When All Else Fails

With all the upheaval, disobedience and screaming going on, I turned to my last resort tactic: throw the girls outside to play with water. Even though our backyard barely qualifies as an outdoor space, It is the ideal play yard for the kids. It's enclosed, safe, and I can hear them from inside, while I'm watching VH1's You're Cut Off.  (Hi, pampered princesses- in yo' face! Making you do your own dishes! Ha!) Turn on the hose to low- and you've got a recipe for fun.

Extra bonus? I was fishing around in the ice maker- the thing wasn't making ice. When I found the culprit- a couple gigantic blocks of fused cubes. It was then I had an AHA! moment- Give hot, red faced little girls blocks of ice to play with! Genius! Pure genius! Before I knew it, it was naptime. And now it's quiet time. (huge sigh of relief!)

... and you know what else? Even though this week has been- well the worst in a long time, (and it's only freaking Wednesday!) I still have those moments when I just want to gather all three of them in my arms and give 'em a big group hug. Because even though they drive me up the walls and steal all my sanity; I love those three. Like crazy love them. Most awesome and amazing kids ever. 

I'm so glad the things I only have to worry about are whether or not someone's gonna pee their pants in public, or making sure the twins eat more than just fruit, or worrying about Little Man's eczema like it's going to eat him.

I'm so glad that I don't have to worry about things like Nie Nie, or things like major childhood illnesses, or worry too much about putting a roof over our heads and food on the table. We're truly blessed. 

Battle of Will

Yesterday was not pleasant. The Husband got home very, very late. Hours after the kids had gone to bed. At the end of the day, I regaled The Husband with the tales of my day. (first you should be aware that the twins have been on a hunger strike for weeks now) Squirt didn't want to finish her sandwich. Or even touch any part of her lunch. Bunny ate all of hers and so I gave her "dessert." (cubed cantaloupe) Squirt screamed and yelled- demanding she also get dessert. I decided to choose my battles. I'm a fan of picking your battles. I wanted Squirt to eat, I also didn't want to start a huge issue before naptime. I need naptime. So I gave in and gave her some fruit.

It is at this point that The Husband pointed out what a pushover I was.

I am so not a pushover! ... Right? So I demanded he tell me how he would have handled the situation. The Husband does not pick his battles. Everything gets a time out. Weekends tend to be really long... and full of discipline. So I decided to prove The Husband wrong.

I knew Squirt wasn't going to eat all of her chicken nuggets. I did not expect her to refuse to eat one bite. But that's how she was. They were both being seriously obstinate and ornery today. And I got a call that The Husband would again, be late.

So I put the "bad cop" routine to the test. Bunny got applesauce after lunch. Squirt did not. She would not eat any of the tasty lunch placed before her. So I started a timer. After the beep! beep! it was to be naptime. If she wasn't finished before then, no applesauce would be had.

That's when The Squirt really started with the theatrics. Standing up in her chair, almost tipping herself over. Thrashing around and screaming in a pretty high decibel range. It hurt my ears.

The timer went off, I wrangled her upstairs, into her bed, and shut the door. I could tell naptime was going to be a beast. And it was. But Squirt didn't hold out as long as I had predicted. Within the hour she was asking to be tucked in, and took a nap. Dang Husband. Being right.

*** Now is the time to tell you I wrote this upper part yesterday. I didn't finish. It seemed so whiny. And I was sure the girls were going to turn over a new leaf after naps, or at least the next day. No. It got worse, so I am continuing the whiny naughty children rant ***

Being the wonderful mother I am, I decided to take them somewhere where their eyes would gloss over in joy after naps. Not my favorite place in the world, but theirs. Cici's, a super-cheap slightly inedible pizza buffet. The girls love that place. They LOVE it. They eat multiple slices of pizza and a plate full of salad. They are always huge eaters at Cici's. I assumed a belly full of cheap pizza was better than an empty one!

Well, no. It was disaster. Bunny has cemented her newly found fear of...  chairs. CHAIRS, people! SHE'S SCARED OF CHAIRS! She stands during a movie rather than risk sitting on the theater seats that fold up. Her chair at Cici's was slightly, almost un-noticeably wobbly, and deemed unsafe... by The Bunny. I took her food away and demanded she sit down. No. She just cried and fussed the whole time- standing. Begging for her "matoes and mac and cheese pizza."

I wanted to die.

The rest of the night proceeded in the same fashion- continual meltdowns. I was going BER. SERK. Completely berserk. So I slept in this morning. I refused to get out of bed when the girls woke up this morning. I waited. And I waited. The Husband got the picture. He was on his own.

Then I heard it. (from upstairs in my cozy bed) The shrieks of the disobedient. It was happening all over again. Squirt refused to eat her cereal, so Husband refused to let her watch Curious George. He put her in timeout. Still not willing to eat. He had to put her upstairs in her bed for 15 minutes of wailing before she'd agree to come downstairs and eat one bite. I am on the computer now- I'm not looking back. I'm pretty sure she has stuck to just eating that one bite. (but The Husband has migrated upstairs to get ready for work) It's all my problem once again.

Why are my children trying to torture me? Why? Why can't I have ONE tantrum free day?

The Phone Thing

We are numbered among the many families who don't have a landline telephone. When we moved into this house we decided not to pick up Sprint's option. With our land number, we had problems. About every 8 out of 10 calls came up with the bum, bum, bum! "We're sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is not in service. Please check the number and try again." But the numbers were in service. I was merely trying to call people like my parents, my husband, etc. Oftentimes I would have to redial more than three times to get through!

Everyone I talked to at Sprint (or whatever company it was- Embarq?) said they'd look into it, but nothing ever happened. So we dumped it. It was nice to cancel that service- I love calling and cancelling things. To hear them grovel for my business. That's right, Embarq! Eat it! It's a pleasure that does not come by often.

Living on a strictly cell phone basis was challenging at first. I still give out my old number when, say, I'm signing up for a Border's Rewards card. Living off the landline was tough. It meant I kept my cell nearby more often- and in turn, more than a couple perfectly healthy phones met their demise in my washing machine. There was a period of time there when I was going through phones quite rapidly! (Thank you, craigslist!) And since I don't text, I am getting more calls- sometimes I need to refrain from picking up every time it rings. Like in the middle of Target with three grumpy children while pushing the giganta-cart around with the molded plastic seats. Not a great time to keep a conversation going. But I am proud to say we have been landline-free for almost three years now! It's a great success in most ways!

The Husband has had his own issues with cell phones too. One was lost in the middle of Red Rock somewhere. Another was impaled by the bumper of his truck. The current one is suffering from a sort of "sand sickness." I'm pretty sure its innards are full of debris and pocket lint, and that's why the screen started getting lines across it, and now does not operate entirely.

Craigslist used to be a great resource for phones. I don't want to sign another contract with my current provider (oftentimes it isn't even an option) and so I would buy someone's old (obsolete) phone. Sometimes they were even new in box! For forty bucks! (yeah, they were probably hot, I don't much care)  But now? Craigslist is all listings for hacking iphones to make them work on other networks or something. Or selling used iphones, or iclones, or whatever. Bleh.

Last time I had to go to the store and buy one retail! (RETAIL!) It was the cheapest Nokia crap thing they had. But still. Overpriced! I still have that one as a backup. But as I have recently become aware- I have a penchant for throwing away cords and chargers that I do not immediately recognize. So I do have a spare phone, just no charger. Helpful.

So back to topic. The Husband and I have decided it is finally time to catch up with technology. I have consistently turned up my nose at texting, web surfing, and iphones. (and Twilight- just thought I'd throw that in there too) My philosophy has been- IT'S A BLOODY PHONE! I have a computer, I have a digital camera, why can't my phone JUST MAKE A CALL?

But I need to start texting. I am the only one who doesn't regularly text message. When my parents were abroad, I had to text them- that was the only way to get a hold of them. (within reason) I'm sure they were wondering why my responses were only a word or two like Yes. Thanks. Love You. It's because typing "yes" took an hour.

It's time I become cool. I want a "cool" phone. I want unlimited minutes and text. I don't want to have to pay for the internet. (in fact, all I want is facebook on it) Have any ideas? (oh, and I still don't want an iphone- I'm stubborn like that) And I want it to be cheap. We've got to get a line for me and the hubs.

Also, if you are a cell phone provider and would like to throw your hat into the ring, email me. I will use and review stuff if you'd like. I'm a smartphone virgin, so anything is bound to get better accolades than my old (un-smart) phone!

The Blue Period

How could I resist those cheeks for one second? It's impossible. 

But ho! Who goes there?! 

Sisters! Agh! With kisses!

To You I Ask

When I am unable to make life altering decisions, I turn to you, internet. (that's just how much I love ya) You skilled parents out there, you givers of fantastic advice, you random crazies who post porn websites. I need help. Everyone must answer- and show your work! Here's the skinny:

We don't travel much. I have a large aversion to traveling (sleeping in strange beds, messing up my routine, etc) and having kids has amplified this by a thousand. However, this summer we are chancing a small weekend trip.

Money and cost is not a factor in this particular decision- my mental wellbeing is much more valuable. We are heading for some fun- a drive that would take normal us 8 hours, but the new, never tested on a roadtrip version of us- (the one with three kids, one under 6 mos, and two walking the potty training tightrope) well, it could take anywhere from 10-12 hours, stopping every three hours to feed, and any time a three year old feels the urge to pee. We considered renting a minivan- to keep prying toddler hands out of each other's toys and carseats. We are also considering flying. Like, in an airplane. Here are some snippets that are essential to your decision:

-Little Man cannot stand to be in his carseat for one single minute. Just driving to the store around the corner elicits wails and screams from the backseat.

-We will have lots of stuff to tote around; pack and play, potty training paraphernalia. We have one actual suitcase- so we'll have to buy luggage to fly.

- If we fly, even when we check the luggage, we will still be dragging three kids, a stroller, a carseat, and two back-booster seats, plus any carry-on luggage through the airport.

- It's one thing if kids are having a fit on an hour long flight, we can just hunker down and survive it. But I'm not sure if we're halfway on our trek in the middle of nowhere...

- I have this kind of ethereal ideal of a "road trip" stopping at kitschy diners along the highway. My head knows this is all a load of bunk, but my heart longs for the idea.

Ok! No go! Calculate the better idea- driving vs. flying!

Picture Circus

Snapshots of life around here these days. Enjoy!

This is a public service announcement:

Little Man is very lucky. And so am I!

Thankfully I am the only one that sustained injuries from the escalator incident. I have huge rainbow-bruises everywhere. This one hurts the most. 

 When we put in the sod (two years ago!) We have had these weedy things growing up every summer! Weed spray does nothing- some kind of succulent they are. They multiply like rabbits and take over the whole yard. What makes it worse is when The Husband does some mowing, every tiny splinter of them grows up new and vibrant in massive heaps. Hate. Hate. Hate. 

 The war between good and evil rages on! I planted the pretty ground cover on the right, the weeds on the left are looking for a stand off. 

This is not my side of the bed: (can you spot what's wrong here?)

The husband thrashes around in his sleep. Rolling over and around. Oftentimes I wake up clutching the bed in fear there is a massive earthquake taking down the house. He has singlehandedly worn a gaping hole right through my favorite sheets! They're not even a year old yet! (although I cannot exactly remember when I bought them. I am now marking this as new sheet day, let's see how long they last!) No more 800 thread count sheets for you, buddy! This is why we can't have nice things! 

Chalk up one more errand to my to-do list today. Get new sheets. And formula. Almost out of formula!

Just Say No

I am constantly amused at the girls' thought processes and the things they say.  Like when I put a straw in their milk, I hear  "No! Straw can't swim!" (apparently straws are in danger of drowning?)

The other day, I told Squirt to eat her sandwich. She replied with "No, I just pet sandwich... like a kitty." (as she stroked the bread) Fine. I conceded. Pet the sandwich then eat it. "No, just pet." Crazy kids.

Another conversation that took place as the girls swarmed the baby post-feeding (they absolutely mob him... all the time. Poor kid can't get even a little space!) had me laughing, and kinda crying inside.

Bunny: Baby! Baby! Baby!

Squirt: Baby come out of mommy tummy?

Me: Yes. Do you remember when baby was in mommy's tummy?

Bunny: Tummy so so big!

Me: Yeah, thanks for reminding me.

Squirt: Baby in mama tummy. Now baby with girls!"

Me: Yep. You love Baby Brother, huh?

Squirt: Squirt-Squirt love baby. Baby so so cute!

Bunny: We do again? Baby in tummy?

(Insert voice in my head screaming: NO NO NO! NOT A CHANCE!)

Me: Mommy has had enough babies. I have one, (pointing to The Squirt) two, (pointing to The Bunny), three babies! (pointing to Little Man) And that's enough babies!

Squirt: Yeah, Bunny. That's enough babies. 1- 2- 3 babies.

Me: That's enough babies.

Free + Pain

A couple local movie theaters are offering free movies during the summer. Kids films. Good stuff. The catch? You have to get there early to get a spot. This has been the snag for me. Getting all three kids fed, clothed, and out the door takes... a while. Not to mention I have to look semi-decent too. But today I decided to get brave and give my kids a good (free) time.

As I was locating the right parking spot I saw them- the army of moms. With hoards of kids in tow. Heading towards the theater. In droves. I was half an hour early, but apparently that wasn't enough. I semi-panicked in the car. I had talked up the movie to the kids all morning. (and bribed them with it last night to go to sleep) A movie was going to be had.

So I was in a rush. I had the twins on foot (slooooow) and the baby in a stroller. Now, I had never been to this particular theater before. (bad idea: always do a thorough reconnaissance mission before bringing kids into the mix. Duly noted) So when I saw the gigantic flight of stairs leading to the entry, I freaked. I saw an upper level and an adjoining walkway to the theater. Bingo. I scanned the area for an "alligator" (elevator) I know the law- you can't just have stairs. There's got to be ramp, an elevator... somewhere. But all I saw were the flocks of children making their merry way up the stairs.

That's when I spotted the escalator. I'd seen strollers manned by reasonable adults descend up escalators before. Sure, it's not "recommended," but when has that ever stopped me? It was a calculated risk. But when you're in a panicked rush, reason is usually not your sidekick. No. It's the Giddy Up, Ride 'em Cowboy crazy voice in your head. That's who made the decision.

(I know. I am in the future also- might I remind you... hindsight? It's 20/20) So I shoved the stroller onto the moving stairway.... just as Bunny decided she wanted to go on first, trying to blast in front of the stroller. I saw it in slow motion. Stroller and daughter wedged into narrow escalator. More panicking.

I thought the best idea was to walk around and yank Bunny out from above. No. That initiated a chain of events that led to the stroller making a trek upwards, dragging The Bunny with it, then tipping upside down, dislodging the infant carrier, (carrying my infant) and leaving The Squirt at the bottom- on non-moving ground screaming herself hoarse.

At that point- careening up the escalator, I thought we were all gonna die. (and did I mention I was lugging both the diaper bag/purse AND the potty bag? Yes. I was) That is when I hit the rock bottom of parenting, clinging to my kids for dear life and hoping as few limbs as possible got trapped and sucked down into the mechanism.

Thankfully, the escalator spit my tangled stroller up at the top, releasing a very terrified Bunny. I grabbed the carseat with Little Man, (who was wide eyed about the whole thing, but not crying) and both bags burst open just as I planted my feet on solid ground.

Ohmygosh. The adrenaline was pumping. I got the stroller to a semi-usable state, (props to Chicco for making an awesome stroller, as it was converted back to complete normal condition in a bathroom stall at the movie theater) locked the carseat back in, gathered up all the belongings I could find off the floor and into any bag, RAN down the escalator, retrieved the Squirt, and darted into the theater. Everybody seems to be unharmed.
We even made it in time to get great seat, potty each of the girls, and watch the entire flick. (and found the elevator on the way out)

Lesson learned. No strollers on the escalator.

Chalk it up to another phobia for my girls. That, along with the lighted stairs in the dark theater, and the theater seats that fold up. Terrifying stuff. (except now, the escalator really is terrifying)

So now you can feel like a better parent than me. Because you probably are.

Maternity Clothes are Evil

Today, Little Man is coming up on being 5 months old. Which also means, I have not been pregnant for a whopping 5 months now. Yet today, as I am preparing to take the kids to a free movie, (yay, free!) I am dressed in my fat pants from like five years ago, a maternity nightie, and a Liz Lange (maternity) little cover-jacket.

I bought a couple sleeper sets from Motherhood (the store) to pack in my hospital bag. Specifically, this nursing set. It hung in all the right places. (because in the hospital, it looks like you're still 6 mos. preggo) It wasn't exactly "slimming," I would call it more "skimming." It kind of glosses over the unfortunate hanging, giggling, and obtuseness of the situation.

I donated all my other maternity threads in a fit of "I'm going to fit into normal clothes sohelpme!" And it's better that way. I would have worn those too big in the front things until they were pried from my cold fat hands. So sometimes freakouts serve us well.

But now I sit here, bedecked in preggo-wear. And I feel like crap. I look ok. But nothing else I own fits right. (pouty pout pout)

And can I tell you? Nighties are meant to be worn sans bra... which means when the boobs head south for the winter... forever... the shirt looks weird and empty in the boob department. But smack on a nice little push up bra underneath (which is what is going on right here, right now) and things look FANTASTIC. I need to sleep in a push up bra. It would make waking up in the morning and not having to stare at the two flapjacks limply hanging from my chest, just that much more appealing.

Open Letter #184

Dear Senor Cesar Milan, aka: "The Dog Whisperer,"

I have two dogs. They are both driving me crazy. I was hoping that your show on Animal Planet would help me with this conundrum. The disobedience and sheer attitude is appalling. I was, however, disappointed with your answer. To every canine related problem, your solution was "walk them!" for hours and hours on end! I can see how an utterly exhausted dog that can only lay around the house in a puddle would also no longer be a "problem dog." But still, I doubt your methods. I doubt them very much.

But I have reached my limit, sir. The one time we have company over for dinner, my freshly potty trained daughter poops in her froggy potty and my most disgruntled dog EATS IT. RIGHT OUT OF THE POTTY. IN FRONT OF GUESTS. Yes. I heard that collective gasp all the way over here. (and to clarify, our guests were not watching the kids poop, they just saw a naked hiney running through the house screaming "Scotty eat my poo!")

The very next day, I leashed up the hooligans and took them for an exhaustive run/walk. Didn't even phase Peaches. I think it got her even MORE amped up. She was twirling around this house on her little toothpick legs like a reefer on speed. (sorry, my drug references may be a bit dated/completely incoherent)

Today I did the same thing. By the end of the walk, both dogs were lagging a bit behind. And lo and behold- they are both sorry sacks of fur strewn about any pillow or blanket they can claim as their own. I'm even sitting here watching the sad scene- nothing phases them. Not even the baby. It's weird.

So to you, Senor Milan, I had better see some results with this walking business! Because if not, I am sending Mr. Scotty to your house so he can pee on all your possessions. I'd love to see how you handle Peaches' deep rooted fear of TV remotes and rain.

It's Gonna Be Mushy

Usually I balk at all the mushy holiday stuff. But today is different. Today I get to celebrate my Dad.

My Dad has pretty much been my best friend from day one. He has taught me everything I know about cars, guns, home repair and maintenance, landscaping, video games, the worth of a dollar, (as in, why pay someone when you can just do it yourself!) and lastly, how to jump to the worst possible scenario in the blink of an eye. (my Mom refers to this as horriblizing)

As a kid, I always looked up to my Dad. He was plucky. He was crazy. And I knew he loved me no matter what. I always ask for his opinion when purchasing a new car, a new computer, pretty much anything. He's the expert on everything, I'm sure of it.

I was a bit worried about him when I found out I was pregnant with the twins. I was worried he would freak out about becoming a "grandpa." I was going to singlehandedly turn him into a grandpa- I'd probably have to get him a walker for his birthday. And a Hover Round for Christmas. 

But no. He wears the grandpa mantle with aplomb. He's probably the only one that can keep up with the twins.  "Papa" is their own personal play ambassador. He plays croquet with them. (yes, swinging heavy mallets at solid wood balls... it happens) He will sit on the floor and color with them for hours on end. The girls light up when they know that papa is there to play with them.

I can just see he's going to be their best friend too. Just like he is mine. My kids adore their papa, and so do I.

I'm so glad he can be a part of their lives. I'm so glad he was such an integral part of mine. I am the crazy, funny, handy, horribilzing woman I am today because of him. And I would have it no other way. 

He lovingly cradles my tiny babies in his arms. He dotes on them and gives them anything and everything.  He wasn't sure about holding those little fragile creatures at first, but now he's a pro. To watch him grandparent is to witness love pure and simple.

I am so lucky to have the best Dad in the world. 

So Last Minute

What a shock- I spaced Father's Day entirely. And when my Mom reminded me on Friday... I forgot again! Madness. 

We braved the card aisle at Target this morning and picked out everybody's card. I started bawling in the aisles upon finding the perfect card for my beloved grandfather who passed away in February. I'm sure the rabid card buyers were a bit weirded out. Crazy lady in aisle 4! 

We picked up a few cute little goodies for both of the kids' grandparents (oooh the suspense!) and booked it out of there to get The Husband's hair cut, grocery shopping done, and all the zillion things we had to do today. (Saturdays... busy. Whew) 

But then I remembered something. I had nothing for The Husband. Nothing! And no ideas. I don't have time to go back and search for some nick nacky thing he doesn't need. (and possibly doesn't want- the man is the polar opposite of materialistic. This makes buying him gifts impossible!) 

So I quickly scoured the internet and found these coupons from Martha Stewart. 

After a few clicks and swipes with Photoshop, I got them just right. (I managed to resist downloading even more fonts!) And they are awesome. The original template was probably made more for kids. (I am certainly NOT washing his car. Not happening. I left the lawnmowing in there, 'cause I'm generous like that)  

So these are from me. As you probably guessed from the one for a little "service." (Sorry Mom...) 

I'm glad I found something he actually wants. Like the chance to pick the restaurant we eat at. Or some time of uninterrupted wii play. I think he'll be one happy daddy tomorrow! 

Movie Time

We are not the kind to dash out and brave crowds for movie openings. But today... we were at the opening of Toy Story 3! While it wasn't the girls' first movie, (their second!) They were excited beyond all reason. I debated whether or not to diaper them... I didn't. We hurriedly tried to potty before the movie. No go. So we found great seats and watch a million previews. Then as the movie was coming up, Squirt leaned over and said "I need go potty." 

Sigh.

But being determined, I told her to hold it! 

Half way through the movie, each girl asked if we could go home now. (waaa? Movie time, girls! Have fun, doggoneit!) Thankfully, everyone stayed dry. And all the way home the girls told me the little snippets of the movie, like the baby who blows raspberries... the cowboy with his brown hat... it was sweet.

It was fun to be cool for an afternoon. We are not the last ones to see a new movie, now. Awesome.

Unexpected bonus? Renewed interest in the box of Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head parts.

So Many Cooks In the Kitchen

Once in a while, I try and be "fun mom." I come up with "activities." Sometimes they are utterly exhausting. I think the girls were at least somewhat amused by topping their very own pizza. I expected a mom-of-the-year kind of joy, but was underwhelmed by their minor amusement. Perhaps I will try again when I am less sick and cranky.

Check out the recipe for Pita Pizzas. 

I wish I could tell you they ate all their pizzas. But they didn't. They picked off the "circle meat," peppers, olives and cheese. Then they got pizza sauce all over the counter. At least I tried!

How To Address The Cat

My daughters have active and very vivid imaginations. They concoct the most hilarious games to play with each other, and now they are mastering vocabulary and the art of the spoken word- I am laughing non-stop at their shenanigans.

And the things they learn from TV? Just crazy. For example, I have been on my death bed the past couple days, and have been doing a lot of bottom-of-the-barrel-parenting. I have a general idea of where they are in the house, but have only vague hints as to what they are doing. So when they were in the bathroom, I assumed they were going potty (and they were- wiping their hind quarters with the entire roll of TP and trying to flush it down the toilet) they were unrolling the toilet paper- which The Husband must have left in grabbing distance- and wrapping long bits around their necks and talking about "snow." The only way they could have learned this was from TV! We don't own scarves! The last time it snowed, the twins were not even 2 years old! Oh my, the awesome power of television.

Now the new game is pretending to be a kitty cat. The only exposure to actual cats came in the form of my Grandparent's Mr Cat. (as seen here from a couple Halloweens ago) The girls LOVED that cat. He was the main attraction at Pop Pop and Grandmama's house- along with the fish. We don't (and never will) own a cat. So the whole feline thing was fascinating, and I'm pretty sure that is why 80% of the time, Squirt demands that she is a Cat. Her cat-name is Meow Meow, and she must be addressed as such... that is, if you don't want to deal with a rabid 3 year old fit. In fact, to talk to her, you must also assume the role of a kitty. Everything that escapes your lips must start and end with a meow.

For example: "Meow Meow, would you (meow) like a (meow) sippie? (meow meow)

I'd make a note of this, if you are to deal with my daughter. (I see you getting your paper and pen out!) The Bunny is less enthralled with this game, but will often play along... mostly to garner more attention.

And remember, all good kitties keep their "paws" near their face at all times. They're easier to lick that way.

Paint My House!

My house is feeling like a cave. You see, in this hot desert, the sun is the enemy. Natural light streaming in through windows is what most homeowners dream of. Not me. Light = Hot, which also equals massive power bills. So we've put up heat deflecting film on the windows, insulating shutters, etc. But the paint color I chose for the downstairs? Not liking it anymore. It makes things feel even darker! (that and our kitchen has NO WINDOWS- dark cave kitchen is what I have!)

So I'm asking for your design help. I need a new color. Here is what we've got to work with:

 (except now there's a rug there- a rug with red and the exact color of the wall in it)

 White shutters, white trim, white doors, travertine floors)

Walnut cabinetry, granite with grey, black, and a taupe the same color as the wall- as you can tell, too much matchy-matchy beige!

The entire downstairs is the same color. I need something lighter. But all my furniture is either dark wood or black! So I'm hoping to lighten things up strictly with paint. Here are my ideas: 

#1: Do what Dooce Does

I like the idea of a multi-purpose, lighter beige.

Source and more samples here. 

#2: Add Blue

Source from HGTV's Dream Home.

#3: Green! The Husband's Fav. Color

Source Apartment Therapy Home Tour.

Any other great ideas? 

More Proof I Need a Maid

So things have really deteriorated around here. Little Man is still recovering, and I think the stress is going to kill me. He's no grumpier than normal, but whenever he even lets out a peep I think it's because he's in pain... or bleeding out... or something else equally horrific.

And then I noticed the twins were starting to come down with something. And that something hit me too... hard. Our entire house looks like the surface of Mars- we're not quite sure if there are any life forms or not. Like the surface of Mars, but add in about a billion random toys to the landscape. There. That's the picture.

While trying to locate a (still MIA) sippie cup, I crouched on the floor to peer under the couches and saw this under the bench:

Like a tumbleweed; but made of dust, hair, and paper specks. In. My. House. 

(and this is not the only one, I'd wager) 

This is a good reason to move, right? Start off with a clean slate? The house has reached a level to which I'm not entirely sure I could even pay someone to come clean it without feeling guilty of letting another human witness the atrocities that are my house. 

I am just imaging our sweet little cleaning lady (we've had her over a few times) trying to hide the horror, the abject terror, the unadulterated disgust upon seeing the state of things over here. This is where robots may become handy. Yes. I need a ROBOT MAID! 

Diaper Slaughter

I'm going to give you a little peek into my glamorous world with a post-op infant. Custom diapers. Part of a two diaper system. I thought that surely the hospital would give me a bunch of pre-holed diapers. Like, wasn't there some company that made them exclusively for urology surgeons? No.

I was told by the receptionist at the doctor's office to "take a knife to it and make a hole." Yeah. I value my extremities, and piercing diapers with a butcher knife seems like an excellent way to lose one of those prized appendages.

At the next feeding, I cringed a bit as I thought about figuring out this new diapering system. It involves cutting a hole into the back of a diaper and lining it with medical tape, putting it on the child backwards, then layering a regular (un-butchered) diaper on front-ways.

Did you know that diapers (Pampers at least) are full of tiny beads, like sand that absorbs... the unfortunate. I now know this! This white sand is all over my couch!

I was only able to get through pre-holing six diapers. I hope we don't need more. Because I don't want to do it. I'm done.

More Than A Snip

 

We're back from the ridiculous gauntlet that was our hospital experience with Little Man. Things did not go as I'd planned in the least bit. But to soothe your worries- the surgery went off without a hitch, and the doctor said he did great.

Do you see that picture up there? That is my child. Suffering from a serious flare up of his eczema, and had not eaten in over twelve hours. Yet he still smiled. He flirted with any nurse who would flash him a grin. He was heaven in the creepy clown hospital gown.

I don't know why they make you come in so early to just sit and wait in the screened pre-op room. The kid had not been able to eat! And we were supposed to... sit there? Any other child would have been screaming and making a scene. Luckily, I have the most chill baby on the planet. So that was nice.

He eventually went back to the OR. I sat in the waiting room with my Mom. I'm so glad she was there- because I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. I'm sure I'm not alone in my dislike of being in a hospital- it's no fun for no body. The surgeon had casually said that the surgery may be more in-depth if his urethra (pee spout) was too narrow and she'd had to fix that. I would be waiting for hours as everyone else was called back from the waiting plaza to visit their loved one. I was a disaster.

Unfortunately, after I was let in to see him in recovery we found out that the poor Little Man had received a genetic gift from myself- the inability to tolerate anesthesia well. Seeing your four month old child dry-heaving is not pleasant. It's heart wrenching.

Also- a hospital is the exact place to find the crazies. My motto? Don't talk to random strangers unless forced to do so. There is a large chance you find this "stranger" to be a strong blend of crazy in a can.
One of the multitude of nurses was just one of these crazies- extolling the benefits of "homeopathic" doctors. Seriously, she would not stop talking about some kook doctor that "read her meridians" and diagnosed her from a bracelet he tied around her wrist. To top it all off, Nurse Crazy was not nice to my baby when taking out the IV. I could have done worlds better- with absolutely no medical training. My poor little boy.

Now we're home. I am under doctor's instructions to stab diapers with a knife to create a hole for a fanatically fun double diaper system. Stabbing diapers. With a knife. Sounds normal, yes?

My nerves are so raw. Rollercoaster day, indeed. Now is the time for pampering a recovering Little Man and trying to not cry, further proving to my son that his mom is a blubbering dolt. This is exactly like the nurse predicted: harder on me than on him.

Shoes! Squeal!

Can I get a holla back from the twin moms who can't find two of the same shoes in any store? Seriously, every store has one size of each shoe. Every time the girls grow out of their shoes, I wince. It means scouring the city for shoes.

I would so rather buy them online, but sizing is tricky. The girls are a size 18-24 size in Robeez, size 8 in Nike, and size 7 in Stride Rite. So you can see... it's a problem.

I'm sure some of you are saying, "Hey Ashley! Just get different shoes!" To you, I laugh. Different styles, different colors, whatever... it's not "fair" to my twins to have something the other doesn't have the exact duplicate of.

But sometimes, the planets align just so and I find these babies sitting on a shelf just begging to adorn my beauties' feet:

Yes, please.

Respite!

It's hot hot hot. Running errands with the kids has become unbearable. The car is a scorching box of death after sitting in a parking lot for more than 5 minutes. As soon as I step outside, I immediately become a sticky sweaty mess. (I hate hate hate summer) 

But that is why Grandma's house has a pool! And we're oh so glad about that! 

My kids can swim! (with noodles) 

It was totally reminiscent of "the good old days" of my summer childhood. My grandparents had a pool- one that was the site of almost every birthday party. (the years it wasn't at the Crystal Palace Skating Rink) Every summer my brother and I practically lived in that pool. Swimming was a huge part of my growing up. I'm so glad I can give my kids the same experience. Although it did make me miss my Grandpa even more.