because I really can't get enough of myself

I am writing from my deathbed, also known as my couch. I went to a dr today, and he pretty much, sort of, really, kind of, KILLED ME. (With excruciating pain and torment. I think he might be Satan.) So, to backtrack, I've been ignoring something for about, oh, 3 1/2 years. Partly because before Husband got his new job we had the worst health insurance EVER.  And partly because I had to fix my eyes first.  And partly because I was hoping that if I ignored it long enough, it would just GO AWAY.  Like magic.  Or a stray dog. But no. Pretty much it's just gotten worse. And worse. And really super worse. And basically my whole abdominal region is thoroughly messed up. Probably I'm the champion at messed up abdominals. I should really get a medal or trophy or something. Instead, all I've gotten is pain, sickness, pain, more sickness, pain, pain and mostly a whole lot of pain. And the past few-ish months it's gotten to the point where life pretty much sucks t

I've often wished I could have a mechanical pocket door that slides closed when I push a button.  Actually a few of those doors.  That way I can put them on my kids's bedrooms (someday when we don't live in this house and they actually have bedrooms anyway) so that I can stand all scary looking outside the door and say something authoritative like, "you will clean this room" or "you're grounded" and then push the button, and the door will slide closed while I'm still looking all scary.  And maybe I'll do an evil laugh or make my eyes glow or something.  And then, of course, the doors would automatically lock upon  closing so my kids would HAVE to do what I tell them before they can get out.  Because I would be the only one with the door opening codes. And then all their crap would be cleaned up.  And it would be great. We signed Opie up for flag football.  And then I forgot about orientation until it was already over.  (In my defense I w

I think life would be easier if I were a robot.  But not like one of those ugly metal things with a monotone digital voice.  I think I would still want to look human but with perfect robot abs and perfect robot hair and perfect perky robot boobs and other perfect robot parts (like elbows).  That still look human.  And I would have to be programmed to blink, because things look really creepy when they don't blink, and I would want to CHOOSE when to look creepy, not have it be constant.  You know? If I were a robot, I would never get sore throats.  That would have been appreciated this week, let me tell you.  Sore throats are horrible, because I can't even yell at my kids or make sound effects or anything.  And robots are excellent at sound effects, plus also, I would have a volume control so I could yell loud enough to shake the neighbor's windows. And the volume control would come in really handy when my kids are doing their own yelling.  If you look back in my archiv

I made the grossest dinner tonight.  It was disturbingly horrid.  I had to eat in the other room so I could gag it down and then yell to the kids, "Eat your dinner!  It's good!  Just plug your nose first, or something."  I'm not even going to tell you what was in it (so don't ask, I will never tell).  Just know that I totally made it up with the ingredients we had in our pantry and the idea of it sounded edible enough when I was putting it together.  But sometimes things work out way better in my head than they do in real life. I think that's going to be my life motto. Here, you can even pin it on pinterest: (Is it lame to pin your own pictures on your own pinterest board?  Because I'M TOTALLY GOING TO.) To change the subject -to something possibly grosser- there's a continuing debate that goes on in our house that has recently surfaced due to the now potty trained Monkey.  The debate is about rump wiping, and if it's better to fold or wa

I'm pretty sure that Cereal (our pet praying mantis) is the dumbest insect of his species. He's all huge because he shed his skin, which was super really gross, and came out about half an inch longer than before.  And he must have shed some brain cells too, because now he's just an idiot. Cereal loves to hang out at the top of his bug habitat, upside down.  Husband says this is normal for praying matises (praying manti?)  But over the past week-ish, he keeps falling from his ceiling perch.  And then he clambers back up, just to fall down again. See? He's DUMB. I'm thinking we need to get him some special praying mantis lessons.  Something along the lines of "How Not to Fall On Your Head, IN 3 EASY STEPS!" Or maybe we just need to get him a little buggy harness, with an automated pulley system.  We're wondering if he's sick or dying or something.  But he still seems to be eating ok.  Last night he ate a whole cricket in about 90 seconds. 

Once again I find myself on the precipice of "I really ought to go to bed" and "I really don't want to go to bed".  And as I ponder this decision it's like I have a little angel and devil on my shoulders.  Just like in cartoons. Except that it's not really an angel or a devil. And they're not really little.  Or cartoon-like. What it's more like is me arguing both points of view, with myself, in different voices. And I flip my head to the right or the left depending on which point of view I'm presenting.  And sometimes I make hand motions. In a high, innocent voice (and facing right) I say, "You know your lazy rear will never get out of bed in the morning if you don't grab some unisom and get in bed RIGHT NOW." And then in a low, slightly satanic voice (and facing left) I say, "Yes, but it's so much fun to stay up late and write stupid blog posts, so go ahead and take your unisom and stick it up your aaa.....&q

On saturday Two Bits was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  That's a pretty humongous milestone.  And it remains a mystery to me how she got so old and so smart and so gorgeous and so amazing, so fast . Also, it occurs to me that I never wrote her special "this is Two Bit's story" on her birthday last year when I had vowed to write birthday posts to my kids.  I neglected to write her special post, because, most likely, I am a horrible horrible undedicated parent that doesn't deserve such an old, smart, gorgeous, amazing daughter. Or, because I was saving it for NOW.  This is Two Bit's story: Two Bits was (obviously) my first baby.  When we found out that she was a girl, we ran to the mall (or the tiny strip of pathetic stores that Moscow Idaho calls a mall) and bought her a pink outfit.  And then lots more pink outfits.  And then we were given even more pink outfits. Being my first baby, I should hav