff you get at the pet store to keep dogs from chewing on things). Yeah... I know.

Cartoon Confusion

2009-06-08T15:47:00.005-05:00

Okay, so admittedly, a mom is the only person who would even post something like this, but here goes.

Nickelodeon has me troubled. There, I said it. Maybe I'm just a devoted Disney Channel and PBS mom, but I find myself growing increasingly disturbed by Nickelodeon programming. So many of the shows geared towards kids like mine leave me with huge question-marks floating over my head. Here are some of my questions/concerns:

1) Max and Ruby: Don't get me wrong, I actually don't mind the show all that much-- there are far worse things, and my kids love it (especially Quincy). However, there are a couple of things about that show that puzzle me, which I have discussed with other parents, who share my confusion. First of all, where are Max and Ruby's parents? They never tell you! Their grandparents are in the picture quite often, but yet it seems as though Ruby is the mother-figure here. Are they orphan bunnies? Did their parents fall victim to redneck rabbit hunters? Roadkill, maybe? I for one would like to know where their parents are, mostly because I find Ruby to be a little on the annoying side (stupid know-it-all, bossing Max around all the time). And speaking of Max, he's no saint, either-- blurting out those stupid one-word statements all the time. Now my kids are doing it to make demands, and it annoys the crap out of me.

2) Sponge-Bob Square-Pants: All I have to say about this show is that I hate it. It's weird. Now my kids even call it weird, because they've heard me mutter that very phrase out-loud so many times.

3) Oswald: While Oswald is a cute show, totally mellow with cute animation, there is still one thing that I just don't get-- Weenie. Yes, Weenie. Oswald (an octopus) has a pet dachsund named (you guessed it) "Weenie". What's worse is that the dog actually walks around inside a hot dog bun. The first time I heard Oswald call the poor dog's name, I thought, "Really? This is all they could come up with? Why didn't they just name the dog "Schlong" or "Rod"?" Perhaps the most disturbing part about this pooch is the fact that it's a girl dog. I didn't even realize that until much later in my Oswald experience, when he called, "Weenie! Here, girl!" My jaw dropped, and I've been confused ever since. (Thanks a lot, Biv.)

4) Wubzy: Like "Max and Ruby", I don't exactly mind this show-- not the way I mind Sponge-Bob, for instance, but Wubzy's character is yet another one that leaves me a bit confused. For one thing, what is Wubzy? I can't figure it out. It's like a yellow square with a long tail and an overly-cheerful expression. What do they call that? It doesn't have big enough ears to be a rabbit, no kitty whiskers, and no characteristics that lead me to believe that it's a dog. The best I can tell, Wubzy is a mammal of some kind, but that's as far as I've gotten. I can't even decipher Wubzy's gender at this point, which leaves me equally troubled. It's voice (yes, it's voice), is so completely gender-neutral, that it could really swing either way. I demand to know Wubzy's true gender. What is this-- the cartoon version of SNL's old skit, "It's Pat"? Don't plague me with such questions!

I cannot believe I just ranted on for several paragraphs about Nickelodeon programming. I should have my head examined.

Had I Been A Betting Woman...

2009-06-08T12:26:00.005-05:00

Okay, so seeing as I am going to have a little more time on my hands for the next couple of months, I am going to make it a goal to do the daily blogging (Heather, what can I say-- you are inspirational in that department-- along with your commitment to diligent scrapbooking).

So, last Sunday, Eric took the kiddos to the lake house (yep, I'm blogging about last weekend). Being the maniacs that they are, the kids wanted to swim, even though the water was still really cold (dorks). Unfortunately, what normally would've been a pleasant afternoon quickly turned bad when Josh slipped and fell on the steps going back up to the cabin. The house is built into the side of a hill, and the steps and ramps leading from the shore back up to the house can be pretty treacherous, even for an able adult.

Like any normal person, Josh stuck his arm out to catch himself. This simple act caused him to break that arm in two places. Lovely. Had I been a betting woman, I would've thought for sure that Quincy would've been the first of my kids to obtain a broken bone (being my little Daredevil Princess, and all). Gabe would've been second on my list-- what with all of his crazy fantasy behavior. Josh would've been my absolute last pick. Eric didn't know it was broken immediately, but Josh was clearly in pain, so Eric drove the kids back to town so that Josh could go to Urgent Care for some x-rays.

Well, x-rays revealed a break just above and below his elbow-- poor guy! With it being a Sunday, he couldn't get a cast for it, but they made a fiberglass splint for it, wrapped it in an ace bandage, and called it good until Monday morning. Then, we took Josh into Eric's orthopaedist (it's just plain sad that Eric even has an orthopaedist at 31 years of age). They confirmed the breaks, and put a cast on Josh (red, of course-- although Eric tried to talk him into camo). He screamed bloody-murder, but once the cast was done, he was so excited that his arm was suddenly pain-free.

Here he is, milking the "sad face" for all it's worth.

So, here we are in present-day, and Josh had a follow-up x-ray this morning, to make sure everything is setting right, which it is. That means he has two more weeks in his lovely red cast. I still can't believe that he did this a whopping two days into summer vacation, but it could be worse. We saw a kid at the doctor this morning with a camo cast over his entire leg-- even up over his thigh. Yeah, he looked pleased, let me tell you. At least Josh can get his cast wet, so it doesn't slow down summer activities too much (just no Slip n' Slide).

Me Likey The Red Box

2009-06-07T18:16:00.004-05:00

Okay, that is a complete understatement-- me LOVE the Red Box!

For those of you who don't know, Red Box is the best, fastest, most awesome way to rent movies ever in the history of the universe (shout out to Mr. Biv, who turned me onto this!) Here's why I love this service:

1) It's cheap! It's just $1.00 (+tax) per night to rent a movie. Most of their inventory is new releases, which is awesome. It doesn't matter if you rent your movie at 7:00 in the morning, or 7:00 at night, it's always due by 9:00 p.m. the next day. Let's compare that to good ol' Blockbuster, where it costs 4-5 times that much to rent a single movie (boo!)

2) It's fast. Let's face it-- I have three little kids, and it's an absolute nightmare to drag them into Blockbuster, while I peruse the new releases, and actually try to read plot summaries in order to make my selection (the scenario I just described is an actual impossibility in my world). They turn into maniacs when they see all the kids' movies, and the butt-loads of candy while I am desperately trying to wait in line with them without having to just ditch my movie and leave. So, imagine my outright glee when I realized that I could simply pull my car up to the curb next to the Red Box, while the kids waited inside! Best of all, the whole process takes less time than filling up a tank of gas.

3) It's super-convenient. There is a website, where I can simply type in my zip code to view the Red Boxes near my house, and where I can view the titles that are available at each location! No more standing there, trying to decide which movie I want-- I can do it at my desk. Plus, if I see something I want, I can reserve it for a few hours, to make sure it's there when I get there!

4) No strings attached. There are no memberships, or weird rules. It's super easy. The first time I rented from a Red Box, it asked for my name and e-mail address. Then, I picked my movie from the touch screen, swiped my credit card, and out popped my movie! Now, since I've rented there before, all I have to do is choose my movie, swipe my card, and it automatically knows who I am. I also don't have to stand around, waiting for it to print a receipt, because it sends one directly to my e-mail box.

5) Tons of locations. While there are several Red Boxes within 5 miles of my house, I usually hit one that is literally a whopping mile from my house outside of a Walgreens, so the entire roundtrip journey takes all of ten minutes, maybe. You can't beat that. At this rate, Blockbuster may never see my bright, shining face again!

For more info, go to http://www.redbox.com/! I highly recommend it! (Oh, and for the record, it's not 8,000 locations anymore-- it's 15,000!)

Mullet?

2009-05-26T12:21:00.002-05:00

So, I just noticed something funny. There is this dark "band" of something behind my head in my profile picture that almost makes me look like I have a mullet! Ha-ha-ha-ha! For the record, NO, I do not have a mullet-- my hair would have to be a lot longer for that (and that's implying that I would actually be going for the mullet-look). If any of you actually came to that conclusion, SHAME on you (you know me better than that!) :)

Mommy's Little Summer "Vacation"

2009-05-26T12:06:00.003-05:00

While the boys' last day of school is this Friday, I am officially starting my summer vacation today. After what has been a very busy Spring, with work, I finally have all of my photography jobs wrapped-up. I still have orders to process, but I have all of my on-site and editing work completed-- that is, until the next job hits my calendar. For now, however, I'm free and clear to focus on things other than work.

Not that I'm not grateful for the jobs-- I am, but I'd just rather they didn't come in huge waves all the time. This past week alone, I had two huge jobs to finish up in a much shorter period of time than I usually allow myself. So, to not have that hanging over my head is quite a relief, and although I appreciate the extra income, I am looking forward to a little break.

I know you're thinking, "What break? Aren't your kids going to be home full time after this week?" Yes, they are, but I am actually looking foward to it. The time I spend each week, driving them to and from school, getting them ready for school, helping with homework, and ironing their clothes, will get to be spent on much more enjoyable things, and I am SO looking foward to it! Not only will I get to spend more time with the kids, but I'll finally get to start getting caught-up on all those "projects" I've been meaning to do around the house! Yippee!

So, between a lull at work, and the kids' summer vacation, I'm getting my own "vacation". Maybe this means I'll have more time to blog. Hmmm.... that's an idea!

I Get It.

2009-05-25T23:41:00.004-05:00

So, tonight I made a point to sit down and watch the season premiere of "Jon & Kate Plus Eight". I've never been a hardcore follower of the show-- it's always been the sort of thing where, if I was sitting in bed at night flipping channels, and it was on, I would stop on that channel to watch it. Call me a dork, but it's fascinating to watch, and I actually, in some ways, identify with some of their chaos.

So there I was, watching tonight's show, knowing good and well (according to all the hooplah and commericals) that they were going to discuss all of the issues that are being splashed all over the tabloids. However, those of you who know me pretty well, know that I wasn't tuned-in to gawk (or to roll my eyes at Kate's hair). I was watching because I "get it", and sometimes it helps to know you're not the only one.

Before Kate every discussed her personal life during her interview, and they were just showing her preparing for the kids' birthday party, I recognized the look on her face, her body language, all of it, and I found it to be completely heart-breaking. Those viewers who just tuned-in to gawk probably wouldn't even notice, but I saw it all as plain as day-- the "I'm trying" look, and it sucks.

Jon and Kate's joint interview was hauntingly familiar, as was Kate's solo confessional. Is this sort of thing really that common? It seems to be happening everywhere I look, and I guess I feel foolish for being so blind to it before. It isn't that you want more people to walk in your incredibly overwhelmed shoes, because you don't, but when you realize that there are swarms of people out there, going through the exact same thing, I guess it at least helps you feel more "normal", if that makes any sense at all. Plus, it's just good to know that there are other people out there who "get it".

Why I Nearly Choked On My Breakfast

2009-05-14T10:14:00.003-05:00

Okay, so we've all heard and/or read about all of the personal drama with Jon and Kate Gosselin, of "Jon & Kate Plus 8". I totally love that show, although sometimes I think Kate can turn into the dragon lady. Not that I blame her-- she has eight kids and a busy life, and the stress must be overwhelming. Not placing judgement on Kate's personality-- to each their own. I'm sure she does the best she can.

She is not, however, doing the best she can when it comes to her hair. I'm sorry people, but it's so bad that it actually makes me comment out-loud to myself about how bad it is every time I see it. I actually mumble, "Oh God, her hair. What the hell is wrong with her?" It's like someone chopped out the back of what would've been a cute bob with a chainsaw. I'm not proclaiming myself to be a hair expert, but c'mon. I even usually like asymmetrical hairstyles, but her exaggerated long bangs on one side of her head just leave me scratching mine.

I know, you're thinking, "Seriously, Hill? You have nothing better to blog about?"

Well, normally I would've kept my feelings to myself, but the Yahoo! entertainment website OMG! posted an article today, entitled, "Kate Gosselin: Everybody Wants My Hairstyle". I nearly choked on my breakfast. Is she out of her mommy mind? If you don't believe me, check it out yourself: http://omg.yahoo.com/news/kate-gosselin-everybody-wants-my-hairstyle/22520

It was comforting to find out that there are others out there in the world who share my opinion of her 'do. It's a shame, because she's an attractive woman. Unfortunately, I'm only going to be tortured by more pictures of this atrocious coif the more she and her husband are in the media. Selfish, I know. Honestly, though (hair aside), I really do hope that they take their focus away from celebrity and wealth, and place it on repairing their family life. This has got to be a nightmare for their kids.

Bloggity-Blog-Blog-Blog

2009-05-08T17:31:00.002-05:00

So, I kinda fell off the ol' bloggin' wagon, huh? I go in spurts, I guess. Maybe one of these days I can get into habitual blogging, but as of right now, I find it hard to believe that I can actually, consistently, make it part of my routine. Hats off to all of you who can!

What's new? Well, my photography "career" is blossoming, which is exciting and nerve-wracking all at the same time. Lotsa pressure-- lotsa, lotsa pressure. Deadlines. Expectations. The tough thing is that there are no "do-overs". You get what you get, so you gotta get it right the first time. Pressure. Still, I can't complain, especially in this crappy economy-- I have an income, however small, and I like what I do. As soon as I bulk up my gallery website, I'll put out a blog about it, but that's next on my online agenda.

The kids are great-- evil, but great. We've had this bout of non-stop rain lately, so the kiddos have been cooped-up indoors, and we have all had about enough of that. Lots of tantrums and back-talk, which makes me want to go jump off the roof, but I guess that's all part of it. The boys are wrapping up their first year of school, which I can hardly wrap my head around, and Quincy will be venturing off to The Land Of The Potty once the boys are on summer vacation. Yay!-- More laundry! Just what I always wanted!

In more exciting news, Amanda and I scored tickets to U2 in October-- WOO! On the field, all that energy-- so stinkin' cool! I can hardly wait, can't you tell? Even if I fall off the bloggin' wagon again, I'll be sure to at least blog about that.

What else? Oh yes, the movie festival. I totally dropped the ball on that, huh? Anyway, that's a whole separate blog in and of itself (on my to-do list), but long-story-short, I wound up puking my guts out Saturday night, and was unable to view the final two films. Sooooo, I get to break the tie between Chuck Norris and Steven Seagal, as to who is worse. I've watched the Chuck Norris selection, but haven't had time to put myself the Steven Seagal cheese factor, just yet. To be continued...

Man, there are so many things that I want to blog about, but they really require their own, separate blog, so I'll have to get better about this. Anyway, just wanted to at least touch base and rejoin the land of blogging before jumping in head-first. 'Til next time.

Bad Movie Fest News

2009-02-14T18:33:00.005-06:00

Oh yes! Chuck Norris and Steven Seagal will face off in a battle so great... so bloody... so incredibly cheesy... that it warranted yet another movie festival from our crew at Bad Movie Fest (and by our crew, I mean Jarrod, Brett, Amanda, Kris, and myself). Sadly, Kris will be unable to attend this doozie, due to the impending birth of her nephew, but she will be missed!

Some of you may remember some of my postings on my old MySpace page regarding previous festivals. There was the one that started it all-- Squatchapalooza/Hoffapalooza 2007 (Sasquatch VS. David Hasselhoff). Clearly, David Hasselhoff was WAY worse than the ol' Squatch, which in our twisted world, makes him the winner. Next, there was Salon VS. Brawn 2008 (Lorenzo Lamas VS. Jean-Claude Van Damme). This one was classic, I mean CLASSIC. I think we were snorting with laughter the entire time, until Lorenzo was crowned the winner. Our goal, many years down the road, is to have every winner face off in a bracket, until there is one supreme bad movie champion.

Yes, we're a little kooky... but we have t-shirts.

Behold the t-shirt art for Looks That Kill 2009 (in all its glory).

Jon Bon Jovi For Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T15:15:00.007-06:00

Here we are on Valentine's Day, and I'm left wondering why there isn't a "bah-humbug" phrase for a day that makes all of us lonely folks want to stay in bed with the covers pulled up over us. Yeah, yeah, I know you're thinking, "Of course you're bitter, blah-blah-blah," but I'm starting to think that Valentine's Day is just a way to make single people feel stupid and inadequate-- like, if you don't receive flowers or chocolates, or a hot date, that it means you officially suck. I'm not griping-- it isn't as if I see all the big, heart-shaped mylar balloons at Walmart and burst into a fit of rage or anything, but it's still kind of a bummer to know that women (and even some men) all over the world are getting pampered today, and I'm stuck at home with three grumpy kids. Wahoo!

Instead of moping over the holiday for the last couple of weeks, I decided to redirect my Valentine's enthusiasm towards the kiddos this year. They each received a Valentine's gift from Mommy (and Daddy brought his own gifts, too), and they seemed pretty tickled by all of it. Of course, Daddy got actual hugs in exchange for his gifts, and I got nothing, but I'm pretty used to that by now.

At least I did get something for Valentine's Day-- a Bon Jovi concert DVD from my parents (you can always count on Mom and Dad, right?). Nancy and Rosie also brought me a beautiful pot of red tulips earlier in the week, which I am counting as Valentine's flowers (so there). So I guess in the grand scheme of things, I scored big-- Jon Bon Jovi and flowers. Hot dog!

As for the chocolates, I did at least bake chocolate chip cookies for the kids today. For the kids... yeah, right. Ha! I've been sitting here while they were napping, munching on fresh cookies and sipping my pear tea, enjoying the silence, and catching up on online episodes of Desperate Housewives-- that's a Valentine's gift in and of itself if you ask me.

And as for the "hot dates" that everyone will be on tonight-- well, I've got two hot dates tonight, with the cutest guys in town (wink). We'll be curled up in bed, with popcorn and snacks, watching Toy Story in our pj's. No primping. No perfume. No shaving of the legs. Who can ask for more than that?

Gotta love Gabe's Valentine's gift...

Certifiably Insane

2009-01-09T14:40:00.004-06:00

I must be certifiably insane.

So, way back before Halloween, Chuck and Lori (Eric's dad and stepmom) had two litters of puppies. Bubba, their male Brussels Griffon, impregnated Roxy, their female Brussels Griffon, in a totally planned pregnancy. However, Bubba apparently wasn't fully satisfied, and proceeded to also get their female Pug, Ruby, pregnant. Ooops.

Well, their "ooops" is now our joy (I say "joy"-- it could be a complete nightmare), because we decided to adopt not one, but two of the puppies. There were three Brussels Griffon pups, and five Brussels-Pug pups to choose from, originally. I had been thinking about taking one of the pups since they were born, but hadn't fully decided. I knew it was going to be a big decision, which would mostly center around Kooka's current health.

Kooka has been showing symptoms of congestive heart failure for a year or so now, and to be honest, we're all pretty surprised that my ol' guy is still alive and kicking. Back in August, I thought the end was very near, when he got a horrible kidney infection, but after a strong dose of antibiotics and a fresh new diet, he was good as new (except for the muscle-wasting that typically occurs in CHF dogs). Well, about a week before Christmas, Kooka took what appeared to be a turn for the worse, and we honestly didn't think he would make it to the new year. Once again, he had a kidney infection, and after a week of antibiotics, he is back to his old self.

Originally, I hadn't wanted to bring any puppy (or puppies) home until after Kooka had passed away. We already have three dogs, two of which are large, and with the three kids, you can imagine what a full house that would be. I know that Kooka doesn't have much longer, since dogs with CHF rarely live beyond a year after showing symptoms, but he isn't in any pain, so I refuse to put him to sleep. His vet believes that he'll probably just go in his sleep anyway, and I am perfectly content with that. He deserves at least that for as good as he's been over the years.

A couple of days before Christmas, I took the kids to Stillwater to visit with Nana and Papa, and to get a look at the pups in person. Josh immediately latched on to Molly, who is the runt of the Brussels-Pug litter. I hadn't intended on adopting a female, just because Isis has been so high-maintenance in terms of her attitude, but Josh absolutely adores her. My personal preference was for one of the purebred Brussels, since I've always wanted one, but this was more about what the kids wanted. Gabe has become interested in Gus, one of the male Brussels, while Quincy, too, likes Molly.

Molly (around 7-weeks old)

Gus (around 7-weeks old)

So, after much, much, much consideration, I finally decided this week that we would take both Molly and Gus, and that I would go ahead and bring them home before Kooka dies. They are already ten weeks old, and I didn't want to miss out on the socialization that needs to take place with the dogs we already have. It would be a total nightmare to introduce a couple of six month-old dogs into the house after Kooka dies (of course, he could surprise us all and live another year-- there's no telling). Luckily, Kooka is good with puppies.

So next weekend, Nana and Papa are going to bring Gus and Molly to the boys, and we will have five dogs in the house. Yikes. Lucky for me, three of them will not be over 25 lbs. Whew! Molly probably won't make it beyond 15 lbs, to be honest, and Gus will probably be closer to 20. In the meantime, the boys have been working on names for their new pets. Gabe is pretty adamant about naming Gus, "Fireman Sam" after a cartoon character on one of his favorite DVDs, and I have a feeling I won't be able to talk him out of it. Josh has waivered between several names, like "Batman", "Robin", "Ant", "Villain", "Wonka", and "Yzma" (pronounced "Eezma" if you've ever seen "The Emperor's New Groove"). Who knows what that poor dog will be called.

It has been seven years since we have had a puppy in the house, and so it will definitely take some getting used to. At least their pee can be successfully mopped-up with a single paper towel, instead of an actual bath towel, like I have to use if the big dogs have an accident. Now I just have to find plenty of stuff for them to chew on so they leave non-doggie items alone!

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? (Much Delayed...)

2009-01-01T12:31:00.007-06:00

Yeah, so what did I do on New Year's Eve? What were my rockin' plans? Was I out partying, getting absolutely hammered with the rest of the American public? Uh... no. No, I was out on Riverside, ringing in 2009 at the Run Into The New Year 5K race. That's right, I was running at midnight. Not only was I running at midnight, but I was running in the dark and cold, along with about 500 other crazy fools.

Now, I can't say that I had ever pictured myself celebrating New Year's in such an unorthodox fashion, but I have to say it was a nice change of pace from sitting at yet another party, bored out of my mind because I was the only person there not drinking or vomiting. Instead, I was surrounded by a bunch of other zen folks, who just wanted to do something new and/or healthy for the new year. Call me a loser-- I don't care.

I can say with complete honesty that this was not my idea. After completing my first 5K last month, my Mom starting scouring the internet, looking for more races for us. She ran across this New Year's race, and so I figured, "What the hell?" My only regret is that we didn't sign up sooner, because we could've gotten cool, red dri-fit jerseys instead of the general cotton t-shirt, but we'll know better next time.

The evening started with my Mom's friend Kris arriving over at my house around 10:00, so that someone could stay with the kiddos while I went and did something crazy for a change. Shortly thereafter, Mom arrived, only to announce that she lost one of her contact lenses on the drive over, and that her dash lights suddenly weren't working! Fantastic! While attempting to remove her existing contact, she found that she couldn't locate that one either, but managed to find it jammed way up above her eyeball. Mmmmmm. So, we decided to drive back to her house so she could snag some fresh lenses. When we pulled up to her house, I realized that I was nearly out of gas, and hadn't brought my bank card with me, since I didn't want to leave stuff like that in the car while we were racing. Luckily, Mom had her bank card, and we put some gas in the car to head out. I was beginning to think, "Geez, if this is any indication of how this evening is going to go, we're in serious trouble!"

The race started at 11:45, but we arrived down at the river around 11:00. Yeah, let me just say that this is not the best area of town to be in at that hour, but at least we weren't alone. I made Mom hang out in the car until about fifteen minutes before the race started, so we could take advantage of the seat warmers (thank you, Toyota), and the box of Sweet-Tarts that I needed to consume in order to stay awake. Honestly, it wasn't that cold-- we've run in far worse extremes, but I guess the whole thought of the late hour just made us anticipate that it would be so much colder for some reason. Thankfully, there wasn't an ounce of wind. You all know how much I hate the wind (my mortal enemy).

The gun went off, and off we went, along with what seemed like a million other insane people. It was pretty slow to start at first, because the trail was so narrow, and there were people weaving all over the place, which made things a bit tedious. I'm so used to cycling, where people know and respect the rules of the road. They use manners-- no cutting people off, stopping right in front of you without warning, or zig-zagging around like lunatics. Nope, in cycling, people use etiquette and I like it. It also didn't help that it was dark in some stretches, and you had to watch your step for fear of random debris or dips in the pavement. After awhile, the runners thinned out and we headed across the river.

So, there we were, jogging in the dark, when at midnight, the power plant sirens began going off across the river, the lights on the trail went out, and they started shooting off fireworks. Pretty cool. At the turn-around point, they had a tent set up where they were handing out champagne. I have to say there aren't too many races where you see that. Not as cool as Zach pulling the baby bike trailer full of booze for the MS150, but still pretty darn cool.

Shortly before the half-way point, I got a bit of a cramp up under my ribs, which normally ends up killing my run altogether. Luckily, a swig of beer gave me enough juice to belch most of it out. So lady-like, right? By the time we were heading back over the river, the remainder of the bubble passed down into my abdomen, and was pretty uncomfortable, but I was determined to finish anyway. By golly, if I was going to be out running at midnight, there was no way I wasn't going to finish!

We crossed the finish line at 36:28, which was less than a minute slower than my Jingle Bell Run time. I was pretty pleased with that, considering how s-l-o-w things got started this time around, and with the cramp and all. My goal is to finish a race at 30:00 or under sometime soon. Providing it isn't too hilly or crowded, I'm sure I could probably do it. Anyway, we hunted down some more champagne (or should I say, Mom did-- you guys know I rarely drink), and it was back to the lovely seat warmers in the car!

I finally crashed a little before 2:00, but my merciless kids had me up entirely too early this morning. My knotted-up calves barely allowed me to walk down the hall to take them downstairs to breakfast, but that quickly wore off. Now I am off to spend my New Year's doing laundry and stripping the Christmas tree. Good times!

The Crazy-Creepy Stuff You Find In The Day-After-Christmas Sales...

2008-12-31T14:07:00.018-06:00

While I've been behind on my blogging, and I know it is no longer the actual day after Christmas, I still wanted to share the oh-so-fun things I spied while out shopping with Jarrod this past weekend.

First and foremost, I should just say that I love having a camera phone, finally. It enables me to document all this random crap that I see when I'm out in stores or at garage sales. Speaking of which, I'm totally going to incorporate some pics from the giant B.A. garage sale from this Fall that I still haven't gotten off my phone. I should periodically do "Weird Crap I Saw While Out Shopping Today" blogs. I need to share my bewilderment with somebody, afterall.

So, to Jarrod's credit, the first item in question was actually spotted by him, not me, but I can at least say that I shared in his horror. While perusing clearance pj's in a mall department store, I heard Jarrod let out a groan of disgust, as he asked me to come view his finding: a pair of super-short knit pj shorts, complete with sherpa-trimmed legs and butt-cheek hearts. Why? Who makes this crap, and furthermore, who buys it? The only person I could even picture wearing these would be Mariah Carey in a tacky music video. I'm not sure which she would get more use out of-- the tasteless shorts, or this giant box of scrunchees we saw at a garage sale. Again, I ask, "Why?"

Who wants a fur-trimmed butt? Lotsa scrunchees.

The second item in question also popped up at a department store. Aren't those places supposed to be a bit classier than the rest of the mall? Apparently not. I was sifting through some clearance Christmas decor, when I ran across Creepy Christmas Cat. Well, that's not it's "official" name, but if I had my way, it would be-- just like I have officially renamed this odd garage sale Christmas painting Child-Molester Santa. Ah, the creepy parallels in holiday decor (of all things). Oddly enough, I was a bit drawn to the cat (maybe it's wicked eyes were secretly trying to hypnotize me), and had it not been so expensive (even on clearance), I probably would've brought it home. Afterall, nothing says, "Merry Christmas" like a demonic-looking cat with reindeer antlers, that looks like it wants to claw your eyes out!

Cats apparently hate Christmas.

Sorry, this one had to be larger so you could see the detail (creepy Santa!!!!)

On to Target! I love Target, I'm not going to lie, and their Christmas stuff is the bomb, so of course we had to go there. We scored some great deals, but while I was on the hunt for a new black skirt (grrrrr), we stumbled upon some things that simply could not go undocumented on our blog journey: Gold and silver lame leggings! Those of you who are closest to me know how much I loathe lame, and why I loathe lame, so why did Target have to go and tarnish their otherwise cool image by housing such horrid leggings? ICK! I love funky and unusual fashion, but these were just cheesy and reminded me of something from a Halloween costume. They would've gone perfect with the lovely, leprechaun-green, sequined vest we saw in someone's garage this Fall. I will admit, however, that I couldn't refrain from purchasing a pair of snow-leopard print ones (only slightly shiny). Jarrod tried to talk me out of them, and seemed relieved when I couldn't initially find my size, but a little while later there was a small miracle from God, and I found some anyway. Wahoo! At least I didn't require any persuasion to not take up the offer of a free, used garage sale bra. So, what have we learned? Leopard-print: good. Gold and silver lame: very, very bad. (Oh yeah, and don't take free bras from strangers.)

Wow... Double-wow...

I feel a show-tune coming on... Free bras, anyone?

On a whim, we decided to hit a bookstore, and joked on the way in that we might find the David Hasselhoff autobiography in the stacks of bargain books. After we finally found the bargain books, we both burst out laughing when, sure enough, there it was-- "Don't Hassel The Hoff". Try to control your laughter, because we couldn't. Of course it had to be featured in this blog photo journey, without question. Jarrod tried to persuade me to buy it, just as he tried to get me to buy Michael Jackson's "Thriller" album at the garage sale, but I just couldn't justify paying the whopping $4.97 to do so. I could go eat out for that much, and I would probably be left much more satisfied.

Would you pay $4.97? When MJ was cool...

The real question, at the end of our journey, is, "Why does Jarrod take the same amount of pleasure in eating a turkey leg as he does holding up the David Hasselhoff autobiography?"

Mmmm... turkey! Jarrod's hero... Ha-ha!

Invisi-Mouse

2008-12-08T17:43:00.002-06:00

Okay, so you're all going to laugh, but I'm not sure if this is laugh-worthy, or just plain creepy.

So, as you know, I set up my video camera on "night-vision" a couple of nights ago, in an attempt to catch the mystery creature in action. I went to bed around 1:30, and about 20-minutes later (roughly-- I don't know for sure because I wasn't facing the clock), I could hear my visitor quietly chomping on a Smartie. I smiled to myself, knowing that the camera was rolling, and that, in the morning, I would be able to see it for myself.

Or, so I thought. After hearing the creature eating the candy on my nightstand, I really couldn't go to sleep. In fact, I was awake when the camera finally shut off (I only had a couple hours-worth of tape left). I actually got out of bed to turn the camera off when the tape stopped, and confirmed that, yes, there was one out of three pieces of candy missing. At least I knew that whatever it was had been caught on tape.

I am not kidding you-- I fast-forwarded through that entire roll of footage, and there was nothing there. There was no way I could've missed it-- you could see the entire top of the nightstand just as plain as day. I have scanned that tape twice for evidence and there is nothing on it. I was hacked...

... and, to be honest, a little creeped-out. On Saturday night, prior to filming, Jarrod suggested the possibility of a "cloaking device", to go along with our other hair-brained theories. Maybe I should've added another option to my poll-- "Invisi-Mouse". This is just too crazy for words.

I filmed again last night, offering the thief four peanuts instead. All four were gone this morning, so it's all a matter of whether or not it showed up before the tape ran out. I have yet to view the footage, because I need a decent block of spare time to sit and fast-forward through two hours of footage, and with the day I've had, the opportunity to view the tape hasn't even remotely come close to presenting itself. Maybe tonight when the kids go to bed.

Wow, I really am a freak-- this is my idea of an exciting Monday night? Really?

Puke Monday

2008-12-08T17:31:00.003-06:00

One of the many joys of single-mommy-hood is that when someone throws up in the middle of the night, it is now my proud duty to handle the mess. Bring on flu season!

Some of you know that Josh was sick right before Thanksgiving. To be quite honest, I have never seen so much vomit, most of which ended up on my couch. Blankets and pajamas are easily tossed into the unlucky washing machine for de-puking, but the couch? That's a bit trickier. After contemplating just burning the entire sofa in the backyard, I reconsidered, and let good ol' Oxyclean, hot water, and dish soap tackle the salvaging job. I'm happy to say that it worked, and my couch shows no signs (or smells) of the shower of puke that rained down on it only a couple of weeks ago.

Soon after Josh recovered from his bug, I got it-- or, at least I think I got it. I'm still debating on whether or not it was just food poisoning, but oh well, I'll never know for sure, so who cares at this point, right? I pretty much Lysol'd my entire house at that point, just because everything felt so completely germ-infested that I had to do something. It took me days to get over whatever it was that invaded my innards, and I had finally just returned to the natural swing of things, when WHAM!

Gabe lurched a runny paste of ground Cheerios all over his bed (and his brother) last night, right as I was about to turn in for the night. Just my luck. Now, I'm pretty immune to all things gross-- I mean, I worked at a vet's office for awhile in college, so there isn't much that can turn my stomach. The odor wafting from Gabe's vomit last night, however, was enough to make me want to open all of the windows in the house in the middle of winter. So foul. Of course, it saturated every little last item that was in his bed, so I had to stay up until midnight, just to get all three loads of puke laundry through the washing machine. There was no way I could let that stank sit until morning. NO WAY.

After tossing both boys in the shower to rinse the puke off, getting them dressed, and changing their bedding, I started the laundry and proceeded to piddle around the house, looking for something to do until the last load of laundry had been tossed in the wash. All I wanted to do was go to bed, but no. It's at times like these that I get a little frustrated, as I'm sure you can imagine.

The good news is that Gabe didn't throw up anymore, so yippee! He stayed home from school today without any complaint (miracle), and hopefully he will be able to return tomorrow, because he "misses his friends". So sweet.

Well, for now I am off to check on dinner in the oven. Soon it will be the kids' bedtime, and I can breathe a sigh of relief that my crazy, pukey Monday is now over.

Smarties? Check. Night-Vision? Check.

2008-12-07T01:17:00.002-06:00

Just a quick note to say that I have decided to commence with Jarrod's suggestion of night-vision filming. I have also learned that chocolate is toxic to mice, so I have switched out the M&M's for Smarties. After tonight, we should finally know the identity of the mystery visitor (providing it didn't receive a lethal dose of chocolate last night).

I will convert my video clip and get it posted with my next blog (hopefully). There is always the chance that the visitor has the ability to create a lot of video static at the moment of its arrival. We shall see.

Experiment

2008-12-05T21:53:00.002-06:00

So, after musing over the skills of my nightly mystery visitor yesterday, I decided to leave "it" a little treat on my nightstand, as a sort of experiment. Before I went to bed, I deposited a single green M&M on the top of the table, just to see if it would be there in the morning. I know-- I'm weird.

Like on Christmas morning, I woke up excitedly, to glance to my left to see if the candy was missing. Sure enough, it was! A-ha! Once again, there was no other evidence of the creature's existence, other than the missing sweets. This thing's got guts.

Since my last blog, I have been able to count on Jarrod for some various theories regarding the mysterious nature of my friend. First was that, since it was so incredibly high on sugar, it was simply moving too fast for me to see. Good point-- I hadn't thought of that. Another theory (to support Jarrod's Cockamouse suspicion), was that it simply had to be a Cockamouse for one reason, and one reason only-- a Cockamouse can fly. Therefore, that would explain why it so easily evaded Kooka's detection, and left no droppings. Very compelling theories.

At Jarrod's suggestion, I might just set up my video camera tonight, on the night-vision setting, and see what shows up. It goes without saying that if I do this, I will most certainly be posting the video on the blog. I mean, this could be my equivalent of catching a Sasquatch on camera or something. Ooooooh, Sasquatch! I hadn't thought of that before now... Perhaps I should change my poll.

The Mystery Of The Sugar Addict

2008-12-04T09:22:00.005-06:00

Wow, so here I am, blogging again, after nearly six whole months! I'm really going to try to get back into the swing of things, but I make absolutely zero promises.

So, over the weekend, I think I got a nasty bit of food-poisoning, because early Sunday morning found me with my head hanging in the toilet, shooting my dinner out of my nose and mouth. Many of you already know that vomit and I are old friends, but this particular friend of mine was simply not welcome to visit over the holiday weekend. Go spend your holiday someplace else, please. Anyway, I normally bounce back from stomach bugs pretty quickly, but this one decided to linger for a few days. I was miserable, and although I wasn't throwing up, I just felt "icky".

Some of you may remember my tendency to salivate profusely when I was nauseous during my pregnancies. It was truly foul, in every way imaginable, but nothing seemed to take care of it, unless I was constantly sucking on candy of some sort. Well, when I was sick this week, I finally figured that one of the things that was making me feel so gross was the fact that I was salivating a bit, and swallowing it all. Ew. I know, it's weird that I tend to drool when I'm sick-- only my dogs do that! Anyway, I was trying to figure out a way to dry-up the drool that wouldn't require me taking a Benadryl (no need to add to my exhaustion). I was in the shower Tuesday night, and suddenly had a craving for Sweet-Tarts, knowing they would quench the saliva. I know, you're thinking, "You felt like barfing, and you wanted Sweet-Tarts?" I really must be Jarrod's sister after all.

So, Tuesday night, there I was, poring over three more chapters in "New Moon", popping Sweet-Tarts like they were the latest drug. All I have to say is thank goodness for the kids' leftover Halloween candy! Oddly enough, the candy really did hit the spot, although I skipped the green and yellow ones, because the taste just wasn't working for me. All in all, I felt a bit relieved of "the ick", and managed to fall asleep a little after 10:00, despite my recently-attempted sugar overdose.

Wednesday morning, I awoke, pretty much good-as-new, which was a welcome change to feeling like I'd been hit by a semi-truck the day before. I called my Mom to tell her about my "magic Sweet-Tarts" and of course she couldn't believe I could stomach something like that when I was feeling so ill. I guess your body just knows what you need, even if it doesn't seem all that logical. By Wednesday night, I was chatting on the phone, feeling nearly 100%, when I noticed that some of the green and yellow Sweet-Tart leftovers were missing off of my nightstand. I didn't think too much of it really, and just figured that I had knocked them off in my sleep or something. I curled up to read a couple more chapters of my book, and went to bed around 11:00.

At about 12:15, I awoke to hear the rustling of the empty cellophane Sweet-Tart wrappers on my nightstand. I didn't think too much about it at first, since I sleep with my ceiling fan on, and they could've easily just been blowing around, but then suddenly I was fully awake, realizing what had happened to the discarded candy next to my bed. Mouse. Crafty, sneaky, and most importantly, ballsy little mouse.

Last month, a mouse broke into the cabinet on my nightstand to try to gorge itself on the corn inside of my microwave-corn heating pad. I used the live trap to catch him within all of twenty minutes, and deposited it back outside. I know you're thinking, "What is the matter with you? Why didn't you kill the little sucker?" I just can't. I had all sorts of pet rodents growing up, and it just seems wrong, so I use the live trap to deliver them back into the wild. Call me crazy all you want. Anyway, I thought I had figured out from where the mouse was entering my room, and plugged it with steel wool (absolutely fool-proof, in case you didn't know that), and since then, I have heard no gnawing, tapping, or seen any signs of rodents anywhere. As a precaution, however, I've kept the live trap baited in my nightstand, but I hadn't had any visitors so far.

Crafty, sneaky, ballsy little mouse.

This mouse-- this particularly smart and brave little guy, ventured not two feet from where I was sleeping, not once, but twice! Not only that, Kooka was laying on the floor at the foot of my bed, so this mouse must have apparently been slightly suicidal in addition it being a sugar addict. The strange thing is, I haven't so much as seen or smelled any signs of a mouse anywhere. I should probably clarify that I can smell a mouse in the house before the little stinker even decides to make an entrance, so the fact that I haven't noticed any odor is a little puzzling. More importantly, there are absolutely no droppings to be found, anywhere. Hmmmmm....

I began wondering if it was even a mouse at all. Maybe it was a very discreet alien. After all, E.T. had a weakness for Reese's Pieces, so maybe I had an alien invasion on my hands. It was entirely possible. Another possibility, without question, was a candy-hungry gnome. Jarrod blames gnomes for any and all unexplained phenomena, so these circumstances could certainly fit gnome criteria. Pesky gnomes. And if it really was a mouse, then maybe this mouse possessed super-high-tech stealth equipment, which he used to cover his tracks-- kind of like Batman. Or should I say, Batmouse?

Jarrod, don't say it. I know what you're thinking. It must be the Cockamouse.

Whatever it is, I don't have the heart to trap it and toss it out into the bitter cold. It clearly possesses high levels of intelligence, not to mention sheer guts, so I have to respect a creature like that. I mean, I'm starting to think that, whatever my candy thief may be, it may just be smarter than me. Creepy. Therefore, I have no intentions of angering it in any way (or its evil minnions, for that matter).

So, if you don't mind, humor me and take the poll on the right-hand side of the screen as to who/what you think the Sugar Addict is.

The Catch-Up Blog

2008-06-30T14:36:00.014-05:00

Okay, so I haven't blogged in like, a month. This is sad.

Let's see, what's happened? Oh, I think I can call it "official" that my house is an actual weather magnet. Remember all the hail? Well, during the weekend of the Tulsa Tough bike race, one of my big backyard maples was struck by lightning! Thankfully, I wasn't at home, or I may have wet my pants when it hit! I don't know how poor ol' Kooka is still alive-- I'm surprised he didn't have a heart-attack. At least the lightning didn't take out the entire tree, just part of it (as you can see from the picture). Wouldn't you know it?-- My homeowner's insurance doesn't cover trees? Go figure.

My poor tree! :(

Speaking of hail damage, I finally got my car back from the shop, but after having it back just a couple of days, I managed to back over the front end of my mom's convertible, while pulling out of my garage. Just what I needed! I crunched her car pretty good, and did some damage to my new back bumper. I swear-- I can't catch a break these days. No, I am not going out into the garage to take pictures. It's just too embarassing.

In better news, I decided to sign up for the MS150 charity bike ride in September. It's 150-miles over two days, and it's supposed to be fun. Fun? 150 miles in September in Oklahoma is supposed to be FUN? I've been told that there are beer-stops every 10-miles or so, like that was supposed to entice me somehow. I'm not a drinker, so I'm definitely not going for the booze. I can't even fathom drinking a beer and then getting on my bike (puke). I've been on several training rides since I committed to doing the ride, and I'm already feeling pretty good. Riding is seriously the BEST therapy-- EVER. Makes me wonder why I'm paying my therapist, really? I still don't quite have my spin back to where I want it to be, but it's getting there. My speed is so-so, but my strength is nowhere close to where it needs to be. Luckily, I have a fun group of people to ride with, so it at least makes it fun. If you're interested in checking my training progress, or better yet, if you're interested in donating (puh-lease), please visit my page at: http://bikeoke.nationalmssociety.org/site/TR?px=4218011&pg=personal&fr_id=8590

Yes, I was actually too lazy to go out in the garage and take a picture of my OWN bike, but this is it. An 'o5 Trek Pilot 2.1. My darling girl!

I'm also thinking about going down to Wichita Falls, Texas in August, to do the 50-mile leg of The Hotter n' Hell Hundred. It's supposed to be U-G-L-Y, but I think I'll be able to handle the 50-miler. Jarrod (my brother) and some of his friends are doing the century, which is awesome, but I know I'm not ready for something like that. I just figured it would be a fun road-trip, and something to be proud of at the end of the day. Plus, there's a t-shirt, and we as we know, it's ALL ABOUT THE T-SHIRT!

Let's see, what else? Oh yeah, I turned thirty. Yikes. Excuse me while I go crawl under a rock and die. It was a pretty sucky birthday (as most of you already know), but I tried to make the most of it anyway. I'm pretty sure I didn't sprout anymore gray hairs or anything, so that's good. To be honest, I've started feeling better all-around in my life since my birthday, so maybe turning thirty was a positive turning point for me. Maybe it only gets better from here on out. Man, I sure hope so! This is a picture of me on my birthday (don't I look like I'm having fun?)

I am H-O-T!

Tick-tock, tick-tock, okay... what else? You're probably wondering what the kids have been up to (or not). Just making me crazy and enjoying the summer weather, like always. I took the boys to the fire station with Kris and Shawn last week. Shawn is practically part of the squad already, but he was excited to show the boys around "his" station. Very cute. The boys crawled in and out of fire trucks, ambulances, you name it. They even met the fire dog, a young chocolate lab. Later, they got a tour of the fire station, and got to see where the firemen eat and sleep. I threatened to leave them there. Even with as much as the firemen enjoyed their visit, I don't think they would've wanted to "keep" the boys! Here's a picture of the boys on the front of the fire truck. Thank you, Shawn, for smiling!

Oh yeah, my hair re-growth update. I'm really behind on that, huh? Well, it's, uh... growing? Sometimes it's a real pain to mess with, mostly because I'm not used to having this much hair, but I'm getting used to it. It's pretty versatile, too, which is nice, but not as versatile as it was when it was shorter. Oh well. I haven't really done much with the color, sorry. Just same ol' dark brown/black with blonde highlights-- whoop-dee-doo. I think that I'll have it grown out by the end of the summer, but there's no telling. These are pics from May and June. Slow but sure, good grief!

Mid-May

Late-June

Oh, I also re-vamped my studio area, which isn't all that exciting to most of you, but whatever. My desk had turned into this massive stack of mail, and so the entire area just needed a bit of sprucing up. So, I moved my desk around, reorganized it, added fresh curtains, and straightened my easel area, since I've been painting a lot more.

I'm also in the process of giving my bathroom a moderate face-lift. Nothing major-- no remodel (as much as I would love new cabinets, countertops, and an updated tub, shower, and toilet). I'm just giving everything a fresh coat of paint, throwing some window treatments up, some updated hardware, and maybe some new towels. I really want new faucets, BAD, but those will have to wait. It isn't that the old bathroom was just ultra-ugly, it was just "blah" and needed to take on a new life, you know? I don't have any "after" pictures yet-- it will be quite awhile before that happens.

So, I really think that may be about it for the last month. Geez, my life is dull. Wow. That's all that happened to me in a month's time? Really? Okay, I'm going to go crawl under the covers and cry about the fact that I have no life now (okay, not really, but I AM going to go to bed-- yes before 9:00) I'm tired.

Like Father, Like Daughter

2008-05-28T16:42:00.002-05:00

I always knew that Quincy Boo-Bear was going to be the one we had to watch out for. She's just so crazy, and knows no fear. She thinks it's hilarious... I do not.

So, I was joking the other day about how Quincy would totally make it to the ER before the summer was out, and sure enough, one day into summer, off she went. In her defense, it wasn't anything she did, which wasn't how I would've pictured it, with as freakin' fearless as she is and all. I swear she'd touch an electric fence forty times before she realized that it hurt. She's nuts, and she laughs in the face of pain (ha-ha-ha!) Maybe she really is a ninja, like Jarrod says, and that Chuck Norris is slowly grooming her to take over the world. Chuck Norris knows no pain, and neither does Quincy Boo-Bear.

Anyway, so this is how it all went down. We had torrential rains on Monday night/Tuesday morning, which meant that our driveway would remain flooded until I kicked the pump on for it to drain. Wahoo. So yesterday afternoon, I went out front to switch the pump on, and specifically told the boys to stay in the house. I believe my exact words were, "Do not open that door because I don't want Quincy getting out here." Of course they're four years-old and have selective hearing, so that didn't work out quite as I had hoped.

Sure enough, within seconds of me being outside, the boys were on the porch, getting into things they shouldn't, while I waited to make sure the water was draining. In the meantime, Quincy was inside, standing at the storm door, screaming her fool head off and banging on it, wanting to come outside. Great, boys, this is exactly why I told you to stay inside. Ah, you gotta love how they listen! So, after a couple of minutes, the pump was draining good, so I started to herd the boys back inside, while Quincy was still standing there howling. As I went to open the storm door, I realized that her finger was pinched in the hinge-side of the door, and apparently had been since the boys came outside! I think I probably turned green as I opened the door, and she pulled her newly-mangled finger out.

Had she not been in horrible pain (and who wouldn't be after that?), I would've taken a picture of her finger to show how gnarled-up it was. It looked like finger road-kill, complete with tire tracks. Her pinky was completely flat, and that is no exaggeration. It doesn't help matters that Quincy's pinkies have a natural bend in towards her ring finger, which only made her finger look more deformed. It felt like rubber as I slowly bent it back and forth, but seeing as how it was so little, it was hard to feel if it was broken or not.

After screaming for all of five minutes, Quincy got quiet and was trying to play with the faucet on the sink as I examined her finger. It just looked like a mangled piece of hamburger as I was on the phone with the doctor's office, who told me to take her to the ER to have it x-rayed. So, I called my parents, so that someone could come watch the boys, and tried to get ahold of Eric, which is always easier said than done. In the meantime, Quincy was walking around with a floppy finger, trying to eat out of her snack cup, which just amazed me, but whatever.

So, my dad arrived, and then Eric arrived too, and he ended up taking her to get her x-ray. By that time, a lot of the "flatness" had gone away, but her finger was about eight shades of purple and red. According to the doctor, baby bones are really flexible, and there is a lot of room between their finger bones, which allow them to get squished, twisted, you name it, and still come out okay. The doctor was also pretty impressed that Quincy didn't fuss when he was bending her finger every which way. Eric explained to him that it is more of a curse than a blessing, since she laughs when she she gets a swat on her hand, and at that point, we had the doctor's sympathy.

This morning, her finger was just red and puffy, with bruises here and there, but she doesn't seem to mind too much. Crazy kid. Hey, if this is all I have to deal with all summer, I'll be thrilled.

What The Hail?

2008-05-26T13:59:00.002-05:00

Hail is my mortal enemy.

As some of you know, we were hit with a massive hail storm nearly two months ago, which completely wrecked my car and our house. Between the car and the house, we sustained over $20,000 in damage-- wahoo. Thank goodness for insurance, because golf ball-sized hail is a real bitch.

So you can imagine my reaction at 6:20 this morning when I started to hear hail coming down amidst the torrential down-pour that was also taking place. No joke-- I only heard about three pieces of hail hit the window before I was literally flying down the stairs, disabling the alarm, and opening the garage door to bring Eric's truck inside. This is not my idea of fun early in the morning, let me be clear.

Several weeks ago, I had spent my evening cleaning one side of the garage, so that we wouldn't be faced with another Hail vs. Car disaster. I cleared more than enough space for one of our massive vehicles to fit inside, and I was completely happy with myself. Of course, it would've been better if I had done this before the first hail storm, but hindsight is 20/20. For over a week now, I have had to drive Eric's truck, because the Dent-Mobile has been in the shop, having the hail damage repaired. Any of you that know Eric know that he loves his truck, and it pains him to have to let me drive it. Any of you that know me also knows that I hate driving the truck, because it's huge, noisy, and has hunting-related decals all over the back window.

So, when the hail began to rain down this morning (albeit pea/marble-sized), I knew I was in a position of life or death-- either leave the truck outside, and hope for the best, or brave the monsoon and try to get it into the garage, in order to spare myself Eric's wrath. I know this seems like a no-brainer, and it would've been-- I would've just gotten soaked in my pj's and brought the truck inside, especially since the garage would now be able to accomodate it, right? Wrong. No, Eric had stored his lawn-mowing equipment on that clean side of the garage, and I didn't think there was any way to squeeze the truck in. Well shit, now what do I do?

I called Eric at 6:30 a.m., that's what I did. I felt terrible for doing it, especially since it was a holiday, and he actually got to sleep in, but better to be safe than sorry. I had to double-check with him to see if he thought the truck would fit, even with the lawn mowers. He said no, but that I could pull the front end inside. Gee, thanks. So, I sprinted outside, through ankle-deep water (yes, my driveway floods, bad), got completely soaked, and pulled the cab of the truck into the garage. Then I just sat there, because I really had nowhere to go, since the truck was wedged in so tight that I couldn't open the driver's door. Good times.

Once the rain and hail began to subside (quite awhile later, I might add), I pulled the truck back out of the garage and went inside. Naturally, after doing sprints and being soaked to the bone, I was completely wide-awake at this point, which pissed me off, because I was sleeping so good before the hail thing happened. So what did I do? I rotated the laundry, and went outside to take a picture of the hail (for this blog, of course). I stormed around the house, completely aggravated that my once-peaceful morning had been ruined, and stewed over the fact that this would be such nice sleeping weather. What a way to start my week. Then, every time I would hear Quincy's overall clasps banging around in the dryer, I would panic that the hail had started again, which got really, really old. So finally I went back upstairs and basically forced myself to try to go back to sleep for an hour and a half, which of course didn't happen because the boys decided to start the morning off fighting. Yes, on top of my hail freak-out, I had to deal with Gabe ripping the head off of Josh's baby (for the n-teenth time), and had to get out of bed to sew it back on.

I have pretty much been able to maintain that same pissed-off state for the rest of the day. Happy Monday.

Some People Shouldn't Procreate

2008-05-22T22:01:00.002-05:00

Okay, normally I would never criticize someone else's parenting techniques, but what I witnessed tonight while I was out shopping nearly prompted me to confront a fellow shopper.

I quite value my free time away from the kids. It's "quiet" time, even if it isn't completely quiet where I'm going, so I don't really appreciate it when I go out for "quiet" time, and there are screaming children present. If I had wanted to subject myself to the wild, unruly behavior of small children, I would have just chosen to stay home. So, there I was, attempting to clothes-shop (my therapy), and there are two young boys who are racing toy cars down the shopping aisles, screaming, "I win again," over and over and over. All I could think was, Where the hell are your parents and why can't you just shut the fuck up? If I hear, "Ha-ha, I win again!" one more time, I'm going to come over there and stomp on your cars and make you cry. Okay, so I wouldn't really do that, but I was totally thinking it. Of course, their mother was practically across the store, shopping for herself, seemingly oblivious to her sons' behavior. C'mon lady, get a freakin' clue.

It only got worse when I went to the dressing room. Miss Mother Of The Year actually had four small children with her-- two boys, probably ages 7 and 5, and two girls, around 3 and under 1 year of age. Why would you even try to shop with four kids? I mean, I give people props who can successfully shop with that many kids in tow, but this lady was not succeeding, seeing as how her kids were running amuck in the store. So there I was, waiting to get my dressing room number, and I witnessed her tell her oldest boy to watch his baby sister while she went to try clothes on. Um, what?!?! This kid was maybe seven years-old, like I said, so why on Earth would she leave the younger three children with him of all people?-- Especially when he was far more interested in racing cars down the clothing aisles with his brother? My jaw literally hit the floor, but I held back my urge to say something to her. She was a bigger woman and probably could've kicked my ass.

Anyway, so I thought that maybe, for a few moments, I could escape the insanity of her children's behavior, long enough to indulge myself with new fashions, when I hear her toddler daughter stroll in and ask, "Mommy, so-n-so (whatever the oldest son's name was) left (baby's name)-- what should I do?" Miss Should Be Incarcerated For Child Neglect replied in a huff, "Ugh! I'll be right out, just stay with the baby!" Excuse me? What did you just tell your three year-old daughter to do? Baby-sit your infant in a crowded department store until you can get your clothes back on? Are you fucking serious? Had I been in her position (and let me emphasize that it would never ever happen), I would've flown out of that dressing room half-naked if I knew that my children were unattended. So naturally I expected to hear her whip out of the dressing room in a flash, so I could go on about my dressing room experience in silent bliss, but no. She continued to try on clothes for another ten minutes until (are you ready for this?), the dressing room attendant wheeled her baby, shopping cart and all, into the dressing room area, and said, "Ma'am? Your other daughter left, so I thought I would just bring the baby in to you." I damn near choked. Wonderful, I thought. Now three of her young children are running around the store unsupervised, either getting into trouble, or being abducted, while she is no doubt, by the looks of her, making horrible fashion decisions.

So, what does the idiot do next? She continues to try on clothes, with her baby with her (thank goodness), and finally goes back out into the store to seek out her other offspring. I so badly wanted to shout out over the top of the dressing room door, "You better hope they're all still out there and some random lunatic hasn't run off with them!" Actually, what I really wanted to say was, "Ever heard of an Amber Alert?" Seriously, what could she have possibly been thinking? I don't even let my shopping cart full of contained children out of arm's reach at the grocery store.

At least the store manager finally approached her and told her that she needed to keep her children with her at all times. It was a good thing, or I may very well be at the hospital for having the crap beaten out of me.

So, the moral of the story is: If you ever feel like you are a bad parent... If you are ever having one of those days when you feel as though you have quite possibly scarred your children for life... If you ever feel guilty because you were just too tired and decided to skip your kids' bath-time... Remember that you could've left all of your kids in the hands of a dressing room attendant and actually thought it was a perfectly fine idea!

Ah, To Be Nineteen Again...

2008-05-21T19:52:00.002-05:00

As my thirtieth (choke) birthday fast approaches, (or as I like to call it-- "Twenty-Nine: Part Two), I have been having trouble swallowing the idea of growing older. I know, I know-- it isn't as if thirty is really all that old, because it's not, but it's been this horrible, dreaded birthday in my mind since I was just a youngster. Why?- you ask? Well, the thing is that I can remember my own mother turning thirty, and the way I see it, if I am actually embarking on an age that I can remember my mom being, then I am now officially an adult.

Of course, being an adult sucks-- we all know that.

I've never really viewed myself as anything other than young, although I'm really not terribly sure why. Let's face it, being a kid is always a lot more fun than being an adult, and I guess I just never thought I'd reach the point where I actually would have adult responsibilities. I can recall watching my mom go through the checkbook, paying bills, calling the insurance company, etc, and thinking to myself, "Ew, I never want to do that-- EVER." Well yeah, only adults do that, and clearly, being an adult sucked. There was stress and obligations, and it was something I feared I suppose.

So, why did I go off and get married and pop out a handful of kids if I was frightened of responsibility? Well, maybe that's because I knew I could handle it, and at some point, we all have to grow up to some extent. Since then, I've tried to find that happy balance between "responsible adult" and "free as a bird". I haven't always succeeded, but I've put out a good effort, because I really believe it is possible to be both, as long as you manage yourself properly. Perhaps one day I'll figure out that balance, because so far, I've failed miserably.

So as I inch closer to Doomsday, I think my mind is playing tricks on me, making me feel older than I am. Most days I feel about seventy-nine, not twenty-nine. Is my hip going out? Am I starting to lose my hearing? Needless to say it made me quite happy this weekend when someone pegged me for a twenty year-old! Thank you-- thank you so much for knocking nine years off my life! Wahoo! Tonight, I was even given an extra year of my long-lost youth back when I was told that in fact I gave off more of a nineteen year-old vibe. Oh please, stop... you're killing me! Yes, I'd like to thank the Academy, and my parents, who gave me really good genes...

I can't even remember life at nineteen. Seriously, I'm sitting here in the tub, really trying to remember, and I can't. I was in college, yes. Probably dating one of many science geeks from one of my classes (yikes). Working at the library (make the geek revelations stop, please). Wow, so at nineteen I was apparently a real nerd-- that's what I've surmised so far. Hmmm, so not much has changed-- lovely. Good times. I was at least probably in better shape than I am now-- boxing and mountain biking, like ALL the time. Oh yeah, and sleeping a lot more--definitely. Most likely drinking coffee like it was water, and consuming more crappy food than should be allowed by law.

Wow, life at nineteen sounds rather dull. I think I'll stick with life at twenty-nine. I only hope that I'm still saying this at thirty-nine, but I really can't possibly begin to even think about thirty-nine right now. Gotta pace myself.

Scabs

2008-05-16T10:44:00.002-05:00

Okay, if someone would have given me a job interview for parenting, and they would've asked me, "In what ways do you think you're not qualified for this position?" I would've said, "I can't handle scab-picking or removal of any kind." I really just can't. It makes me sick when people pick at their scabs, and while I realize that it is all part of being a little boy, it doesn't make it any easier for this mommy to handle.

This morning, the boys were climbing on the fence, as usual, only this time it was the chain link fence that divides the yard. They were essentially just goofing off, but they couldn't hold themselves up on the fence for very long, since they didn't have a real great foot-hold. Well, last week, Josh skinned the crap out of his elbow at Grammi and Papi's house, and it had one honkin' scab on it, which was by no means ready to come off yet. So, when Josh slid off the fence, he scraped that gigantic scab right off, and immediately started screaming. It was a good thing I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, or I would've launched it all over the gate-- no lie. Of course, it was bleeding all over, and he was screaming, so I took him to get cleaned-up, and convinced him that a Band-Aid was probably a good idea at this point. Luckily, we had some huge flexible ones in Eric's old bicycle crash kit. Who would've thought that would come in handy with our own kids?

It's not even the blood that gets me-- it's the picking or ripping off. It's just nasty. Yes, I have performed surgery on people's pets, done autopsies, given stitches, shots, and loads of other stuff, but none of that ever bothered me. It's those pesky scabs that bother me. No thank you. So now I know the boys have reached the age when this will be a regular occurence, which is frightening. I guess I should start getting used to it!

The Irony Of Mother's Day

2008-05-11T14:24:00.000-05:00

Here it is, Mother's Day, and what am I doing (besides blogging)? I am doing laundry, cleaning up the house, and wrangling the kids. I was going to mow the grass, but it just seemed wrong to slave in the yard on Mother's Day, so I said 'screw it'.

I think it's funny how on days like Mother's Day, moms everywhere are being "celebrated", but they're still having to deal with the all the crap that they don't like to deal with as moms. No mom wants to do laundry on Mother's Day-- c'mon! While I was at the grocery store yesterday, the cashier told me that so many moms were there, buying food for their Mother's Day dinners. That's just sad! I mean, nobody in their right mind enjoys going to Walmart on a Saturday, but families everywhere were sending out the poor moms to buy the goods for their own Mother's Day celebration. Sick, I tell you, sick.

Of course, this is sort of a bummer Mother's Day for me this year (as some of you know), but I'm still making the most of it. The kids got me a new bicycle helmet, which they proceeded to wear around the house this morning. I really needed one, considering I have had my old one since 1997, so that was cool (and the new one is really pretty). Unfortunately, Josh sort of ruined the surprise last night, by pointing to the wrapped gift on my desk, and telling me that they got me a helmet. Oh well-- the laugh I got from the spoiled surprise was worth it!

So, once the kids are up from their nap (no time soon, I hope), we are going over to my parents' house for the usual barbecue. I swear, no family grills as much as my family does. Any and all family get-togethers must involve the grill, or so it seems. Anyway, that'll be nice to go over there and be good and distracted until I take the kids home to bed.

On another "mommy" note, the boys are nearly potty-trained! If they can make it through tonight without any accidents, I am going to make it official, I think. They've been doing so well at night, having only a couple of accidents since Tuesday night. I will say, however, that it is a little bittersweet not having to diaper them anymore. I know, I know, you're thinking, "What the hell is the matter with you?" but the whole "no diapers" thing just makes it sink in even more that they are no longer babies. It's so unfair! Nevertheless, I am really proud of how quickly they potty-trained (once they finally caught on, anyway), and they seem pretty happy with themselves, too. I guess they have to grow up sometime, right?

Yikes, my foot is falling asleep big time, so I'd better get this computer out of my lap and go do something else-- like get ready to go to my mom's, especially since I can now hear the boys fighting. Gee, that nap was short-lived.

Re-Growth

2008-05-04T13:24:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I've decided to grow my hair out. There, I said it-- so it must make it true. Oh boy.

Anyone that knows me knows that I have just about as many hairstyles as Madonna. It's kind of strange, when I think about it-- why couldn't I ever find one style/color that I was happy with for more than a few months? Maybe it's a sickness. I guess I should consider adding it to my list of things that I need to discuss with my therapist-- ha-ha. Anyway, I've been wanting a change for awhile now, even though I loved the faux-hawk. I think I got more compliments on that style than any other, which I find completely odd, but whatever. So, I will be a bit sad to see it go, but truth be told, I've never chosen a hairstyle for the compliments. If that was the case, I would've kept my hair long and curly, and endured random strangers feeling the need to touch it all the time. I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about that.

Regardless of what my therapist would even have to say on the subject, I think I know where my sick hair-obsession comes from. As a kid, I was a walking Chia Pet, and that is no exaggeration. This was before the days of Styling Products On Steroids-- which was what I needed to "tame the beast", especially after I went through puberty. I never could have my hair look the way I wanted it to look. I couldn't loosen the curl, ditch the frizz, or find a style to compliment my face-- it was just long, heavy, thick, and freakishly curly, and I was stuck with it. So, as I got older, made my own money, and styling products got better, I started to discover all the fun options I had in terms of my hair. Fun color, better textures, easier cuts, you name it. I guess I just got addicted to the idea of "endless possibilities", and just went wild, trying on color after cut, after color, etc. The rest is sort of history.

I don't want people to think that I'm necessarily so stuck on my hair that I think it's fabulous, because really, that's not the case. If I was convinced that it was fabulous, I wouldn't always be changing it and I'd finally just leave it be for awhile. Instead, I feel like I'm sort of making up for lost time, since I didn't get to do this kind of stuff when I was younger. Am I picky about my hair? Absolutely. Is there something conceited and wrong with that? I don't think so. Why shouldn't you always want to look your best? I remember reading a story about Halle Berry, a long, long time ago, and she talked about how she got off a red-eye flight one time, and when she got off the plane, there were paparazzi everywhere, and there she was, dog-tired, lazy hair, and no make-up. She said that since then, she realized that it's always beneficial to put an effort into your appearance, because you never know who you might run into or what you might be doing. I completely agree with that-- not because I'm full of myself, but because you could be at the grocery store and run into someone you admire career-wise, and you know what? Had you not been wearing old pajama pants, a t-shirt, a ball-cap, and no make-up, that person might have thought you were "together" enough to offer you a job. I know it may seem far-fetched, but seriously, you just never know, and how you present yourself to the rest of the world is important.

Okay, I didn't mean to go off on that sort of weird tangent there, but that's what blogs are for. So, you might be wondering (or not), "Just how long are you going to grow it?" Well, let me start off by saying, "Don't kid yourselves-- it's not going anywhere past my chin." Let's face it; I'm a short-hair girl, plain and simple. I can't handle all the muss and fuss of long hair, plus, it typically makes me look twelve. So, I thought it would be fun to document my hair-growth-- if for no other reason than to provide you all with hilarious "transition" photos. As we all know, nobody looks good while they are growing their hair out, especially when they have uncooperative hair like mine, so I plan to look like a total freak for the next several months. I have added a picture of where I stand right now, at the beginning of May, and I'll add a photo every month, I think. I figure it will take me until about the end of the summer to reach my desired "hair goal" (see Meg Ryan photos).

Now, I make no promises regarding hair color during this time of transition. I finally decided to lighten it up a bit again, after going back to my natural espresso-brown-ness. Summer is fast approaching, and that darker shade just wasn't going to fly, so now I'm a golden brown with a hint of auburn? That's the best I can do to describe it. It looks nice, though-- very rich and warm, but not red. I loved being red, but the maintenance-level is just more than I can stand, when I'm also having to deal with straightening it all the time, and it fades so fast, too. No thanks. Maybe I'll consider some red highlights, instead. Who knows.

Anyway, I realize that was just a riveting blog, but I thought it would at least provide a few laughs!

Garage Sale Season Is Officially OPEN!

2008-04-27T21:09:00.000-05:00

Spring, in and of itself is perfectly lovely. The weather gets warm, we get nice afternoon rain showers which always seem to persuade me to take a nap, I get to work in the yard, and best of all, I can boot the boys outside and not have to listen to them fighting over the recliner! However, the best part about Spring is the fact that it is the beginning of Garage Sale Season.

This past weekend brought numerous neighborhood sales, which is really all I do-- more bang for your buck, so to speak. I'll admit, I got a bit lazy compared to my normal routine, and decided to pick Amanda up at 8:00, instead of my usual 7:00, and we decided to tackle Eric's mom's neighborhood sale. For one thing, this neighborhood is massive, and I can't tell you how many times (even with as many times as I've been in and around that neighborhood-- either visiting my inlaws, or HELL-- I went to elementary school there, so you would THINK I would be pretty familiar with the place) we got turned around. Anyway, we scored some good deals, and oddly enough, I managed to find some cute clothes, which I rarely look for, much less find at these things. I can't recall a time when I've nabbed a beautiful light-green, short-sleeved angora sweater from Banana Republic for a whopping $1.00! Amanda was also quick to inform me that it had a "condom pocket" on the chest, which interestingly enough, was an entirely foreign term to me, but hey, you learn something new everyday.

I also managed (please do anything and everything to contain your laughter) to find a pair of red-red, pointy-toed women's cowboy boots! Now, normally I would never, EVER buy or wear cowboy boots, but these just kicked ass. I'm sorry, but they did. They were just sassy, and really didn't give off that whole cowboy-boot-hey-I'm-a-redneck-hoochie kind of vibe, so I bought them. They rock, and I really wish I would've had them for the Bon Jovi concert. That would've kicked ass. The first time I wear them, I will post pictures for your amusement.

What else? Oh, I got this great iron bird feeder dish on a pedestal that is this fantastic brick red color, so it will match my front door. I also found a divided serving bowl that matches some really fun retro dishes that I bought at an antique store back in college. I've been working on finding a complete set without resorting to paying eBay prices, so I was thrilled to get this bowl for $1.00. There were two really great things that came along with this bowl-- #1: Apparently, the lady brought it all the way from Boston, and you just can't beat that (talk about fate!), and #2: The lady asked me, "You're not from Oklahoma, are you?" THAT absolutely MADE MY DAY! I know I should probably be more proud of where I'm from, but apparently I gave this lady the impression that I was far too awesome to be from middle-America and that made me happy! Amanda couldn't stop laughing.

However, that lovely compliment was quickly shot down after another woman, and her elderly mother began commenting on my hair. I've recently let it go curly again (loose curls, nothing kinky-- good lord), and these two women loved it. Now, I'm sure you're asking, "Well, what's bad about that?" Okay, let me explain something-- when a middle-aged woman and her elderly mother refer to your hairstyle as "precious" you have to start questioning yourself a bit. I mean, as it is, sometimes when I style my hair now, I feel like I'm walking a very thin line between Little Orphan Annie and Old Lady Hair. 99% of the time, I'm successful at falling into neither category, but their comments certainly got me wondering. I mean, at nearly 30 years-old, do I want to be referred to as "precious"? Kittens are "precious"-- newborn babies, even, but my hair? Shoot me now.

Ugh, I'm tired. Way too tired for a witty conclusion, I'm sorry. Plus, I have to sit down and watch a couple of episodes of season six of "Sex and the City" so that I'm good and caught-up by the time the movie comes out next month!

Good Times With Bon Jovi

2008-04-17T12:56:00.001-05:00

It isn't often, especially since becoming a mom, that I get the opportunity to go to a concert, but last Fall, my brother Jarrod (and die-hard Bon Jovi fan), scored some tickets for Tuesday night's big show in OKC. It was a long, long wait-- I'm not going to lie, but oh was it worth it!

Jarrod has seen Bon Jovi now five times, and this was my second experience. Daughtry opened for them, which in and of itself, was phenomenal. That band can rock-- there's just no other way of putting it. Of course, if I'm being honest, the show was really all about Bon Jovi for me, because after seeing them perform in Chicago many years ago, I knew it was going to be a fantastic show. There are a lot of bands that I love, but if they can't put on a good live show, I really have no desire to see them in concert.

Our journey to OKC began around 3:00 that afternoon. The four of us (me, Jarrod, Amanda, and Matt) all piled in The Toaster, and off we went on the two-hour drive to the city. I was hoping to get some pictures of some stupid billboards along the way-- you know, the ones for the Microsurgical Vascectomy Reversal and so forth, but with the storms we've had recently, the billboard was trashed. Bummer! The most excitement we had on the way up there was Jarrod incurring yet another crack in his already scarred windshield, when some gravel flew up on us part-way into our drive. We watched as the ding in the glass turned into a crack, and began creeping across the windshield. Lovely! Of course, that was totally photo-worthy-- as was Jarrod's violating the speed limit the entire drive down there.

When we got to OKC, we nabbed a great parking space underground at the arena, and took a short walk to Bricktown to grab a bite to eat. To our dismay, Stumpy's was closed, so we opted for Spaghetti Warehouse, which was pretty good. I even got dessert-- by golly if I'm going to live it up for an evening, I'm getting a piece of cheesecake to go with my side of Bon Jovi! Of course, we can't forget the stupid photos that followed, namely the one of the nasty "gum wall", and Jarrod pretending to lick it. Ew.

The wind that day was horrendous, which blew my already over-amplified 80's rocker hair into whole new territory. The thing about Bon Jovi concerts is that you're bound to see some seriously trashy-looking women-- not as bad as say, at a Poison concert, but it can get pretty bad. We spotted some girls wearing serious "hooker boots", who really had no business wearing them (see photo-- if you dare). After our stupid photo session had ended, we headed out to the arena and waited to get in. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring my camera in (damnit), but I could bring dad's in, because it didn't have a detachable lens. Better than nothing, and honestly, it did a fair job of getting some decent pictures-- a bit grainy, but not terrible.

Daughtry opened, and as I said, it was awesome. During a short intermission, Jarrod encountered a guy (in the restroom line, of all places), who had seen Springsteen in Dallas on Sunday, Bon Jovi in Dallas on Monday, was there in OKC for Bon Jovi (duh), and was going to Kansas City to see Bon Jovi again on Thursday. Bastard. I want to live like that-- a highly disposable income, and no responsibilities! Where can I sign up for that job?

So, the moment we had all been waiting for arrived, and there they were-- Bon Jovi, live on stage, ready to rock our world once again! Good times! The set list was amazing-- new stuff, older stuff, really old stuff-- a nice variety. Of course, Jon looked amazing, and had so much energy that I think he would actually make a great aerobics instructor. I've never seen a guy with that much energy. I was like, "Dude, I'm just standing here, watching you play, and I'm exhausted." Richie totally rocked the house, especially with his "I'll Be There For You" solo, which was cool to see. One of the best highlights of the show was when Chris Daughtry came out and did a duet of "Blaze of Glory" with Jon. It was off the hook, and of course, the arena went crazy. For the record, Jon had exactly three wardrobe changes-- in case anyone was wondering.

We finally got out of there after 11:00, and the show started at 7:30. They definitely give you your money's worth, there's no doubt about that. I'm not usually a huge souvenir person, but I bought a totally old-school Bon Jovi tank top, and some dog tags to frame up with my ticket stub. We were all completely wasted-tired by the end of the night, and Amanda and Matt fell asleep in the backseat, while I tried to keep Jarrod awake on the drive back. Speaking of which, we ran over some pretty fresh road-kill before we even got out of OKC, which was disgusting. Jarrod asked if I wanted some road-kill fur for my scrapbook. Smartass. Anyway, they dropped me off about 1:15, and as much as I wanted to take a shower to cleanse myself of all the sweating I did (it was hot in the arena, even with a tank top on), I was lucky to even have the energy to get out of my clothes before I got into bed. Maybe I'm getting too old for this!

Nevertheless, it was exactly what I needed, considering all my personal drama right now-- a good getaway with good music. Call it cheesy, but nothing, and I mean nothing makes me feel better when I'm low, like good music. It's the absolute best pick-me-up. So, thanks to Jon and the guys for a great show, and for brightening my day!

Reality TV B.S.

2008-04-14T22:35:00.001-05:00

Oh goodness, The Bachelor. What can I say, really? Here is what seems to be a nice, English guy, being subjected to a bunch of crazy American women, and we (and by "we" I mean Jarrod and I) are crossing our fingers that the most cliched "American Girl" (Lorenzo Lamas' daughter, Shayne) will get to take this poor English chap home to meet Daddy. Now that's good reality television, people!

We can't help it that we are so fascinated by the inflated ego and poor acting skills that encompass Lorenzo Lamas-- it's a sickness, kind of like our obsession with All-Things-Hoff.

In other reality TV news, my other weakness, "Rock of Love II", came to a close last night (insert holy angel singing here), and thank goodness our dear friend Bret Michaels did not choose Daisy! That girl was on a path that led straight to Joan Rivers-ville, what with the nasty hair extensions, overdone lip injections, ginormous fake breasts, and eyelashes so artificial that you could barely see her actual eyes through them. She didn't even look human. However, let me be clear, there really weren't any "high quality" ladies on this show-- that's the whole point of the show-- trashy girls throwing themselves at an 80's rock star. Don't get me wrong, I love Bret Michaels-- (viva Le Poison!), but his taste in women is just horrid-- horrid! The woman he did pick, (thank goodness), was Ambre, who was the only one who I thought actually possessed at least half a brain, and wasn't completely slutted-out. So, here's hoping Bret finally did find his "rock of love" (even though I would secretly love it if there was "Rock of Love III").

Okay, momentarily back to The Bachelor. Robyn is just nasty-- she is. She is not attractive, always has this sort of sick, disapproving scowl on her face, and I can't stand her bad teeth. There, I said it. What's worse is her attitude (yes, for the record, I am not a complete snob who judges people on their looks)-- she interrupts all the other girls when they are with The Bachelor. Wait your turn, you attention-hungry troll!

Ah, I feel better.

Define Child-Proof

2008-03-06T19:12:00.001-06:00

As you may have guessed from the title of this blog, I'm starting to question what "child-proof" really means. In many cases, it is supposed to mean, "Hey, your child absolutely will not figure this out under any and all circumstances." Sometimes, it means, "If your child breaks this, we will give you your money back." Having three small children, I am starting to find both of those definitions to be completely invalid.

Perhaps it should really read, "Hey, your child absolutey will not figure this out under any and all circumstances for a fragment of their childhood, and then you as a parent will be screwed." Those fancy doorknob covers are no longer a match for my two four year-old boys. Now, I know that most kids would've probably figured them out by now, but I was really enjoying the fact that they had respect for that hard plastic casing that surrounds every doorknob in our house. Now, nothing is sacred, and it pisses me off. Child-proof, my ass.

Then, there's Quincy and her new-found love of breaking plastic tableware. Baby companies everywhere design and market oodles of cute little plastic plates, cups, bowls, and flatware, especially to suit a toddler's (and parents') needs. You've seen them in the store, covered in jungle animals, or the latest-greatest cartoon character, and you think, "Well, it's marketed towards parents of toddlers, so it must be just fine for my toddler to use it." I'm here to tell you that's crap. Melamine is no match for my nineteen month-old daughter. In the last month alone, she has broken three bowls and an insulated sippy cup. Two of the bowls were broken in a 24-hour period. Are you kidding me with this? I would hope that if a plastic dining set was hanging on the wall in the baby aisle that it would be fit to withstand their somewhat violent tendencies at mealtime. I was apparently deceived.

Why, I ask you, do kids take pleasure in destroying their own toys? It seems sort of sick, don't you think? I mean, why demolish something you take so much pleasure in playing with? It makes absolutely no sense to me. While I will say that there are indestructible toy brands out there (thank you, Tonka-- thank you), most of the toys geared towards four year-old boys don't stand a chance against exactly that-- four year-old boys. C'mon, people-- these guys are going to step on, throw, kick, tug, and sling these toys up against a wall faster than I can tell them, "No!" Case in point: The boys' new camping lanterns. I got them the cutest little camping lanterns to play with inside their tee-pee, and after having them in their possession less than one hour, they had somehow managed to rip the plastic lantern casing clean off of the pegs that attached it to the base. What? They seemed sturdy enough to me, and what would make me think that they would try to detach the base of the lantern? Thank goodness it only cost me $4.00, but I would've expected more from a product that was designed for the outdoors.

This brings me to my biggest pet-peeve, which are cardboard puzzle boxes. Children's puzzle manufacturers are cheap bastards-- that's what I've decided. Common sense would tell you that if you were making a puzzle designed for a toddler, that you would put the pieces inside a container that has more substance than a flimsy cereal box. Hell, my kids try to shred cereal boxes when we're still at the grocery store, so what makes the puzzle people think that their boxes are indestructible enough for household playtime? Every single cardboard puzzle box in our house has had its sides and corners retaped so many times that they are starting to look more like wads of packing tape than actual boxes. Use your brains, people! Thankfully, I have been lucky enough to come across a couple of floor puzzles that (would you believe it) were contained inside heavy vinyl bags that snapped shut. Now we're talking!

So, that's me-- on my soapbox as usual. I know I should probably be focused on more serious issues, like the Presidential campaign, or global warming, but instead, yes, I'm ranting about my dissatisfaction with flimsy children's items. Call me crazy-- everyone else does!

Opening Blog

2008-02-07T22:22:00.001-06:00

While I'm typically busy enough with my two MySpace blogs and the kids' website blogs, there are either a) a lot of my friends/family who are not on MySpace, or b) things that simply aren't fit to be discussed on a child's webpage! That being said, I'm following Heather's lead, and taking a more general approach to the blogging world (gee thanks, Heather-- just what I needed-- another blog).

What is truly tragic is that I really don't have much to offer you at 10:24 on a Thursday evening. I'm actually just killing some time until 11:00, when I'm hoping that the Old Navy Kids Sale will kick into gear online, and I can score some new duds for the grublets for a sweet deal.

Big news in my life? Not much, really. We have the big "Salon VS Brawn 2008" film festival this weekend, which will undoubtedly provide nothing but good times and even better laughs (visit www.badmoviefest.com).

Other than that, I've been planning the boys' big Leap Day birthday party. After researching a bit of Leap Year trivia online, it has come to my attention that babies who are born on February 29th are not "Leap Year babies", they are Leap Day babies, because using the word "year" implies they were born sometime over the course of that particular year. I had no idea that people were so sensitive on the subject, but apparently I have been doing my boys an injustice by referring to them as "Leap Year babies" for the last four years. Did you know that there are only 200,000 people in the United States that were born on Leap Day? I think that out of the world population, there are only 4 million. Kind of interesting (yes, I'm a total geek).

Are you serious? There are still 26 minutes until 11:00? I am so doggone tired, people. Really. I have so much to do tomorrow regarding the festival that it's not even funny. Wash the sheets for company, vacuum, dust, clean the bathroom, put the festival gift bags together (oh yes, we have gift bags!). Oh yes, and I also have to manage to wrangle the kids, pack their bags for the weekend (they're going to Nana and Pa-Pa's country house), and get the boys to their swim lesson tomorrow afternoon. Yes, I am so very tired, and now I'm realizing that I'll have to get up early.