Sep 30, 2008


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.

Sep 28, 2008

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 advance. And then we both showed up having almost cancelled for either a kid related reason or out of pure exhaustion. Luckily movie theaters sell caffeine in cups the size of small ponds. But that can also be a problem, which I will mention later.

We watched the movie "The Women." If you haven't seen it, SHAME ON YOU. No really, grab your laughiest friend and go....NOW. And it really has to be your laughiest friend, serious friends won't cut it in this movie, because you will laugh. And you will laugh a lot.

That would be the problem. By the end of the movie I had finished my small pond size diet coke, and my post-baby bladder just isn't equipt for that. And it just so happens that I found the end of that movie to be BEYOND HILARIOUS. (Really, really really, go see this movie.)

I almost peed my pants.

It was pretty close.

Don't worry, I made it to the bathroom.

And then my friend and I walked out to the parking lot where we proceeded to talk for about 80 minutes about stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Funny stuff, annoying stuff, tons about kid stuff, I'm sure developmental milestones and who has been puked on the most in the past 48 hours came up a couple times. Because it has been so long since I've talked to her, and I can tell her anything.

And I love that I can talk to her about anything, because I think a lot of people get uncomfortable when you even bring up the topic of breastfeeding, let alone comparing nipple size and the ability of your infant to fit it all in. Yes- ANYTHING. And we talked about it all.

It was wonderful.

So I've decided that we will not wait 52 years to do this again. Shoe women or not, we'll find somewhere to put those kids and go out again.

Oh, and go see that movie. And laugh. A lot.

Sep 25, 2008

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 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 waiting to wake up totally zitless and weighing less...)

Or maybe she could just print out this picture and attach it to a big "GET LOST" sign to hang on the bathroom door whenever she's in the tub. Because unless we make this a group fast, I'm thinking the sign is more likely to appear than an entire bathroom materializing out of nothing. But I'll keep trying...

Sep 23, 2008


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 hate the way numb eyeballs feel. I was back to the desire of chucking something.

But I like my new eye dr. She's nice, and helpful, and knowledgeable, and not at all cocky like the rude dr I ditched a few weeks ago. I felt all fuzzy when she was there.

Then I had to go to my other dr to get my paint test results. In the car, the song "Hit Me with Your Best Shot" came on. That is my daughter's favorite Guitar Hero song. And then I thought about my daughter and started to cry.

But then I got out of the car and loudly announced that I had just seen the eye dr to explain the teariness just in case someone in the parking garage thought I was a pansy.

Then I walked past a really expensive car (probably my dr's) on the way in. And I looked at our 1995 Toyota Camry, with it's double cracked windshield, dents and 250,364,942 miles and I felt like keying a nice long scratch in the side of the expensive car. But my keys were in my pocket, and I also felt lazy.

Then I had to wait again and read about some really fun Halloween ideas and I got really really excited (the kids and I are TOTALLY making tie-dye pumpkin t-shirts and breadsticks that look like bones.)

After hearing my bleak (sorry, but you might just have to live with daily pain and aggravation) results I felt depressed.

Then I mentioned to my dr how moody I have been (and possibly he noticed the forest of zits on my chin coupled with the dry frizzy excuse for hair coming off my head) and he sent me over to the lab to get my thyroid tested. It would be nice to blame my thyroidial hormones for all of this, but do I really want something else to be wrong with me? It's a conundrum I tell you.

Oh, and on the way home I stared at the guy next to me at the stoplight who had a big bushy mustache and was holding 4 harmonicas. He was play all of the harmonicas in turn. His mustache moved a lot. Did I mention this guy was also the only passenger of the car which made him the driver. And it just so happened that on the radio at that same exact moment was the song that says, "I think you're crazy. You may be crazy....." over and over. It's like the universe was communicating to me - - about a crazy harmonica playing mustached man.

Sep 22, 2008

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 an extra one next time we go in.

Speaking of Cheek's check-up last week - 4 months and 16 pounds. Which really doesn't rival Screamer's 20 pound 4 month weigh-in. CHUNKY. That's how we make 'em.

Also something I learned at the Pediatrician's office: it is not uncommon to have an extra nipple. And if you do have an extra nipple it will be somewhere down your chest kind of like if you were a nursing pig. AND that if you have an extra nipple they will just leave it there unless it's formed really well - in which case you can have it removed - because wow, a third nipple. Wouldn't that be awkward in a boy's high school locker room.....or totally awesome if you gave birth to triplets. By the way, no one in my family has extra nipples, I just tend to ask weird questions when I have a Dr at my disposal.

Monkey was watching Barney for a few minutes today. I can't stand that show so we rarely see it. And I think we were watching one from their new season, because Barney has stepped the dancing up to a completely new level. There were kids busting out hip hop moves and one kid was a regular little b-boy. Too bad they're doing it to the same old obnoxious songs.

Also on Barney, one dinosaur was calling the other one "Beej" instead of "BJ." First of all -LAZY- it's made up of 2 letters, put in some effort. Plus, from another room -when not paying complete attention but still within listening range- it sounds a bit like some stupid slang version of a certain (female dog) swear word. At least that's what I heard. Which made me wonder WHAT ELSE they had added to Barney besides the new dance moves.

I lost 3 pounds last week. Let's see if I can keep it off and maybe maybe maybe keep losing. But given my track record and using my weight predicting psychic abilities, I'm thinking no.

I hate feet. They disgust me. I don't mind my own feet, which is odd, because I completely neglect them and they are dried up and cracking so they should disgust me. (Someone once told me that feet like mine shouldn't be allowed in sandals in public. To anyone who agrees I say, "Oh yeah?!! What are you going to do to stop me!!!!!!" And watch out, I know Kung Fu....sort of.) But my hatred of feet really gets in the way when I have to take care of the kids' nails. I am in charge of 100 finger and toe nails (mine and 4 kids - do the math.) I don't mind the baby feet. But cutting my 3 1/2 and 5 year olds' toenails. GAG. But I don't want to give them some kind of foot complex so I try to keep it in. It's hard. Really REALLY hard. Last night I almost gagged in my daughters face....well on her foot really, but her face was really close (she's bendy like that.) I just hate feet.

Remind me to tell you about how I learned Kung Fu sometime. OK, OK, I'll tell you now!!! I took "Self-Defence for Women" in college, and then dated the instructor and got free outside lessons when the class ended. You know what I mean when I say "free outside lessons" right? Wink....... It means that he let me come to the regular class for his little minions to beat on me two nights a week so that I looked horribly abused. And it was all FREEEEEEE. Ok, so there's more to it than that (like how he was 26 and I was 19, and he had 3 kids. Stuff like's a wonderful tale of bruises, babysitting and the winking kind of "outside lessons.")

And just because I want to - here is everyone in my family at around 4 months old.

Chubby Husband

Cuter than darling Me.

Curly, before the curls.

Screamer with his pinchable cheeks.

Monkey back in his mohawk days.

Cheeks in all of her adorable cheekiness.

Sep 19, 2008

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...)


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.

Thanks for the inspiration Motherboard. It worked. Not only did he smile, but he gave me a thumbs-up (which is a totally non-grumpy thing to do.)

By the way, Motherboard is having an excellently stupendous give away for her blogiversary. (And just so you know, I did this nice deed before I noticed the give away, not that I'm above brown nosing.)

Sep 16, 2008

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: "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 lot like her, and has her sugary sweet voice (it's perfect for the kids.)

But our friend's name isn't America, it's Brooke. Funny thing though. She brought a new Families First employee that she's training.

The new employee's name was America.

When she told me I almost laughed. I may have sputtered. But since I've never explained to Brooke my look alike theory I had to hold it in.

Totally wierdly entertaining, right?

By the way, I'm a huge America Ferrera fan - GO UGLY BETTY!

p.s. The photo is America, not Brooke - - just thought I'd clarify.
p.p.s. The toilet hasn't backed up and my 3 1/2 year old is still being "nice."
p.p.p.s. Zeke still has great hair.

Sep 15, 2008

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 open previously (all of my kids were c-sections...did I mention that?) I figure, "What the heck, Doc, fix my hernia."

So then the CT scan came back showing another tiny hernia, and a nice little intestinal loop. So then my Dr ordered the upper GI/small intestine study. He was worried that either the loop or hernia could be potentially life threatening since they were causing so much pain. Must we be so dramatic? Really.

When my Dr's receptionist called last week to tell me she had made the appointment the conversation went like this:

Receptionist: "I've got you scheduled for Monday morning, will that work?"

Me: "Hmmmm, I don't know. It might not be able to do it then..."

R: "Well, what day is good for you and I'll have it rescheduled?"

Me: "Let me see, how about.....NEVER!! In fact let's go back to pretending like there's nothing wrong. It hasn't killed me yet, so I'm going to take my chances. IN FACT, I am now dropping off the face of the have reached the voicemail box of Darla Wenkle -because Melissa Bastow no longer exists - please leave a message, BEEEEP."

Then I hung up.

Or was that all in my head? Because I'm pretty sure I went this morning. And I'm pretty sure it was torturously nasty.

Last night I had to use their "bowel prep kit," which is code for: the worst diarrhea you've ever had in your life.

The prep kit came with a nasty drink. I'm not fond of nasty drinks. I have had to do 7 gestational diabetes test where I had to drink their gross stuff - NEVER had gestational diabetes. I also had to drink a nasty drink when I did the previously mentioned CT scan. And I knew I would have to drink something today. But I had no idea how horrid it was going to be.

I changed into my x-ray approved bra-less scrubs. Cruel not let me wear a bra - I'm nursing my 4th child - - 'they' were practically hanging out of the bottom of my scrub top. But at least it wasn't a hospital gown because I HATE THOSE THINGS.

Then they made me stand wedged between a table and the big alien-ish machine and handed me a cup.

Me: "Um....this is paint."

X-ray Dr: "No, it's blahbee-bloobapa (medical name), go ahead and take a big swallow."

Me: "I don't want looks like paint."

X-ray Dr: "You need to drink that."

Me: "But I DON'T WANT TO."

X-ray Dr: "Take a drink."

Me: "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!!!!!"

So then I drank my paint.

And then they gave me nasty fizzing powder....and a half swallow of water.

And then they gave me BIG cup full of paint that was just a teeny bit thinner and "easier to swallow." Liars. It wasn't easier to swallow. It was gross.

Oh, and apparently I'm the world's fastest paint digester, because it was already to my colon after 20 minutes. I know this because they took pictures. And yes I just typed the word COLON, and you read it. There is no dignity left. I just drank paint and had my rectum x-rayed.

Sep 12, 2008

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 was wrong. Let's turn around and look the other way. You know kids, it's ok to be wrong sometimes." Smile.

A few minutes later, "Whooops kids, wrong again." Not really smiling.

A few minutes later, "Whooops, wrong AGAIN. But let's go find those doughnuts ALREADY." Really really not smiling, but still wanting to bite into a delicious doughnut.

Then my daughter started in on the commentary, "Mom, why don't you just go straight and see if that's right." and "Mom, you should turn around because I think you're wrong again." and "Mom, I don't think the doughnuts are here either. Why are you wrong so much?!"

Thirty-five minutes and no doughnuts. If anyone knows where the Krispy Kreme store is actually located, PLEASE tell me. Because, obviously, I have no clue.

And now my kids think that I'm wrong all the time. Not exactly the lesson I was going for.

Sep 11, 2008

look who's a doofus now?

I totally spelled "unintelligent" wrong in the title of the post where I'm ripping on someone I think is stupid.

and then realized it AFTER I hit "publish."



and funny.

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 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 Screamer that if they cleaned their rooms....upstairs....away from me....that they could get marshmallows with their lunch (which they probably would have gotten anyway because it's impossible to keep a bag of marshamallows in this house for longer than 2 1/2 days.)

And it actually worked. Well, kind of. I still had to do some damage control in Screamers room since he thinks cleaning means shoving everything in the closet or under Monkey's crib. But he is 3, so I cut him a little slack - - but just a little, because I run a tight ship here with my marshmallow rewarding.

So while the room cleaning was going on -away from me- I tackled the dishes.

Did you just poo poo me, like it's not a big deal?! OH, it is so a big deal.

In our house I don't do dishes. And that was not sarcasm. We have this deal that if I make dinner then Husband has to clean it up. And even on days when I actually don't make any food and Husband brings home Happy Meals (like every tuesday because the Happy Meals are so much cheaper) Husband still has to do the dishes. (I guess he got tired of the whining, screaming, kicking and throwing things too.)

AND not only did I do those dishes that I NEVER do, I loaded the entire dishwasher with a "helping" toddler. Which means that I also had to yell, "No no!" and replace the dishes he had removed about 173 times. Because, holy cow, are toddlers not helpful.

And then I swept the floor while singing "Sing Sweet Nightengale" complete with fake vibrato.

Just a refresher for some of you who don't have princess lovers at your house - the nightengale song is what Cinderella sings while mopping the floor while Lucifer the cat is pouncing all over with his dirty feet. It kind of reminds me of what Monkey does while I'm trying to clean and he's dropping cracker crumbs in a trail behind me. He's just like that cat - except not named after the devil.

Then it was time to wait for the bus, and I witnessed something I have never seen before in my life: the magic of SKYWRITING.

I was all excited, the kids were all excited. So we sat there and watched the letters as they were being drawn. And then the kids started asking, "What does it say, Mommy?!!"

MHA.... does that sound the like beginning of any word you know? Me neither. So we continued to watch.

This is it. "MHAFB" is what the skywriter spelled.....I'm thinking this skywriter didn't finish elementary school but somehow owns a plane anyway. AND, did you know that the letters actually move across the sky? Yeah, I never realized that. Well, since I have never actually seen skywriting before this, I guess I couldn't realize it, and I've never really thought about it either, so yeah.....they

So just when I'm thinking, "Idiot." And telling the kids, "Maybe he was just practicing." Since they are now insisting that I tell them what wonderful thing was just written in the sky. The skywriter starts another line. So now I'm thinking, "I guess we'll chalk this one off as a loss and start over?"

Oh but hey, it's actually forming an actual word!! Then I realize that the word before must be "M-something H-something Air Force Base" and they're obviously having an airshow. Wow - Captain Skywriter is smart after all.

The letters drifted too close and my camera doesn't have a wide angle lens, but really it's ok - because this is where it ended. No 'w.' Turns out he was an idiot after all.

But now I can say that I've witnessed sky writing and bribed my children with something as simple as a marshmallow. (See how the title is all coming together now? They really should pay me to write headlines in the newspaper, don't you think?)

Sep 9, 2008

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 boyfriend of mine as we were both being released FROM PRISON.

Yeah. Prison.

At one point of the dream he was saying how he wasn't good enough for me. So I lovingly held his hands and said, "Remember, I was there too." Like, "See how we're so perfect for each other?" Although nowhere in my dream did I find out why I was in prison, or why I was dating a Kid Rock look alike.

In fact, I think the whole dream took place in a mangy trailer kitchen (where else?!) And it ended as we were trying to figure out how to put my 4 kids and his 2 kids in that mangy little trailer so that we could have that perfect "just got released from prison" life.

You know how some people - like psychiatrists- say that all dreams mean things? Yeah, I don't know...

What was I supposed to learn from this? To watch out or someday I'll be in prison? To be happy that my husband is SO NOT kid rock-ish? Or maybe to be grateful for my house because at least it's not a grubby trailer that I have to share with my ex-inmate boyfriend and all of our kids?

I don't know.

Maybe the dream was telling me that if I could just get a full night's sleep uninterrupted then perhaps my brain would take a break from craziness and actually function logically.

Sep 8, 2008

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.


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 really get into my plan. And I start collecting house flyers and calling real estate agents and I make my husband call and talk to lenders. Because it's REALLY going to happen this time.

You see where this is going, right?

It doesn't take long for reality to round-house kicks me Chuck Norris style and then I have to buy LOTS and LOTS of M&M's. Because, let's face it - we're stuck here.....FORRRREEEEEEVVVEEEERRRRRRR. Or until the housing market turns around and we can gain some equity (but that optimistic outlook would really crush my bad mood.)

Not that we have a horrible house, and really I should just feel lucky to own a house of any kind. So why don't I just feel grateful for what I have? Because I'm in a the middle of an M&M depression pity party, and I will cry if I feel like it.

And really what's wrong with wanting a better home for my children? (See how I'm pretending like the house would be for them? Right.)

And now I'm going to list the things I hate most about my house - because I want to whine a little bit more - and also it will help you appreciate your house more when you hear about how intolerably horrible it is to live here.

1. The kids have to share rooms. Because there are only 3 in this house, and as soon as the baby is a few months older she is not sharing MY room anymore. The thing that stinks about this sharing thing is that the closets in their rooms are PUNY. Really really puny. And their clothes are small now - so what's it going to be like in 5 years when they are all long and huge and stuff? Ugh.

2. We don't have a backyard. Whoever thought that was a good idea - idiot. We have an alley facing garage, so the only yard we get is either in the front where we aren't allowed to have a fence (and which everyone around us thinks is a public space - seriously, GET OFF OUR LAWN.) Or we can go in the side yard - or should I say the 8x12 foot space between the houses that is full of gravel and weeds. And I always love saying, "Hey kids, go play in the rocks!!!"

3. At night my best dreams have play rooms in them. My husband doesn't understand - probably because any man's best dream has to have some kind of sexual act in it, and I would totally take a play room over that ANY day. Because I would really like to have a place for the kids to play that wasn't on top of me all day. I might actually be able to make meals and do chores without tripping over them and going completely insane when they won't leave me alone for 15 minutes so I won't burn the rice-a-roni like last time.

4. Our pantry/laundry room/garage entrance is pathetic to say the least. I'm not getting into this because I could go on for awhile. Don't ask me about it either - you'll regret it.

See how I can't stay here another minute? See how I can hate it? See? SEEEEEE?!

See how I'm really just whining because my bag of M&M's is gone and I hate dealing with not getting everything that I want RIGHT NOW?

Yeah, go ahead and tell me - I should just get over it and be happy with my house. Because some people live like this for crying out loud. And what's wrong me anyway? Sheesh.

But I still think I might need some chocolate covered fudge coated bon bons to get over it. And I'll probably come up with some stupid plan in another few months only to go through the cycle again, because, obviously, I never learn. And eventually one of my plans has to work!

Sep 4, 2008

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 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 it hit me:


And then I heard myself in that bird's thoughts:

"Hey guys, wait for me, wait for me....."
"Wait, I want to come too...waaaaaaaiiit....."
"Oh woah, I almost caught up that time - hold on, why are you flying like that? Are you avoiding me?"
"But I want to come too? Can I please come too? PLEEEEASE?!!!!!"
"Wait for me!!!!"
"Oh......ok.......I see......I guess I'll just fly by this MYSELF.......but I'm still cool, and look at how dumb you all look flying in your stupid oblong pattern anyway. Idiots- I'm SO glad I didn't catch up. Man, I would have felt stupid later. Good thing I'm the cool one."

And then I covered the 'ford' symbol on my steering wheel with the silver part of a gum wrapper because that's what straggler birds do.

But then I peeled it back off because I could hear Husband's parentally bossy words in my head, "Melissa, we don't just go putting silver gum wrapper stuff on our stearing wheel. What's wrong with you?!" And then he'd probably make me go to time out or something. Which is so uncalled for, because hello, I'm an adult, and I can cover my steering wheel with gum wrapper if I want!

And then the busses finally got out of the way.

Tomorrow I'm taking a book.

Sep 3, 2008

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 he's "normal." Or that any of my children are "normal." Then I worried some more and really wanted some M&M's....and some Dorritos and sour cream....and a couple cookies.....and some other kind of chocolate.....and maybe some ice cream.....and a diet coke....

I want to be Sandra Boynton. (If you don't know who she is, it's ok, it just means that don't have little kids.) But really, I want to be her. Well, I want to be me, but I want to be what she has become. How awesome would that be?

Why is Screamer so afraid of flies? I mean, they're gross, what with their love of poop and all. But he is TERRIFIED beyond reason. I was really hoping he'd have outgrown this phobia by now, it's just obnoxious, really. And to make things worse he just came up to me and said, "Butterflies scare people, Mommy." Oh great, what else can we add to the list?

You know how they say that a good Home Teacher is someone who prays to know the needs of the families they see? Yeah, we have an EXCELLENT Home Teacher who obviously listens when he prays. How do I know? Because last night he brought us this:

I read other people's blogs where they refer to their immediate families and how everyone thinks they are SO amazing. Like blogging sisters who are both hilarious, and who say lovely things like, "My sister is the funniest person I know." Then there is my family, and they're all like, "Oh PLEASE don't say we're related." In fact, they think I am SO un-funny that they don't even read my blog. I'M FUNNY, DANG IT. Or at least I think so, and they are my family- they should lie to me and tell me that I'm amazingly brilliant and sharp witted, right?

Screamer likes to come up and say two random words and then go, "They rhyme!!" He's so proud. So then I say, "Yeah, you're SO right - Way to go, Buddy!!!" And then there's Curly, "No, way, that's WROOOOOOONG." Which always gets Screamer crying (and usually throwing things.) Because, geez Curly, we encourage ALL types of learning here, even when someone has the wrong answers. When will she get with the picture and stop being right all the time?! Stinking, smarty pants.

I have an old Ensign in the car that I've been trying to read while waiting to pick Curly up from school. Yesterday I read an article that went something like this: "...and then my son lovingly threw a handful of sand at me in the car, and we both laughed." I'm SO not mocking the Ensign, but this is how that same scenario would go if it were me: "...and then he angrily threw the sand at me, while shrieking and trying to rip himself from his carseat. The sand got in my eyes while speeding down the road in an effort to just get home already, and I began to swerve and scream, 'AAAAAH, why did you do that?!!! AAAAAAH, I can't see!!!!! AAAAAAAH, we're all going to DIE, and then you're going to sit in time out for a LOOONG time!!!!!!'" Which is why I write on a blog and not for the Ensign.

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 time really means something. Just MAYBE.

Believe it or not, this has actually happened a couple times. But only a couple. And it really doesn’t seem that impressive when I realize that I’ve sat in some kind of physicians waiting room about 192 times this past year (I’m not kidding – literally that many – at least – we go to the Dr WAAAAAY too much around here.)

Today, however, was not one of those times. Not even close. In fact, I sat in that waiting room so long that I’m pretty sure they have some kind of typing pig making the appointments. (Did you know that pigs are actually pretty high on the intelligence roster? I think they come somewhere after monkeys and dolphins – so see, I’m not being THAT rude by calling their receptionist a pig. And you just thought I was being a jerk, didn’t you?!)

I was seeing the Ophthalmologist today for a Glaucoma check up. And Glaucoma, as you may or may not know, is an old people disease. Like a REALLY old people disease. But luckily in my family we all carry a mutated gene that does nothing other than cause Glaucoma - that we know of. I’m sure one day the medical world will announce that the mutation also causes abnormally scatterbrained and psychotic behavior, and then everyone that knows me will go, “Wow, that makes so much sense.” Then they’ll probably lock me away somewhere I can’t “hurt others.” Whatever – as long as they give me pills where all I have to think about are butterflies and unicorns.

But now I’m getting off the subject. That happens a lot around here.


See what I mean?

SO, ahem, there is nothing I like better than sitting in the Ophthalmologist’s waiting room for OVER AN HOUR hoping to see the Dr. sometime before my accompanying 3 month old starts wailing for some breast milk. And just to make me more comfortable and at ease in what seems like a week long waiting room get-away, I get to sit there with all the 75+ year old people who also have old people eye diseases. (And the slightly younger, yet still old, people who volunteered to drive the really old people to their Dr’s appointment, because YES, they are that old.)

I was getting really impatient. Mainly because I conned a friend into watching my other kids for my “super fast appointment.” And partly because I didn’t even want to imagine myself breastfeeding my baby there. All the old men trying to get in a free peep show only to realize that after 4 kids my boobs sag just as much as the 90 year old woman across from him. Yikes. So I sat there NOT thinking about what it would be like to nurse my baby, and started people watching instead. (I had to keep my brain occupied with something and my options were SO limited.)

One old lady kept making these really weird grunting sounds and had to tell me how she had forgotten her “stockings.” Although I noticed that she had not forgotten to fluff her hair or put on her oversized gold earrings. And another lady loudly announced that she had to use the restroom, and then shuffled off at the speed of…well, an old lady. (sometimes an analogy is just not good enough.) And yeah, don’t worry, Shuffle Princess, they’re not going to call your name while you’re gone - - remember the pig receptionist who made the appointments so close together that the Dr can’t keep up? We’re going to be here for awhile.

After a few minutes an old man hobbled over and sat near me and my lady friends. And suddenly the grunting stopped, and Earring Mama daintily crossed her stocking-less feet. Then Shuffle Princess whipped out her lipstick and mirror. So then I looked over at Gramps, who seemed to be the instigator of all of this womanly improvement. To me he just looked like your standard old man – floppy over grown (probably hairy) ears, wrinkled saggy skin, sporting a cane, bowler hat and Dockers.

And then I started thinking, what if he was really attractive, but in an ancient about to kick the bucket sort of way, and I just didn’t know it because, you know, I’m far from that bucket?

Do really old people find other really old people attractive? Is there still a standard? Or does just merely breathing suffice? And more importantly, am I going to find old men attractive when I’m that antique? Because, eeew. And, holy cow, are they going to find me attractive? Will I have to wear big earrings, lipstick and stockings? Because I’m so not into any of that.

So much to think about.

And then all of this suddenly seemed insanely funny. I think I was starting to lose it from waiting so long without food, water or real entertainment. So then I started suffering from the need to laugh but not wanting to look overly psychotic. This actually happens to me A LOT. I think it’s because my internal monologues are so hilarious…to me. And it’s never a good idea to suddenly burst out in torrents of laughter when it public. Other people just don’t seem to handle it very well.

I was able to hold in the laughing, but couldn’t help smiling. Like BIG smiling. Not just grinning. So then I had to hurry and think about how to disguise my obviously out of place smile and looked down at my THANKFULLY still sleeping baby. How precious, right? A mother smiling at her infant. I’m sure I won over those old people in that very instant - - when really I was openly mocking old age attractiveness in my head. Suckers.

You know, it’s really a good thing that these seemingly hilarious brain monologues stay INSIDE my head. And hopefully, whoever is reading this is not old. And if you are, I just throw away hate mail, so don’t bother sending any.

So I continued to wait. A couple centuries went by. Then I waited some more and my brain moved onto other, less laughable, topics like: Are these real walls? Or just those portable “we need a bunch of teeny rooms” walls that will be relocated someday to a Dr’s office where they actually see their patients on time? And why, for the love of all things entertaining, do they not turn on that TV? I’d even watch C-SPAN at this point.

By some miracle I was called into an exam room before having to put on a nursing booby show for any old men, where the Dr dilated my eyes just so I could drive home with a complete inability to focus on anything. (Not to mention the annoying side effect of being blinded by minuscule things like THE SUN.)

Coolest of all – I get to go back next week. But this time I’m going to be prepared with water, snacks, one of the 50 bottles of breast milk in our freezer that would have come in really handy today, and quite possibly I’ll take a book, or the portable DVD player, or maybe if I crochet there I’ll fit in better. ANYTHING really, so I don’t have any more hilarious brain conversations about old people – because you know how they get me laughing.

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 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 full of private and immaculately clean lounges.


I went into the nearest restroom -the old restroom- built before they required a handicap stall. It was a smelly bathroom with two tiny stalls and a sink...oh joy. I started wishing that I didn't care who saw my nursing peep show...darn my modesty of a public display of boobage. But screaming Cheeks convinced me that we would just have to make it work.

The toilet seat I thought I would just sort of squat on the ground, in the tiny stall, and avoid touching any surface. Totally worked. no. I ended up sitting on the floor - in the tiny smelly stall. GROSS. (And yet somehow better than that toilet seat.) So now I'm really wishing I wasn't so modest and private.

And then it gets worse.

A lady brings her kids in to use the facilities....they can totally tell I'm sitting on the floor of the stall. And Cheeks is making those glugging nursing sounds that makes it COMPLETELY obvious to any mother what I'm doing....which would at least explain the sitting on the floor of the stall thing. So now I'm really trying to imagine a happier place, and hoping the kids get done soon. And they their mother could use the toilet. And she wasn't in for a short pit stop. I won't go into detail, but lets just say it got a lot smellier.

So now I'm REALLY REALLY wishing I just had run through the zoo completely topless - which would have saved me from sitting on the floor in a nasty, even smellier, public restroom while the woman next to me added to my torment. was a short feeding and then I dashed out of the bathroom before anyone could see who I was.

So Cheeks is still grumpy, not wanting to ride in the stroller and bursting into a new chorus of wails whenever the sun hits her. Splendid.

And then it gets worse.

Screamer decides that he doesn't want to come out of prairie dog house - - you know the tube thing where you can stick your head through like one of the "dogs." And I'm yelling, "Son, come out now...." in my best 'please don't stare at me while I yell at my child in a public place' voice.

...before I go on, I must explain that Screamer has been having some anger issues. The child has an amazing ability to feel emotions far and above the average person. The range of his moodiness kicks my mood scale's butt (even on my most pregnant and/or PMS days.) He can be exquisitely blissful...and then...well, think of the Incredible Hulk times 10. And lately I thought we had pretty much topped out on the "how can it possible get worse" thing.

Oh, it got worse.

Screamer finally comes out of the tube, and I say, "You need to listen next time. We almost left...." and that's when he punched me. A well plotted, close-fisted punch. Like I said...worse.

So then I'm trying to drag our little abuser away from the prairie dog tube and I plow into an old lady with our double stroller (which is actually empty due to crying babies.) Things just keep getting better.

And then my dad steps into help. And that's when Screamer punches him...yeah, his anger issues have definitely kicked it up yet another notch. (And are you keeping in mind screaming Cheeks and the fact that I have two other children...somehwere...loose in a zoo...) So my dad decides to spank Screamer for the punching. Not a good idea. Screamer then loses any control he had maintained up to this point and has a full scale, horrifyingly dramatic, screaming tantrum.

After unsuccessful attempts to quell the tantrum I finally had to end up buckling Screamer in the front of the stroller using brute force (with Cheeks in the back) and head to the car while everyone else finished up seeing the rest of the animals.

On the way out he was wailing and kicking. I took away his shoes so he wouldn't kick the stroller, but I coudln't do much about the screaming...I'm sure people thought I was abducting him, I'm not sure though because I made sure not to make eye contact with anyone on the way out. (I'm sure that didn't look suspicious.)

And after that, I think it may be awhile before we go ANYWHERE in public EVER AGAIN. And I left feeling like I should burn all of my clothing or atleast sanitize every part of me that touched that bathroom (including my nose.)

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's undeniable. And although Bella left her clutzy days behind her after the "change" I still think she's a little akward in her mind.

We both had unplanned pregnancies. Both of us were on bedrest - her pregnancy may have been slightly more dramatic. But we both gave birth to girls. In fact, we are SO similar, that we both had c-sections (luckily my Dr used a scalpel and not his teeth.)

Most importantly- and shockingly similar- we both woke up after having our unplanned baby girls looking like runway models. Amazing, I know.

It doesn't end there.

Both of our daughters have an amazing natural ability to communicate. Nessie had that cool telepathic thing going on and Cheeks mainly just uses crying. But we always know when she's's like she's painting her own mental pictures with each wail.

Also, both of our daughters like to suck the life out of things. Cheeks' hunting skills are a bit less advanced, but every time I sit down to nurse her I can feel the life draining from me.

Our daughters have more similarities as well. Like the speedy growth thing (have you seen Cheeks' double chin?) The ability to make people love her at first sight - you just can't help but adore them both. And I'm not sure about the whole being imprinted on by a werewolf thing, because we don't know any werewolves (as of yet.)

And besides the baby thing, Bella and I have even more in common. Like: she stresses a lot. I think I have that covered. And her new vampire shielding ability - - I also hate it when people try to get into my head. My amazing wardrobe....for those of you who know me, or have ever seen me, know that I dress like a fashion goddess (if that includes old t-shirts I've confiscated from my husband, and stretchy materinty jeans.)

I could go on. I had no idea Stephenie Meyer even knew who I was, but I am obviously her model of Bella. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go for a joy ride in my Ferrari with my psychic sister-in-law.

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 who your team mates are in the crowd of bobbing heads. But the plastic ear pieces I still don't get.

5- Why does it say "Beijing 2008" all over the place in English? Aren't they in China? And while we're on the topic of olympic languages, why do they also announce everything in French? Why not Greek? That would atleast make more sense in an original olympic sort of way. But then I guess we'd all have to learn Greek....

6- Who was the first person to think of pole vaulting? Really, I'm curious. One day, some guy (I'm sure it wasn't a woman) goes, "Hey, I think I'll take this long stick and propel myself over something high....ooh, that was fun, I wonder if I can go higher?" Brilliant. And now we give people gold medals for something that was probably invented by stupidity. Not that I could ever pole vault - I'm just sayin'.

Aside from, and probably because of, all this we have been really enjoying the olympics. We are big Nastia and Shawn fans, even if the judges weren't. And way to go Micheal Phelps - he is amazing. And those huge testosterone-loaded women who can shot put - holy cow, scary. (No one tell any shot putting women I said that, could you imagine being beat up by one? Yikes.)

It's too bad we'll have to wait another 4 years to watch the olympics again. Maybe in the meantime I'll learn Greek.

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 were one of my actual children.


You would no longer have volume control on your computer.

Something would break every time you logged on to read.

Your computer would start spitting sticky substances at random.

The message "I'm thirsty for chocolate milk" would pop up at 3 second intervals.

You would automatically smell the stench of a full diaper.

You would have to figure out a way to breast feed your monitor.

And then you'd have to take your entire computer system out to your vehicle 6 times a day to buckle it into a complicated carseat with twisted straps and crumb filled seat.

I am sure there are more ways to relate blogs and kids, so this is where everyone else comes in. So leave a comment on what it would be like if your blog were a child.

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 out of the pool on the little rickety ladder that was really only made to hold one (small) person.

And the best part is, it's all on tape. I'm sure that helps with the memorable part of the talent, but I was particularly good at having bloody noses so there are quite a few non-recorded moments that we all cherish.

And the headaches - I was good at those too. I think the one easiest to recall was my very first migraine, because anyone who gets migraines know how wonderful they can be.

I went to the temple to do Baptisms for the Dead with the YM/YW of my ward (we were in Utah, there was a lot of us.) On the ride back, I was crammed in the backseat of a car with some of my friends, and I started to feel...weird. But then the weirdness turned into upset stomachness, and things got more interesting.

We were on the freeway when I first announced that I was going to spew. And of course, I waited until the last possible moment to mention that I was feeling sick. So my YW leader was desperately trying to find a way to change lanes and pull to the side of the road. But - TOO LATE - I started puking and caught it all in the lap of my skirt (which was really my sister's skirt that I had borrowed without asking, which made it all the more wonderful.) By the time we made it home my head was about to explode - which explained the weirdness and barfing.

From that point on I couldn't sit through an entire day of Church without someone somehow working in a "tossing your cookies" joke.

I think everyone has a childhood talent like that. The kind of talent where your mom can say, "Oh yeah...I remember that," with only a slight grimace. Because when it comes down to it, we are ALL special in our own weird ways.

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.


As a 1930s wife, I am

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, technically Screamer is only in half of his pajamas since his bottoms were ditched sometime around noon.)

And I'm doing -or I guess I should say NOT doing- all of this so that tomorrow when the disaster is still waiting for me, I can groan and remember that it's not a good idea to go on domestic strike unless you have a maid/cook/nanny. But for now I'm going to go read a book and pretend like my kids aren't screaming "Mommmmmmy!!!" every two seconds. Maybe they'll just get lost in the pile of toys and clean clothes...

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 and Daddy closed their eyes. Too bad though, because after only a couple of hours the Tylenol was wearing off. And the screaming and crying started coming out of the boys' room again, which also woke up New Baby Sister who wanted to eat again.

With more rocking, tear wiping, feeding and tucking in the little boy, Baby Brother and New Baby Sister decided it was time to go back to sleep. So Mommy and Daddy closed their eyes. Too bad though, because Daddy's alarm was going off - it was time to get up.

And this makes for a very grumpy pair of sleep-deprived parents.

The End.

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 stretching or massaging of some kind. Instead, she laid Monkey (who was then 3 or 4 months old) on a table and put her hands in him. Really. That's all. And after a few minutes she started saying, "Oh that's better," and "There it goes."

I came home from therapy that day and when my husband asked, "So, what did she do?" All I could think to say was, "She put her hands on him?"

Because really, that was all she did. Really.

It only took a few sessions for all of my skepticism and ex-hippy prejudices to melt. Monkey's Torticollis disappeared AND it improved his posture.

So, a few weeks ago when I started noticing Monkey tilting his head again, I knew who I was going to call. (Torticollis can return anytime during major growth - so, like, the first 3 years of life.)

This morning was his appointment, and once again I was amazed with her skill. Monkey wandered around the room playing with random toys while the therapist followed him and -you know- put her hands on him. She'll have to do it once, maybe twice, more and he should be back to normal (until another 6 months has gone by and he has grown more or if its because it's caused by something his eyes...which is probably the culprit anyway.)

But amazingly still was what happened after I told the therapist about Cheeks' head. Our Pediatrician had mentioned that her "soft spot" appeared to be closing early, which can cause odd head growth and brain squashing (a total medical term.) Our other kids have had mondo-big heads, so brain squashing was never an issue. But, aside from chub, Cheeks' head is quite proportionate, so I was a bit concerned. However, after only 2 and 1/2 minutes of (free) therapy, the amazing "hand on" therapist says, "That's better. I'll see her again when you bring Monkey next week, but she should be fine."

I tell you - the woman has magic hands.

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 still have a crush on James McAvoy. And I still don't believe that Husband doesn't think any celebrities are better looking than me. Please...

See what I mean about the nasty 'stache? It's more like mustache scruff. Ewwww....shave.

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 rolls around I will be growing my own vegetables, canning my own fruit, making my own jam, and preparing dinners from actual ingredients (instead of a box.) I may even resort to making my own bread....once in awhile. Ok, so maybe some of that requires some kind of preservatives, but atleast I know what I put in them, instead of reading the label on a box of Macaroni and Cheese and finding out that there's not actual cheese in it.

And McDonalds better get ready for a huge drop in profits. This is my official warning, kind of like Joseph's dream before the 7 year famine...yeah....just like that. So start scrimping now, Mayor McCheese, because you're going to notice when we stop coming around.

We're going to be so healthy.

But for now, I'm sticking with the easy, takes 15 minutes and requires minimal stirring, dinners for sanity's sake. And let's just pretend like it's actually good for you to eat something that can stay preserved in a box for years without rotting. Because in the amount of time it took to type this, I was interrupted 7 times (and two of my kids are sleeping.)

But I still don't think I'll be cleaing behind my refrigerator - that's what moving is for.

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 leap- I remember that I have the agility and coordination of a tap dancing walrus. My shin went crashing into gate on the way over, and I was lucky not to face plant on the other side.

Needless to say, I missed the call. And it will be awhile before I consider doing any more graceful leaping.


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 PERFECT topic to get preschoolers started.) And Curly was excitely going on and on about her Princess and Prince Charming party she wants to have when "little boy" (I really don't need to use names) interrupts her with this, "She doesn't even know how to talk yet, and she's 4 years old!!!"

Ok, I know that my children have speech issues, and that articulation isn't Curly's strong point in life. But seriously, was it necessary to point that out? So I was thinking, if I knocked a couple of teeth out of "little boy"s mouth, then maybe he wouldn't speak so clearly and we could all point that out to him. But sometimes acting on my over-protective, motherly insticts doesn't always have the best results.

So instead of pummeling him from the drivers seat, we talked about how everyone sounds different when they talk, and that Curly talks her way, and that -of course- it's perfect and we love it.So it turned out ok, and I think Curly fully recovered from the confidence shattering criticism. AND, I'm pretty sure people don't raise their kids to be obnoxious, bossy or rude. AND, I'm also pretty sure that my kids can be just as annoying as everyone else's! (But just to be safe, if your kids come to our house make sure they know NOT to say anything about my children's speech problems, or I might have to whip out that buttcheek threat.....because I think I'm a little sensitive about the subject.)

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 know. But it was amazing.

And now I have vowed never to play that game again. (It probably won’t ever happen again and there’s no way I’m losing my genius status!)