Dec 31, 2010


I know that you think you have WAY better things to do right now than read my blog.  But let me tell you - it's soooooooooooooooooo worth reading this.  It really really is.  Just the amount of "o's" in that "so" should have convinced you already, but in case you need more persuasion, I now present to you...


1. I'm more exciting than a barrel full of squishy piglets. 
2. And I showered today, so I actually smell better too.

3. Once I entered and won a pie eating contest - and I can tell you about it.
4. Fine, I didn't win.
5. FINE, I didn't even enter. 
6. Where does one enter a pie eating contest anyway?
7. I have played an actual game of Bunko before, which is probably the most interesting story that I can think of to tell you right now that is actually truly true.
8. At the Bunko game I had to tell my cousin not to eat the Jell-o because not all Jell-o is jiggly and sobriety friendly.
9. I kind of think it would have been funny if I had encouraged her to eat the Jell-o and then sat back and watched.
10. I kind of think it would have been funny if I never realized what was in the Jell-o so that we both ate it and then I could claim that I've been drunk, BUT ON ACCIDENT.
11. I wonder what I would be like drunk off of Jell-o?
12. More or less interesting?
13. Louder...possibly?
14. Probably just puking.
15. My college roommates and I said that we never needed alcohol to act stupid.  (It's true - we were good at being stupid ALL ON OUR OWN.)
16. And that's the story of the one time I played Bunko, but don't worry I have more to say.
17. If I didn't have anything important to say, why on earth would I be blogging at 2:11 AM?
18. Well, if you really must know, I'm blogging because I'm cleaning off my computer and there's a lot of "wait time" involved, because the worst of all worstsestes happened - I FILLED MY HARD DRIVE WITH CRAP.
19. And when I say "crap" I mean "important stuff that I need to keep on my hard drive".
20. When we bought this computer I thought, "Ooooooh-wee that's a lot of hard drive - we'll NEVER fill that!"
21. Sometimes I'm incredibly stupid.
22. Or just naive.
23. Let's go with naive.
24. So here I am with a full hard drive, and guess what else is feeling incredibly small and slow these days?  My ram.
25. Why is it even called "ram"? 
26. Does anyone know what that stands for? 
27. And why don't I have enough of it?
28. I only have about 367 programs on this thing - I should have enough ram for that, right?
29. And did you know that my computer is like 5 years old now?
30. That's a whole year past "should be dead in a shallow grave".
31. In case you were wondering why you were reading this incredibly stupid list - here's some VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION: computers are only good for 4 years.
32. It's true.  Ask a geek.  They'll tell you.  I'm right.
33. But we can't get a new computer.
34. Stupid money.....and the lack there of.
35. Also my laptop is wheezing it's last breaths and fluttering its last mechanical heartbeats - this is the laptop that is also my tablet - the one that I would pretty much DIE A HORRIBLE VOCATIONAL DEATH without. 
36. But I don't get a new laptop.
37. Stupid money.....grrr.
38. Also an external hard drive would be super (if we're talking about things I don't get to buy).
39. Nothing under a terabyte would be great.
40. 1 Terabyte = 1,000 Gigabytes.  1 Gigabyte = 1,000 Megabytes. 1 Megabyte = 1,000 Kilobytes.  And 1 Kilobyte = 1,000 Bytes.
41. Or is it Bits?
42. Who knows - we haven't been dealing with bytes/bits for like eons now.

Holy pigeons, I just reached #42 on my 42 reasons list!

That's amazing.

At yet my computer is still doing a "disk cleanup" and I still have to defrag it.

Want me to do another list?  Or should I just congratulate you on reading THE COOLEST POST EVER and let you go on your merry way?

Merry way, you say?


The End.

That's it, I swear.

What are you still doing here?  GO AWAY ALREADY.



Dec 28, 2010

the elf poo hitteth the fan

alternate title: Not a Good Way to Tell your Kids About Santa

So, Christmas.  sigh. 

Things were going per the usual, insanely busy, way but I knew we'd make it and have a great Christmas day with presents that would magically appear under the tree whether or not I had spend an entire week without sleep getting them finished in time.

Opie, however, is a thwarter. 

Thwarter: one who thwarts/hinders/slows/and quite possible RUINS CHRISTMAS.

Two Bits received an MP3 player from Santa this year.  She pretty much loves it, and hasn't really taken those headphones off since we gave them to her.  Which is saying a lot since that MP3 player was the catalyst in the whole Opie ruined Christmas story.

The story goes like this:

Opie is a challenge.  My own personal challenge.  Sometimes I think he's in cahoots with the devil to see how many times a day I can yell loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

Opie steals, lies, poops his pants, punches and is quick to top volume.  We have to lock up the pullups because he will take and hide the poopy ones thinking we won't find seven of them under his pillow.  (Yeah, Opie just turned 6 - the pooping thing is a whole challenging topic of it's own.) 

He climbs over the massive "kid-proof" gate, gets on top of my desk then takes and hides things like scissors, sharpies and staplers, then attacks things with them when we're not looking - - like his window sill or other things that are going to kick us in the financial butt we want to stop renting here. 

We have to put food at impossible heights or it will disappear.  He'll climb onto the kitchen counters to spoon sugar out of the container when I'm busy.  He may have stolen candy from the grocery store the other day - I just can't find the proof. 

Then after he does all these things he lies about them.  And then screams at me for hours.  And throws punches.  Literal punches - closed fisted.

CHALLENGE.  All capitals.

So two days before Christmas when Two Bits MP3 player went missing from inside the computer desk, behind a closed door/gate in a place that is not supposed to be accessed, it didn't take long to figure out what happened.  I tried to deny it though.  I thought, "No, I just put it somewhere else.  No, Husband must have moved it."  I search and hoped.  But my first line of thinking was correct.

After questioning Opie 3 times and starting a room-trashing search, the kid finally admitted to taking it and throwing it in the bottom of Monkey and Number Four's closet.  Under a big pile of toys.  That scratched and smashed it.

Luckily it still worked and we had it back.  Things should have been ok.  But it was Two Bit's SANTA gift.  And Two Bits and Opie had seen and played with and ran down the battery on it.  And Two Bits and Opie still firmly believed in Santa.  WITHOUT QUESTION. 

Oh the innocence.

We had to shatter it.  There were no options.  We had no choice.

I was devastated.  Opie's easy-to-anger flaw is pretty well rooted in genetics, and I have to say that I generally turn to it in times of utter devastation.  But I was so upset I completely skipped that step and went onto uncontrollable sobbing.  Which is saying a lot, since I only get to that point about twice a year.

There we were: I was sobbing, Husband was yelling and Opie was screaming, "I want to run away from home!!!"  (Which is one of his favorite phrases when he gets in trouble.)  So when we got Two Bits out of bed to tell her about Santa, I'm pretty sure she was terrified.  In fact, she didn't even say anything.  She just sat there all shell-shocked and then excused herself to go back to bed.

It's surely an experience my kids will be telling their therapists for years.

But, like I said, the MP3 player is a massive hit with Two Bits.  And after all of that Opie was in pretty rare form, trying his hardest to not let Monkey and Number Four know about Santa's fakeness.  In fact, he was doing such a good job that on Christmas Eve I said, "Uh, you do remember what we talked about last night, right?"  And he looked over at Monkey, smiled, looked back to me and said, "How Santa is real?"   And went on his merry way discussing what reindeer like to eat and how much milk to give the big guy with his cookies.

I'm just hoping that we can break the Santa news to Monkey and Number Four in a much less psyche damaging way - you know, when the next kid ruins Christmas.

Dec 23, 2010

in case I missed someone when emailing...

Merry Christmas - - from us!

p.s. Mombabe and Jen were the winners of my drawing. And now you know.

Dec 20, 2010

fat give away

Because I'm awesome, I'm giving away TWO $25 gift certificates for my stellar website Green Jello with Carrots.  (These are to cover those last minute, "oh crap I forgot to buy a gift for what's their bucket" emergencies.)

Here are some pictures of the crap we offer on our site (and when I say "crap" I mean "the awesomest products ever to exist"):
 Fun games for FHE or, you know, just for fun.

 A crazy huge amount of file folder games. (Church-y & fun ones.)

Primary talks, in color so all you have to do is print them.

 Hey look, more file folder games.

 Christmas-y stuff.

Cool stuff to use in Primary classes or for FHE.
Some other stuff.  Ok, LOTS of other stuff.  We seriously have lots and lots of stuff.

All you have to do is leave me a comment and tell me what your favorite product is.  And you can have extra entries if you either follow my Green Jello with Carrots blog or "like" us on Facebook.  (Leave a comment for each entry, and don't forget to leave your email address.)

I'll be randomly choosing the winners on Wednesday at 5:00 PM MST.  And the cool thing is that you can download our products immediately so you don't have to worry about shipping, or you can print a fancy gift certificate and just give it to someone in your family, and they'll think you spent $25 on them.

Yup, awesome.

Dec 14, 2010

does this tooth make me look fat? what if we take a little off the side?

I had potato chips for breakfast. 

This is not a generally healthy practice to begin with, and it was a pretty horrible choice if I had had the goal to have a good, or even semi-decent, morning.  Because when I bit into my second breakfast chip a humongous chunk of my front top tooth broke off, leaving a huge cavernous hole that could rival the canyon in Twin Falls that Evel Knievel tried to jump over on his "skycycle" in 1974.

At least it FELT that big. (Sometimes I get a little dramatic - but it wasn't tiny, I swear.)

It didn't hurt though.  Because my front top teeth are dead anyway.

My 9th grade spring break was pretty eventful for my teeth.  I thought it would be great to learn how to skateboard that week.  (I had the skater jeans, I just needed to actually skateboard.)  So my friend and I took the only skateboard we had, which was an old skinny board that my aunt got in the 70's that rocked back and forth on its rickety old wheels.

We were only trying to jump off the sidewalk.  Not anything tricky.  Not even trying to jump ON the sidewalk.  Just off.  It seemed like a simple way to start.

Except that I forgot about my coordination problems.  And how I mostly just look like a newborn 3-legged giraffe whenever trying to do anything physical.  (I was the kid in our neighborhood that could crash -or even just fall over- on their bike just because.)

I don't think it took too many attempts before the moment my teeth were changed forever.  Instead of jumping the skateboard off the sidewalk, I just jammed the front end into the gutter, which flung me, teeth first, into the asphalt.  I'm pretty sure they were the first things to hit before I skidded up my face.

It was pretty stinking glorious.  (Of course you'll have to ask my friend, Cathy, how amazingly awesome I looked flying into the street that day.)

Luckily most of my face was saved through sheer dweebiness. 

I had glasses, which were scratched and bent horribly, but protected my eyes.  And my amazing dorky braces saved my teeth.  YAY for dorky braces.  My teeth probably would have been permanently wedged in the road if my braces didn't keep them in my mouth.  Except they were pulled out of their sockets, so I had to rush to my orthodontist where he SLOWLY pushed them back in.  (That was so much more painful than the lightening quickness in which they were yanked out.)

But before I could get to my orthodontist I had to get home, which wasn't hard since I only lived around the block.  What was hard was convincing my mom on the phone that I was bleeding from multiple places on my face and needed her to get home ASAP.  Yeah, my mom thought I was just fooling around when I told her.  I'm pretty sure I had to break out in fresh sobs to convince her that it wasn't a joke.  (Obviously I was an incredibly serious child who never made up wild stories for any reason EVER......or I did......a lot.)

So anyways.  After that I had to see an endodontist to take care of my teeth which were dead and apparently in root shock.  Every 3 months I would visit to have him yank stuff out of the canals of those teeth and jam more root stuff back in.  Basically it was like a double root canal.  Every few months. For over a year.  (Also I couldn't use the gas that is supposed to make things less stressful, because it just makes me sick.  Which I found out once when I puked at the dentist office with a fully numbed mouth - with the ENTIRE dental staff watching.)

And now I have dead, brittle, short-rooted top front teeth.  That apparently hate potato chips.  They hate them so much, in fact, they are willing to break apart and jump right out of my mouth to avoid them.

But GOOD NEWS, because while I was at the dentist office in a state of freaking-out-ed-ness I had a chance to ask about Two Bit's double set of teeth and I guess it's really not that big of deal as long as we keep them clean and the baby teeth fall out before she turns 37......or 9.  Either way, I'm pretty sure we're gonna be ok.

Well, as long as I can convince my teeth to stay in my head from now on.

Dec 12, 2010

oh man

There are a few conundrums of sorts floating around in my head.  Some of them aren't really solvable problems, just more things that deserve a loud "ack".

Every time I run errands I take Husband's car.  And pretty much every time I take Husband's car it's completely out of gas.  As in, the gas light is blaring the second the car starts, and I sit there wondering how long it's been like this, and that I'm really glad there's a gas station just around the corner.

Do you think he runs out of gas on purpose, knowing that I'll need the car next?  Probably, right?

Every morning Number Four stands in our living room, pointing her chubby little finger and screeching, "MOMMY!!!  MOMMY!!!!"  until I plug the Christmas tree lights in. 

Number Four's speech still isn't all that great, but man has she mastered the inflections of the word "mommy" to pretty much mean anything.

You know, the first time you hear your baby call you "mommy" your heart does this big flip of joy and then goes parading around the block with a banner and some trumpeters.  Then your baby figures out how to use the word as ammo against the flimsy barrier you call sanity, and it's not so awesome anymore.

At the dinner table a few nights ago we were discussing the absurd lateness of loose teeth in our family.  Husband and I were late in getting and losing teeth, but Two Bits is 7 1/2 now and not a single tooth is even slightly wiggly. 

Then this morning Two Bits comes running up to me in a hurry and says, "I was just in the bathroom looking in the mirror and LOOK!"  The she opened her mouth and guess what I saw? 

Her two bottom adult teeth growing in right behind her two firmly rooted baby teeth.

I gotta tell you I freaked out a little.  I'm still kind of freaking out because WHAT IN THE HECK?!!!  Does this happen often?  Do you know?  What are we supposed to do?  Besides, you know, freak out?

I called my mom - because that's what you do when you're freaking out - and apparently my older sister had this happen with her first adult tooth.  So thanks to faulty genes, once again my kids are mutants.  (It's a good thing no one in our extended family has one of those extra long spines that protrude away from the pelvis like a little tail.)

But in all seriousness - what should we do? 

In case you're wondering, we don't have dental insurance.  Because Husband's job is....grrrrrr.  So no benefits.  But I'm thinking that since one of Two Bit's adult teeth is like halfway grown in back there, we should probably get the baby teeth out of the way before people start noticing we have a shark daughter?

Because of the whole tooth fiasco I was explaining to my kids how and why baby teeth fall out and where the big teeth come from.

I drew diagrams.

It was amidst the tooth discussion that Husband says, "Baby teeth DO NOT have roots, Melissa!"  Husband thinks I'm a moron and loves to correct me whenever possible.  But really I'm the genius in our family because how can a grown man live 31 1/2 years and never find out that baby teeth have roots?!  Honestly, how does he think they stay in your head?

So if anyone ever asks you who's the smartest in this relationship - ME.  Definitely me. 

I always have to remind Husband that when I was in Kindergarten I was so smart that they gave me an IQ test.  I have no idea what the results actually were, but my mom tells me that they were literally in the "genius range".  And you've totally got to believe that, because I'm like the smartest person alive.  (Not even I can read that sentence without openly laughing.)

Not only am I really not the smartest person alive, because woah, I'm so not, but I'm also still a little stuck in immaturity-ville.  I was telling Husband, just tonight, that I don't feel like a grown-up.  As we were talking I was polishing off a frozen Schwan's sherbet push-up.  And right as the words "grown-up" came out of my mouth I took the last slurp of sherbet, flinging most of it all over my face and down my chin.

Accidents like this totally prove my point.

And about a month ago I had to give the opening prayer in Sacrament Meeting at church.  FYI, not by choice.  Because usually microphones and I don't get along, even when I'm trying to be mature.  

(Me + microphone = horror & stupidity.)

My mind went completely blank when I got up there.  Part of the actual prayer went like this:

"And thank you for........the weather?  uhhhhhhh......."

It really wasn't that big of a shock when they called and asked Husband to speak for 15 minutes this week and didn't even mention me.  (Not that I'm complaining.)

Dec 8, 2010

how many things can I fit into one post?

I think I have a lot to say.  And I feel like numbering this post so it sounds all important and stuff.  So here we go:

#1 - Have you heard about this yet:

'Tis cool.  Every month you get 1 of 12 special edition paintings and ideas on how to bring your family closer through dinner table conversations and lessons.

All the paintings are by Liz Lemon Swindle, who not only is a fabulous painter but an awesome person.  When I was 18 I got to listen to her speak at a fireside.  I can still remember some of the stuff she said - which is saying a lot since my brain hardly remembers ANYTHING these days.

Check it out on the details on the  Return to the Family site.

#2- Monkey got into the Early Intervention Preschool.  And might I add, FINALLY.  I 've been trying to get him in since last February.  I haven't really blogged about it because I figure I whine enough here as it is.  And sometimes frustration is better dealt with when I lock it in a cage in a brain and keep it there.  (Yeah - repressed emotions are uber healthy.)

The reason why it took so long for him to get accepted was because they have to determine everything by test scores (the joy of state-run programs).  And Monkey has always tested better than he functions.  And his scores are always just above the cut off line.  So they'd say, "Oh sorry, we can't let him come because this piece of paper says so."

But I kept trying, because I'm annoyingly persistent when I want to be.  And one day I spent 2 hours with the school psychologist filling out tests on what Monkey is like at home.  So this time when they tried to turn us away they couldn't - because there was a piece of paper that said he could be there.

Now we just need to get the bussing thing all worked out.  Of course it would help if his teachers didn't accidentally FORGET he rides the bus.  Because that's just obnoxious.  This is my daily "getting the kids to school" schedule:

8:55 Monkey gets on bus.
8:56 Other kids, who are already buckled into the running van, get driven to school (which is a different elementary school than where the preschool is held.)
Chill (or work - usually work) with just ONE KID at home (joy joy joy) for awhile.
11:55 Snag girl across the street and walk a couple blocks to bus stop.
12:05 Opie gets off kindergarten bus.
12:15 Neighbor girl gets on different school's kindergarten bus (in case you're confused- the kids around here to go to a bunch of different schools which is sort of annoying, but man am I glad we have choices).
12:16 Walk back home
12:25 Monkey gets off bus in front of house.
3:40 Pick up Two Bits in van.

Lots of busses.  But it beats having to drive everyone around!

#3 Is this post getting long enough yet?

#4 I still can't see out of my left eye.  SUPER ANNOYING.  How am I even supposed to practice Guitar Hero like this?  Or, you know, work.

#5 I'm trying to earn a few extra bucks for Christmas this year (just like every year, really.)  And I have a bunch of coloring pouches and mini dinosaurs already made (as seen in The Barrel this month).

The coloring pouches look like this:

Those specific ones are actually for my kids.  But I do have the following colors available:
• brown & blue with a star
• black & green with a star (I have two of these)
• purple with a flower
• purple & white with a flower
• blue & red with a star
• red & gray with a star
• blue & brown with a flower

They cost $8 (which includes shipping).  And if you want one in a different color, I would have to get a few more supplies so they'll cost $9.50.  And if you want to buy more than one, I'll knock off $2 on each (after the first) to make up for the combined shipping.

The mini dinosaurs that I have already made look like this:

Those exact colors and everything.  (The green one has light pink spots and the purple has blue spots - you can't see them in the picture.)

They cost $9 (including shipping) unless you want a different color, and then it will be $11.  I'll also knock $2 off the price for shipping, per extra dino that you order.

So yeah, email me if you want anything: melissabastow AT hotmail DOT com.
(I'm a dweeb and had my email address wrong before - so if you tried to email me before this line appeared in the me again.)

And that wraps it up - - that had to be a personal record for long post writing...

Dec 2, 2010

snow day

Yesterday was a "snow day".  As in, it snowed 6+ inches overnight so the school district called all the parents at 5:00 AM with a recorded message in Spanish telling them the schools were closed.

Yes, I said AT 5:00 AM.  IN SPANISH.  I'm pretty sure we still speak English in the U.S. even if it's well before dawn. 

I didn't answer my phone so my voicemail recorded it all, it was a pretty long message for such a short topic.  I mean, they could have just said, "SNOW DAY!" and all the parents would be like, "OK!"  And then we could all get back to our sleeping.  But no.  Long Spanish message.  (At 5 AM.)

A few minutes after hearing the phone go off I checked the message just in case someone had died or something (since that's pretty much the only time someone SHOULD call me that early).  I had no idea what the message said in my half-asleep state, but I coudln't go back to sleep so finally I woke up for real and listened again.  I had to listen to it like 3 times for all of my Spanish translation skills to kick in (which are fairly minimal and severely out of practice).  I finally figured it out about 3 seconds before they called again, this time with the recorded message in English.

These are the kinds of things I hate in the wee hours of the morning.  On my list of "Hateful Early Morning Sleep Disturbances" are: Kids puking in their beds  (of course, that's hateful at any hour), kids peeing in their beds, kids getting out of their beds, the house burning down and long Spanish recorded messages.  So now you know how best to annoy me.  When I'm sleeping.  At 5 AM.

I never had any snow days as a kid.  All the other school districts would close, but there we were trudging off to school through 6 feet of snow.....for 10 miles, without shoes, up-hill both ways.  Ok fine, my mom drove me.  And it was only like 1.3 miles.  And I had shoes.  And the 6 feet of snow was more like 2 1/2 feet.  BUT STILL.

We didn't enjoy the snow, however, on our first official "snow day" yesterday because I was really busy finishing this:

But it was worth it.  Especially when you all go read it.  RIGHT NOW.  Because I worked hard and you owe me.  (So fine, you don't really owe me.  But you still should go read it.)

The Barrel this month is all about Christmas!!  whooooo.  It has some super yummy recipes in it like the Magic Bar Cheesecake that my sister made up.  (She's a cheesecake wizard.)  There's also some cool Christmas crafts/homemade gifts in there.  I pretty much borrowed (stole) all of Rachel's ideas, because Rachel's awesome and let me.  Plus she has fabulous taste in crafts/homemade gifts.  And you can read some great Christmas-y stuff written by some of my very favorite bloggers like Lisa, Claire, That Girl and Kim.  And of course Barbaloot has written something hilarious, per her usual.

So yeah, that's what I did with my snow day.  And today we're just dealing with the aftermath which is mostly just slush, ice, wet jeans, late busses and the sparkling white lawns of the winterland that is now our neighborhood.

I really hate snow.

Nov 30, 2010

here's a free Christmas header, if you want one

Now that Thanksgiving is over, you can officially put one of these one the top of your blog:

You should be able to click on it, see it larger and save it to your computer.  Then just upload it into your header slot.  Or I guess you can link it to the image url.  Whatever.  Just do whatever you want.  Go ahead.  Do it.

Also, you wanna know a cool place to hang out with the kids online?

It's especially awesome now that it's all Christmas-y.  And my kids really like the games in the Kids Club.  (If I weren't hogging the computer all the time, they'd actually get to play them more often like they want to.)

Nov 17, 2010

post surgery

I didn't snore this time. 

You know how for my last eye surgery I was really worried about doing something horribly embarrassing?   But then I just snored the whole time? 

I don't remember much during that surgery other than thinking, "I'm snoring.  I need to stop snoring.  Why can't I stop myself from snoring?"  The rest of the surgery - I dunno?  Don't remember a thing.

This time though?  I remember every detail. 

(Like how it took 5 tries to get my IV in and so my forearms are now covered in bruises, and it's a good thing I'm not needle-shy.  But I wasn't drugged for that part, so I don't think it really counts in the whole "what I remembered this time versus last time" category.)

The anesthesiologist (I hate spelling that word - it's an impossible word to spell, I tell you) gave me the same drugs as I had for the first surgery.  But then when my Dr was like, "Ok, let's do this,"  I was like, "WOOOOOOOOAH, I'm still really aware over here!  Shouldn't I be snoring by now?!!!!"

But apparently nobody cared too much, because they did the surgery anyway.  It didn't hurt and it's not like I could see what was going on.  But when you feel something tugging on your eyeball and then you hear someone say, "Ok, clip this right here"  IT'S TOTALLY FREAKY.

Also, my Dr took a break from eyeball clipping 3 times to answer calls on his cell phone.  Seriously.  (See how I'm not just being sensitive or dramatic when I say that he's sort of a jerk?  What kind of Dr answers calls DURING surgery?)

Besides the calls I also got to hear about the time that my Dr was in Vegas at some expensive restaurant/costume party and he bumped into Christina Aguilera on the way to the rest room.  She was dressed as a nurse - white uniform, big red cross.  And then my Dr saw the "most amazing" costume he's ever seen.  It was made entirely of flowers, and he made a point of telling everyone (multiple times) that he looked really close and didn't see a scrap of fabric anywhere - the whole thing was just flowers.  It was an amazing FLOWER BIKINI.  And also the woman wearing it was beautiful and smelled good.  (Yes, my Dr is married.  Pretty sure his wife wasn't at this party.)

Also there was a short conversation about the band Lover Boy.

So yeah.  Second surgery - way more freaky and.......informative?

Up side though - my Dr didn't use the evil eye dilating drops that he used last time.  The dilation is supposed to wear off after like 10 hours.  It took my mutant pupil about 10 days to get back to normal size.  (My sister and I have mutant pupils that love being dilated and therefore don't usually even require eyedrops to do the job.)  And if you've ever had a fully dilated pupil for 10 days, you'll know why I referred to myself as having vampire eye.  So phew, no vampirical pupil traits this time around.

And another major up side: PERCOCET.

I pretty much decided I wasn't walking out of the surgery center without some kind of pain killer. 

Have I ever mentioned my love of pain killers?  Because I really really love them.  It's the only reason I can even look at this computer screen long enough to write a blog post about how much I love them. 

So all in all, everything eyeball related is going well.  And despite having been more freaked out during the actual surgery I'm recovering at a pace about 3 times faster than before, which isn't too shabby.

Nov 13, 2010

sometimes I forget that I have windows

Ok, not really.

Actually, I'm pretty obsessed with windows.  And that the blinds are closed exactly at dusk.  You know, before anyone (or any thing -because you never know when the saber tooth tiger is going to get sick of the garage and start lurking in the back yard-) can SEE us.

Concept: light inside+dark outside= people (or possibly tigers) spying on me.

It's just that sometimes I forget the car has windows too.  And that they are, in fact, transparent.

I always seem to remember when I'm mocking other drivers doing stupid stuff - like picking their nose or appearing to have an entire conversation when they're alone in the car.  Because opportunities like that can pass without anyone even laughing, and THAT is a travesty.

But then sometimes I forget.

Like today.

I was coming home from childless errand running which means that I can crank the radio AS LOUD AS I WANT.  And I like it loud.  Like when you can feel it vibrating in your teeth.  And usually on something hard rock-ish.  Because it's ok to be evil as long as the kids aren't in the car.

However, I LOATHE radio commercials.  L-O-A-T-H-E.  And so I flip stations a lot.  And I'm picky.  Because I don't get to enjoy my music time as much as I'd like.  So today, when there was nothing but commercials or Taylor Swift playing (shudder) I quickly switched to CD.  Not that I had CD's to choose from, but I figured the one already in the player would have to do.

It just happened to be the soundtrack to "Phantom of the Opera".  Which is almost as cool as evil hard rock, but in a total non-evil way.

So, OF COURSE, I had to lip-sync along (because actual singing along requires operatic singing skills and mine are more like barely-on-tune-most-of-the-time-but-don't-expect-it-to-be-awesome singing skills.)

And it was on the song where Carlotta is starring in the role that the Phantom demanded Christine to play, so then the Phantom makes Carlotta start croaking like a frog.  So I was doing some pretty theatrical lip-syncing. 

If you're not going to lip-sync with realistic flair, then don't even bother.  Really.

Except I don't do these kinds of things in public. (ie. in front of someone other than JUST ME.)  I'm waaaaaay too self-conscious for that. 

I was in the middle of a theatrical Carlotta croak when I remembered about the windows.  And how they exist.  And how I was surrounded by lots of other people in their own cars with their own windows.

Other drivers better have been laughing at me, since we wouldn't want any travesties to occur.  They just better be people that don't, and won't ever, know me.

Nov 11, 2010

loritab puncuation (two things I don't get)

I've had a drug-induced migraine for 3....ish....days now.  It could be 4 days.  What day is it?

My kids are completely inconsiderate of the fact that my head has been at the point of exploding and my stomach contents are about to be on display (because puking, or the feeling there of, also comes with migraines - the JOY).

Yesterday I said, "The next person to make a noise is going to lose their head."

And I said it really scary-like too.  And I'm scary.  SO SCARY.

The kids just gave me their, 'are you serious?' eyebrows and said, "What is that even supposed to mean?  You're going to come cut our heads off?  With what?"

And then I gave them the evil-glare-of-torturous-death as they ran away MAKING NOISE.  Obviously my evil-glare-of-torturous-death is having less and less effect on them.

Thankfully my crazy eyeball pills, that are partly to blame for said migraine, will be iced on monday.  (Yes, I said, "iced" as in "fitted with concrete boots and thrown into the river".)  Because I'm finally having my surgery.  I know, IT'S. ABOUT. TIME.

But that also means that I exchange the drug-induced migraine for a 2-week-mutant-vampire-eyeball. 

At my pre-op appointment I asked for a prescription of loritab (or something similar-ish) and the pre-op lady was like, "What ever for?"  And I said, "Because, why feel the pain when you don't have to?"  Then she laughed and walked away.  Rude.  I wasn't even kidding.  I think a handful of loritab isn't that much to ask for when I'm having my eyeball cut into, something inserted and pulled tight, and then sewn back together with shards of glass (or just regular stitches that FEEL like shards of glass, and therefor are pretty much the same thing.)  And I HIGHLY doubt that I'm just being dramatic.

(Has anyone noticed that my abuse of punctuation is out of control in this post?  Capitals and italics also count as punctuation, right?)


This blog was featured.  Yeah.  By invitation.  (Although, I don't think she really knew what she was asking when she emailed me).

You can read it here: Best of the Web: Be @ Home

But you'll have to scroll past all the gorgeous crafty and inspirational stuff to get to the part about my awesomeness.

It's times like these that I think, "You know, I should really put something useful on here every once in"

Nov 2, 2010

magazine MAGAZINE magazine

Remember awhile ago when I, mockingly, said I was going to start a magazine?

Well, I'm a dork, and I really did.

(I know that Alison was supposed to be on the first cover, but I didn't want to make it look like I was TOTALLY favoring my friends....for now.....sort of.  Even though I kind of did anyway.  But not TOTALLY.)

My sister, Michelle, is my magazine Co-Editor-in-Cheif-and-All-Things-That-Rock (which is a real title  - I looked it up...ok, no I didn't.).  And Barbaloot is writing a piece every month because I only know how to write about wiping noses and butts and let's face it, we need a different perspective on life represented.

Also there is a section called "Potty Talk" and this month is Shelle's absolute FUNNIEST bathroom story ever told.  (Even Husband was laughing while he proofread this, and he never laughs at things I usually think are funny, which just proves it's hilariousness.)

But mostly there's some really great blogs that we found and want to share.  Because that's basically the point of the whole magazine.

So go and read it, because otherwise I'll feel like a huge loser if you don't, and that's what's really important.

Oct 30, 2010

Happy Halloween (in cartoon form)

My sketchbook was abondoned.  Sad sketchbook.  And my lame-o art skills are depressing.  Sad unskilled me.  So I've decided to actually put forth an effort to sketch again.  With like a REAL pencil (because I've gotten so used to a stylus I keep thinking, "UNDO UNDO" every time I mess something up in real life).


drum roll, please....

For your viewing pleasure, I give you a Halloweeniscious cartoon.....about me (see the ponytails?  Me.  Plus, see how one of my pupils is bigger than the other one?  I told you - going blind  - yes, they really are like that, and yeah, that's just messed up):

(You should be able to click on the strips to see everything bigger - 'cause you know you want to.)

And because mummy-butt-biting is about as morbid as I can get without having to spew forth something nauseatingly cute, I also drew this:

My fingers seem to be more comfortable with cute than with morbid.  I was thinking it would be nice to draw something with an eyeball halfway falling out, or some slime oozing out of somewhere grotesque.  Because it's almost Halloween, so it should be gross, right? 


Mummy-butt-biting.  And then pinch-your-cheek sweetness. 

I guess it's just what I do.

Oct 27, 2010

forty-two gumball movie parents

I have the number forty-two stuck in my head.  I don't know why.  And what normal person has a number stuck in their head for no good reason?!  Honestly.
Yet, here I am, thinking, "Forty-two, forty-two,  forty-two,  forty-two,  forty-two..."

It could be the crazy pills.

I paired them with caffeine tonight.

It's like a party in my brains. 

(I typo-ed the 's' on 'brain', then fixed it, then decided that it looked better in the plural sense, even though, technically speaking, it's wrong, or I just have more than one brain, I'm not really sure these days, to tell you the truth.)

You know what else?

I have a thing for gumballs.

The thing is, I really like them. 

Not enough that I force Husband on evening runs to the corner grocery store just for some (like I do with m&m's).  But when I see a gumball, all I can think is, "Gumball, gumball, gumball, gumball, gumball, gumball, gumball..."  until I pop it in my mouth, chew it for 2 seconds until the flavor is gone and then spit it in the trash.

It's a compulsion, I tell you.  A gumball compulsion.


I called an eye dr in another state this morning, because I woke up really really angry.  (Also thanks to the crazy pills.)  I decided that the Lord of the Dance is taking WAY TOO LONG scheduling my surgery.  So yeah,  I called a new dr.  Because it's going to be SO MUCH EASIER having surgery in another state....

You know how movie parents are always saying "funny" cliche phrases that are usually used in other situations but are so much more "funny" because it came out of a parent's mouth?  I've turned into one of those parents.  (You can also substitute "annoying" for "funny", if you so desire.)

Earlier I heard Two Bits and Opie smacking each other.  So I called them into the room and told them that if they wanted to smack each other around they could go ahead and do it, "right here, right now". 

Opie seriously considered it - I could see his little Opie brain going, thinking of multiple karate moves, no doubt.  Then Two Bits ran screaming to her room.  So it pretty much ended up being a rousing success in the whole parenting department.

And then later as Monkey was doing his regular, "But I need to find something!!"  routine that gets him out of bed 50 billion times, I kept having to yell stuff like, "Drop the block!  DROP IT MISTER!!"  and "Just back away slowly..."

I think with lines like these I could totally be in a movie.



Oct 23, 2010

dancing to Plan C

I haven't mentioned it yet, but I'm going blind.  Oh, that's right - I mention it all the time.

For the past month-ish my eye Dr and I have been doing this little dance.  It goes:

I wait to get into his busy busy office.  Sometimes I pirouette while I wait.

The Dr finally comes in, he does some amazingly uncoordinated leaps and says, "Oh wow," and writes down bad stuff on his chart.  Then he suggest trying something obnoxious and tells me to come back next week.

Then it's my turn.  I clog a little and say, "Yeah, but then what?"

The Dr prances towards the door and says, "We'll probably have to rush you into surgery."  And then he continues on.  To the billion old people he tap dances for on a daily basis.

For a week at a time I try obnoxious plan A, B, or C (C stands for Crazy).

But everytime we dance in his office it's always the same thing.

Until last thursday. 

Last thursday's dance had a particularly gruesome ending.  The Dr turned into the Lord of the Dance.  Just because he can.  Making everyone else follow along in Riverdance style as he kept all the power.

Now I'm on Plan C (for Crazy) for an indefinite period of time.  Until my Dr's schedule opens up enough to save the vision I have left in my eye.  (And save my sanity.)  Because no one, and I mean NO ONE, will inconvenience the Lord of the Dance's schedule.  How could you even suggest that?

Plan C involves oral medication that keeps me dangling on the dangerzone line (instead of riding rollercoasters through it).  But it turns me into a crazy person.  IN ALL SERIOUSNESS.

Sometimes I feel like my skin is too tight for my body.

I can't eat anything cold because it makes my tongue and mouth go completely numb and get prickly (like when you sit on your foot and it falls asleep).

I get headaches.  Pain medication resistant ones. 

And the feeling of puke.

I can't use my fingers for very long before they go numb too.

My brain gets foggier with each day I take it.  I forget things like putting the car in park before getting out.

But mostly, I just FEEL crazy.  I snap.  Without provocation.  It's way beyond irritability.  Irritability is my normal state of being.  This is just crazy.  I don't know if it's because my body is overloaded with all the other side effects, or if this is just a side effect on it's own.

I really hate the Lord of the Dance.

Oct 19, 2010


(These are not pet peeves, because it's not like I feed them or take them for walks, and therefore they do not earn the title of "pet".)

Plain Milk:
I like chocolate milk, and strawberry milk, and milk shakes, and Milky Ways and I like to cook with milk.  But drinking plain old milk all by itself?  BLECK.  Yes, I do realize this makes me look juvenile.  No, I don't mind looking juvenile.  And if you're going to make me gag down a glass of milk, you better make it skim so it's not all thick and grody.  And also, you should include lots of cookies, because that would probably help.

Lady Cramps:
Honestly, there's no need to embelish on this topic.

Loud Jets That Fly Over My House Really Low Just to Freak Me Out:
Why do they have to do that?  Why so low?  You know what my brain automatically thinks of when I hear them?  Air Raids.  Like how in Englad they had all those bombings and so everyone had to send their kids away to live in the country so they wouldn't die.  That's what it makes me think of.  Except that I'm hearing jets and not those huge bombers they used to fly around.  But still.  I think of bombs.  There is NO NEED for really loud jets to fly low over my house and make me think of bombs.  Have they no consideration for my feelings?

As if the older Barney shows weren't obnoxious enough, now they show it in a colored frame in which the colors change throughout the show.  Because I guess if you get bored of watching the actual show, you can just focus on the changing colors since THAT is so much more entertaining.

They had no angel wings in the entire store this morning, which is maddening since I decided I want to dress Number Four as an agel for Halloween but I really don't want to create my own wings and/or spend a fortune to get them elsewhere.  What kind of world do we live in that Walmart doesn't carry something as simple as angel wings?!!

I hate being all sensible and grown-up-ish.  I really wanted to dress Two Bits and Opie as Buffy and Spike to go Trick-or-Treating.  I even spent weeks talking them into the idea.  But now that they've finally concented I feel all guilty forcing them to forget their Halloween ideas and go with my costume plans.  The guilt was particularly strong this morning, while at the cursed Walmart, and I caved and bought an Iron Man costume for Opie.  So much for Spike and Buffy.  I was even going to bleach Opie's hair and paint his nails black in true Spike fashion.   *sigh*

Oct 15, 2010

slug bug yellow, smart fart blue

The other day I taught my kids how to play "slug bug" in the car. 

Although I'm pretty sure everyone on the planet is required to know what this game is, there might be someone somewhere who doesn't know, so here are the rules:

1- See a Volkswagon Beetle of any year
2- Punch your nearest neighbor and say "Slug Bug Yellow!"  (or whatever the color of the Volkswagon Beetle you see.)
3- You have to punch your neighbor before they punch you (hence the "slug" part of the game).
4- I can't remember why you have to do it first.  You just do.  So punch first, ok?

When Two Bits got confused and asked why anyone would ever want to play "Slug Bug" I very expertly told her, "Because it's fun to punch people."  And that was the end of the questions.

I also taught them what a "perdiddle" was. 

I don't even know how to spell "perdiddle".  And since my spell check is going all highlighty (like it does on the word "highlighty") I'm thinking I'm way off, but really don't care how it's spelled.

If you grew up under a rock or had some sort of deprived childhood and have no idea what a "perdiddle" is either, here are the rules:

1- See a car with one headlight out
2- Kiss your hand
3- Hit the ceiling of the car
4- Say "perdiddle!!"
5- Do it before anyone else in the car.  Because you get to keep score on this one.  And perdiddle semi's count for about 10 points.  Unless you're playing with your husband and then they count 20 for you and -5 for him.

("Perdiddle" is always a good game to play with a boyfriend because you can say that the points are worth actual kisses, or minutes kissing.  And then your boyfriend will lose on purpose, and let you get tons and tons of points, because then you'll be kissing him a long time, and it's not like that really makes him a loser at all.  It's not such a fun game to play once your married though.  Unless the points equal butt-kissing minutes in which you can force your husband to do rubbing your feet, or washing toilets.)

Since it was still light ourside and the kids couldn't really play "perdiddle" they asked if there were any more fun car games where they got to hit stuff and yell.  But I didn't know any.  So I thought it would be fun to think of my own car game.

Now you can teach your kids "Smart Fart" next time you're trapped in the car with them.  It's gonna be great.  Here are the rules:

1- See a Smart Car
2- Yell, "Smart Fart Blue" (Or whatever color the car is that you see.)
3- And then - NO, NOT FART.  Because eeeeew.  Punching people is one thing.  Farting is a whole other matter. - you put your thumb on your forehead and spread your fingers apart which is the official international sign of "it wasn't me."
4- If you're the last one to make the "it wasn't me" sign after seeing a smart car, then everyone else gets to make smelly jokes about you all they want.

See?  It's great!

Oct 14, 2010

a header JUST FOR YOU

Looky looky, I'll customize this Halloweeniscious blog header JUST FOR YOU.  (For the phenomenally low fee of $4.)  Because a customized Halloween blog header is WAAAAAAAY better than a regular generic Halloween blog header any day.

Email me if you want one:  melissabastow AT

Oct 13, 2010

Betty and Me (and our foot long goldfish trout)

I had a dream last night that I was roommates with Betty Suarez (from the show Ugly Betty).  Except she didn't work for Mode or anything.  We were just in college.  In fact, I think she worked in the book store.  But I think we still lived in New York.

Betty had this guy who was totally hot for her, so he kept following us around in the dream.  And then he started bringing his friends along.  And every situation we were in was sitcom-like insanity where things are always over the top and in real life you sit there and watch it thinking, "like THAT would ever happen."

I don't remember all of it, but it went on for pretty much EVER.  At one point, we were hosting a party, but we didn't really know any of the guests besides the guy who liked Betty.  But then one of the guy's friends found out I was an artist and was like, "Oh yeah?  Me too."  And then he almost started coming onto me.

Except that's when the instantaneous flood from nowhere happened.  And also there were fireworks involved.  And I don't think we had a ceiling for awhile, but then it was back.

But then Betty and I found that her guy's friend -the one that might like me- had left me a message in code by using plastic dinosaurs laid out on a bench.  And as we were trying to decide if the mean looking, half brontosaurus, half dragon meant "I'm evil and I eat babies for breakfast" or "let's make out" our gold fish kept trying to escape from his bowl, which was horribly distracting.  Especially since our goldfish was probably about a foot long and we expected it to live in a regular fish bowl.  And also the goldfish looked like a trout, but we were all calling it a goldfish, so whatever.

Once I brilliantly realized that our fish lived better in the flooded apartment ('cause we were figuring out dinosaur clues while the flood continued and was now about knee deep) my dream decided to dramatically shift for a few seconds.

So then I was with one of my real college roommates, from when I was really in college.  And I was tagging along as she ran through a housing complex for dance team members (this roommate was actually on the dance team, so this actually made some sense, sort of). 

We ran from room to room checking people's flarp for contamination.  And finally we found some, so then we woke the girl up (because they were all sleeping) and took her and the contaminated flarp to another girl's room.  As I checked the new flarp, they woke up the other girl by jumping on her bed. 

Then I said, "The flarp is clean," in an authoritative military scientist voice.

And then the three of them sat around talking about the dance team, and how sad it was that people had to graduate from college and move on with life.  And I quietly serenaded the conversation with my best flarp noises.

**BRAIN BREAK - - I just needed to interrupt my dream with some info.  Flarp, for those of you who don't know, is a slimy goo that comes in a little plastic cup.  The object of flarp is to get air pockets in the bottom of the cup, and push the flarp so that as the air pockets are slowly released to make surprisingly authentic farting noises.  END BREAK**

So after that I jumped back to being Betty's roommate.  And we had a new non-flooded apartment.  And we had gotten rid of the goldfish.  And I was trying to work on an art assignment, but apparently it involved doodling and I couldn't find a pen. 

Then the guys showed up.  And while Betty flirted with her guy, I tried to figure out if his friend liked me or was just a weirdo.  So we talked about art a little.  And about how my walls were covered in those big wall sticker things you can get at Target, except that I didn't get them at Target, because apparently they had come in a series of Happy Meals.

And then my dream self couldn't decide if it wanted to be current fat and ugly Melissa or past cute and skinnier Melissa, which probably confused the dream guy, because he ended up leaving with the rest of the guys while I tried to plug in my laptop, even though I'm pretty sure there wasn't a single outlet in that whole stupid apartment.  Because I kept looking and never found one.

And then I woke up and realized I should have gotten out of bed a half hour ago, and ran like a crazy person to get everyone ready for school.

I would say the scariest part of my dream was that the guy who may or may not have had a crush on me and/or wanted to eat babies for breakfast was an oriental emo teenager with skinny jeans, and that I think dream me found him attractive.  SKINNY JEANS....shudder.  But once I dreamed about Kid Rock, so now my theory is just that dream me is really demented.

Oct 12, 2010

you can never have too many posts about boobs

Do you think anyone has ever really worn a coconut bra in seriousness?  Like they had nothing else to cover their boobs, so they were like, "Hey look, coconuts!" 

Because I seriously doubt it.

Just like I really highly doubt mermaids slap starfish to their chests and call it an ensemble.  Or use coordinating seashells.  Because seashells would be just as uncomfortable as coconuts.  And I think the starfish would probably just try to eat mermaid boobs if they were the bra of choice.

So that leaves one to wondering....

If you were trapped on an island filled with coconuts, but no bras, would you try it? 

Or would you reach into the ocean and look for some seashells/boob-eating-starfish?

Because I'm thinking, in that type of situation, I would just do what the women in remote parts of Africa do.  Just let it all hang out.  Let them sag and swing.  And, if need be, stretch them to feed hungry babies in opposite directions from two feet away.  Because I saw an African woman do that on tv once.

Plus, my boobs are already pretty saggy.  It's not like a couple of dorky old coconuts are going to keep them from dragging on the ground.

Oct 8, 2010

look, I'm a sculptor

I call this: smiling through a migraine.

The next piece in this series will probably be focused on something like PMS or hang nails.

Oct 6, 2010

horror movies

I don't understand why they never make horror movies about sabre tooth tigers living in your garage.  I think a movie like that would be terrifying.  Because the threat is so incredibly real.

Just picture it:

You have to get into your minivan in the middle of the night.  Rummaging through the front seat for that important scrap of paper you wrote on, and then forgot about, and then lost.  The best rummaging involves legs halfway sticking out of the open door, and lots of distracted leaning. 

As you dig and lean, the sabre tooth tiger silently stalks around the boxes of old baby clothes and Christmas decorations. 

And then suddenly:

Your dead.

Totally real threat.  And even if you make it back into the house mostly unscathed, you're going to hear the sabre tooth tiger bumping around in the garage, probably punching walls in hungry frustration.

It's better just to wait until daylight to go rummaging through the minivan in the garage, since that's when the tiger returns to it's lair or cave or whatever.

Speaking of horror movies, I watched Amityville 3D last night (although I really didn't see anything 3D about it).  It was so very very LAME.  Of course it was made in 1983, so it's not like they had state of the art digital effects to throw in.  But their ghost hunting thermal imaging device?  How embarrassing.  The robotic demon puppet that came shooting out of the "portal to hell" at the end?  So so so very lame. 

In completely different news: I'm officially going blind.  Ok, technically the official blindness started when my glaucoma kicked in.  But now it's all sorts of serious.

I saw my eye dr yesterday.  My non-surgeoned eye has been causing problems (more than usual) the past few weeks, so it was no surprise that the pressure was at an all time high.  I go in for a visual field test on friday.  Which is basically when you look into this dome, stare at a dot, and push a button every time you see a little shimmer of light.  It tests for blind spots.  I'm expecting to bomb it.  In fact, when they get the print out, it will probably just say "You're officially going blind!" in bold, and possibly italics.  And then the machine will probably give me a high five, because seriously, HOW AWESOME.

Oct 1, 2010

a list - the first draft

I'm all in Christmas mode today.  Not sure why, since, you know, it's October 1st.  All I know is that I've been thinking all day of awesome things Santa could bring my kids this year.

I know that the Santa gifts have to be stellar this year, because we're instituting the "1 gift to wear, 1 gift to read, 1 gift to play with" thing at our house.  I'm pretty sure the concept will kill me dead.  I have a major tendency to go overboard at Christmas.  And by overboard, I mean, TOTALLY INSANE.  My kids get spoiled and our bank calls and asks if our credit cards have been stolen due to all the purchases.

Last year, when we were super horrendously broke, I ended up making a gazillion gifts.  Making gifts is ok for a few things.  But a gazillion home made gifts just turned me into a sleep-deprived, over-stressed, Scrooge-like maniac.  And that was NO FUN.  Hence the vow to do the simple, everyone gets 3 gifts thing.

Except that the Santa gift doesn't count - it's not part of the deal.  Because my kids are all still young enough to harbor the myth and would probably croak on Christmas morning if we told them Santa was in on our 3 gift policy.

So this is what Santa is thinking about bringing:

Have you seen the new Leapster Explorer?  We got a couple of Leapster 2's a few years ago.  But the Explorer?  WAY MORE AWESOME.  The thing has apps.  Yeah.  For your 4-8 year old.  I don't even have apps.  I was happy enough when I figured out how to text.  Opie would probably run through hot coals to get a Leapster Explorer.

I've wanted to get Monkey a real guitar for about 2.4 years.  He used to be obsessed with guitars.  So I thought once he phased out of his destruction streak and grew fingers long enough to play a Baritone Ukelele the world would be infinetly better.  Except that he hasn't quite done either.  Plus, Baritone Ukelele's?  EXPENSIVE.  So now I'm just thinking regular ukelele, and if it has a palm tree painted on it, even better.

You know what I want to get Number Four?  (This was decided after much online surfing and thoughtful pondering on the subject.)  A big cardboard house and a major package of crayons.  What with her love of coloring on walls, this is perfect, I tell you.

Is a 7 year old too young for an ipod?  Because I don't even have one yet.  But then again, I would rather stream than buy songs ANY day.  I think I just need to get a phone that will actually go online and let me play Pandora whenever I want.  Except that would probably require an app, and you know, I don't have any (not that I have an app-compatible phone anyawy).  But I think Two Bits would like some kind of MP3 player, as long as it came with cute headphones - her priorities are rather 7-year-old-like.

You know what Santa is going to bring me?!!  (Because I found that too.)  I have been wanting a Rubicks Cube for pretty much ever.  Or at least since last february when I used one to make Husband a photo cube for Valentine's Day and then Two Bits got a hold of it and twisted it until it was a disaster and I played with it for a week trying to figure it out just to end up giving up and peeling off all the little photo squares and rearranging them back on the right sides.  That was frustrating.  I want a second round with the Rubicks Cube, but I'm totally not peeling off photo squares to get it.  So I need a new one.  But I don't want any regular old Rubicks Cube.  No way.  I found one on ebay that was a SUDOKU RUBICKS CUBE.  I know!!!  I almost peed a little in excitement.

So pretty much that's my list.  Except for Husband.  Maybe I'll just stick some socks in his stocking this year.  It worked so well last year.  And after I get done spending all that money on my kids, I won't have any cash left to get him anything remotely cool.  I'll probably change my mind about 783.2 times before I buy anything anyway.  But as long as I get my Sudoku Rubicks Cube, Christmas will be awesome.

Sep 25, 2010


Alison Wonderland commented on my last post: "I'm not sure how it happened but I'm 32 and I've never even been on the cover of a magazine. Weird huh?"  Which by itself made me crack up.  But it also got me to thinking:

we need our own magazine.

We can call it, "Completely Boring Blogging Housewives of the World" and I'm going to be the first one featured.

I'll include stuff like if I've managed to brush my teeth for the day.  Or how many times I have to buckle kids into carseats on any given week day.  And possibly -if I want the feature to be horribly awesome- I'll include minute details on how I add fabric softener to my laundry.

So, clearly Alison has the next feature.  But who goes after that?  And tell me, what would you want your feature to include?

Sep 22, 2010


Do you ever wake up and think, "THIS is my life?  What a disappointment."  And then spend the rest of the day (week/month/life) in disgust of your non-awesome-ness?

I kind of thought life would be cooler by now.

I really didn't have any humongous plans for my future.  But I knew I wanted it to be good.  I planned on excitement.  Or something resembling excitement. 

Don't get me wrong, stuff happens here.  Number Four almost fell down the stairs head first today and I had to run and catch her before, you know, splat.  But that's not really the kind of excitement I had hoped for.

I think the most exciting thing that happened to me today was when I lost track of time and left for the bus stop too late and then had to run the last half block because Opie's bus driver is hideously strict and won't let him off the bus unless I'm RIGHT THERE.  But that's not really all that exciting either.

I'm thinking about moving to a foreign country, just to add some adventure to life.  But then I'd probably just get frustrated because I don't know any other languages.  And it's not like changing poopy toddler diapers in another country makes it that much more exotic.

Man, I really thought life would be cooler...

Sep 17, 2010

I'm a geek. Deal with it.

I think I may FINALLY be kidney stone free.  Granted I've only had a day and a half of non-pain.  But still, I think it's done.  IT BETTER BE DONE.  (If my kidney is reading this - that was a command.)

I finished all 7 seasons of Buffy.  (Lots of couch time the past few weeks.)  I was going to watch all the seasons of Angel too, except that my loyalty shifted dramatically towards Spike and therefore watching Angel would have been like committing ultimate treason.

Poor Spike.  I liked him even before he got his soul back.  I was pretty much devastated when he burned up in the final episode.  Until I learned online that he just gets transferred to LA and into the Angel show.  Which now means that I MUST watch Angel.  Except that I have some mega catching up to do, in the area of normal life, from all the time spent laying on my couch in unspeakably annoying kidney pain.  But I'll fit all those Angel seasons in somehow (because I can't possibly just watch the final season without knowing all the minute details of the previous seasons - 'tis crucial, those details).

Is it horrible that I have a favorite episode of Buffy?  That's not horrifically nerdy, right?  (It's the musical one in season 6 called "One More Time, with Feeling" in case you want to look it up, watch it and love it.)

And if all this talk about Buffy the show hasn't convinced you that I'm a geek....

I also found out online today that they have a whole series of Buffy graphic novels that pick up where the show left off.  And GOOD NEWS, our public library has them!!!!!!!  I told Husband that I was going to go check out the first few tomorrow.  He just rolled his eyes and did one of those "you're such a dork" sighs.  At least I'm pretty sure he did, because we were IMing at the time and those kinds of things aren't exactly noticeable. (Unless you use emoticons, of course.  But what kind of dweeb uses emoticons?  I'm way too cool for that.)

In all my couch laying glory things were pretty neglected.  Things like taking showers or feeding my kids.  You know, just the essentials.  I did however manage to drive the kids to school on most days.  Have you ever had the thought, "I better not get into a car accident while I'm out, because if the paramedics see my hair this greasy, I'll probably have to die"?  I had a lot of those thoughts.  And also, "Why are we always out of fruit snacks?!!"

Also, I noticed little obnoxious things like how stinking slow little kids are when climbing into minivans.  Number Four is on this kick of "MEEEEEEEE" which is pretty all encompassing, but mostly when it comes to doing things for herself.  So that gets Monkey thinking, "MEEEEEEEE" and next thing I know, I have to just stand and watch as they climb into the minivan and up into their carseats which makes my brain automatically jump to thinking about Zombies and how incredibly slow they seem to crawl up things.  And by the time the kids have gotten in their seats and are facing a normal direction in which I can buckle them I've already pondered every Zombie movie made, and why are the people so afraid of the Zombies when you can outrun one pretty dang quick, because it's not like they're moving any faster than naked slugs climbing an ice cube that is also covered in molasses.

So basically, I'm a geek.  Because when given a chance, my brain likes to focus on things like vampire slayers, zombies, naked slugs and now graphic novels.  Next thing you know, I'll be dressing up like a elvin princess and attending Comicon.

Sep 10, 2010

things that raise my blood pressure:


Not that I'm especially terrified of bees.  I mean, I try to avoid them whenever confronted.  But bees alone don't raise my blood pressure.  It's the combination of bees and my children.

Our neighbors (neighbors that we don't particularly know personally) have now heard exactly how impressive Opie's screaming is.  Because he stood in their driveway for about 5 minutes raising his highest, loudest voice to the heavens in horrendous bee anxiety screams. 

Why 5 minutes?  (Since that's a pretty long time considering the amount of screaming coming out of that kid.) 

Because I was busy gathering the rest of my screaming children and all of their bikes and scooters so that we could go inside where I could beat my head against the wall repeatedly while plugging my ears and humming a mantra.

Training Wheels

Before all the bee screaming started my kids were already warming up their lungs because I made them SIT on a bike without training wheels, while I held it steady.

I'm pretty sure my kids will have training wheels on their bikes until they learn how to drive a car, and then possibly we'll have to get training wheels for the car too.


I hate making dinner.  It's just annoying.


I'm pretty sure there was a ghost in my house yesterday.

I was sitting on my couch, working on my dying laptop and watching Buffy.  Three of the kids were upstairs playing the computer.  Number Four was quietly playing at my feet. 

Then I started hearing a door.  You know when you have windows open, but the bedroom door is closed, and the pull of the draft shakes the door in it's frame a little?  It was like that.  For like a full minute.  And what with my excellent ghost knowledge picked up from all of those episodes of Ghost Hunters I've watched (I'm practically an expert now), I didn't immediately panic or anything, even though I panic really well also.  I just listened. 

I was pretty sure it was my bedroom door, downstairs, just down the hall a little from where I was sitting.  It sounded too close to be upstairs.  Plus all the kids up there were pretty imersed in Curious George or something equally entertaining. 

The thing is though, we had no windows open yesterday.  Not a one.  So I figured that I would just ignore it, and pretend that it didn't happen.  (I've been practicing that concept with my kids for years, so I'm also pretty expertly about that too.) 

But then Number Four stood up, and went down the hall to check the door.  So, clearly I wasn't the only one wondering what was up.  And Number Four is two. 

So we checked it out.  It was shut.  We checked the window, just in case.  Not open.  I checked the closet and bathroom and behind the shower curtain for creepy psycho stalker rapist killers.  There were none. (phew.)

So then we closed the door, went back to Buffy and pretended that it didn't happen.  (Number Four is pretty good at pretending too.)

Of course, this isn't the first time I thought there was a ghost in the house.  It's not the second either.  It's kind of the third time.  As long as we count out the times that I'm for sure just making stuff up in my overactive morbid imagination.

Sep 8, 2010

Whitey the Second is dead

Yeah, that was fast.

But we didn't get Whitey the Third yet.  The death of a second fish in less than a week is apparently much less some people.  I'm thinking some kids would be upset.  But Opie just wanted to bury this one in the garden too, and then run happily along with his day.

I don't think I'll ever fully figure that kid out.

I was having serious thoughts a little earlier today.  About naked pregnancy pictures.  I was thinking, "Seriously, WHY?!!!!" 

You know those pictures where the woman is all bare chested, and the man is all bare chested and they're embracing risque-ly and things are barely being covered and people go, "Awwwwww, your belly is so......cute."  Because they're too busy thinking, "Holy cow, I can almost see a nipple, and why would you want to show that much skin when all pregnant women tend to not look super fabulous (I don't care how round and perfect your belly is)."

And then when the naked people's child is a 15 year old girl with her first crush sitting on the couch looking at the family picture album, and then comes across the naked pictures of her parents - - yeah, that's going to go over REALLY WELL.

How did the naked pregnancy pictures ever become a fad anyway?

You know that kidney stone?  It's evil.  But they tend to be that way.

I've had a lot of down time lately.  Evil kidneys require down time.  They also require all things Netflix (since I had already seen all the current episodes of Ghost Hunters International on Hulu). 

I kind of get obsessive though, when it comes to tv series and books and, oh, kind of everything.  But being obsessive is actually pretty distracting from debilitating kidney pain.  And since I've exhausted all the contemporary episodes of Dr. Who, and the big-eared-alien show Roswell, I started a new series.  Something I never thought I'd watch.  Something awesome and stupidly addictive:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

(I figured with 7 seasons of Buffy and the whatever amount of seasons of Angel, I would be set if this kidney stone decides to torture me indefinitely.)

I'm really liking it though.  Except that I'm on season 3 now, and I'm fairly convinced that it's the season of ugly pants.  But other than that, fabulous.  (In a stupidly addictive way, of course.)

However, I have come away with an extremely thought provoking question:

David Borneaz: more attractive as the younger Angel?

Or the older Seely Booth?

'Cause I'm obsessed with Bones too, and since it predated this whole Buffy thing I'm voting for the older.  Also I think I'm getting old, and therefore I guess I find older men more attractive...which is kind of sad when you think about it.

Sep 3, 2010

Whitey the Second (also I had a kidney stone this week, which was horrible, blasted kidneys)

One of our goldfish died.  I knew it was coming.  As in, from the moment I found out we were getting goldfish.  How can you not expect goldfish to kill over?  They just do.  Also, I kind of thought Whitey was sick anyway (Whitey is the goldfish, in case there was any confusion).  The edge of his fins and tail were starting to turn black. 

The worst part of Whitey's death?  He was Opie's fish.  And it was on Opie's second day of Kindergarten. 

Unrelated, you say? 


Opie doesn't adapt well.  Or adjust well.  Or whatever you want to call it - he doesn't do it well.  He was used to going to school every day, since he was in an early intervention preschool for 2 1/2 years.  But that was at a different school.  With the same teacher, and mostly the same kids.  Every year.

New school + new teacher + new kids + dead fish = EMOTIONAL TIRADES. 

Not that he doesn't throw a bunch of those at us on a daily basis anyway - but I really didn't need him to have extra excuses for them.  So the second his fish started floating, we ran to the store and got a new one.  Seriously.  THE SECOND his fish died, we were out the door.  Because that's just too much (for me) to deal with.

And his name is Whitey the Second.

For the record: Whitey (both first and second) are orange fish with white spots, and hardly white at all.  But whatever.  I only had a hand in naming the younger kids' fish, Lasso and Shoes, which are totally more awesome.

And yeah, I had a kidney stone.  It almost killed me.  Not really.  But I hate those things.

Aug 30, 2010

clash of the what now?

I told Husband to rent a movie we could watch together tonight.  I told him he could pick whatever he wanted.  So he did.  And he brought home a total guy movie: Clash of the Titans

I'm no Greek mythology scholar, but I've read all of the Percy Jackson books.  Even with my limited knowledge, I understand enough to know that there were NO TITANS in that whole movie.  Sure the titans were mentioned in the beginning as being the parents of the gods, but then they talk about the Kraken and blah blah blah.

So honestly - why is it named that?!!

I was curious enough to google it.  Apparently I'm not the only one with this question.  Yet I didn't find any answers.

Stupid guy movies anyway.

And honestly, what were djinn doing in the movie?  Aren't djinn Arabic?

If someone as stupid as me can clearly see these huge flaws, what were they thinking making a movie for the masses?  It's so bad, it would be like if they hired a 6 1/2 foot bald guy to play Frodo instead of weird looking Elijah Woods.

And this is what comes from watching guy movies.  So much useless information swirling around in my brain that could be thinking of something useful.  But instead it's preoccupied in thoughts of titans and Hobbits.

Aug 20, 2010

I lit the kitchen on fire AGAIN today

Well, not the actual kitchen.  Just something IN the kitchen. 

This tends to be a hobby of mine.  Not like one of those "Oooh goodie, I think I'll take up knitting" kind of hobbies.  But more like an "at least we don't have to test our smoke detectors this month" kind. 

(And who really tests their smoke detectors monthly?  Recently all the batteries needed changing in ours - which we found out when they all started going insane at 2 AM one night.  But other than that night, or when I'm lighting something on fire, I generally just forget they're there.)

I first started noticing my pyro-kitchen talents right after I got married.  Our first apartment was so crappy we didn't even have an oven.  We just had a toaster oven.  And I'm convinced that toaster ovens have a natural ability to start fires easily.  Therefore, it was hardly my fault.

Once I started a fire with one of those automatic bread machine thingies. 

There have been many incidences with the toaster.  But haven't we all set a fire with a toaster before?  Come on, be honest.

And you can't tell me that it isn't SUPER common to pull a smoldering bag of popcorn out of the microwave at least once a year.  Also, air-poppy-popcorn-maker-things can produce an impressive display of smoke when provoked.

I lit a pizza on fire once.  Actually, I think it was just smoking.  And it wasn't even burnt.  It was just smoking....go figure.

Today it was potatoes in one of those little infrawave countertop ovens.  Which is basically just a glorified toaster oven, and once again, NOT MY FAULT.  (Unless you consider that I was the one that set the timer and ended up with charcoal potatoes instead of lunch.)

But in all of my kitchen fire cases I have never caused any real damage.  Mostly they're just big shows of blackened food and plumes of smoke.  Every once in awhile I see actual flames, but they're usually tiny and die before I can even freak out or anything.

Also, I'm pretty sure it's something genetic. 

Once when my mom was young she set a high chair tray on fire with a stovetop.  It was so bad she had to beat down the flames with a baby blanket.

And when I was in high school, my older sister was baking some cinnamon rolls and I walked into the kitchen to find flames lining the element on the bottom of our oven.  I had to run out of the house like a lunatic, screaming, "The kitchen's on fire!!!" because my mom was shoveling snow off the driveway.  All my sister did was stand there and laugh at me like I was a dork, when it was HER fault there was a fire in the first place.

So if you think about it, even when I'm not using a toaster oven, it's not really my fault at all.  Although I should probably invest in a fire extinguisher.  Or just keep a couple of these around, you know, just in case:

p.s. You can still get a free photobook from Picaboo!  You have until the end of the month to order.  It's totally worth it.  Scroll down a couple posts and click on that box to get one.  And I mean it - IT'S TOTALLY WORTH IT.