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Showing posts from September, 2008

sniff...

We were supposed to go to Disneyland today. That was the plan anyway. Stupid plan.... I'm not feeling very funny about it. I've been off of M&M's for a solid week, but I'm thinking that this kind of let down is going to need a bag...or two.....or maybe one of those king sized party bags. It would help if they were Halloween colors.

escaping the shoe

I love it when I see a friend that I haven't seen in a long time and then realize that I'm still an actual person and not just "mommy." On friday I met up with one of my super great, never see, friends for a movie. It has been about 52 years since she and I have hung out (or maybe it just feels like that long, I'm not sure.) Possibly because we're both a bit "women who lived in a shoe"-ish lately. You know, too many kids to know what to do? I have my born-way-too-close-together kids, but get this: she has 7 month old triplets and a 3 year old son with Downs Syndrome . That makes my life seem like a walk in the park. And when those triplets learn how to run, my park will have daisy covered paths with relaxing muzak wafting through the gentle refreshing breeze. Because I'm pretty sure that many toddlers would be the death of me (hopefully she handles it better and can at least escape death.) So we had to schedule our girls night weeks in adva

for jen

I searched through Jen's ENTIRE BLOG and couldn't find a picture of her. So I had to guess on what she looks like. This is what you look like, right Jen? (Don't we all?!) So here is Jen enjoying her brand new bathroom complete with jetted garden tub and a shelf just for her bath time candles. Don't let the enormous size of Jen's head fool you - this is really a huge tub. (Jen's head is just large to show off her gorgeous pouty lips, because pouty lips deserve showing off. Also Jen's leg wouldn't really be that big either, but I couldn't make it smaller because the toes are already puny looking compared to the size of Jen's lips....you see the problem?) But it really is a HUGE and WONDERFUL tub, in a HUGE and WONDERFUL bathroom with no extra poopish interruptions . And once all of my fasting and praying is done I'm sure this glorious bathroom will suddenly appear attached to Jen's house. Because that's our deal. (I'm still

mooOOOOoooody

I'm feeling very moody. And not just normal moody, some kind of extra special moodiness. The kind of moodiness where if you just say words like "husband" I automatically scream and flail a little. I went to 2 Dr's appointments this morning. Ugh. Counting the 2 today, 1 yesterday, 1 last thursday and 1 tomorrow that makes WAY TOO MANY times. This morning I woke up and saw the billion tiny zits on my chin. But I only get zits when I'm pregnant (and TRUST ME, I am not pregnant.) Having no zits is my ONLY positive beauty factor, so I get really mad when I get them. And this morning I almost threw something. I had to see the eye dr . I sat in the waiting room and read the over-sized print version of Readers Digest. It was about how a teenager saved a 4 year old who was being mauled by dogs. I started panicking, with real heartfelt concern, but then they called my name. At this Dr's office they always numb my eyeballs TWICE. Why twice? Seriously. I ha

totally random things that i feel like forcing someone to read PART 2

Because it was so much fun the first time . Plus that's just how my brain works. Every day a school bus drives by our house about 15 minutes before my daughter's bus comes. and EVERY DAY I freak out thinking that her bus just drove by. Why do I do that? I know it's not her bus. And still the freak out.... At least I'm consistent. Last night I discovered that humming a tune, then stopping just before the end of it and starting a whole new and completely unrelated song, annoys my husband. I'm remembering this for our next road trip. Our Pediatrician hands out chocolate. Big gooey fudge filled chocolate balls. They are tasty. But today I took Monkey in for a check-up and NO CHOCOLATE. I would have thought that maybe she just stopped awhile ago and then moved on with life completely unaffected, except that we were there last thursday for Cheek's check-up and I got chocolate then. So where is my fudge filled chocolate ball for today? I will not forget that I am owed

inspiration from motherboard

Over at Crazyland , Motherboard is always posting wonderful ideas to make someone else's day. I think she is amazing and obviously WAAAAAY nicer than me. (That really goes without saying, and everyone who actually knows me will agree.) But, she is very inspiring and even I couldn't resist being nice....just this once. I didn't take someone to lunch or write a note to a teenager or even move my neighbors garbage cans for them (even though I just heard the garbage truck leave...) WHAT I DID DO? The kids and I made rice krispy treats with strawberry marshmallows and cut them into hearts. Then attached a baggy of pink krispy hearts to a tag written by my daughter that said "Best Bus Driver" and had her give it away. To the bus driver of course. The man never smiles. I can imagine that possibly it's because he has to drive around Kindergartners all day. But I was hoping that by giving him the personalized treats he would be a bit less grumpy today. T

just today

Curly got in the car after school and said, "Zeke got in trouble for pushing today - but he had a really nice haircut!" A conversation with my 3 1/2 year old during time out (when he was supposed to be in his room): Toilet flush. Me: "What was in that toilet?" Screamer: "NOTHING!!!" Me: "Tell me what you just flushed." Screamer: "NOTHING!!!" Me: "I need to know what you just flushed down the toilet!" Screamer: "Ugggngngggg!!!!" Me: "TELL ME WHAT YOU FLUSHED!!" Screamer: NOOOOOOTHINGGGGGG!!!!" Me: "JUST TELL ME!!! What did you put in the toilet?!!" Screamer: "Toilet paper. I'm nice now." I never know what to expect with this kid - his moods changes are worse than a pre-menopausal prima donna. We have a 'friend' through the "Families First" organization that visits us weekly. She's really really great. She also reminds me of America Ferrera. She looks a

don't make me drink that

I had to have an upper GI/small intestinal study done this morning. It was totally thrilling. I wish I could do it again.... You know those women who can pop a baby out every year or so and then walk out of the hospital feeling spectacular? I'm not one of those women. Except that someone forgot to mention that to the fertility fairy. So now I'm sitting here, having given birth to 4 kids before my oldest turned 5. And my non-existent abdominal wall/stomach muscles are throwing tantrums about it. I have been having quite a bit of pain an inch or so above my belly button, which I thought was just your standard hernia. So I had hernia surgery at the beginning of August. Still the pain. So then I had to have a CT scan done to see if the Dr missed something. Which was highly likely. Because I had my OBGYN fix it. Stupid, I know. Because what does he know about intestines anyway?! His business is a little bit....lower. But since I had just had my baby, and since the man had cut me ope

making every moment a lesson (not that it's a good one)

Sometimes I like to teach my kids that it's ok to be wrong. Especially since my kids seem to take quite a bit after their father who is a perfectionist and can NEVER be wrong. Because that would totally not be perfect, so it must never happen. Ever. Except that it does... So when I slip up and say the wrong name or something I'll throw in a, "Whoops, I was wrong. But that's ok, because everyone is wrong sometimes!" And then I smile. Because look at me and my teaching moment. Today we were running errands after school. Which I really hate doing. I'm not an errand runner. And this particular errand was not enjoyable. So when we were done and the kids were wailing, "I'm hungry" from the backseat, I decided we all needed a treat and I knew that Krispy Kreme Dougnuts were nearby. But I wasn't too familiar with this area of town. So we headed off in the direction that I thought Krispy Kreme was in. Five minutes later, "Whoops, I w

i'm not above rewarding child slave labor but not unitelligent sky writers

I know, the title is long and seems to bring two things together with nothing in common. But that's what I'm writing about anyway. mmmkay? Usually I like to ignore the mess that is my house. Because even if I wanted to clean and actually did clean, it would be dirty again in about 2.3 seconds. So instead of fighting against the mess makers today, I bribed them to work for me. (Which mothers have been doing for centuries....yeah, don't act like you've never done it.) Independent cleaning is a relatively new concept around here. And I've gotta say, it's not getting very good reviews from those who are now doing the cleaning. But hey, they're 5 and 3 - and slave labor...I mean chores....is totally what I've been waiting for since the day I peed on a stick and got a plus sign. Still though, I wasn't in the mood to be dealing with the whining (screaming, kicking and throwing things) but I still wanted the house cleaned. So I told little Curly and Screa

psycho dreamland

I have the weirdest dreams. Usually the really weird ones come when I'm pregnant and HOLY COW are they weird. I mean, I know my brain doesn't always follow a logical path during waking hours. But during sleep it's like a psychotic free for all. So I have to hurry and write about last night's dream before I forget it. Because you know how if you wait too long to talk about it you totally forget other than it was completely weird, but no one believes you because you describe it like, "Uuuhhhhhh, I don't remember...but I swear it was weird." And then whoever you're telling usually rolls their eyes (usually the eye roller is a husband.) In my dream I was dating Kid Rock. Ok, not the actual KID ROCK, but a guy who was very kid rock-ish. And here is a picture of Kid Rock for those of you who have no idea who he is and because you really need a visual on this one. And I'm using Kid Rock's mugshot for a reason - in my dream I met this wonderful boyf

m&m's - my favorite antidepressant

...although chocolate covered fudge coated bon bons are also good. (Does anyone have any of those? Someone should send me some....) Every few months since I found out I was expecting our 4th child I begin hating our house and looking around at all the for sale signs around us. It's a vicious cycle. The hatred builds up slowly. And then I see I really good deal on a nearby house (and there are some REALLY good deals right now.) Yeah, too bad for us - we refinanced at the highest peak in real estate and now owe BILLLLLLLIONS of dollars more than our house is worth. Ok, not billions. Millions. Or maybe $30,000. Whatever. But still I think of some crazy unintelligent plan of how we could get out of this house and buy that really nice one in the subdivision next to us, because IT HAS A PLAYROOM and REAL CLOSETS and A BACKYARD and A PANTRY that is also NOT the laundry room/garage entry. It even has those fancy faux hardwood floors that kick our crappy tile's ugly butt. And then I r

straggler bird

Today I was sitting in the line of cars waiting for my daughter to get out of school. At this particular school they don't let parents even enter the parking lot until the busses have left. They're horribly organized, but still... Every minute seemed like it lasted 52 years because I had forgotten to bring reading material like usual. So I just waited - which I think I do ALL to often if you ask me. Ok seriously, could the busses just get out of the way already? Ugh, and that kid stopped to tie his shoe - GET ON THE BUS AND LEAVE. Then I noticed this flock of birds - there was a whole group of them flying in an oblong pattern over and over and over and....you get the point. They just kept doing it. And I just kept staring, maybe it was a hypnotic oblong pattern? Or I was just bored. Either one. And then there was the straggler bird. The one that was trying really hard but just couldn't quite catch up and stay in rhythm despite it's constant efforts. And then i

there ya go

So I've pulled a WHOLE TON of old posts from my private blog. I think they just deserve more attention, don't you? Plus I'm trying out some new nicknames for my family. You know, in case of psycho stalkers, and because it's kind of fun. Just to warn you, I may at some point change the nicknames. Because I'm like that. And it might get confusing. But sometimes I don't make a lot of sense anyway, and you're smart, right? So I think you can deal with it.

totally random things that i feel like forcing someone to read

I saw "Get Smart" last night. The movie has a dancing scene and I was sitting there thinking about how Anne Hathaway is my favorite "I wish I were her" celebrity. But in real life, I would be the OTHER girl dancing. (Yeah, the fat one.) Man, I need to lose some weight. I love baby leg warmers. Seriously. Because when tights and socks are just too constricting, leg warmers are a chubby baby's best friend. Cheeks has become a little social bug, and I was thinking about how our girls have developed so much quicker than the boys. Then I remembered that we actually have a video of Screamer being just as social as Cheeks at this age, and then I started thinking, "Oh, I guess it was just Monkey." Then I started worrying about Monkey again, remembering the days when we were just waiting to see if he had any more autistic red flags, then remembering being relieved when he developed beyond the red flags, but then feeling like I'm not TOTALLY convinced that h

waiting room brain monologues

One of my favorite " funny read " blogs is putting together a book of blog-ish anecdotes as a fund raiser for some plane crash victims . And I want to be in that book. I don't know why- but I MUST be in that book. I'm pretty sure it's not the deep desire to help out with the fund raiser like I wish I could say more than it is a need to see my name in a book. (But I'm not THAT horrible and plan to buy the book even if I'm not in it.) Anyways, I've been thinking of what to write and submit for the book, and during a long wait in the Dr's office this morning I came up with this - only I think it's too offensive to old people, and maybe bad receptionists, so it won't be going in, since I really don't want to come across to total strangers as a complete jerk. But I still have a desire to share, so here ya go: Every time the kids or I have a Dr’s appointment I think that MAYBE we’ll actually see the Dr on time. You know, MAYBE my appointment

oodles of zoo fun

...and we're talking oodles... I went to the zoo with the kids, my dad, step-mom and step-sister today before they left to go home to Utah. I have never experienced a worse outing in my entire parental life ....it was horrible. Since we live in a city that has a zoo, it doesn't hold that same cool factor as it does when you have to actually put effort into going. Don't get me wrong, we love the zoo. But usually our trips consist of an hour (maybe hour and a half) of wandering around, going down the giraffe slide and general leisure time. If we don't see all the animals - oh well. Because with 4 kids, we really can't stay too long anywhere without someone having a meltdown. Today, however, we saw all the animals, so it was starting to push that hour limit that I can usually expect. To start things off, Cheeks was indefinitely grumpy and it just got worse. So I started looking for a place to nurse her (hoping that would help.) And of course the zoo is just chucked ful

why i am bella swan

disclaimer: Do not read this if you have not read "Breaking Dawn" and plan to. Also, do not read this if you have no idea who Bella Swan is (it won't make sense.) I just finished "Breaking Dawn" -the final book in the Twilight series (for those of you who ignored my disclaimer.) And I have been comparing myself to Bella all day - - I think I may have been Stephanie Meyer's inspiration for this book. I don't survive on a diet of animal blood and live in a cottage making love to my perfect steal-abbed hunk of a husband all night (I think she added the endless sex part into the book just for the 6 men who would have actually made it through the entire Twilight series and stayed interested.) Also, I didn't go to a private island (or even scuba diving) on my honeymoon. I can't run at an astounding pace or jump over rivers. And I don't have brown eyes....or red venom filled eyes either. But this is how we're the same: I'm a clutz....it'

ode to the swing

Swing, lovely swing, how you soothingly glide. You cradle the baby with swing-i-ness pride. You rock back and forth- your motor's first rate. It doesn't falter under such chubby weight. But the best part about my favoritest thing, No baby can stay awake inside of a swing.

olympic ponderings

We've been watching the olympics every night and while it is mostly entertaining and impressive there are just a few things that are puzzling. 1- Why is the standard uniform for women's beach volleyball a binkini? I'm not expecting turtlenecks or anything but does a tank top and shorts really hinder the quality of playing? How about a one-piece? I bet a man made this decision. 2- What was with the gymnastic judging? If you've been watching you'll know what I mean. And really, did China think the entire world would fall for the "really, these girls are all 16" thing? Right. 3- BMX racing is an olympic sport now? When did that happen? And when do they plan on adding skateboarding, motor cross and hopscotch to the agenda? 4- What is with the water polo headgear? Are their "helmets" (and I use that term loosely) really worth wearing? I've actually been pondering this most recently and I've decided that their only purpose is so that you know w

jabba genes

Three of our four kids have all sported the Jabba chin(s). Husband was trying to pass them off as "Melissa features" the other day. Nice try, buck-o. Too bad I have proof on my side. Here is my evidence: Husband in baby-hood. There should no longer be any discussions on where those genes came from.

if my blog were a child

I'm babysitting - no, not my own kids....that would be just regular parenting. Babysitting is way cooler because you get to sit in someone else's house where their kids actually stay asleep and no one can say, "Why are you blogging AGAIN? Don't you have stuff to do?" Gee, who would ever say that? I dunno, maybe a certain husband who thinks that I should work 19 hours of every day. I know I have enough to do to be that busy, but please....I can blog...and read other blogs....and sometimes I should waste the time to pull semi-entertaining ideas from total strangers blogs. Especially when I'm babysitting and their kids actually stay asleep. The semi-entertaining idea I stole from that blogging stranger is the title of this post: if my blog where a child... Their post went on to say...something not as entertaining, not really sure what it was about. But MY post is going to be WAY interesting because I will now make a list of what my blog would be like if it

memorable childhood talents

You know how every child has their own special thing that makes them stand out from their siblings? And even if that child really thinks there is nothing that spectacular about them, you can still seem to remember those talents years later into adulthood. Such as my most memorable childhood talents: headaches and random bloody noses Like when my parents bought one of those cool above ground pools that was just big enough to have a filter. We wanted to capture our first time swimming for future generations to adore, so my dad set up the video camera on the tripod and planned on recording the entire fun-filled event (because we really needed ALL 45 minutes of us bobbing around in a pool.) But only after a few minutes of pool-time my awesome childhood talent kicked in and my nose started gushing. And really, it would gush. And when you're in a pool what is there to really catch that with? So my mom latched her fingers onto my nose and pinched, and with a combined effort we both got ou

prepare yourself...

I'm not a good 1930's wife. I know, you are all shocked. Because my house is always tidy, my kids have newly ironed home-made clothes, and my hair is curled with precision as I cook every meal in my plain -yet tight waisted- dress and apron. You would think I should have scored better. 26 As a 1930s wife, I am Poor Take the test! On a side note (that is actually quite related...) Today I am on a domestic strike. There will be no cleaning, cooking or personal hygeine rituals practiced today. Ok, so really I've been doing loads of laundry all day - but I'm totally not folding it. And the kids' toys....staying on the floor (and couches, and stairs, and table and bathroom sink.) And I did make peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, but that hardly counts as cooking. And I may have violated the no personal hygiene thing when I put on deoderant this morning. But I didn't shower, I have no makeup on, and if it counts 2 of my 4 children are still in their pajamas. (Well, t

a good nights sleep

Once upon a time there was a little boy with very short legs. And these short legs couldn't grow all year like normal little boy legs - they liked to grow just once a year. This made the little boy very cranky at night. (Little boys don't enjoy the growing pains of little legs.) The little boy screamed and cried and screamed some more. And after an hour of screaming and a hefty dose of Tylenol, he was ready to go back to sleep. Too bad though, because all of this screaming woke up Baby Brother - which isn't that surprising since Baby Brother sleeps about 5 feet away from the little boy, and the little boy screamed VERY loudly. Baby Brother screamed and cried and screamed. And after an hour of rocking, tucking in, and eventually a bottle of warm milk, he was ready to go back to sleep. Too bad though, because it was time to feed New Baby Sister. And neglecting to feed New Baby Sister results in more screaming and crying. Finally, every one was back to sleep, and the Mommy a

the woman with the magic hands

Monkey was born with Torticollis, which literally means twisted neck. Basically one side of his neck was tighter than the other, as well as the opposite hip. So upon learning about his Torticollis, we got him set up with a physical therapist. (I believe that my kids are therapy magnets - in the 5 years I've been a parent we've had 10 different speech, physical, occupational and developmental therapists for the kids...) I was a little skeptical about his therapist at first. She's a bit older, and has the appearance of a possible all-natural, tree hugging ex-hippy. And her clinic was just a 100 year old house with a rounded front door and asbestos covered ceiling (ok, I really don't know if was asbestos.) All of this is fine and I have no discrimination towards ex-hippies or century old houses, I'm just more of a latest medical knowledge "what's the newest treatment" kind of person. My skepticism deepened once the therapy started. I was expecting stretch

celebrity crush

Husband and I were discussing celebrities crushes. He swears he doesn't have one, but I know a butt-kisser when I see one. And then he vastly mocked me for my latest crush. Of course I like to gaze upon the regular list of hotties: Brad Pitt, Jonny Depp, Matt Damon... And in high school I really had a thing for Brendan Fraser. And this time: James McAvoy. That's right, I have a crush on Mr. Tumnus. The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe was the first movie I saw James McAvoy in, and thought, "What a nice little faun." And then I saw him in Becoming Jane - a movie that I loved. Not only because of my love of Jane Austen, but also because if I could choose to be any celebrity I would be Anne Hathaway (even before the James McAvoy thing.) And despite his habit of not shaving his nasty 'stache, and agreeing to a role in an over-the-top action movie with Angelina Jolie, AND the fact that I can never remember his name and have to refer to him as "Mr. Tumnus" I s

something to achieve

In two years our family is going preservative free - - ok, maybe more like 80% preservative free. Right now we live off of Hamburger Helper, frozen ready-made dinners and the ever popular and extremely healthy Happy Meal. My justification: I just have too much to do right now. Yes, I know that other women can handle their kids, can 2 years worth of peaches while organizing ward craft night and cleaning behind their refrigerators in one afternoon. But I'm not "other women" and running a business, managing a home and taking care of 4 kids has over-filled my plate without all that extra....stuff. But I do feel bad that I'm feeding my family all that unhealthy and unnatural crap. Hence the two year goal. In two years my kids will be older, more helpful and less demanding. Husband will be licensed and making more money (so I can hopefully lay off of my work for awhile.) And, most importantly, it's WAY in the future and I am the queen of procrastination. So when 2 years

not a gazelle

Monkey thinks the word "no" is hilarious. He also considers it an open invitation to continue what he's doing, but with more speed and destruction. It's impossible to chase him around 100% of the time so we came up with a different solution. We blocked off the entire front room with a massive gate. This gate is great. Now Monkey can't get the computer, drums, piano, bookshelf, file cabinets, (me, on occassion.) It's been a complete saver of energy and frustration. The only problem? It has no opening. It's up ALL the time. So we've become constant gate steppers. This became a painful problem yesterday. While sitting at the computer, I heard the phone ringing in the other room. Really not that big of deal, but I know I only have so much "Play that Funky Music White Boy" (my ringtone) before I miss the call. And in my moment of hurry I decide that it's a great idea to take the gate at a gazelle-type leap. Great idea? Right? But then -mid lea

yummy

I could just eat myself up. Actually, I don't know if I agree with this. In my current (and never-ending) stressed out state, I think I could be more like an ice cream made out of strawberries that were picked too early. And then maybe if someone left the carton of this sour, non-ripened strawberry ice cream in the freezer WAY too long, that might be me. So basically, you see it thinking you're going to get a nice sweet treat, but boy would you be wrong... (just ask my husband!)

other people's kids

I know other people do a good job raising their children, but honestly, everyone else's kids drive me insane. How could they be so obnoxious? I'm sure my kids NEVER annoy, boss around, or say anything rude to anyone...ever. Curly has a little boyfriend in her preschool class. She talks about their wedding ALL the time. (I tell her she has to wait until she's 16 to call him her boyfriend, and then 22 to call him her husband.) But this little boyfriend is the inspiration for this post. He came to our house the other day and told us all what to to do and how and when to do it. Seriuosly annoying. He was even bossing me around....apparently he didn't realize that I could squash his little 5 year old head with just a single buttcheek (and it's too bad you can't threaten other people's kids to shut up or be sat on.) But the bossing isn't even close to what came out of his mouth this morning on our way to school. We were all talking about birthdays (the PERFEC

see, i'm a genius

Last night Husband and I went out on a dinner and Walmart date – we lead thrilling lives. The main stipulation for where we ate dinner was that it had to be somewhere we would actually HAVE to eat with a fork. Usually our dinner dates include the whole family, and Happy Meals win the favorite meal vote. So we went to the Cracker Barrel for some delicious comfort food. For those of you who have eaten at a Cracker Barrel know how they have those fun little peg games on each table. Basically you have to jump and remove the pegs with the goal of leaving only one peg. I have never accomplished this before. (In my defense, we don’t go to the Cracker Barrel a lot...and I'm really not that clever.) But last night, I picked it up, and while carrying on a complete conversation with Husband I did it! Without effort, I cleared the board and left one peg!!! See, I AM a genius. It turns out that I just don’t have to try so hard…or maybe my mouth just has to be moving at the same time. I don’t k