Treat

Well!  Hello blog!  Have you missed me? 

This morning Paige was required to wear her costume to Mother's Day Out.  However, her (slacker, horrible, lazy) mother failed to properly hem her Snow White dress, so instead Paige cobbled together an outfit from her dress-up box.

She took the wand to school and used it as a weapon. *Sigh*

Then tonight, William and Paige donned their "real" costumes for the "official" Halloween festivities.

Snow White and "Jango Fett" (whoever *that* is).

Tonight we had EIGHTEEN people over for pizza before heading out for Trick-or-Treating.  Mostly neighbors and their kids, along with my mom and step-dad (who have made it a tradition to come over and hand out candy while we take the kids down the block).  I love that my kids will always remember Nana and Poppa being here for Halloween.

I also love that, when we headed out the door, Susan ran into her house and emerged with two glasses of wine. 

Henry was a ninja for the 4th year in a row.

Gosh I love my neighbors.  And not just because they supply me with alcohol.



p.s.

Check out my "monster teeth".  Apples, peanut butter, and marshmallows.

I figured they needed *something* healthy before eating all that candy.

Well! Speaking of Being Nice.

So today, tralala, I went to check the mail and found THIS:

.

A book. 

From my cousin, Jenny (yes, I'm claiming her as MY cousin, even though she's technically DAVE'S second cousin, but she's MINE.).  Jenny mailed the book when she read my whiny blog post last week.  Just mailed me a book about happiness.  Just did it.  Just because. 

Can you believe?

And do I even need to tell you that Jenny has that special thing... you know the thing?  The thing where you always feel better for having encountered them.  That "light" or "glow" or something. 

Shiny People!  That's what I'm going to call them.  Shiny People.  And Jenny? She's shiny.

And did I ever tell you about the time, about a month ago, when I received (also by mail) a gift certificate for a pedicure.  The envelope simply said "from a friend".

SERIOUSLY?  Someone just mailed me a free pedicure.  Not only that, but it ended up being maybe the best pedicure I've ever received.  I swear the woman massaged the arches of my feet for half an hour.

People are so dang nice.  I am just... just... I am just speechless.  Agog.  Overwhelmed. 

And I cannot WAIT to pay it forward. 

Be Nice.

Yesterday, accompanied by my two (grumpy) children, I ran in to Target to buy dog food - I have learned (the hard way) that when you assign a child the duty of feeding the dog, you will not be notified when the food is running low.  Oh no.  Instead, said child will only inform you when the food is completely gone.

Right before dinner.

ARGH.

As we were waiting in the (painfully long) line with our dog food, I noticed the woman in front of me frantically digging through her purse.  She'd clearly gotten all the way up to the checkout counter before she realized she'd left her wallet in the car.  She had a cart full of groceries, she was (big) pregnant, AND she had a toddler buckled into the cart. 

I could see her frustration, and then her anger, and then? She actually just deflated.  Like she was just defeated by this whole thing.

GOSH I felt bad for her.

So I piped up and offered to stay with her child and her groceries while she ran to the car to retrieve her wallet.  She hesitated, but finally agreed.

And here is where I wish I had a good story to tell.  Like maybe the toddler screamed and cried when she left him, or perhaps he vomited on me or something.

But no.  He was lovely, my children were lovely. 

And I left there feeling good.

I've noticed that, when I'm feeling down, if I do something nice for someone else I almost always feel better myself.

Being nice ain't bad for Karma either.

A Novel Idea

Reading.

Over the summer I read 4 novels to William.  We started with the first in the Harry Potter series, then moved on the Narnia series.  William loved the stories, and I especially loved the time we shared together - just the two of us - in the evenings.

Since school started, I find myself less motivated to read to him.  Mainly because we're so busy with other things now.  Homeschooling two days per week sort of takes it out of us.  So we've slacked off on our novel reading.  Instead, William reads books from the Henry and Mudge series, as well as various other books we've owned forever. 

But last week, while visiting the library, I spied the Hank the Cow Dog series.  On a whim I brought one home with the intention of starting our daily reading again.

And then I forgot all about it.

Tonight, as I was tucking William into bed, I gave him the same speech I always do: "You may stay up and read until 8:30, then lights out!".  I started to walk away, but out of curiosity I stopped and asked him what he was planning to read. 

"Just this book you got me from the library."

He's reading the novel.  On his own.  With no prompting me.  He's 15 pages in and he loves it.

I almost wept.  No really.  It felt like THAT big of a deal to me.  My boy has learned to READ!  And not just read, but ENJOY books.  He WANTS to read. 

If I do nothing else right by him, at least I have instilled a love of literature (ok, so far he likes books about wizards and lions and dogs, not exactly "literature', but STILL). 

I was so overjoyed, I came downstairs and CALLED MY MOTHER. 

It's Natural

My sweet niece is spending the day with us.  So instead of spending the day in our pajamas being lazy (as is our normal M.O. for Saturday), we decided we should entertain her by taking her to a nearby nature park.

Behold: leaves. sky. sun.

It was fun!  There was nature!  And naturalness!  Natural Natureness! Yes!

Ok, she probably would  have been just as happy to stay in her pajamas.

Whatever.


p.s.

They test the tornado sirens every Saturday at noon here.  And every single Saturday - for the length of a nanosecond - I panic and think ARMAGEDDON!  And then I remember and feel stooopid.  It happens every week.  I'm not very smart.

In case you Ain't From Around These Here Parts, here's a sampling of the siren.  You're welcome.

Your Baby Can Read!

So, um, apparently Paige (who turned 3 years old just four months ago) decided she'd just up and start reading this week.

And of COURSE I recorded it.  Of course I did.  Because I am an obnoxious parent. 



So go ahead and click that link and watch my TEENYTINYNEWBORNBABY reading.

Un-Funkified!

You people? Are brilliant.

Today I did every single thing you suggested to get myself out of my funk. 

No really.  I did all of them!

"You're going to trip and break your iPhone, momma!"

You said to exercise?  Fine.  I pushed the baby around in the stroller for 45 minutes this evening. 

And I felt: Better! 

Now, I have to admit, when you first suggested exercise I wanted to drive to each of your houses and punch you in the neck.  Because I HATE EXERCISE.  Hate it.  All of it.  Yes, that thing you  just suggested?  I hate that too.  Shut up.

But I decided that I didn't have to run 10 miles or pump iron for an hour.  I decided a brisk walk counts as more than what I've been doing (which is: curling up in the corner and sucking my thumb).  And a long, brisk walk did the trick.  Huzzah.

Then you said to spend time with uplifting friends.  So it did!  I spent two hours with a friend this afternoon.  It was lovely.

Result? I felt BETTER STILL.

Then? THEN! I spent half an hour in the bright sunshine .  I just sat there while the kids played and let the rays shine down on me.

Result: more freckles!  Oh, and I also felt mildly better.

And, God bless her soul, Shannon suggested I drink caffeine.  WELL IF YOU SAY SO!  I had a Dr. Pepper at lunch today.

I have to say, that jolt of caffeine did more to make an instant difference than anything else I tried. 

I also did some sure-fire mood lifting activities for me (fueled no doubt by the caffeine) - I changed the sheets on the bed (I LOVE climbing into a bed with clean sheets.  Is this just me?  Does everyone get giddy on Clean Sheet Day? No? I'm insane?  Well, this is not new information.)

And then I scrubbed the floors. All of them. Come on over here to the corner where the cobwebs accumulate.  See that?  Yeah.  Spotless.  Go ahead and lick that floor.  Go ahead.  It's delicious!

I've also had a terrible time sleeping lately.  I'm exhausted all day long, and yet I crawl into bed and toss and turn.  What IS that?  Argh!

One thing I did today to eliminate any potential sleep interrupters is I to put (KLASSY!) black electrical tape over the lights on my baby monitors. 

It's like I sleep with a disco ball flashing next to my head.

Those stinking things flash and blip all night long and drive me crazy.  And they've driven me crazy FOR SEVEN YEARS.  And yet, it took a big FUNK to get me to do something about it.

Sheesh.  I don't even know what to do with me.

Oh, and I also ate cookies today.  

Because cookies make everything better.  And that's a fact.

I Need A Picker Upper

Oh mercy. 

This happened this evening:

An epic light-saber battle between my husband and his two small children.


Note Young Master William's excellent use of the "Force Choke" as perfected by Vader himself.

Is there anything cuter than seeing a three-year-old try to maim her father?  What could be more satisfying?  What could be more life-affirming? 

Nothing.  That's what.

And yet.

Internet, I am in need of your best advice for getting out of a funk. 

And don't say "eat cookies", because I already tried that.

Alright readers.  Go.

Oh Life.

Today I tried a new technique by which to get my boy to complete his schoolwork in a timely manner.  My technique? Bribery!

I told him if he finished before lunch we would have time to drive to Little Caesar's and buy ourselves a $5 pizza.

Bribery! With FOOD! How many parenting laws can I break in one day?  MANY.  That's how many

And guess what? IT WORKED!  Next week I'm totally going to have to up the ante and offer him vodka and porn.

I'M KIDDING! 

Sheesh.  I would never give my kid alcohol.

So I loaded everyone in my car and we drove down our neighborhood street and (as always) past the duck pond full of happy little Canadian geese. 

But as I approached the pond, I heard a cacophony of HORNK HORNK HORNKING.  I looked over just in time to see a goose laying on the side of the street with his long neck and head laying up on the curb. It had clearly been hit by a car. He (she?) was feebly hornking, while her (his?) partner was standing next to her HORNKING (!!!) and flapping his wings and lightly pecking her cheek as if to say "it's not so bad Gladys (now I've named the dying goose), just get up!".  "You can't leave me here in this pond all alone! Think of what we've been through together!".

Oh my GAH it was the most tragic of tragedies to witness.  I wanted to screech to a halt and scoop that goose up and... and... what? Do mouth to beak?  Take it to a veterinarian whereby I would be charged a sum greater than I can spare (meaning greater than the cost of a $5 pizza)? 

I simply drove on.  I drove by and did absolutely nothing for Gladys.

Well, that's not entirely true.  I cried.  Big (but very quiet so as not to alert the children as they did not see the Goose Incident) heaving sobs.  All the way to Little Caesar's.  Oh the sadness of it.  Of life.  Everything dies.  We're all going to die.

I might be a little depressed.

The woman in the drive thru window gave me a sympathetic look when she saw my swollen tear-y face.  I wanted to tell her about Gladys.  I'm sure she would have commiserated with me.

Instead, I drove home THE LONG WAY - the way that does NOT involve driving past Gladys and Hank (his name was Hank.  Obviously.).

And now I'm home and I want to tell you a story.  A funny story! Let's forget about Gladys and Hank and Death for a while. 

Let's make fun of my husband instead!  Yes!  It will be fun!

Once, a few years ago, my husband came to me and showed me a horrible looking black mole on his hand.  One he hadn't noticed before.  He was slightly concerned as it looked, well, odd.  It was misshapen and had a rough texture.  Again, it was just odd.

Now, let's all remember that I am a redhead with skin all over my body that is exactly the same shade as the skin on my ass.  I am no so much white as I am blue.  Which means that I am the poster child for melanoma.  I am the dream patient for every dermatologist. 

I'm hypersensitive to the risks of skin cancer, is what I'm saying.

So when I saw Dave's ;HAND EATING MELANOMA mole, I was concerned.  So concerned that I did what all cyberchondriacs do: I GOOGLED SKIN CANCER. 

Holy Mary and all the wise men.

I swear to you the very first image was a carbon copy of Dave's mole.  I mean it.  It looked EXACTLY like what was growing (FESTERING!) on his hand. 

So I did what anyone would do - I called my step sister, Tracy, who was doing her rotations for PT school at the time at the nearby teaching hospital and BEGGED her to get Dave in.  She obliged with an appointment that very afternoon in their clinic.  God bless her soul.

So Dave shows up at the clinic, fills out seventeen reams of paperwork, and is then whisked back to see the physician as well as my step sister (because this is a learning opportunity for my little sister the student, yes!).  He holds his hand out to show them the mole and just as the physician reaches over to touch it...  SPLOINK the mole falls off on the table.

It was a blood blister.

Hahahaha! Hooo! Ha! Hrmph.

They all had a good laugh and Dave came home and choked me with his (perfectly health, not cancerous) hand.

The end.

It'll All Be Fine. Someday. Maybe.



.

My blogging has become sporadic.  Not for lack of topics.  Or even desire, for that matter.

Mainly, I don't write about my days because lately, I just don't want to remember.

I started this blog as a way to capture the precious - and very fleeting - days with my children.  My memories were fading with every new growth spurt.  And I wanted to remember.  I knew as I was living them that those were the best days of my life.  The days with my young children.

My children are still precious.  And I still want to remember them.  But our lives have become complicated now.  Stressed.

Our income is not what it used to be.  Nothing near it.  Every morning my poor husband trudges out the door and works his ass off.  He works harder than he's worked in his life.

And he gets nowhere.*

*My husband just called and said he IS indeed "getting somewhere", but just not as quickly as he'd like.

He's exhausted.  He's frustrated.  And he's pretty freaked out.  He turned 39 last month, and this is certainly NOT where he expected to be. 

Meanwhile, I have taken on the task of partially homeschooling my kid.  My awesome, wonderful, bright, cheerful kid.  My kid with the quirks.  My kid who doesn't quite fit in. 

I worry every single day about him.  Every single day.

And when I'm done worrying about William, I worry about Dave.  About the burden he feels supporting a family of four on the income of a new career. 

Some days (like today) the stress is so heavy that I can actually feel it like a weight on my chest.  I find myself trying to widen my throat so that I can get more air into my compressed lungs.

We met with William's teacher today and she confirmed what I suspected - he has issues with concentration.  He is always the last one to finish assignments.  He just cannot focus on his work.

Also? His handwriting is lacking.  He needs more practice.  And yet, as hard as it is for him to stay on task, it's taking us ALL DAY just to get his homework done.  And now we need to work on handwriting too? 

My chest! I can't breathe!

I spend time worrying about Will, and out of nowhere my brain says "oh my God, how are we going to afford this house long term?" and I fall down that rabbit hole of fear.

My chest!

I want to run away from home.  Except I want to take my people with me.

So bear with me on this here blog.  I hope this will be my only downer post.  I plan to only report the parts of my life that I want to remember.  The funny stories.  The bug infestations.  The full-moon cleaning binges.

You know, the usual.

No Picture Today. You're Welcome!

So yesterday I was doing my monthly Hysterical Cleaning Due To The Full Moon, when I ran across some mysterious black, uh, specks in my master bathroom.

These specks? They were wee little oval-shaped things, and were scattered about along the baseboards at varying intervals.

And do you know what? THEY LOOKED A HELL OF A LOT LIKE MOUSE DROPPINGS.

When I saw them, I stared for a moment in disbelief, and then I shreiked like a little girl.

And then? I ran into another room, saw Something That Needed to Be Cleaned and promptly forgot all about my bathroom infestation.

First of all, WHO DOES THAT?  Who just forgets all about MICE in the room right next to where she sleeps? WHO?

Me.  That's who.

And do you want to know when I remembered?  As I was drifting off to sleep.  OF COURSE I DID.

And at that point Dave was snoozing away next to me.  I couldn't bear to wake him to investigate, which meant I was going to have to wait until morning.

I laid there I imagined entire villages of mice using my fancy Morroccan Oil and my cheap hairspray.  I imagined them nibbing the ends of my make-up brushes.  Or perhaps, licking my delicious Oil of OldLady Night Revitalization Cream.

Come to think of it, it HAD been disappearing quickly!  How DARE those mice! That stuff is EXPENSIVE!

I finally drifted off to a fitful sleep, and accosted Dave first thing this morning about The Problem.

Dave being the man that he is, calmly walked into the bathroom, stared at the Mystery Ovals for a moment, and then declared that it appeared to be mouse poop (I KNEW IT!).  Just to be sure, he grabbed a wad of tissue and picked up a speck. AND IT BEGAN TO CRAWL AWAY.

HOLY SHITCAKES BATMAN! We are infested with cyber mice who poop MOVING POOP BUGS!

Or, perhaps it was just poop-shaped bugs.  Probably that.

But here's the weird part (yes, this is the weird part, not all that other stuff I just typed): Dave went over and picked up another "poop", and as soon as he touched it, IT QUICKLY SCURRIED AWAY.  And yet the other Poop Bugs just laid there like, well, like turds.  Dead turds.

They only moved if you touched them.  WHAT KIND OF BUG WAS THIS?

And more importantly, how the heck did they get into my house?

Have I mentioned that I'm just the teeniest big phobic about bugs?  Yeah.  That.

So I've done nothing about the Immobile Turd Bugs of Death all day.  They are still there.  Just waiting to be touched. ACTIVATED. So they can crawl up my arm and eat my face off.

Dave doesn't know it, but he has a project when he gets home.

Chores!

I wrote a few weeks ago about establishing a set of chores for my seven-year-old.  I had no IDEA where to begin.  Several of you offered AWESOME tips and ideas.  But I'll be honest, I still felt lost.

So I cheated and bought a kit from the book store. 

And I'm SO glad I did.  It comes with a little dry-erase "chore chart" as well as another chart to track William's progress as he saves for a specific item (Currently a toy car that you can equip with missiles.  *sigh*).

As for chores, William is required to 1) feed the dog, 2) clean the playroom, 3) do his morning/evening routine completely, and 4) read Paige a bedtime story.

The boy reading to his sister might be the sweetest sound on this Earth.  Srsly.

If he does these things for a week, he earns himself $5.  He can earn a bonus dollar by scooping the doggie poop from the backyard.  And? AND! He gets money deducted for things like complaining.

Brilliant!  This kit is brilliant!

We're on day three and so far the kid is fired up.  He's anxious to check items off of his list each day, and he's figured out that he can earn enough money in two weeks to get his new toy (if he combines it with the money he already has stashed away). 

In all, it's going well!

Mostly.

The thing I love about this kit is that it encourages (REQUIRES!) your child to separate their earnings into envelopes labeled "spend", "save" and "give".

Did you hear me? I said GIVE!

So William will take $1 each week and put it into his "give" envelope.  He is SO not thrilled with this idea.  He doesn't understand why he should have to help someone else with his hard-earned money.  It's HIS.  He earned it! He wants to keep it all and roll around in it while cackling malevolently!

In short, I am raising Ebeneezer Scrooge.

I'm thinking if he could just SEE where his gift is going it would help him to understand.  Maybe a homeless shelter?  A children's foster facility? An animal rescue?  Something?

Help!

Have you required your children to give THEIR money?  How did you talk to them about it?  Did you ever convince them to give with a cheerful heart?

Because right now I'm envisioning William walking up to a panhandler, handing him a wad of tear-stained dollar bills while simultaneously stomping on his toe.

*Sigh*

Miss Mess

*Someone* does not pick up after herself.  Ahem.

Tuesdays are a busy day at our house. 

William has an entire day of school work to complete and turn in to his teacher on Wednesday morning.  Which means he spends a big part of his day sitting on a barstool in our kitchen while I bustle around doing dishes and laundry while simultaneously keeping William on task.

The kid is easily distracted.

While William is working, Paige knows that she is to play nearby and try her best not to trouble her brother.

Which is asking quite a lot from a three-year-old I think.

Since I'm sympathetic to her plight, I allow her to bustle around making messes everywhere she goes.

Which means by the end of the day on Tuesday, my house looks like the mafia tossed the place looking for evidence.

Now if you will excuse me, I think I'll just rake all of the junk on my floors into a pile and set it on fire.

Boy! Scout!

William in 2004 and Now.  *Sigh* Where does the time go?

My kid.  My teeny tiny itty bitty newborn baby boy is now a Scout.

Not a Boy Scout. 

Not a Webelo.

Not a Cub Scout.

No.  Currently he's a Tiger Cub.

Go ahead and ask me what the hell that means.  Ask me what the difference is between all of those descriptors.  Ask me.

Yeah.  I have no idea.

All I know is Dave and William are required to go on several overnight campouts, the first of which was a couple of weekends ago.  The boys left here with a "two man tent", which equates to something slightly smaller than a box of cereal.

Did I mention my husband is over 6ft tall? 

Hahaha! Hooo boy I wish I could've seen that.

Also, my husband was severely irritated with my kid who, instead of enjoying the many boy-friendly activities like archery (!) and a firing range (!!), simply wanted to dig all day in a hole in the ground.

Because what is shooting a real-live bow-and-arrow when there's DIRT and this here STICK? 

On another note, I did learn one thing: my husband snores loud enough to wake OTHER CAMPERS.

Turns out, where there's no one (like ME!) there to elbow him in the middle of the night, the man snores like a grizzly bear. 

Which means that I should really go on the next campout.

HOOO BOY I CAN'T EVEN TYPE THAT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE!  Because ME? CAMPING?  HAHAHAHA!

I don't think so.

Paige and I will be at home during the next campout painting our nails and eating cookies and drifting off to sleep in our nice warm beds.

And I won't even have to elbow anyone because my grizzly bear will be sleeping far away in the woods.

In a cereal box.

I don't know what to blog about.

So here.

An iPhone dump.

The baby got her first "real" (read: paid-for) haircut.

They charged me FIFTEEN DOLLARS.

AND?

They put GLITTER IN HER HAIR.

The haircut was last Thursday and I'm STILL scrubbing the glitter off of her scalp.

Did I mention it's PURPLE glitter?

In a happier note, I saw my in-laws this weekend.

And on an even happier note, I saw my favorite bunny.

My GOSH he missed me.  I could totally tell.

Oh. And.

Dave's speedometer is broken.  Which means that he now takes corners going 115mph.

Theoretically.



High Fashion

Paige: What kind of clothes does God wear?

Me: No one knows honey.  No one has ever seen God.

Dave: But we *do* know that the Devil wears Prada!

Me: Which means that God most likely shops at The Gap. 

I mean really, don't you think khaki's and a nice button down would be His style?

Oh Poor MEEEEE!

Welcome to my mommy's pity party!  Come on in.  Make yourself comfortable!

I'm sorry, Internet, but I'm a little down today. 

My computer died a few weeks ago, which means I've been blogging from my husband's laptop.  And let me just tell you, using someone else's computer is like staying at a friends house.  It's comfortable for a while, but eventually you just want to go home and sleep in your own bed.

I've lost all of my emails.  I've lost all of my photo files and my carefully constructed budgeting spreadsheet.

And, horror of horrors, I've lost all of my saved blog links!

It's like I've moved and none of my Internet friends have my forwarding address! 

God, I miss my computer. 

On top of the untimely death of my beloved laptop, I received a robo-email from Google on Saturday stating that my AdSense account was being disconnected due to "inappropriate activity".  I have no idea what this means.  Nor did Google allude to what the inappropriate activity was.

Up to that point, I'd earned $135.

Which isn't much money.  But, sadly, it was more money than I'd earned in SEVEN YEARS.  I was weirdly proud of earning that money. 

"Earning" is a term I use loosely of course.  Since, you know, I did NOTHING to deserve that money expect prattle on about my life day after day.

But weirdly, losing this money (that I never really earned) was such a defeating blow.  Truly.  It just felt like the world was against me.

Which, of course, is not true.  It's only Google that is against me.

Stupid Google.  Stupid dead computer.

And now if you'll excuse me, I need to go kick something.

What a Chore

William asked recently if he could do work to earn money.  You know, chores.   Allowance.  The whole thing.  Apparently, he wants to start saving to buy a toy he really wants.

Doesn't that sound innocent and lovely?

THEN WHY IS IT SO HARD??

Dave and I are completely flummoxed.

What do we ask of him? What sort of chores should a 7 year old boy be expected to do each week?  And what is "expected work" and what is "over and above and therefore worthy of commission" work?


Being adorable earns him zero dollars.

And my goodness, how much do we pay him? 

Again, I ask WHY IS THIS SO HARD?

Dave and I neither one ever earned an allowance.  And honestly, I don't ever remember WANTING one.  We are totally clueless.  Totally.

Help! 



Janitorial Commentary

Those of you who have given birth to only girls are missing out on the joy that is living with little boys.

Especially as it pertains to the bathroom.

You are missing out on the unique experience of entering a bathroom in your very own home that smells exactly like a New York City bus station.

And I'll bet your bathroom cleaning routine does not include wiping down THE WALLS.

And before you get all smug and think "well, if *I* were the mother of a boy, *I* would teach him to pee properly".  Because, Miss SmuggiePants, you are forgetting that your boy - however well you think you trained him - has FRIENDS. 

Friends with bad aim. 

So you see, you mothers of girls, there is no escaping the Overspray of Doom.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go take a bath.  In bleach.

And then I'm going to set myself on fire.