because I really can't get enough of myself

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... 42 REASONS TO READ THIS BLOG POST: 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

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 scream..

Merry Christmas - - from us ! p.s. Mombabe and Jen were the winners of my drawing. And now you know.

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 comme

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 try

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

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

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 h

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? http://scriptures4kids.com 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.)

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, "W

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

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 "fi

Remember awhile ago when I, mockingly , said I was going to start a magazine? Well, I'm a dork, and I really did. Introducing: The Barrel: Blogging Reviews (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.) Bu

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). Therefore.... 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 so

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 mou

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 grueso

(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

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 do

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 hotmail.com

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 hap

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 Afri

I call this: smiling through a migraine. The next piece in this series will probably be focused on something like PMS or hang nails.

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: CHOMP. 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 wh

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 coun

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?

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, jus

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 se

Bees 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 h

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 upsetting...to 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 th

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?  Nope. 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 h

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 inst

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 i