behind mommy lines

Fawning

2012-01-26T18:07:00.000-08:00

I have this ridiculous story to tell you about the day we scheduled The Big Photoshoot. Except that my tongue is all tied in awe looking at the pictures I got back from it.

I mean, c'mon!

Pardon moi while I go swimming in those eyes:

Don't let me forget to tell you the ironically hilarious story about the photoshoot.

Notes From My Boss

2012-01-25T12:28:00.000-08:00

Performance Review

Subject: Mommy

Job Title: Executive Household Officer

Manager: Little Man

Job Knowledge: Below Average

Comments:

I have my doubts that she's even read the job description I've provided to her.

Work Quality: Average

Comments:

My bum is wiped, my tummy is full, my clothes are usually washed and folded upon demand, but she still insists on an afternoon nap. On a side note: if she loses another sippie, I am getting out the pinkslips.

Attendance/Punctuality: Excellent

Comments:

I am exceptionally hard to escape from. So most of the praise should go to me.

Initiative: Average

Comments:

Again, this is more a reflection of my above-average managing skills. She is quick to jump up when I break out the high-pitched wail.

Communication/Listening Skills: Poor

Comments:

It's like she never knows what I'm talking about! I am quite the wordsmith, if I do say so myself.

Dependability: Excellent

Comments:

I will give her this- she's always there. Sometimes it's annoying, especially when I'm rock-climbing in the kitchen. She is available for a boo-boo kissing, which is not to be undervalued.

Overall Rating: She may be struggling to stay ahead of her tasks most days, but I love her nonetheless. She seems to have won over the hearts and minds of the rest of the staff as well.

On Friday the Thirteenth

2012-01-22T09:34:00.000-08:00

On that particular Friday I was checking Facebook hourly... or more. I was awaiting news heralding the arrival of my new little nephew. He may have been born far away, but that baby boy lives quite close to my heart, just like all my other nieces and nephew. At last we received the joyful announcement; He is here! And my soul did somersaults. New additions to the family will do that to you.

Then we got some very troubling news, indeed. My brand new little nephew was not doing well. He was rushed to a larger hospital, and though it is... the 22nd now? He is still in a very critical condition. My heart goes out to my sister-in-law and her husband. As they watch their first little boy struggle to thrive in this world. If you have any warm thoughts, please send them their way. If you have any room in your prayers, please include the little baby far away in a little isolette. Our family thanks you.

The Thing That Happened To My Drapes

2012-01-20T09:24:00.000-08:00

If you follow me on Twitter (hi, I love you!) you've already heard the bulk of this story. It bears re-telling just because I cannot get the mental picture out of my mind, and it's been two days since The Incident.
So if you're bored, sorry. Nothing to see here, today!

After having folded the kids' laundry, I decide naptime is over and I bring in a large tub full of neatly folded clothing into Bunny's room. As soon as I open the door, the stench kicks me in the gut: poop. "Did you have an accident, honey?" I ask. Mentally preparing myself to throw some sheets in the wash- not that big of a deal. I figure I'll place the clean clothes in her dresser, then address the poopy business. "My hands are dirty, Mama" I hear a little voice squeak in the semi-darkness. "Oh, ok. We'll wash them off in a...." This is when I see IT. I have not yet turned on the lights, but I can see a spray of brown all across the off-white drapes hanging in her room. My mind slowly begins to put the pieces together as I flip the lightswitch to reveal The Horror. (My first thought was to run downstairs and grab a camera to chronicle the epic disaster, but I spared you all from suppressing your gag-reflexes)

There is feces spread EVERYWHERE- on the walls, on the drapes, on the bed, the sheets, her clothes. It's like two monkeys got into a poop-throwing contest during the short two hour block Bunny was left alone. (what's worse- I had the monitor on, and never heard a peep)

I tried to coax any reasoning for the mess out of Bunny, but she was totally nonchalant about the whole thing answering, "My hands were dirty, so I wiped them on the curtains." My follow up of "why didn't you go into the bathroom and use the sink?!" was met with a light shrug. I didn't even ask why she had her hands down her dirty panties in the first place.

Bunny seemed oddly confused and aloof about the whole thing, so I just stuck her in the shower while I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening; I was about to scrub poop off my drapes. Nobody can prepare you for a task like that. I kept thinking "This kid is FIVE! I would expect something of this caliber from a 2 year old, but FIVE?!"

I wake up the remaining two children and thrust everyone into the shower. As I'm taking inventory of all the things that need to be washed/bleached/scrubbed, I hear this snippet of conversation coming from the bathroom:

Squirt: What happened to you, Bunny?

Bunny: Nothing... I pooped in my panties.

Squirt: I'm not going in there with poop. Mommieeee!

Me: Just get in the shower, it'll be fine.

Squirt: No! That's gross!

Me: Not half as gross as what I'm doing right now! Get. In. The. Shower.

So most of this excrement is thoroughly dried and caked on the fabrics, apparently this little poop-capade happened in the early parts of naptime. I end up having all three of my upstairs sinks soaking various items in pre-treater, and I'm combing the drapes trying to find a tag of any sort instructing me on the washing procedure. There is none- on any of the four panels I own.

Twitter tells me there is a chance they are dry-clean-only. The thought of hauling these smelly, poopy drapes down to the dry cleaners is inconceivable. I usually don't bother with what others think, but I could just picture the attendant's face as I handed her the poopy drapes, and IT WAS NOT WORTH IT.

I took a gamble and tossed them in the washer on delicate. If they were ruined? Well, they were already "ruined" to begin with at this point. I scrub the walls, the combination of Clorox wipes and a dab of Magic Eraser here and there (don't want to "erase" the paint off the walls!) works well, and the "Clorox" part of the deal makes me feel better- practically bleaching things is always a good answer to a borderline germaphobe.

I then direct my attention towards the kids in the shower. I have to SCRUB the crustiness of Bunny, and then wash/shampoo/dry all three children- which takes forever.

After that, I hear the washing machine cycle end. Time of reckoning. Will the drapes survive? Are they permanently stained?

HALLELUJAH! Drapes are fine, and I hang them to dry. The rest of the three loads of consequential laundry comes out ok as well. At the end of it, I am exhausted, perplexed, and well... I hope that never happens again.

After the events following The Incident, I have decided that Bunny is thoroughly tripped-out on this antibiotic and is totally, completely not-herself. She's been having weird behavioral issues ever since the medicine started. I feel bad for her, and am giving her preferential treatment.

So, I can safely say The Incident has been the worst experience in my parenting career so far. I cannot think of anything much worse. I am crossing my fingers as we venture into potty training Little Man that this will continue to be the hallmark as to all future messes will be measured: On a scale of 1 to The Incident.

Never Forget the 'Ruche

2012-01-19T08:31:00.000-08:00

Something (one of the many somethings) I never want to forget: The way Squirt says "cockaroach."

Yes, I know. One of the most disgusting words I can think of.

Squirt makes the word 100% better- just in her pronunciation.

Say it with me: Cock-a-Ruche.

Like ruching.

Sometimes she gets fancy and emphasizes the "oooh." Cock-a-Roooooche!

Just one of the many, many adorable things I hope she never outgrows, and will always dwell in a soft little corner of my memory.

Food Service and Children

2012-01-18T09:48:00.000-08:00

I'm not saying being a food service employee is easy. I'm sure it's a very demanding job, involving truly cringeworthy people, and little to no respect. My sympathies.

However, I feel like I need to give the general waiter/waitress a few pointers on how to deal with customers with small children. If they ever want a decent tip from me, anyway.

#1- Don't keep us waiting. Kids have an internal timer, and when it expires, the whole restaurant will pay. Since we eat on the early side: 11am lunches and 5pm dinners, this shouldn't be too difficult to pull off. Let the old people wait a little bit. Waiting for the early bird special or at the pearly gates... what's the difference, really? If you, my waitress disappear, I will consider dining and dashing. I should not have to wait half an hour for the check.

If we have to break out the apps, we've been waiting too long.

#2- Always ask if a highchair or booster seat is needed; Never assume. Also- are booster seats really that safe when used on a booth seat?! That situation seems sketchy to me. There are straps, that I'm assuming are meant for actual chairs... but the booth seat. That hunk of plastic my kid is perched on? Well, it's sliding all over the place- this seems dangerous.

This child has been waiting too long for mac & cheese. Watch out- he bites.

#3- All cups given to small children should have lids. No lid means THERE WILL BE liquid covering this whole table by the time we leave. I don't like this fact any more than you do, but there it is: no less true. LIDS! GIVE ME LIDS!

Thank you in advance for your consideration.

Something Other Than "Post Title"

2012-01-17T22:12:00.000-08:00

For some inexplicable reason, I end up having a hard time sleeping on Tuesday nights. I know it is Tuesday nights because I invariably crawl back downstairs and watch Teen Mom until the urge to fall into my bed strikes.

I'm not just having problems sleeping, I am also having problems blogging. I sit down and... blech. I have nothing to say! Everything I get out of the keyboard is just painfully lackluster. I even sat down and made a graphic. A graphic. It's my new "motto" for the year, replacing the old motto of: "POWER THROUGH THE CRAZY." I have been "powering through" for a rather long time now. Perhaps I am just TIRED.

Oh yes, the graphic. I spent an unwieldily amount of time on it. So you must lay eyes on it.

At this point someone is bound to suggest professional therapy. I promise, this is nothing serious. I've just got nothing of pertinence to put out there. I feel totally off. As in not myself. And I'm hoping this is a temporary thing, that once some things "wrap up," I shall be back to the normal/crazy instead of the basketcase/crazy that I seem to be at now. There have been times when I feel as though I need an emotional adjustment- could I get that at some strip mall chiropractor? One located next to the mandated nail salon?

In fact, I'm considering deleting this entire post. Mostly because- whine much, lady? Who would want to read this? I guess I just feel like I owe The Internet an explanation. A vague-ish, entirely unsatisfying explanation.

This One... And Her Pee

2012-01-17T15:51:00.000-08:00

To her credit, she had been telling us it hurt when she peed. However, she often tells us her tummy hurts when all she has left on her plate is vegetables. So her credibility has taken a hit in recent months.

And her story seemed to change from day to day. I was keeping an eye on her... a skeptical eye.

Until this morning when she refused to eat, drink, or quite frankly, walk. That got my attention. (although at the back of my mind I kinda thought the theatrics was a bid for extra attention) With symptoms like those, I could at least rationalize a call to the pediatrician.

Of course, they wanted her to come in... and could I be there in thirty minutes? To the "other" office that I had never previously been to?

Oh, sure!

Crap.

Long story short: I have amazing friends who will take two out of three at the drop of a hat, and one who is on antibiotics for a urine tract infection.

Yay.

Cue the cranberry juice.

The Answer is Croquet

2012-01-14T20:27:00.000-08:00

The great game of croquet (yes, you can say that to yourself in any kind of accent you wish- it works) was a big part of my memories growing up. It just wasn't a proper family BBQ if there was not a serious game of croquet going on in the background. For those of you who don't know what croquet is: Google it, it's hard to explain without a mallet, some wickets, and big heavy balls (don't get weird on me) ...except that it is awesome. And I love it. And it astonishes me how few people are familiar with it.

Exactly how we acquired a croquet set in the first place is a little hazy. I am guessing it was one of my Dad's famous impulse-Costco-buys. However, that same set still sits on the back porch of my parent's house. Yes, it is pretty dilapidated, one of the mallet handles has been replaced by a... something my Dad cobbled up to fit snugly into the hammer part, (he's amazing, my Dad) and we still break it out every once in a while.

Ever since Dad randomly brought home a game that- to this day- only select people know how to play, I have held the game close to my heart. So many blissful memories revolve around the game. Memories like the day I got my very first bra and wore it awkwardly at the family picnic. (sorry you had to read that, Dad) That new bra killed my croquet game, I lost miserably as I was too uncomfortable to concentrate. That being the only reason I would lose at a game of croquet... or at least admit to defeat openly like this.

Our home has never felt quite right without a croquet set. And last year I was determined to change that. It is difficult to find a good croquet set outside the aisles of warehouse stores, especially in the winter, when no one is prone to having a cook out in their yard. Lucky for me, Melissa and Doug yielded just the solution: The "Sunny Patch Happy Giddy Croquet Set."

I do enjoy a good game of croquet in the morning.

I just love that face: "yeah, I'm just gonna sink the ball into that wicket..."

Now our family is complete, two girls, one boy, and a croquet set. If I were you, I would run out to the nearest Costco (the version circa 1995) and pick yourself up a croquet set. Learn how to play- it's totally easy-ish. (have you any questions, ask me) Make some lovely family memories! (and don't ask why your tweenage daughter is scratching her back with the business-end of a mallet- Now that I've over-shared, yet again)

Chandeliers for Kids

2012-01-13T11:22:00.000-08:00

What is a pretty pink girls room without a delicate chandelier hanging from the ceiling? Since I gravitate towards the ceiling fan (functional!) and we're renting, the girls have not had a proper crystal chandelier... oh how deprived these children are!

Wandering through the aisles of Target one day I happened upon a chandelier making kit. On sale. For ten bucks. Naturally, two new soon-to-be-birthday-presents landed in my cart. Part of the "Pop Art Pixies" line, I couldn't find the exact kit, but here's another item from the line. It's all made of plastic, and the kids could (assumably) color on the little mirrored circles to make it unique and fun. Seemed like a homerun for Mommy. CRAFTING TIME!

I was glad that motherly intuition prompted me to peek at the instructions during naps, already having touted the fun chandelier-making-after-naps-activity. Turns out, this is not a project for the younger audience- no, more like tweens? Full-on teenaged girls?

It took me, a woman of some years, four hours (and more than a little swearing) to assemble two chandeliers. It is a bonus that the penned-in designs can be rubbed off, but do you know the consequences of such a thing when assembling hundreds of tiny mirrors together with equally tiny hooks? You wipe off half the designs, and pray for death to come quickly. However! The results of the intensive labor are kinda awesome:

And Then They Were Five

2012-01-13T08:34:00.000-08:00

I've written more than a few versions of this post. The big birthday post from Monday. However, nothing seemed just right. I have to admit it was not a great day for me, I've been in a bit of a dark spot as of late. All the hype leading up to Christmas, then birthdays... and well, I am just plain stressed out. So let's gloss over that unpleasantness, and go straight to some freshly minted five year olds:

The idea that we have been on a five year journey with these two amazing girls, it simply pauses my breath for a minute. We're eternally lucky to have these little personalities grace our lives. Even on the days when it feels like their trying to kill me- I will always love these the two without end.

I could do the traditional [insert old baby picture here] post, but they're FIVE! I don't feel like they are my babies anymore. They're so much more than that now. We're passed bottles, diapers, crawling, first steps, binkies, potty training. It seems, at least to me, that we've stepped into a whole new chapter of life with the girls, one full of so much more than just "taking care" of them, but getting to know them. And I'm thrilled to see where FIVE takes us.

Hurry, Before I Get Sappy

2012-01-09T09:06:00.000-08:00

The girls officially turn 5 today. Someone get me a stiff drink.

Before I get into all THAT...

Grandma, knowing how much Little Man likes buttons, and pushing buttons, and talking about buttons, got him a little consolation gift while the girls tore open their birthday haul. The toy phone has a couple voices, and one struck me as rather... odd.

"Hi! I'm Firefighter Bob! And I have a spotted dog."

Go ahead and read that line aloud. A spotted dog. He has one. Does it sound dirty to anyone else? Just me? Fine.

Blurry picture... he will not stay still with his "buttons."

Also? This happened this morning:

Squirt: "Mommy? Do I get to stay five?"

Me: "Yes, you can stay five."

Squirt: "Oh, good. Can I have a wedding now?"

Me: "No, you cannot get married... at five."

Turns Out I'm A Birthday Squasher

2012-01-06T15:04:00.000-08:00

The twins' birthday is approaching... speedily. I've already nixed the idea of a kid-party. I am... just not ready for that level of crazy yet. Plus, my kids have a very limited pool of friends. I mean, they have friends here and there, they talk about kids at preschool, but I do not know them at all- nor their families. I am not ready to get into all that. So no slew of five year olds running around my house. NO SIRS.

Basically, I'm bringing cake and presents along to our weekly family dinners at my parent's house. This seems like a total cop-out, but I've made my peace with it. (I am not supermom, and I'm ok with that!)

However! There is the issue of preschool. One week the girls were sent home with a cupcake. Through the conversation, (with two very amped up girls) I found it had been one of the other preschool kid's birthday. I brushed it off; My girls' birthday is on a non-preschool day. Crisis averted, no?

Except that the girls kept coming home with assorted baked goods- again, other kid's birthdays. Upon asking my very own Emily Post, (my mom) I still need to bring my own baked goodies for the preschool crowd (about 40 kids) for the twin's birthday.

I do not like this. I mean really, WHY MUST WE DO THIS?

I consider myself a busy woman, and this seems really silly. Like a social custom we should have all shunned by now. Especially with the potential for crazy, insane food allergies that I am not aware of? So, yeah... I am dragging my heels on bringing special treats to preschool.

It's not that I don't want my kids to feel super-special on their birthdays... I just don't want it to be something that stresses ME out too much.

It will be a fun day (more like weekend) because it will have the top things a kid wants on their birthday: (1) CAKE and (2) PRESENTS. AmIright?

Short Things and Time Frames

2012-01-05T09:37:00.000-08:00

The other day at the park, my kids were busy running amok. A cute little family joined the fun. The Mom was super skinny, yet obviously pregnant, and gorgeous with full hair & makeup. She had a small little girl, I'd say about 18 mos. old. And that little girl was entranced with Little Man. Entranced. She followed him everywhere, then got up the courage to reach out and touch his hair. At this, Little Man froze still as a statue until the girl was done. Then ran down the play structure as fast as his short legs would take him, and promptly dropped himself into my lap. I'm glad to be THE girl for him right now.

So he sat there while I snapped pictures.

Do you like my huge sunglasses to cover the fact I have no makeup on? Yeah, it was one of "those" days. Not everyone can be classy at the park, impossibly beautiful park Mom. I was in yoga pants too, lady. Try and look a little less stunning and perfect, thanks.

This morning found the baby with a leaky diaper. Not the most welcome of surprises in the am, but it did force me to strip his bed and put it to wash. I am finding with a boy, that even though it's incredibly difficult to change crib bedding, boys make an awful mess in there somehow. Putting it off too long is probably ill-advised. Man, those sheets were filthy- and I had no idea. The crib tent tends to obscure the light in there. Seems like I should not have to bend myself in half, impaled by the side rails, rending my kidney in two, just to wash some sheets. Improvement needed, crib makers of the world; I'm putting you on notice.

During the breakfast routine (today: oatmeal. tomorrow: pancakes, day after: cereal, repeat) I happen to come upon the baking soda box and it's "replace by" date of Aug 2011. This was interesting as I usually never write down the date on the box and opt instead to wing it. I thought about changing the box out, except that I realized Mr. Arm & Hammer recommend replacement every 30 days. This seems suspicious to me. Even though, yes, I have had the same box of baking soda in there since July. I've decided that Big Baking Soda (yes, I said Big Baking Soda) is just pulling my chain on this one, and I will be replacing that little orange box in a year. Yes, I've unilaterally decided that one year is more of an accurate time-frame for a box of baking powder to do its job; desmellifying my fridge. It's been (let me count...) 6 mos, and my fridge doth not reek!
I use the same approach to our refrigerator's water filter. It recommends every 6 mos I replace the mail-order-only, 40 whopping dollar filter. I do so every 2 years. Take that, General Electric.

Something, something, RIO!

2012-01-03T14:19:00.000-08:00

Can we talk about the singing? Oh my word, the singing. The girls got little notebooks in their stockings and have been composing little songs to sing to us, their captive audience, ever since. There has been a lot of singing- not all of it great.

Squirt does not believe a song needs too many comprehensible words to get her point across, I find it to be quite similar to "experimental" Jazz:

Bunny insists on singing the song from the Pixar movie "Rio," Except that the only word of the song she knows is... you guessed it... RIO.

I fear volunteering voice lessons would just offend them at this point.

Behold, I have Scrapbooked

2012-01-03T10:03:00.000-08:00

At the end of the year, and I mean two days before the new year, I finished all my scrapbook pages for the entire year. So yes, GOLD STAR FOR ME.

It was a process, going through each month's picture folder, sorting through the zillions of pictures, and selecting the ones I wanted to highlight. The hours spent were worth it because... SEE HERE:

Every year I compile a page that includes a picture each month, for all twelve months for each of my kids. It's cool to see how much they've grown- or how much they've stayed the same.

I am expecting my layouts to arrive at my doorstep any day now. I will slide them in their little page protectors and PRESTO! The year in scrapbooks- done. Can I rub that in a little bit more? I AM CURRENT ON MY SCRAPBOOKING, BWAHAHAHA.

The only way this is possible is through digital scrapbooking; which can be as easy as dragging and dropping pictures into a box. And as customizable as I want it to be. Now I'm sounding like an infomercial- Studio J cannot make julienne fries- just really awesome, high quality layouts from my computer, without having to have any supplies, papers, or printed pictures. I make up some layouts, hit "buy," and the finished product (along with the jpeg files- and page protectors) ship out to me in the mail.

Being a good mother: made simple.

Oh! And if you'd like to dabble, here's the place to do it. It's free to try it out, just create an acct and upload your photos.

Some Mumblings About Sewing

2012-01-02T15:39:00.000-08:00

Crafty Self: You need a sewing project. Look at your sewing machine; all threaded up and it's got nowhere to go.

Source: prudentbaby.com via craftyashley on Pinterest

Hey! You could so make that! It says "cheater" right there in the headline. It looks simple enough! Go find that fabric! And start quilting- it's probably just like making pillowcases!

Pessimistic Self: Um... do you realize you just bought almost $200 of FABRIC?

Crafty Self: It may be fabric now, but it will be quilts for the children soon! (got this for the boy, and this for the twins- yes, I'll be making a baby quilt and TWO bed-sized quilts- just so we're clear)

Pessimistic Self: And we're confident about this?

Crafty Self: Of course! What could possibly go wrong? There's an online tutorial and everything!

Pessimistic Self: You could find out it is actually way above your beginner (is there a level below beginner? That would more aptly describe where you are) skill level? And then you'll have two hundred dollars in fabric gathering dust in your closet.

Crafty Self: Too late! Already paid for it!

Pessimistic Self: Crap. We're screwed.

On the brighter side, I was doing laundry and noticed that one of the hamper liners had a hole (yes, I am admitting to routinely washing the liners of my laundry hampers here) and by golly! I walked two steps, turned on the sewing machine, AND FIXED IT. There are no words to describe that feeling... like the Visa commercial says "Priceless." I may not be completing a major-serious-for-real-sewing-project, but if all I can do is mend my laundry hamper liners? I will still be pleased with myself.

A New, Hopefully Less Insane, Year

2011-12-30T12:22:00.000-08:00

The thought of a brand new year fills me with extreme amounts of glee. I adore the idea of starting "fresh." Ending one chapter and beginning another. Even if it is a tad bit cliche. (I'm a cliche and I LIKE IT)

In retrospect, this has been a year of change. The year before it was, well, I have labeled it The Year Of Illness. So this has certainly been different than the year before it. 2010 was marred with horrible c-section experiences, (but one beautiful baby boy) the passing of my beloved Grandfather, (Now we have found just how much he held our entire family together, without him we are in a very different, very unimaginable place- it's been for the most part unbloggable, sorry) the scare of twenty lifetimes as the girls were put through a run of doctors, (we received a miracle that year, that all the red flags did not lead to big problems) and while it paled in comparison to the rest of it, Bunny had pneumonia on Christmas. (and we got to find out she's allergic to penicillin) So that was 2010. I found it cathartic reliving that, because 2011 now seems like a silly waste of energy. 2011 was all about the benjamins. It was a year of financial unease and stress.

This year we decided to sell our house. That decision took us to new, annoying, and scary places. A man blatantly stole from us, and we've been financially trying to recover ever since. At last we are finally in a manageable place. It seems like the selling of the house is finally making a turning point and we are optimistic that it will be over with by the end of January. This finds me in a joyful, thankful place. (of course it isn't over YET, so hang tight) The grief over that will heal this coming year- it just has to.

The kids have grown, the girls are going to preschool. The little baby that turned one this year has sprouted into a climbing, destroying, high pitched screaming toddler... essentially a handful and a half. With all the turbulence of the past couple years, here we are! We're good. We're together. And while I've lost all trace of sanity, we've learned so much along the way. I've found I have more strength than I could have imagined. So this new year, 2012: will find the twins turning FIVE (ack!) and Little Man becoming a full-fledged two year old. This will be the Year Of The New. The girls will start "real" school, kindergarten in 2012. We will save up to buy a new house... for the next several years. I have decided to pick up a new skill- sewing. (stop laughing)

SEWING! It will happen!

This is all thanks to Pinterest, for making me feel like a pathetic, talentless schmuck. I am not a woman if I do not sew! So I was lucky enough to get a sewing machine for Christmas and have finished assembling my sewing cubby:

Also notice the new quilt I found on cyber Monday. Love, yes?

Not only have I vowed to sew in 2012, I'VE ALREADY STARTED!

My first project:

If you want to try one, start here.

Strawberry Shortcake Pillowcases for the girls. They were quite excited, I am hoping I can parlay this excitement into an easy naptime.

So... HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ME!

And you, too!

The Sound of Knowledge

2011-12-28T09:15:00.000-08:00

Wearing animal hats is now standard procedure in our household.

Bunny: (in her monkey-hat) "Ooooh, oooh! Aaah! Aaaah!" (you know, monkey sounds)

Squirt: (in her giraffe-hat) "Um, Mommy? What sound does a giraffe make?"

Me: ?

Me Again: "Giraffes are pretty quiet, I guess. And that's always a good idea... to be quiet."

Squirt: (in her giraffe-hat) "Ooooh, oooh! Aaah! Aaaah!"

A giraffe that makes monkey sounds- naturally.

Then Today Happens

2011-12-27T15:19:00.000-08:00

The day after Christmas: I went tres-crazy. Everything about my house bugged me. The presents piled on the dining room table, the Christmas tree taking up tremendous amounts of space in the corner, and the bathtubs? They had clearly not been scrubbed in a while.

I needed to roll up my sleeves, leave the children in the care of their video-game-playing father, and get to freaking work.

I had too much neurotic energy. And I was worried how things were going to pan out after The Husband went back to work.

Luckily, we had a lovely morning at the park:

... and I built a desk. Where I will put my brand new sewing machine. Yes, you heard me: I am going to sew something. Hopefully it won't be an epic disaster.

My brother was very helpful in tempering my sewing-related-anxieties, and I quote: "I'm pretty sure it's something that takes years to become even decent at, or else everyone would be sewing shit up, making their own clothes and blankets."

I am determined to give him a quilt for his birthday. SEWING SHIT UP!

Christmas, Condensed

2011-12-27T14:46:00.000-08:00

We made a gingerbread house.

We opened presents.

Grandma gave us animal hats... which we never take off.

It was pretty much perfect.

The Card I'm Not Sending

2011-12-24T09:38:00.000-08:00

Deciding to forgo the extensive design, printing, and addressing of a mass holiday card send out, I did other things... like mop my floors.

I threw together this imperfect little image (I had to stop myself from agonizing over font and color choices- am always a designer. I could spend hours making it perfect) to spread some warmth and cheer to you, my internet peeps. Enjoy.

The Gingerbread Debacle

2011-12-23T19:50:00.000-08:00

This morning I bolted to a sitting position in bed. Because something in my dreams a second before the baby woke me up had reminded me of something from real life: THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE.

I had completely forgotten about the gingerbread house. The really cool, super awesome activity I had suggested we do with the kids on Christmas Eve. It was such a hit last year, I wanted to do it again. The little kit had been so easy, so un-stressful, and just plain fun.

Later that morning, after prodding the children along to hurry up and get ready to go, we set off in search of a gingerbread house making kit... two days before Christmas. The first stop was my old standby- Target. (you can say that with a French accent, it's ok- I do) The shelves of the holiday aisles were practically bare, and the workers in red were tearing some of it down. This was not looking good. Nonetheless, I asked one of the associates if there was any chance of finding a gingerbread kit. He kind of chuckled and told me the chances were slim. He walked down a couple aisles, surmising the paltry offerings and told me if I had the time/will, I could have them call other stores to see if anyone had any stray kits. Then he sent me on my way... where I piled other stuff that was not on the list into the cart- I CANNOT RESIST THE POWER OF TARGET.

My next stop was World Market, where last year's kit had come from. I was certain this would be THE PLACE. Except that I had 30 mins to kill before World Market would open its doors. That is how I bought a hair clipper at Big Lots for $17... and two cookie sheets. At the stroke of 10am, I stormed the World Market, cookie sheets clanging in the bag. I circled, and circled. Then hovered. Then started to mentally freak out. Surely they would have a ton in the back, right? The mysterious storage warehouse behind the flappy doors where I assume all the cool stuff stays to hide. I asked a lady, and she chuckled. "You're the second person to ask me about gingerbread houses. And sorry, we are all out. I hear there might be one broken one at a store across town, though."

OH, HELPFUL.

I returned home with everything under the sun... except the one thing I'd went out to get- the darned house kit. I was left with two options: bag the activity entirely (even though I'd psyched the girls up about it ahead of time) or go on Pinterest and make my own FROM SCRATCH.

Being the terrible baker that I am, I realized this would most lead to an end-product entitled Gingerbread House: After the Fire. There was no way this would turn out to be anything but a steaming pile of disaster.
I scoured the internet for easy-ish recipes. Wrote down a list of ingredients my pantry did not contain- things like MOLASSES. I plucked three kids out of naps and took them on the run- again. The grocery store was not as busy as I had planned, being two days before the big day AND after 5:00.

You know what I found? A huge giant stack of gingerbread house kits. And next to it, a gingerbread TRAIN kit.

So, this is pretty much the best evening ever. Crisis averted. I now have two houses and one train kit just waiting to be frosted together and sprinkled with candy. On Christmas Eve.

And this happened today too:

My baby made a really cool picture. Things like this never cease to amaze me. Is that drawing totally awesome, or what?! Gold stars to Bunny.

Have a very happy holiday weekend!

The Grey Lady

2011-12-22T09:46:00.000-08:00

Scene: getting ready for bed, Husband is brushing teeth, I am putting on over-night eye cream.

Husband: (with a toothbrush still in his mouth) You don't need that stuff you know.

Me: It's a preventative measure.

Husband: Murf, murf, gargle... ridiculous.

Me: (as I'm brushing out my hair for the evening) The grey hairs are seriously multiplying. Like rabbits. This sucks.

Husband: Oh please. You are so delusional.

Me: Oh really! See for yourself! (shoving my head in his face)

Husband: (takes a peek and backs away) Aw, man. That does suck. And all this time I thought you were being overly dramatic...

Me: Gee, I feel so much better now!

Husband: But you're going to dye it, right?

Me: (glare)

Oh Deer

2011-12-21T14:14:00.000-08:00

What is the joy of parenting if it doesn't involve humiliating novelty hats?

Reindeer!

Model Posing 101... eat your heart out, Tyra Banks!

They take the whole Dancer and Prancer thing to a new level, trust me.

Product Review: Method Laundry Detergent

2011-12-19T10:03:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I find stuff that either really disappoints me, as a consumer, or is the answer to all of my problems and woe. Sometimes Style Lush tells me to switch detergents, and I do.

Before I buy a year's worth of Method Laundry Detergent, I have to get online and go nuts pouring over review after consumer review. Then I always get cold feet. Ah, I could go on, but that would be the boring part of what I'm trying to say. I do my own reviews, mostly because I was looking for good reviews before my purchase, and there was a lack of real reviews (besides the glowing Style Lush review- Style Lush being people I listen to) I am not compensated in any way for this. It's a service I freely give-- because there are too many nut-jobs out there posting reviews on websites that make any product seem like total crap. I am a normal person, who can give non-idiot-advice from my experiences. Seriously, the amount of people who "just couldn't operate the pump" on this detergent was distressing. It's not that hard: push down... liquid squirts out. Dummies.

So! First I'll start with my washing machine: I hate it. But it's practically brand new, so buying a different one seems like a terrible waste of money we don't particularly have. I have excessively bad "washing karma," to boot. Basically, I am a terrible laundress.

Problems stem from my top loader that has no agitator- it is trying so hard to be a front loader, however the results suck. It uses a lot of friction and pull to "agitate" the clothes, sometimes my favorite little girls' crop jeans from Nordstroms rip at the seams from all the pulling from my washer- and I hold a short funeral... there are tears.

I also have a huge problem with color bleeding. (It's happened more than a dozen times) I've also found other people's washers get stuff out way better than my washer, especially when it comes to oily stains, or color bleed stains. In fact! One shirt that was totally destroyed, a sweet green tee with embroidered cupcakes... eventually tie-dyed with unfortunate red streaks. I sent this shirt as a freebie with ThredUp, (love that clothes swapping!) figuring if they couldn't get it out, the receiver could just toss it. Well, I got an email after sending it that the bright red stains totally came out in their washer- I almost died, and the fire of hatred for my own washer burned deeper.

There's also the problem that, like most HE washers, it can smell awful in the cavernous drum, and the detergent tray gets backed up; a problem remedied only half the time by Tide Washing Machine Cleaner.

Do you feel bad for me and my crappy washing machine yet? Thank you.

In light of all this laundry-related stress, I jumped at the chance of a better washing future with this new Method Laundry Detergent:

Let's start with the pros:

- The size! This bottle is about the size of a bottle of Windex. Easily held in my hands, and takes up way less shelf-space than the gigantic plastic tubs:

Sure, the Tide container says it yields 100 loads, but I tend to use more than the bare minimum for a load. However, with the Method I have stuck to the four pump rule quite strictly, so I know there are genuinely 50 loads in that tiny package.

- The pump feature! Instead of pouring syrupy soap into a cup, then having it drip all over the shelf and into every tiny crevasse of my machine- I spritz a bit straight into the tray. No mess! While I've managed to keep things clean so far, the last house had what looked like stalagmites (stalactites? Can't remember the difference!) of laundry soap dangling from the washroom shelf. This change to drip-less is HUGE for me, people. I cannot emphasize that enough.

- It cleans! A handful of reviews on Amazon scared me. (even though the majority are very good, I can't pass up reading the bad ones) Some said it did not clean at all. Some claimed it seriously faded anything it touched. I have found neither of these statements to be true. The Method Detergent hasn't been effective with the oil-stains, but neither was the Tide. I still use a pre-treater on major stains, but so far my laundry has come out nicely. It is even softer than normal, without adding fabric softener- which Little Man is allergic to anyway. I've used it on The Husband's uniforms, which are the dirtiest things I can think of, and he has not complained. I'm quite pleased that such a small amount of soap- and believe me, it is a SMALL AMOUNT!- can really work. I have my own black-helicopter-theories that the little HE sticker on detergent these days is just corporate trickery- nothing has changed about these detergents, and they're mucking up my washer. (hence the clogged trays and icky smell) The Style Lush review pointed out a lack of mildewy smell, it is true! This is probably way more HE-enabled than everything else out there.

Next the cons:

- It may be a bit more expensive. I'm not at all good with numbers. I don't even remember what I pay for my giganta-tubs at Sam's. The Method detergent was on sale at Target: I bought the dye/fragrance free for Little Man and a couple of the scented ones for the rest of us for around $12 a bottle. Normally, I believe it is $15? The lack of mess makes it worth the price for me.

- The Free + Clear, which I have to use due to the baby's extremely sensitive skin, does leave a very slight chemicall-y smell when the clothes are wet. After drying, however, they smell fine.

- Reviews have said that the pumps can malfunction or be defective. I've used two already and have not had this problem. However if I did, I would probably just take it back to the store for an exchange. Again... the pump is SO WORTH ANY SACRIFICE I tell ya!

Overall:

I really like the Method Detergent and am using it with all my loads, the daily, heaping loads.

I have a couple honking containers stored away, at this rate, I may try and return them or give them away. I've gone Method all the way.

One Saturday Morning

2011-12-17T09:48:00.000-08:00

Every Friday night I delude myself into thinking I can sleep in on Saturday mornings. Monday through Friday, I have a Husband who wakes up at 5:30, and while I am usually some version of comatose- I am still very much aware that he is in the shower/running the dryer/buzzing about getting ready for work. Sundays we have to wake the kids up early and take three very cranky and overtired children to church.

Saturday is my day- it's my ONE SHOT at sleeping to a reasonable hour.

It is, of course, a complete pipe-dream. Especially when the garbage company up and moved our scheduled pick up date to Saturday. Out of some irksome revenge plot of fate, we are the first stop of the morning for our friendly neighborhood garbage truck. It barrels down the street behind us at a shocking 6:30am. (Our master is at the rear of the house, so the back street is when I am woken by the crashing, banging, and diesel engine) by 6:45 it is right in front of Little Man's bedroom window. So naturally, he's up.

This particular morning, after ignoring the baby, (who remarkably returned to slumber for a time) I found myself tossing and turning. I was too hot under the blanket, then too cold, then my pillow was lumpy. Ugh. I was up, and there was no way to get back to dreamland.

Being the benevolent, totally-awesome-wife that I am, I tip toed around the room and turned off all the monitors to let The Husband have the sleeping-in experience I yearned for. Stumbling down the stairs, mumbling under my breath to myself about the madness, I tried to complete the morning feeding-of-the-hounds ritual. (something The Husband does normally) I should at least attempt to paint a picture of what my dogs are like in the morning. Usually they are total couch potatoes, lounging around the house, peeing on the children's toys in a desperate plot to chase the kids out of the house, and yapping incessantly when anyone makes any sort of noise outside. Basically, super chill- if insanely annoying, dogs.

That is, except for mornings. Scotty, the oldest and most trigger-happy-pee-er, is developing arthritis in his joints and acts more and more like a crotchety old man each passing day. Except when it comes to his one true, and only, love: FOOD. He bounces around like a puppy at a tennis ball convention when he knows breakfast is a-comin'. It's like he's on speed. There just... are no words to describe what that dog is like under the influence of kibble. So it's difficult enough to just get through doggie-breakfast-time.

Well this morning, after the usual nutso feed, I let both dogs out to go potty. (a feat that simply cannot be accomplished under the extreme excitement of possible food, so this is done after food... when all the magic has once again faded from the world) Only Peaches returns. She's boisterous enough because she's a) been fed and b) has to run at lightspeed around the house just to keep her toothpick legs from freezing from the "extreme" winter temperatures.

Scotty is still squatting in the yard... squatting AND walking.

RED. FLAG.

I give him a while to sort it out, then he hops inside and starts acting like a crazy person (aherm, dog) rubbing his face on every imaginable surface; he's on the couch! He's on the rug! He's in the playroom! By this time it is 7am- and I am pissed. Closer examination reveals a poop the size of a baseball (I exaggerate NOT, my friends!) plastered to Scotty's backside.

I curse... a lot.

I endeavor to wrangle the dog's nether regions into the sink and try like hell to get the sprayer to solve this problem. There is a stench involved, and I'm gagging. Eventually, after half the poop is removed and my entire kitchen counter is flooded, I realize this is going to end in a bath.

After stuffing half a roll of paper towels around Scotty's butt, I haul him upstairs, barge into our bedroom and plop the damned dog into the tub. (yes, I'm that enraged, I'm using "damn!") The poor Husband is startled awake, and I start barking orders. He is going to get the kids, who are all awake at this point, and I am going to deal with this dog of the underworld.

By 8:00, I am half drenched, smell like both wet dog and diarrhea, the kitchen and master bath are a disgusting mess that will require massive amounts of bleach, AND MY DAY IS JUST BEGINNING.

Welcome to Saturdays at my house.

The Elephant In The Room

2011-12-16T08:53:00.000-08:00

How bananas is this picture?

My daughter is a full three years older than the baby. Yet they are the same weight. Squirt wears a shoe size 8 1/2, Little Man wears a size 7. They are barely two dress sizes apart. It boggles the mind.

Little Man wants to sit in the twins' lap and read a story. Yet two pages into the story, Squirt is struggling to breathe and pushing Little Man off screaming "You're smooshing me!"

Sometimes it is hard to remember just how tiny and petite my girls are- especially when they are charging around the house doing Kung Fu. (Gee thanks, Kung Fu Panda) The girls are the equivalent of delicate porcelain dolls- and the baby is the bull in the china shop. The twins are Rhode Island, the baby is Texas. The girls are a compact car the baby is a 15 passenger van.

The differences between the two genders in my house blows my mind.

Even though he may be crushing all of her internal organs, it's still quite the sweet little scene.

Santa, Baby

2011-12-15T09:51:00.000-08:00

Christmas traditions at our house include an early morning visit to Santa's house at our local mall. They actually build a small house each year and decorate it in the style of Norman Rockwell-y stuff. We've been every year since the girls were born. The early years were the best- we got some totally classic Screaming Santa Shots:

The first year

The second year

This year was less scream-y as Little Man was placed in a little fire engine in front of Santa. I kinda wanted a total-freak-out picture with Santa out of the boy... but that's mean. (yeah, fine. I'm mean)

So here's this year's Santa picture:

If you ask me, Santa needs to go easy on the blush.

It's always good to have a Santa picture to use as negotiating leverage against sibling squabbles and mealtime hi jinx. Also, an email from Santa can really drive the point home. I can often be found using the phrase "Is santa putting you on the naughty list or the nice list right now?!" (the answer is usually THE NAUGHTY LIST- will not be one bit surprised to find coal in their stockings)

I could go into the new trend against Santa, but I am pressed for time before leaping out to take the sassy ones to preschool. In short- we do Santa because I remember the feeling of magic, of the surreal, the fantasy of Santa. I want my kids to have that same tickle in their stomach as they are tucked into bed on Christmas Eve. There is plenty of time to live in the "real world" where there is no Santa, no tooth fairy, no magic at all. Childhood is for pretend, for flights of fancy, for imagination.

So there you have my take on that. Am I scarring them for life? I hope not. But most likely, no matter how much I try and avoid it, at some point I am going to do something that they'll have to tell their therapist about in their 20's. Maybe I won't let them have $200 jeans, maybe (read: definitely) they won't get a new Mercedes when they get a driver's license, there are lots of ways to provide "growing opportunities" for children that they will, in turn, blame you for later in life. We'll still have the magic of Santa presents on Christmas morning.

Minima's Nativity

2011-12-13T20:29:00.000-08:00

-- I feel the need to apologize for all the rampant spelling and grammatical errors in this post, I hope I fixed them all, but sheesh! Must have been on crack (snickerdoodles) when I originally wrote this!--

One of my most precious treasures is a nativity set given to me by my Minima- my paternal grandmother. I feel so close to her in particular because so far it's just her and I in this family who have had twins. Sadly, she had passed away years before I became pregnant with the girls. However during that pregnancy, I thought of my Min every day.

The things I remember about visits with Minima make me smile. Minima loved miniatures, she had a glass display full of tiny little trinkets and ceramics that I was mesmerized by as a child. I knew those treasures were not for touching, even though I longed to hold them in my hands, who wouldn't love a tiny giraffe? Min loved tiny things so much, she made the most beautiful dollhouse I'd ever seen out of every day items and scraps of fabric. Dreaming of being in the same room as her dollhouse was magical.

Minima's house was always full of fun, especially when she requested we perform plays on her patio. My brother and I were most likely the worst playwrites/improvisational actors on the planet. It didn't matter to Minima. She was enthralled with our primitive, and oftentimes silly, little shows. I relished the vacations we took up to Min's house.

Minima gifted me this handmade nativity one year for Christmas, shortly after The Husband and I were married. Removing each little figure from it's bubble wrap cocoon, I became increasingly enamored with the set.

The details are stunningly beautiful, in a very simple and understated way. I positively love it.

The gold accents smattered on some of the figures are just so darned classy.

Just to remind me how much love went into each piece...

I miss my Min.

I long for the day when I can trust my three young terrors enough to display this beautiful set handcrafted for me with love and care by my Minima in my house at Christmastime. Just the sight of it brings back such warm memories of my Min, wrapping me like a cozy blanket on a winter's night.

The Best Ever, Super Amazing Toy in All The Universe

2011-12-13T09:33:00.000-08:00

As decided by Little Man:

Vacuum hose extensions

He never tires of snatching them from the closet when I'm not looking. (and have forgotten to lock said closet) Whacking walls, couches, and sometimes sisters, is always appealing to Little Man. There's also the added benefit of using the tubes to extend his reach to anything up high or on counters.

There are some things that may be better locked in a safe... apparently vacuum hose extensions are one of them.

I want a Mommy Roommate

2011-12-12T09:21:00.000-08:00

Some of you may remember the brief period in which my cousin and her husband came to stay with us while her husband worked in a short internship. It was too short for them to actually move down here, and they were most certainly going back up to their school afterwards- so they moved in with us.

We were happy to help them out, but I was totally unaware at how much I would get out of their stay. She was expecting their first child, and we talked all the time about parenting and babies. Miraculously, she wanted to hear my crazy ramblings! For this short time, Laura was my live-in-best-friend. She came with us to Target, we went out for lunches, she helped with anything and everything. We would swap days to make dinner, she introduced me to new recipes, (that have become staples at our house) girl makes homemade bread! (I tried my hardest not to scarf it all as it came out of the oven)

In a nutshell, it was one of the best times of my life. We got along famously- although I believe most of the credit is due to Laura inherently being the most easy-going person on the planet- I don't think there is a soul that could not love her instantly. After living together we share a special bond, and I treasure it dearly. When the time came for them to head back to school up north, I was more devastated than I could have imagined. The house was so empty and so lonely. Going about my daily routine was so quiet; companionless.

Sometimes she'll call and it will feel just like the good 'ol days and then I just miss her more.

I have found I thrive on one-on-one interaction. (I'm terribly awkward in groups- the blogger stereotype of introverted!) My friends and I are so busy, I rarely get to see my mates. Most of my mommy friends have jobs, and I am usually stuck at home or running errands- constantly attached to three rambunctious little ones. So getting away for girl time, and having quality time with The Husband is a real juggling act that I do not have clown school degree to master.

After thinking about it, I decided I would love to have sister wives, (Yes, I am hooked on that TLC show) I do draw the line at sharing a husband, though. (See! I have BOUNDARIES!) So obviously, I'm not signing up to be a polygamist. I just love the idea of having a live-in-girlfriend.

Luckily, an old friend from High School moved quite close to me. Our schedules are insanely hectic, but we do find some time here and there to hang out- mostly because we live so very close. She's the best kind of friend: I don't have to worry about how my house looks, how my kids act, how much make up I do not have on, etc. around her. Having real grown up conversation with someone in the same situations I am in keeps me sane.

So of course I started coming up with crazy ideas for us to spend time more together. The most outlandish was flat out moving in together. We're both renting at the moment, and due to my deep-rooted addiction to padmapper, (rental search site) I found a listing for a house- a PERFECT roommate house: Two master bedrooms, one up, one down. Two living rooms, one up, one down. And the absolute kicker: Two laundry rooms, one up, one down. It was so hard to not get giddy and lose myself in imagining all the fun times we would have under the same roof- downing chocolate while the kids ran circles around us. It may seem strange to the rest of the world, but I am positive I'd love it. The husbands on either side? Maybe not. And I do understand how ridiculous it seems.

I still had to talk myself out of it, and it was an exhaustive talk with myself.

Man, I miss my friends.

Lies and Confessions

2011-12-07T13:12:00.001-08:00

Deciding to bust out my extensive detective skills learned from all the hours of watching Criminal Minds, I opened up an investigation of who wrote on the furniture. This is how the transcript read:

Me: Giiiirls! Can I show you a little something?

Girls: Ooooh! What? Is there presents?

Me: (eye rolling) Well, how about you just come look at this.

Girls: (the demeanor changes once we're standing right in front of the evidence: Crossing arms and bowing heads there is silence)

Me: Can someone please told me who wrote on the table with pen?

Girls: Ummmm... I think maybe Dadda?

Me: (screaming in my head: DADDA DID NOT DO THIS!) No, it wasn't Daddy- guess again.

After a little talk about how "we only draw on paper." (DUH, kids!) Bunny decided to fess up:

Bunny: Maybe Bunny did it. She's sorry.

(love the use of third person)

Me: And we'll never draw on the furniture ever again?

Girls: Okay... But where are the presents?

Me: THWACK! (that was the sound of me hitting my head against the wall)

It's Not Parenting Until Furniture is Ruined

2011-12-06T09:33:00.001-08:00

After a long day, I was more than ready to slip into the warm embrace of my blankets and drift into a glorious eight hours of not being sassed by my twins. The mouthing off has been increasing at an alarming rate these days. Clearly my girls don't understand the whole naughty/nice aspect of Santa Claus. I have heard more "I hate you Mama!" and "I said you do it NOW Mama!" than I'd like to remember.

Basically, I was beat. There is only so much "Hey! I am the boss around here!" that one person can holler before that person (me) needs some serious sleep.

It is at this moment that I notice an errant pen on my nightstand... accompanied by THIS-

From what I can gather, this is a picture of the sun (or a spider) and the letter A carved into the finish of my nightstand. I would have been a little less perturbed had it been the random scribblings of my almost-two year old. That would have been understandable- I shouldn't have left a pen out.

But my knows-better-practically-five year olds?! UNACCEPTABLE!

Let me tell you, it's hard to drift off to sleep when you're furious... and furniture is totally ruined.

Time To Give Up On Eavesdropping?

2011-11-30T16:32:00.001-08:00

To understand my dilemma, I think you must first understand its scope: I have baby monitors in each of the kids' bedrooms. That is three monitors, then six receivers. (three downstairs, three upstairs) I have them on all the time in case I forget to turn them on and not realize someone is crying, traipsing, or whathaveyou.

I've asked myself this question many times: Is it time to give up the baby monitors?

Theoretically, it sounds like a good idea; The twins are almost five for heaven's sake. However, I'm fairly certain the baby monitors are a crutch... for me. In my head I've convinced myself that the minute I turn off the monitors, I've essentially turned my back on my helpless little ones leaving them to their own devices, to suffer alone when a nightmare attacks, or to be stolen from their window in the middle of the night by a lunatic. My mind is terribly imaginative... and graphic.

Granted, my children are excellent sleepers. Never once have they gotten out of bed on their own accord. (you can get up from the fall you most certainly just took) We've never been woken in the middle of the night by the kids at all! (well, mostly- for sure) In fact if they wet the bed, I usually don't find out until morning.

I just can't bring myself to unplug the monitors. I want to hear my kids sleeping. I like that consistent reminder that my angelic children are sleeping blissfully- I may just have an unnecessary attachment to it! I simply need to be reassured that they are perfectly fine... at all times. I don't think this is asking too much.

I am telling you: This is the easiest way to helicopter-parent! It's like having the kids sleeping beside me- without all the elbows to my face. (Hey, at least I was never a co-sleeper!) And if I need a shower in the morning before preschool? I corral them into the playroom (Little Man's bedroom) and I can listen for any bickering or biting. (Little Man is a biter now- sigh) I can keep tabs on the three while also leaving the house with clean hair!

It's like being OMNIPRESENT! (That must be why I like it so much)

My rational side wonders when the "unplug" age is. Will they still be monitored when they're 10? 16? Would that be weird? Wait- Don't answer that. If you ever step into my house ten years from now and see the monitors lined up on the kitchen counter- don't judge me.

Living with the White Trash

2011-11-29T13:39:00.001-08:00

I find it comical the items that I find in our front yard. Seriously. I have never had other people's things littering my yard before. This seems like a hazing ritual to prepare me for the joys of having older children.

The kids, ages 10 and up are EVERYWHERE, ALL THE TIME. All over the street. After school, on weekends. There is a slew of children running amok, and there is an issue with a squeaky trampoline... oh the trampoline.

One day a shadowed figure darted across our windows. I freaked out, ran for the baseball bat, realized we don't have baseball-bat-in-lieu-of-home-security, and walked onto the porch- ready to fend off a rabid attacker. I found a kid walking along our back wall. They do that. And I suppose we are to just... let them?

So yes. We find new and interesting items in our yard almost daily. Our yard is not our own, apparently. It's communal property for the kids. Today we have a bike lock, a bucket/cooler, and an empty box of generic Dr. Pepper.

Some other items? Cat toy, empty tin of cat food, a soccer ball, a dirty diaper, (yes! I know! Someone else's dirty diaper!) Bart from the Simpsons doll, kids' bikes, and glow in the dark sticky insects.

We are one car part on the lawn away from being THAT NEIGHBORHOOD.

It Was A Wee Bit Early

2011-11-28T16:50:00.001-08:00

The day after Thanksgiving, I could no longer hold the twins back from putting up the Christmas tree. In hindsight, Little Man is a little young & grabby, and there is a lot of December left until I can take it down and no longer worry about broken bulbs being brought to me by tiny hands. (No Touching The Tree! Sheesh!)

It looks rather odd, but if you blur the scene enough, then all the holiday wonder really starts to show.

We have corralled the tree around a fence, which Little Man has put a crack in. And in two days, some ornaments have already gone missing. I'm reluctantly considering a pop-up tree like this... no matter how comical/pathetic it may be.

Self Diagnosis

2011-11-26T13:26:00.001-08:00

Wanna hear about my Thanksgiving? I know you do.

So I had a brilliant plan to have The Husband get "a little snip" (wink, wink) over his week off. Recovery time over Turkey! Brilliant!

Not so brilliant.

Especially since the day of his surgery, I came down with what was a cold that turned into bronchitis. (I'm self diagnosing as I simply do not have the patience for holiday urgent care waiting rooms- I will hack and cough away from the comfort of my own bed- thankyouverymuch) Being the primary care giver of three children (who are also in varying stages of the same ailment as I) and a husband with a bag of frozen peas between his legs while being sick as a freaking dog? Well I'm not one to whine, (HA) but it sucks.

So that is why I have not posted the pictures I didn't take at Turkey Day Dinner yet. (sneeze)

I need more Kleenex.

Hope your holiday was merrier than mine.

If I Were To Reinvent Thanksgiving

2011-11-23T14:18:00.001-08:00

Thanksgiving has never been my favorite holiday. I do enjoy the sentiment, reminding ourselves what we are thankful for- all the blessings in our lives. However the traditional fare of Thanksgiving? Blech. It is lovely to gather together as a family over a meal, but we do that every Sunday anyway. Bringing out the fine china, the only handwashable china. Well that just seems like a lot of work to me.

So I've never looked forward to the actual Thanksgiving day. Turkey is Chicken's gross step-cousin, and the rest of Thanksgiving's band of brothers are mostly just as unappetizing. All I have seen throughout the internet these days are a slew of quite elaborate Thanksgiving menus. If I were ever given free reign of Thanksgiving, I would probably compile a motley menu including chips and salsa, my favorite tacos, smoothies, and lots of salads. Probably even an apple salad. You know, stuff I actually like to eat on a fairly regular basis.

If a gun were put to my head to include turkey in the lineup, I would probably make it into Turkey Nachos.

Some other things you should know about me: if I were to find any improvement on any given recipe, it would be the addition of one or more of the following list of my favorite ingredients.

- black olives; sliced
- Heinz 57 Sauce
- Pepper
- Shredded Cheese
- Red Pepper Flakes

I do not doubt the existence of a recipe including all three of these ingredients. I will eventually find such a recipe in all the glory of Indiana Jones finding the Goblet of Fire... or the Lost Ark...

So there you have my culinary opinions re: Thanksgiving.

Enjoy

My Mind Goes To Cancer

2011-11-22T12:20:00.001-08:00

As I put Bunny to bed, I take her glasses off and sweep her bangs aside to give her a kiss on the forehead before dashing down the stairs for my two hours of alone time with The Husband. But this night was different, because as I swept her hair away I noticed a knot under the skin just above her eyelid, hiding in her brow. It was hard to the touch, and as I looked at it closely under the light I began to panic.

My "mother's intuition" goes straight to "it's a tumor! PANIC!"

One pediatrician's visit later, and she has a cyst. It should go away with massage and heat therapy. It could possibly need to be surgically removed, but it is not a huge deal and should not grow any larger.

At the end of the visit I felt like a dunce pushing the red nuclear meltdown button.

We're keeping an eye on the cyst situation. However, during the freakout period/panic attack, I somehow contracted a rather gnarly cold. I may be quarantined for the holidays. Happy Thanksgiving to us all.

The Handy Mommy That Could

2011-11-18T10:50:00.001-08:00

Yesterday was a monumental point in all our lives. After having survived four days of Little-Man-Being-Able-To-Open-Doors, what I have dubbed "Toddlerageddon: Part Two," (Part One? Mobility) I had reached my breaking point. His constant access to the storage/coat closet and the pantry... it was just too much. He's already broken into some of the cabinet locks. (Heck, he's in there right now with a stack of plastic cups and salad tongs) The closets were my line in the sand; my beaches of Normandy- in that I was going to storm them because I was determined to END THIS.

After naps, I threw all three bleary eyed children into the car and headed for the home improvement warehouse. The unsuspecting salesman in an orange apron was met with my untamed hair, children spilling out of the shopping car, and a wild fervor in my eyes as I demanded to know what aisle the door locks were located.

This man made the mistake of asking "what kind of lock are you looking for?" He should have just told me the aisle number and backed away slowly.

I tried to control my intensity as I informed him I just wanted "something that will keep the door CLOSED... under any circumstances." He eyed me suspiciously, and nodded, "so you want the kind where it will open just a little bit?" His hands made a motion of a door stopping a couple inches after opening.

"No." I answered tersely, "I WANT IT TO STAY SHUT."

At this point, he got my drift, (probably thinking I lived in a VERY sketchy neighborhood, trying to keep the crackheads at bay) he led me to the aisle, waved his arm at the selection, "we have a lot of different locks for you to choose from." Then he walked away- smart man. He was good not knowing exactly the problem at hand; there are some things you can't un-hear.

As my eyes scrutinized each and every option, I came upon my solution. These tiny flip locks were $2. I needed two... I bought three. (Hello, two bucks! Always good to have a backup)

There was a slight mishap in which I misplaced the drillbits for two frantic hours. The Husband texted that he was on his way home during this crisis and received the following reply: "Good. Because we are having a tool SITUATION up in here." He was duly perplexed, and probably thought long and hard about actually coming home... to who knows what kind of a "tool situation."

Eventually I found the needed bits and installed the locks in a whirlwind of cursing, mumbling, and stripping about ten screws.

In the end, it was WORTH IT. (as I hear the squeak of Little Man's tiny hand gripping the knob, then a bam! DENIED, SUCKA!)

These little scraps of metal are so simple, though I derive such pleasure from their amazing work at keeping my toddler's grabby hands out of a very small, yet very important portion of this house.

I highly recommend the flip locks. Sure, they may be meant to keep out scary burglars, loan sharks, or the annoying neighbor kids, but they are truly excellent at keeping a baby from squishing all the penne into tiny, unusable bits of pasta.

There's nothing like the sweet taste of victory in the morning.

Two Year Old's Life Goals

2011-11-16T16:43:00.001-08:00

He'd been eyeing those knobs for a while. I knew it was coming.
And now he can open each and every door in my house. Doors are no longer his enemy.

He brings me the bottle of soap from the bathroom, a nozzle from the vacuum, a package of pasta from the pantry. He hands them to me gently, and with much satisfaction in his smile. He is cute, of course. But now he knows he holds the upper-hand. I am at his mercy... and he relishes in that fact.

Now he wears the sassy brown wedges in this house...

And there is nothing I can do to stop him.

Ugly Plaid

2011-11-15T16:26:00.001-08:00

Personal Fact:

If my kids are dressed in ugly clothes, I have failed as a parent.

This is true.

... at least it feels true... to me.

And that is why I spent the majority of naptime scouring the internet for Little Man clothes. You see, Little Man needs some button down shirts... for when he needs to be a little dressier than a hoodie. I have found myself at odds with today's fashion sensibilities. There seems to be quite the abundance of ugly plaid these days!

Via Old Navy

Ow! My eyes!

Via Gymboree

The 90's called... they want the couch you robbed this fabric from back.

Not even Tea Collection is immune to the ugly plaid! (they also enjoy the non-snag-able images!) Heaven help us all!

Via Gap

Ewww! Poopy plaid!

My poor baby, we'll just have to wait it out and hope this particular fad recoils back to the dark, damp corner from whence it came. I just hope we have enough of a wardrobe to get you through these most troublesome times.

My Butt is Feeling Bad for the Rest of Me

2011-11-14T12:34:00.001-08:00

This morning I woke up and my butt was sore. Like really sore. It felt like I'd been to the gym... doing gluteal crunches, or whatever such nonsense fit people do at the gym. (I should tell you, I have not stepped foot in a gym in like, ten years) My butt muscles are so sore! Is this more than you'd ever want to talk about my butt? Ok, let's go for more:

I tried to think back to the day before, did I go up a lot of stairs? Sheesh! It feels like I'd taken the stairs to the top of the world's tallest skyscraper. Was I somehow caught in a Step-aerobics marathon in my sleep? (I WISH sleepwalking worked THAT WAY!)

What I really did yesterday was a lot of sitting around, then making cookies, then eating said cookies. My butt felt fine then! Getting out of bed was rough, walking down the stairs was painful, sitting on my cushy chair was still uncomfortable.

At a loss for scientific, solid answers, I decided that the chaos of my life lately has been literally, non-metaphorically, KICKING MY BUTT.

... And now it is SORE.

I believe the lesson here? Watch 'yer butts.

Skipping Naps on Picture Day

2011-11-11T09:27:00.001-08:00

The one day I needed everybody to be rested and happy, Little Man totally freaks out and doesn't get any semblance of a nap in. It was picture day. For my nice, pretty Christmas cards I was dreaming of sending out.

All I got from him is this:

Happy Freakin' Holidays Already! Now leave me and my back problem alone!

Little Man: Thwarting my holiday card plans one napless day at a time.

All was not lost, however. I got holiday card GOLD from the twins:

Sooo.... holiday cards with just the girls? No cards at all? Throw in a cranky Little Guy too?

Verdicts, please!

A big thanks to Lauren at LaLaPhotography for putting up with my kids while hauling a heavy camera and squeaky toy behind her back.

What to do, what to do.

Sometimes They Don't Fight

2011-11-11T08:47:00.001-08:00

I've never had just one baby, I see these families on TV, at the park; They have one-on-one time with their ONE KID, and I wonder if I'm missing something. There has always been sibling rivalry, toy squabbling, and sibling slapping in my house. It has been chaos from day one.

But then there are a few precious moments in which the play truly is quiet and harmonious:

And I love it.

I got these two at the same time, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Creativity In Routine

2011-11-08T20:20:00.000-08:00

This evening, as the twins locked themselves in a dark bathroom, giggling over the glow-in-the-dark toys and Little Man started screaming within the same sonic wavelengths that break glass. I was REALLY wondering when The Husband planned on coming home.

Deciding to forgo my usual ARE YOU HOME YET?! texts, as in- Help! I need reinforcements! I went with this homemade option:

I really like Venn Diagrams. And my Husband getting home, so I can flee upstairs to eat my microwaved pizza in peace. I really like that.

List of household options, written by the insane

2011-11-08T08:29:00.000-08:00

In every house we've lived in, I make mental notes of the problems and issues so that I will not make the same mistake again. For example, the rental house the twins were born in had a bunch of choppy rooms, one of which was so oddly laid out, we never used it, and it accounted for half the downstairs square-footage. My mantra in buying our first home was "flex space:" room for all the exersaucers, swings, and pack n' plays. (We had a "few" with infant twins) After buying our house, the house with absolutely no walls downstairs, nothing but a huge greatroom, I realized we had no way to contain a Christmas tree and presents from grabby hands. Eventually the girls grew out of the large entertainment/placation items and I was no longer needing extra exersaucer space. Lesson learned- open spaces are good, but make sure there is some sort of space for confining a Christmas tree.

"The List" is growing a little too voluminous for the confines of my memory. So, Future Me: buying the next house, here's what we're looking for!

(I'm page breaking this, because it gets long. I get yappy when it comes to talking about houses)

Hardwoods > Linoleum > Tile.

I can see you there, cocking your head in disbelief: Linoleum! Better than TILE?! Some of the major drawbacks of tile: grout lines! Grout lines are a haven for the icky floor gunk, and impossible to get actually clean unless you are willing to spend your afternoon on hands and knees with a toothbrush. Your knees will start complaining against the hard tile, I assure you. Linoleum is a bit easier to keep clean ( I say a bit because the linoleum in our current place is "textured" to help with the appearance of tile, which means I still have to scrub junk out of the grooves) in the end, linoleum still looks cheap. Another problem; do you know what percentage of things will break on tile when dropped? 100% of stuff will absolutely shatter when dropped on tile, as opposed to linoleum, which is only a 50/50 shot of absolute break-age. I am hoping hardwoods will be (a) measurably easier to clean and (b) class up the place. You may notice carpet didn't even make the list. That is because I am so done with carpet. So. Done. Never again, carpet. Burn in hell, carpet!

Granite counters > Laminate =/- tile counters.

I am not a huge fan of laminate countertops- I know of no one that is really in love with laminate, but whatever. I will still state my case against laminate. Laminate burns, and what else are you supposed to do with hot pots that need to come off the stove or out of the oven?! This is an eternal quandary for those with laminate. (I have laminate in this rental, and it is killing me) Oh! And laminate stains! Pomegranate lemonade, a small drop... forever on your countertops. Tile counters... again with the grout. Grout is evil. So very evil. Even granite tile countertops- no. I WANT SLAB GRANITE. (and I like saying SLAB)

French Doors, Not Sliding Glass Doors.

I am telling you, I will never live in a house with sliding glass doors. Ever. In my lifetime. If I have to, I will rip that sliding glass out with my bare hands... and a sledge hammer. Not only are french doors easier to open, keep kids from opening, abating the sun's scorching rays, they also mean fewer hours windex-ing jam handprints and wet doggy noseprints from glass. That is years off my life, I tell you.

Expansive Kitchen Islands = A Must. Expansive Kitchen Islands with a Sink = A Dealbreaker.

I just want a flat surface to put stuff, to do stuff on, stuff that is generally guaranteed from getting wet. Putting a sink in there is simply a waste of a good kitchen island. This rule can also be applied to stovetops. Stovetops should also be relegated onto normal counter space with a backsplash. This is one of the things I love about the rental- huge, sinkless, glorious kitchen island.

Master bathroom must have drawers!

I have lived in drawerless bathroom after drawerless bathroom for years, and now in our rental we have actual drawers beside the sinks, four of them! It has been heaven, I cannot go back to living with bins stacked on each other in tilting skyscrapers under the sink. I cannot!

Double Sinks. Otherwise, Divorce.

He needs his own sink to be gross in; To leave dried up shaving cream that has to be scraped off with a sharp blade. I need to not wash my face in such a shaving cream/toothpaste encrusted sink, somehow it is written in my genes. Double sinks save marriages, people.

Plantation Shutters or Bust.

I miss my shutters from our last home. Like the desert longs for rain. I'd like to make a few points on why it is better to spend the money, even if it is your grocery budget, on the much higher priced window shutters as opposed to vertical blinds, mini blinds, or the other things that we have in this rental, a larger version of the mini blind made of faux-wood. #1 They actually keep out the light- as in ALL the light! So you can sleep! #2 Shutters have insulation properties not to be undervalued. Partnered up with a quality (professionally installed- I have found I suck at this type of project) window film, you have yourself at least $200 of summer monthly savings right there. #3 There should be (if you're spending enough) a nice decorative moulding around the edge, that's just pretty. #4 They are 100x easier to clean than anything else out there. When you've got a two year old catapulting yogurt from his spoon, that makes a difference. Yes, shutters are about 10 times more expensive than regular blinds. I still stand by my statements. There are just some places you should spend money, even gobs of money.

The Kitchen Sink Should Never be Visible from the Front Door.

This was my mother's stroke of genius. I remember as we toured houses as a kid, one of her first criterion was the view from the front door. "You don't want an unannounced guest to see the pile of dirty dishes screaming from the kitchen sink" she would tell me. I agree; Keep your unwashed oatmeal bowls to yourself.

Gage the Distance from the Garage to the Kitchen Carefully.

Lots of kids means lots of groceries. Judging by what The Husband told me about his teenage years, I am going to be buying even more groceries as the kiddos approach the dreaded teenage years- I may need a UHaul truck just for grocery runs. The garage door should be pretty close to the kitchen when you're hauling in loads of grocery bags. It makes one less stabby when it comes time to transport the grocery bags from the car to the countertops. I remember living on the second story of an apartment complex- I cursed grocery shopping day. I even avoided buying heavy things like cans of soda because it just wasn't worth hauling it all up those stairs!

Bring The Largest Skillet (or highchair tray) You Have Along on The Search.

Try shoving the largest skillet you own into the dishwasher the minute you walk into the door of your potential new dwelling. Little Man's tiny highchair trays, and our large skillet do not even begin to fit in our rental's absurdly small dishwasher. Who could have guessed dishwashers would vary so greatly? Someone should have told me this earlier.

Take Note of Thermostat and Doorbell Chime Placement.

Is it a good idea to put a doorbell chime directly above the children's door? No, homebuilders- IT IS NOT. Also thermostats should not be placed all willy-nilly. In our old house the thermostat was at one end of the house, and to everyone's shock and horror, the other end of the house had an entirely different climate. Like it was a hundred degrees in the girls' bedroom, and perfectly comfortable in our son's nursery. In this rental the thermostat is by the front door, and the back of the house- where we do most of our "living" in the family room and kitchen... it is just about 10 whopping degrees warmer. In other words: unbearable.

Test the Acoustics.

We were unable to really do this as we bought our last house before there was even a concrete slab (SLAB!) for a foundation- we toured a model (a model with hardwoods) and chose our upgrades from there. Turns out that all the tile downstairs along with the "open" floorplan of the house made it so someone downstairs could drop a pin on the floor, and everyone, in every bedroom, with their doors closed upstairs could hear it- LOUD AND CLEAR. Too much open space- there is a downside to excessively open floorplans.

Create a Window to Wall Ratio Equation.

Oh my! I'm forcing myself to do math! Perhaps this is more climate-specific: windows = heat. They let in tons of heat no matter how many window coverings you throw at them. (take the girls' old room for example, it was a 12x12 room with three gigantic windows, two were practically floor-to-ceiling. We put solar film, plantation shutters, and threw on insulating drapes as well. It was still a good deal too warm in the summer. (see also thermostat issues above) Rental house has way too many windows. I actually have too much artwork and not enough wall space to hang it! There is 20 large windows in the 2000 sq.ft. house. So one window per 100 sq. ft.? Too much! Must do the math when out house hunting.

Check out the Neighborhood.

If you see a car up on blocks, run the other direction. Basketball hoops in the street? Beeline it to the next open house. Drive by during the time would be \putting the kids to bed- are there about 30 dogs barking non-stop? Rescind your offer to purchase. (all of these problems exist in our current rental)

So this list is long... and there is probably still more to come. I pity the realtor who takes us on. That is if we ever save a ridiculous sum of money for another down payment. Ugh.

We Can Go Outside Again!

2011-11-07T10:35:00.000-08:00

I squealed like a tween at a Justin Beiber concert the minute I saw the weather was turning chilly. Highs in the 50's, woo hoo! This is my favorite time of year; There's the holidays, the cozy hoodies, and the ability to let the kidlets run around the backyard in their pajamas.

We start off the morning with steaming bowls of strawberry oatmeal, then adjourn to the patio for bubbles.

THIS is the reason we still live in the desert I detest so thoroughly: the barely three months of WINTER.

It's the bees knees.

Forgiving Myself

2011-11-05T09:36:00.000-07:00

I'm about to get deep and squishy about my inner feelings. (I can hear you yawning from here) I wrote this a couple days ago, just because... typing things out is a process of mine. Most of the time I will hammer out my emotions in the form of a post and never post them, because really- do you come here for the pouring out of my most closely held emotions, making y'all uncomfortable and weirded out? Or do you come here to read about my Frightdome journey through parenting? That's what I thought.

I kept this post in the "unposted" pile, assumably to get deleted eventually. Except that I kept coming back to it, re-reading my thoughts and reaffirming that warm yummy feeling about this particular topic. So I'm posting it- for reals. If you find yourself rolling your eyes at any point, do not despair, I don't do this often.

I am at a point where I am willing to admit something, I have been a pinch... well, extra... grumbly as of late. Bordering on miserable? Yes definitely playing "chicken" with the miserable-line. It started out last year as The Husband and I took a hard look at the situation with our house and decided to make a firm, real decision about staying v. going.

It was a tough call. Severely underwater, (more than half) a baby sleeping in a closet, a freeway being built in the front yard, etc.

We decided to sell. It was going to have to be a short sale; As in handing our hearts and feelings over to a bank to decide our fate, all the while grinding in that guilt of "you made a binding agreement to pay this, you terrible, horrible, human beings." And it's been quite the downward spiral from there, in my opinion. I'm not in love with our rental, and spending so much time IN the house makes it worse. Then checking on the old house, which I am falling in love with all over again, whilst reminding myself what I had hated about it. Oh, it's been awful. A process I would not wish on my worst enemies.

I've found it physically impossible to stop looking at houses on the market, or other, nicer houses up for rent. I drool over the listings and mentally stab myself for not being in THAT house. I stress and anguish about it every night before going to bed. Maybe we should have kept the house? Maybe breaking even after 30 years? Cramming ourselves in there like sardines, with a lovely view of a major freeway feet from our bedroom windows? Maybe we should have moved into one of the other rentals we saw previous to this one? Was it a mistake to pass on the gorgeous kitchen rental because of some minor-ish details I didn't like about other aspects of the house? (I am SO missing my granite counters, the stainless appliances, having a solid surface floor downstairs...) Maybe we should have waited to find something we absolutely loved? Does settling for the cheaper alternative automatically suck? How could we have known the first offer on our house would back out at the last minute- that we had more time to find the perfect rental? Is this rental filled with bad karma? We seem to having some pretty "hard knocks" after moving. Were we doing better financially when we owned the sinking-ship-of-a-house? Was there one thing I can pinpoint responsible for this financial bath we're taking? Is it a good idea to find a nicer rental that I won't be so miserable in? Is it just vanity that makes me react so adversely to this house? Am I a "grass is always greener on the other side" person who can never be happy or content where they are? Am I that terrible of a person?

OMG. Just typing all those questions was exhausting- and yet I could still go on! Re-analyzing every step and decision made along the way.

The Husband had finally had enough. (and those poor confidants around me had probably had their fill of Majorly-Overanalyzing-Ashley after about five minutes of listening to me drone on) After the months of me obsessing about the situation, it dawned on him: (and me) I had not FORGIVEN MYSELF FOR MAKING A MISTAKE. (or a couple mistakes)

Maybe the short sale was a mistake! But you know what? We're so far down that road, there is no turning back. Yes, the house may just go into foreclosure. (the bank certainly seems to be pushing towards that end) The sale may go through, and we may still be making large payments to the Satan-esque-PMI company to release us from the loan. There is not much we can do at this point to stop any of it.

What will happen is just going to happen. I do not have a time machine, (no matter what my insane-brain seems to tell me) and thus cannot change the past, nor could have foreseen the future unfortunate series of events, some that were in our control and some that were not. (Hi, jerk landlord that basically stole our deposit and waltzed off into the sunset)

Sure, but guess what? I get to be a human being who makes the best decision I feel possible at the time, and it can turn out to be a big stinking pile of poop-mistake. AND THAT IS OK. Of course it's not ideal; everyone would LOVE to make the right call all of the time, but that I have decided, is impossible.

Is it sad that this is such a huge revelation to me? That I am allowed to make a couple mistakes in my role as fallible human? Perhaps. However, that knowledge has brought me tremendous amounts of calm and peace. I tried. I may have failed- the fat lady has yet to start up her concerto on that one. Whichever way it pans out, we'll be ok. I am doing my best.

So I can stop beating myself up searching for "the perfect answer" or "what we should have done," and enjoy the other things in my life that are fantastic... like the tiny little people that are running around the living room throwing Legos at me. I am also doing my best there- and I think that may just end up well. I will have awesome kids, something that no one can take away from me.

I Dwell Too Much on Laundry

2011-11-03T15:02:00.000-07:00

This afternoon as I was folding laundry, a bejeweled plastic comb tumbled out of a pair of footie pajamas. Last week it was a stuffed birdie.

New laundry problem: Little Man tossing errant toys into the washer, each and every clothes hamper he has access to, and stray laundry baskets. I find having to pre-screen dirty clothes piles before dumping them into the wash to be... irksome. Do I need more work? Is it exciting to rummage through sticky applesauce pants to avoid running who-knows-what-toy through the wash?

No.

So I'm talking about laundry, really because I've had a revelation. A revelation about laundry- one that I simply cannot believe has yet to be addressed. You see, I was offered to try out the new Bounce Dryer Bar, and I thought about it- I like my dryer sheets, they are fine, they make things smell lovely, and they do not bother me in the slightest. Until I started to think about the sheets themselves... they WORK. But what in the world do you DO with them once they are used? Do y'all throw each and every little sheet away? Is that even possible? I do a lot of laundry- (I think that is implied) and I have my suspicions: Used dryer sheets multiply like rabbits when left alone.

I walk into a room, and without hesitation, can pick up and throw away seven or more little dryer sheets, plunging them uselessly into the trashcan to which they simply float out by virtue of being made of nothing but air. The dryer sheets are everywhere, they migrate. They infiltrate every room and take over. It's bad enough to stumble over toy xylophones, slam dunk dirty socks into their hampers, but having to stare at a landscape of wispy, forlorn dryer sheets bumbling around the house like tumbleweeds? I draw the line there.

So I said yes to the Bounce Dryer Bar... because the bothersome sheets need to be stopped. THEY NEED TO BE STOPPED.

And thanks to Bounce, for the opportunity to eliminate my mildly tempered rage.

Halloween is Hitting Us with a Baseball Bat

2011-10-31T13:43:00.000-07:00

First of all, let's start off with a rousing game of "I Spy with my Little Eye/Squishy, Super-Sensitive Foot Arch"

I give you my rug:

Guess who will be limping around the block trolling for candy tonight?

Camouflage Duplos? Is this really necessary? I am starting a petition: Building blocks should come in only eye-searingly-florescent colors, all other, muted colors are to be BANNED. This would cut down on the grizzly foot injuries; Really, I do it because I care about everyone's welfare. I'm a PHILANTHROPIST.

Secondly! Halloween weekend has been busy, and I've been trying to order the chaos in my mind, making complicated lists of activities/chores I am to get done. Well, one thing that slipped? The girls' school party on Tuesday. Because, well... it's on TUESDAY. That seemed like a million miles away. Until it wasn't, and I am expected to show up tomorrow morning with a wheelbarrow full of cookies. I am baking said cookies right now- and really, if they do not come out all amazingly awesome, I'm going to have to go BACK to the store (we were just there this morning picking up cookie-making-supplies) and show up with my "stay at home mom" tail between my legs toting plastic containers full of store-bought-cookies... THE SHAME.

Thirdly! My kids know trick or treating is happening tonight. And they are daring me to keep them from it. The sassiness! The screaming! Nobody DESERVES to go trick or treating tonight... but they are calling my bluff. Dangit.

Fourthly! I woke up this morning to find a large lake seeping out of the cabinet under my sink. At this, I just about burst into tears. I do not have time for plumbing drama. And I miss using my sink.

Fifthly! Mind warping cramps do not help my mood or ability to cope with this day. I will be going trick or treating as the scariest of all monsters... the most terrifying creature in all the land... The Stay at Home Mother with Three Small Children. Avert your eyes... it is going to be truly frightening.

The No Preschool Blues

2011-10-28T09:36:00.000-07:00

The twins did not have preschool yesterday as the schools are closed for the "holiday." (Halloween "just happens" to fall on our state independence day or whatever) I have become quite accustomed to not having to handle all three kids, all day, for two days in a row. It's just about killing me.

It's leaving me to wonder- HEY! Halloween is on MONDAY. And yet the entire school district is taking a four day weekend- none of which falls on Monday. I'm looking around at all these kids playing in the street on a Thursday afternoon and it... just seems so wrong! You grubby kids should all be in school right now! (Instead of loudly playing basketball in the street- making such a racket it wakes up everybody from naps)

Also- JUST WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THESE KIDS ALL DAY? How did I survive before we started preschool? (three weeks ago- yes, I am aware how ridiculous this sounds)

Question to homeschoolers- WHY? Am I a rotten parent for wanting dedicated, scheduled, absolutely-happening blocks of my day without some (or all) of my children? (Answer: yes)

Hark! I hear children fighting over toys. Joy.

It's Halloween Time

2011-10-26T08:26:00.000-07:00

Little kids' Halloween costumes increase the child's cuteness by 100%. Until they grow older and insist on being something gross like a vampire or werewolf. But that's what boarding school is for, right? The awkward tween years?

Little Man just barely fit into his costume I bought a couple months ago. (whew!) He is a big fan of the glow-in-the-dark feature.

Please refrain from munching on those cheeks- I call dibs.

An unexpected serendipity of the girls' strawberry costumes? People thought I made them- BY HAND. HA! Totally bought them at Old Navy.

It isn't even Halloween and we already have enough candy to bribe our way until Easter. Awesome.

Sweet. Now I'm going to go plunder their buckets for stray Milky Way bars. Shssssh- be cool.

Making Daddy Proud

2011-10-22T19:17:00.000-07:00

I have found preschool to be quite the fickle mistress. On one hand, it gives us something "to do" in the mornings, gives me a much needed break from the constant questioning that is my four year olds, tires everybody out just in time for naps, and they may just be learning important stuff. (mostly the girls come home with stories of playing dress up, but I'm sure they're learning... something)

On the other hand? Our preschool is only an hour and a half. Oh, and I should mention it is a fifteen minute drive from our house. I should also mention that Little Man is the most difficult of the three when it comes to travel of any sort. (He's made it abundantly clear just how much he loathes the carseat)

What activities am I to do with a prickly toddler in that short amount of time?

Yesterday I tried the park. He refused to play on any of the slides or sit on the swings for longer than ten seconds. No- he wanted to... watch the maintenance workers on the baseball field:

Are you aware that the World Series of Baseball is on right now? Unless you have a husband who is rabidly obsessed with the sport, I don't see why you should- what a pleasant existence that must be.

Unfortunately, my husband's team- the St. Louis Cardinals just HAD to make it into to playoffs this year and then CONTINUE on into the World Series. I have had to get creative with my DVR timers. As you may be unaware- BASEBALL PLAYS ALMOST EVERY NIGHT IN THE WEEK.

Seriously! I am looking at the TV schedule and asking myself- Project Runway or The Office? WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO CHOOSE! It's like Sophie's Choice!

I have had to resort to watching "my stories" on the computer. THE. COMPUTER.

It's like being a second class citizen over at my house. I just pray this "love of baseball" is not genetic, or contagious. (think of the children!)

Hey, You

2011-10-21T09:55:00.000-07:00

I keep meaning to update the blog. And then... I don't.

This morning I wanted to post some pictures, but I'm also updating the ipod's os- and... 33 minutes! REALLY?

The Mac has the usb ports smooshed together, so I can't do both at the same time. And I just checked- 23 minutes remaining. That's just to download the update- not install it!

Dude- I just noticed Little Man trotting around, sipping on a half-empty juice pouch- a juice pouch I had thrown in the trash. I am thoroughly grossed out. If we don't contract a super-virus, it will be a miracle.

Also- the potty training regression of Squirt has taken a really weird turn. Last night, as she was washing the layers of dried spaghetti sauce off her hands, she completely wet herself- standing up- a ton of pee puddled around her. A mere six inches from the toilet. We are baffled.

That is all. Oooh! Only 18 more minutes!

The Snarky Wife

2011-10-18T17:40:00.000-07:00

In preparation for my last minute weekend getaway, I ended up making a lot of lists for everyone involved. Because I'm a hugely sarcastic and snide woman, I made a secondary list- which is not really for The Husband, except that it is, and I know he doesn't read my blog. (that'll show him!)

Since I had already packed my computer, I wrote the list down, chuckling to myself in an abnormally greedy fashion as I prepared to escape The House of Crazy. (TM) Then I had no internet on the trip, so I am posting it now. Because it still makes me laugh. (it's funny because it's true!)

Dear Husband:

- The kids (all three of them) are in various stages of starting a cold, ENJOY.

- VapoRub is in the medicine cabinet. If you can find and figure out how to use the vaporizer, more power to you. Also: 3 kids, 3 rooms, 1 vaporizer: you do the math.

- Peaches has been acting funny and pooping a lot. I've sworn off flushing our money away on the vet, so use the carpet cleaner liberally.

- Squirt has gone back to constant bed wetting, again, enjoy!

- Extra sheets are in the linen closet. (the door by the washer & dryer- I'm not 100% sure you've noticed/ever opened that door)

- Little Man has figured out how to open some of the kitchen cabinets- even the locked ones. Consider yourself warned.

- Don't act like you are doing me this huge, gigantic favor. You get 2 days a week away from your employer. I'm asking for 3 days per YEAR. Just a little perspective.

- Friday is "wash all the sheets" day. Don't sleep in dirty sheets all weekend... please

- The dogs have somehow found a super secret escape route out of the backyard. Keep an eye on them.

- The car is out of gas. Sorry.

- I'm not "expecting" you to install the new kitchen faucet on your own while I'm gone. But it would be nice (coughcough)

- Oh yeah, Little Man has a cough.

Wishing You Well, And do not call under any circumstances unless a near-death emergency. Even then... try someone else first,

Your Wife.

I was supposed to be recharged!

2011-10-18T09:28:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I went with my highly adorable mother on a little trip. It was a business trip for her, and I tagged along because... well, she saw the kind of state I have been in the past couple weeks and deemed me unfit to walk amongst normal people. This was true, I have become more, er... twitchy as the stress leves have risen. The Husband and I differed on just how much I "needed" this little respite, especially when he was faced with the entire weekend solo with the kids. (I have a whole post, ready on that... hand written on a scrap of paper... see lack of internet explaining below)

I was treated to a long drive, chatting the whole way, stopping for Diet Coke refills, and enjoying the silence that comes with a car devoid of small children. I've not realized just how much I had missed uninterrupted time with my Mommy. When the kids are with me, Grandma is the main attraction- and that is great! (takes the heat off me for a while, and Grandma is ever so willing to oblige any request for Cookies! Read this book! Play blocks! And let me swarm about you constantly!) After having real, quality time with my Mom, I realize we must do more things like that. It's now essential.

So, okay. I was a bit miffed with Marriott for charging $14/a day for internet access- either dial-up (who even HAS a dial up modem these days?!) or wireless. On principal, I abstained. Because, sheesh! No hotel, especially not one that caters to business people and is relatively higher-end, should CHARGE for internet- I refused to pay for it, in hopes that I could SEND A MESSAGE. (I'm a huge message-sender when it comes to flagrant injustice) This rendered my laptop useless. And while my Mom did offer her internet-having-phone, I just can't operate an Android- it's impossible. Basically I was incommunicado for three whole days. (I texted The Husband often... mostly with stuff I would have tweeted, I'm sure he loved that)

I returned home from my three glorious child-free days feeling revitalized, refreshed! I was ready to roll up my sleeves and march back into the bed-wetting, sassing-till-the-break-of-dawn, dealing-with-a-short-sale TRENCHES once more. The Husband had been thoroughly worn out, and I was willing once more to take the reigns.

Waking the next morning slightly more dazed and confused than I was prepared for, I found Squirt had wet the bed (The Husband had mentioned this had come to an abrupt halt when I left, so I was relatively surprised, but not yet defeated) I shoved the linens into the wash, reassuring myself that I was REFRESHED! I could handle this! The kids' laundry basket was overflowing, and I had thrown most of the contents of my suitcase into a laundry basket. The sheets needed their weekly washing, and nobody had fresh towels. There was laundry to do, yo.

The kids were all in alarming levels of sticky, dirty, and filthy. (Of course, The Husband is reticent of showering the girls, convinced there is a super-special-girl-secret to shampooing and conditioning long hair) I plopped all three into a quite overdue shower, and went about mopping the floors. (the floors I expected to be the culprit for the blackened bare-feet)

Around lunchtime I was still pressing forward with my new I AM RENEWED, and thus can HANDLE THIS mantra, as I went upstairs to switch out the washing. The intense climate change smacked me in the face halfway up the stairs. The air was hot... and stale. The thermostat read 80. It was then I became acutely aware of the loud rumbling outside the window. I assumed the neighbors were getting their carpets steamed or something just as noisy and annoying.

Further investigation proved that the noise was indeed, coming from our air conditioning unit. The upstairs a/c was out- and naptime was quickly approaching, in half an hour. I frantically called up the landlord, (who are just the sweetest people, and I felt terrible about bothering them with such a time-sensitive emergency- another reason why I never want to become a landlord myself) explained the plight-of-the-moment, and apologized profusely for the bother.

My recharged, revitalized feeling, kind of... lept out the window at this point. It may be mid-October, but we live in the desert, it's still hot.

I stressed about whether or not to put the kids down anyway. The baby was rubbing his eyes, the girls were wilting as they finished off their lunch- they NEEDED a nap. So I turned on every fan we owned, stripped them all down to diapers or panties, and put them to sleep. (It was much cooler in their rooms than the hall, it turns out, but still a bit uncomfortable)

The a/c tech would later have it up and running a mere half hour before naps were slated to end- bummer. While I was busy folding the mountains of laundry while catching up on Grey's Anatomy.

Later that night, the girls- instead of eating their freaking dinner- had a duel with milk-splattering straws. Squirt ended up falling off her stool, landing with a thud and a crunch on the kitchen floor. She had a big 'ol goose egg on her forehead, and broken glasses to boot.

You guys, the glasses situation has been so much better than expected so far- we'd gone almost a whole YEAR without much incident. (I was skeptical about giving three year olds easily broken and dirtied eye-wear) The lack of problems had been especially gratifying because the glasses place that had the only pair that would fit my petite girl-faces... it is across town, way across town. So now we're faced with racing over there during the 1 1/2 hour preschool time to get glasses fixed. (hopefully they are fixable!)

The Husband called soon after the falling-off-stool-incident to inform us he was on his way home. I started off the call by brusquely advising him "This conversation is not going to go well," because he was gonna hear ALL ABOUT the crazy of the day. And it was going to be UNPLEASANT.

I need another vacation. After day 1.

A Sucker for Ruffles

2011-10-12T16:10:00.000-07:00

I need to go to rehab... for ruffles. People! I have purchased three different variations on the ruffled shirt for the twins! (I was forced to return two of them... The Husband does not agree that the girls need multiple variations on a theme- ie: pink ruffled shirt)

Try to resist the cuteness... I dare you:

Pink Ruffle Tee found at Old Navy, on sale even!

I found myself in a particular dilemma this afternoon, a dilemma of my own making. You see, I will say ANYTHING to get my kids upstairs to nap. I need the kids to nap- it's not an option in the least. Lately the girls have been demanding that they DO! NOT! NEED! NAPS!

So when faced with determined 4 year old opposition to leave Grandma's house and go directly home to nap, I... well, I bribed the heck out of the situation. I promised popsicles after naps.

A promise I immediately regretted. Because, duh! Popsicles? Dinner spoiler! Did I want to white-flag this battle of "eating all our healthy dinner" for the easily taken "here, have a popsicle" route?

I, quite scandalously, entertained the idea of making this into a teaching moment... that sometimes... people LIE.

In more time than I care to admit, I thought better of this idea, pretty sure it would qualify me for Worst Mother of the Year.

So there were popsicles before dinner.

Whatever.

Every Change of Season, I Buy More Clothes

2011-10-11T18:45:00.000-07:00

Thing number one I was not prepared for after having kids: The constant clothes-buying!

I had been more accustomed to my own style of clothes-purchasing. It goes something like this:

a) An item is on crazy clearance, and it is... wearable- BUY. (this is why I push the boundaries of ensembles that "match")

b) I gained/lost weight and need a few more "in-between" essentials. (as I have about forty tubs of clothing in various sizes, I have a wardrobe at the ready for whenever I balloon up or shrink down)

c) I need to replace an item that has been worn to exhaustion. (I still sleep in some sweaters from my high school days... there are many holes)

The strategy with clothing the kids is VASTLY different. I buy adorable little outfits, the kids look perfectly prim and proper, and they have the gall to go and outgrow everything! All of this happens several times a year, in fact!

Making sure my children are clothed, in season appropriate wear, seems to be a constant battle. I was completely unprepared for the stress this would cause me! Take this past week for example; The weather turned cold suddenly, and I was left rummaging around for last year's "too big" duds I had squirreled away. All I found was a few size 3T items, a size that had seemed to be rather large on the girls last winter. (even though they were 4 years old) Now the dresses were miniskirts, the long sleeves had turned to 3/4 length, and the jeans were awkward "high waters". The only thing that fit was the part around the middle (I am raising children the width of matchsticks- quite inadvertently, I assure you) I was able to cobble together something with leggings, ripped jeans, and heavily involving raincoats.

Immediately, I ran to the nearest outlet mall and grabbed a ridiculous bundle of clothing. I had to explain that I had twins, as the cashier gave my pile an alarmed look. The grand total, even though I had scored a lot of heavily clearanced goods, was... enough to make even the likes of Donald Trump blush. (Dude, twins are EXPENSIVE) I promptly came home and laundered the bunch, (two entire washloads) and tried to find a place for the "winter wear" that would be essential for the next few days, until the weather climbed back up into the 90's- mere days from now. (Oh life in the desert)

It was after I cleaned out the last of the 3Ts, sorted and divided the summer clothes vs. winter clothes, I found a mysterious, unopened box perched on the top shelf of Bunny's closet. There, in my own handwriting, read "girls' 4T winter clothes."

Ahhhh, right. The memories came flooding back; an online sale at Gymboree had prompted me to stock up in preparation for the girls' growing, and the season changing. I was determined to "get ahead" of the madness. It seemed like such a good idea- buying everything off-season. Except that I had bought a couple random things, then forgot about the whole endeavor, put off by the lack of selection and unfortunate patterns.

The package had arrived at my doorstep in May, and I had not even opened it, just popped it in a closet for the next winter. I groaned as I tried to imagine what the box could possibly contain. The girls were in 4T, except in dresses- my tall skinny ladies require a 5T on one-piece dresses. (they may hang off my girls, but at least they are an appropriate length)

Being unable to predict the future, I was not aware of this detail. (I really need to get my hands on a crystal ball)

I was not too disappointed, however. The mystery Gymboree box wasn't too bad. It even had some fluffy sweaters that I was unable to score on sale. Nevertheless, there were a few dresses that would, inevitably, be too short. Luckily, there were some random matching leggings included in the order. SAVED.

So I am SET for winter.

Except I know what looms just around the corner: Summer. When all these cute fleece-y things will be too hot, and I will have to start this whole, ridiculous process ALL OVER AGAIN. Sure, I may be able to find some deeply discounted summer fare now... but will it fit when the season rolls around? Or will I have a bunch of clothes, all with the tags dangling, and no one who can fit into them? (I am sure said clothing will be looking extra-smug at this point)

I will say that ThredUp has been rather helpful, on the rare occasions I can find non-Wal-Mart clothes. (yes, I am a snob- I get it) And I do get extra credit for sending off the girls' old clothes- making Little Man's stuff practically free. But it still requires a lot of time... and thought. Not to mention the very sweet and lovely Mommy friends who have offered clothes their girls have outgrown. I would love to be gracious and accept them, except that (TWIN ISSUE APPROACHING) the girls have to wear identical outfits. If they are not exactly identical, somehow, something, is not FAIR- then I have a slew of fit-throwing. Argh. That's super-fun to have to explain a million times, especially when people are just trying to help.

Clothes! Who knew it would be such a STRUGGLE?!

The Dogs Revolt

2011-10-10T10:47:00.000-07:00

It's 8am, and I'm scrambling to fulfill all three beverage and breakfast requests. Someone wants oatmeal! Someone else is protesting oatmeal in favor of scrambled eggs! The baby is just squawking, watching me dart around the kitchen with an empty sippie in my hand.

At this point, I'm buckling Little Man into his highchair as I notice one of his socks is suspiciously yellow. I know exactly what this means, unfortunately. It means that the dogs have peed on the carpet in the playroom- the designated "pee grounds"- much to my dismay. Little Man has been stepping/playing in it. Ugh. Again, I have decided carpet is impossible to keep up with kids and dogs.

Yanking off the yellow sock, I run upstairs to grab a replacement, throw breakfast (the oatmeal camp won out this morning) at the kids, and grab the portable carpet cleaner to go take care of the inevitable puddle seeping into the floor. I kick the dogs outside, (to assumably try pottying on grass for a change) and go about the rest of my morning routine.

Then the racket of yapping dogs starts up in my backyard. Either a) the neighbor kids are walking to school, and thus must be ferociously barked at. or b) a neighbor cat has come to call on our yard, this being just plain unacceptable to the canine residents. (who are both afraid, of and mad at, the feline demographic of our new area)

--sidenote: we decided Peaches' issues stem from the cat-poop-eating. I know, gross. I'm guessing she eats the poop in protest to their very existence. I fail to see how this accomplishes the purpose, however. After expensive tests and tons of worry, we are charged with somehow keeping the cats from using our yard as a litter box (any ideas?) while keeping the dogs from eating the feces. (again, explain how YOU would handle that- I'm thinking MUZZLE) --

I find Peaches has maneuvered her tiny frame around the big rocks and chicken wire hastily thrown up at the side gate to prevent the dog's newfound escaping tendencies. She's trotting around the front yard with her tail held high, looking for trouble. Last week, after living here a full four months, I find both dogs wandering around the neighborhood as we arrived home from preschool- great. I totally have the time to plot clever solutions to thwart my four-legged-houdinis.

After re-messing with the chicken wire, barefoot on decorative landscape rock, I come back inside to find YET ANOTHER puddle in the playroom. Time to go back and dig out the carpet cleaner.

The canine activity has heightened. And I am at a loss. The only thing keeping these dogs at this home is the fact that no one in their right mind will take them to their house, and after watching Marley & Me, I begin to hope that someday I will look back on our time with these dogs and fond memories will... happen. (Oh the days when our house constantly reeked of urine! How I miss them!)

Fast TImes

2011-10-07T09:48:00.000-07:00

Well, it has been a very busy week. The routine of preschool has, as expected, jumbled my schedule up. As evidenced by a lack of full hair-washing-shower on my part for three whole days. This is definitely going to be a CHANGE.

However, now on the first non-preschool day I am sitting in my kitchen staring at the clock asking myself just what I plan on doing with all three kids all day. It did not help that everyone woke up a full hour earlier than normal. The day, at 9:30, is already seeming exceptionally long.

As for the girls, they love school. (no surprise) Although every night I would tell them they had school the next day, it constantly came by surprise. At one point Bunny stomped her foot and exclaimed "That's enough school! We did school yesterday..." As if after two whole days of school, they have learned everything there is to know.

I am becoming acutely aware at how much their little minds are soaking up the new preschool experience. They are using different words, like telling me we should "go to the market" to get more juice. And Little Man is not "too small" for school, he is "too young."

When the girls awoke, (again, an HOUR EARLY) the announcement that school would not happen today was met with dramatic, soap-opera-quality sadness.

The houligans have been running wild through my house ever since. I corralled them upstairs, where a game of "lets-pretend-there's-scary-thunder-outside" broke out:

OH NO! THE THUNDER!

HOLD ME! I'm scared!

Hurry! Let's go hide in the closet!

Replay scene over and over again...

Also, the thing with Peaches is not really resolved either. After lots of tests, we don't have conclusive answers. There is some irritation and thickening of her bowels, but we don't know why. She's on a new (extra gross) diet of prescription canned stuff that assaults my sense of smell quite violently. She is no longer vomitting or pooping blood... so I am left yet again wondering if something really IS wrong with her. (could pooping blood really just be a fluke? It seems pretty alarming at the time!)

So... dogs. I would advise against them.

So Preschool... Happened

2011-10-05T08:13:00.000-07:00

I am kicking myself for not doing the whole first-day-of-preschool (do you realize how easy it is to misspell "first" like "fist"? Fist preschool- I am laughing. I am clearly sleep deprived... keep reading for the deets) because the events post-preschool really painted the day in a rather negative picture in which I cannot shake.

I was anxious in the morning because a) this is a big step for the girls, and that's exciting, followed quickly by b) this is going to rob me of any perceived flexibility I have in my day. (yes, everything must be about me)

The girls were clearly ripe with anticipation as they behaved like complete and utter monkeys escaped from the zoo during breakfast time, and I had to resort to threatening "no school," and everyone involved knew just what an idle threat that was. Preschool was paid for... and they were driving me batty... they were GOING.

I dropped them off, and was taken aback by all the kids! and their extended families! and the picture taking! I sat them in a chair playing with little froggies and bolted. They had a great time, getting (so far unwashable) paint all over their adorable first-day-of-preschool dresses. Note to self: It will be grunge-time at preschool from now on

That afternoon, while the kids all took a much-needed, much-protested nap, Peaches (the slightly less-psychotic of the dog duo) started pooping all over the place, and there was blood. Then she started vomiting at an alarming rate, and this all lead to me driving like a bat out of hell with all the kids, past everyone's bedtime, to the vet. Where we proceeded to spend ridiculous amounts of money on tests that we have yet to find the results of. So that was... the suck.

There's also a couple unbloggable, but even more alarming developments going on that kept me up late last night with what I'm assuming is ulcer-related ridiculousness.

And to top the sundae off with a cherry, the weather changed DRASTICALLY, as in a 20 degree drop or something? And I woke up at 4 am, going through the house, turning off the fans, blanketing the cold children, and rummaging around in the dark for a sweater of my very own.

DEFEATED, says I.

But hey, there is still plenty of cuteness going on around here:

Thanks for the picture indulgence. Now we start day 2 of getting the troops ready for preschool. Running off of... say, 3 hours sleep. I apologize in advance for my haggard (although happily hoodie-d) appearance.

The Bed Wetting: My Nightmare Begins

2011-10-01T09:33:00.000-07:00

It all started about a week ago. Squirt was outside playing with the kitty (they don't do anything else these days; it's all kitty, all the time) and then... out of nowhere: a large puddle under her feet. I assumed she was just having too much fun to bother with coming inside and pottying- not when kitty fun was to be had.

That weekend, both girls had very lowgrade fevers- 99.8. My pediatrician does not even acknowledge this as an issue. The nurse has, on multiple occasions, chastized me that "it's not a 'fever' until it's over 101." (fine, whatever) She also wet the carpet- we wrote this off because Bunny was occupying the downstairs loo at the time, just a matter of bad timing, right?

Then Squirt started waking up to soaked sheets. It started happening during naptime too. Every morning, every naptime. I began to get suspicious, as I threw yet another load of soiled sheets into the washer.

After exhausting myself washing and re-sheeting the bed, I called the pediatrician and got Squirt in for a urine culture. The quickest doctor's appointment I've ever had: urine was perfectly fine! So... what is going on in her home-life? This is a "regression." I was given orders to potty her every two hours and withhold liquids 3 hrs. prior to bedtime.

I left utterly defeated.

Both girls have been firmly- and I mean FIRMLY- potty trained for at least an entire year! It was a trial in which I do not wish to experience again. So I reviewed the "home life situation:" We moved into a new house, but that was about 4 months ago. They start preschool, but not until Tuesday. I don't see any huge change or disruption in her "home life." (that phrase is freaking me out, like she's going through some incredible trauma that I am completely unaware of)

I'm watching her fluid intake, however I'm not really taking her to the bathroom every two hours- I know my Squirt- that kind of attention would turn her to refusing to go potty entirely. But I am keeping an eye on the situation. Oddly, Bunny has been dry this whole time! She continues to do just fine and wake up dry.

So we're at a loss. Help me, internet! Has your firmly potty trained four-almost-five-year-old started up with this bed wetting out of nowhere? I am most certainly not going back to Pull Ups. I gave away all the Pull Ups we owned, and am not bringing them back into this house again. I AM DONE WITH THAT NONSENSE! Thank you in advance, internet, for consoling me.

Oh my, Am I Standing On This Soapbox?

2011-09-30T10:21:00.000-07:00

I went and saw a movie yesterday. To some people this is an ordinary statement. Unless you understand that I see about two movies a year in the theater. Most of the movies I see are at least three years old, and when I talk about the ones I like to my "filmophile" brother, he gives me a look like "you JUST saw that movie? Yeah, I thought it was good too... five years ago." Let it be known: I do not get out much. Unless it's to the aisles of Target- because we ran out of diapers.

I went with my Mom to see I Don't Know How She Does It with Sarah Jessica Parker. (and my Mom got all hot and bothered around Pierce Brosnan) I expected to at least relate with some part of this movie; I have small children, I feel like I'm insufficient, and my kids/life are driving me crazy. It was an enjoyable movie overall, except the cuts to a scene of the stereotypical Stay At Home Mother.

The SAHM was always on an eliptical at the gym, perfectly coiffed. She would talk about "vacation homes" and spending upwards of six hours at the gym after dropping the kids off at school. Her biggest problem was a nagging mother in law and making Thanksgiving dinner. Her designer workout duds probably cost more than my car.

While on the other hand, the working mother had dried pancake batter on her lapel, her hair was stringy and unkept, and it was made very obvious that she was the one who had "real" problems. What is with the war between Working Moms and SAHMs? I've seen this trend, and it's disturbing. Each side looks at each other with both envy and disdain. (I'm not gonna lie, getting away from my kids, wearing grown up clothes, it sounds good! And I'm sure the Working Moms are jealous of all the time I spend with my kids- even if it is just refereeing squabbles over teacups and tutus)

You know what MY job is? I do exactly what the Working Mother's nanny does and more... except I don't get paid. So please, do not trivialize the hard work I do, or the struggles I have as a mother. Thank you, very much.

I do not stay at home with my kids because we are lavishly wealthly! I stay home because even with both of us working, we would not be able to afford the childcare for three young children! When I found out I was pregnant with twins, I was automatically staying at home with the babies because I compared my paycheck to the estimate for double infant daycare...

I have loads of respect for working moms. I am sure it is insanely difficult- on many levels. What I do not understand, however, is why the Stay At Home Mom is expected to enjoy a "relaxed" lifestyle while also providing homemade muffins for the bake sale. (Trust me, the bake sale would be better off with Smith's cookies- I am a terrible cook) Taking care of children full time is a JOB! I looked more like the stressed out example of a Working Mom, (substitute power suit for yoga pants) and I could relate to more of her "energy," I may not be worrying about business trips and powerpoint presentations, I have plenty of other lists going on that keep me awake at night.

How about we call it a day and say that being a Mom- in any regard- is HARD. We should rally around each other with a little empathy, instead of casting smug looks around the schoolyard.

I swear, If you see me at the gym in a designer velour sweatsuit with my hair curled- call the police; I have clearly been kidnapped and brainwashed.

The Perils of Quilt Hunting

2011-09-29T09:12:00.000-07:00

I am a washer. As in, all of my bedding must be washed on a regular basis. Remember the time I could hear the dust mites in my pillow? I pretty much wash everything on my bed. Pillows? Yes. If I could fit my mattress in there, I would. But that would be one huge washer. I wash all my bedding, and toss it into the dryer- as I whisper "prepare to die, little mites!" I do this for my own sanity.

So washing in the washing machine is hard on stuff, on the pillows, on the quilt, on the sheets. So I buy cheap pillows that I can replace every 3-6 mos. I don't cheap out on sheets, 600 thread count or nothing, man. But I get them at Home Goods, where they are cheap-ish. The bedspreads, I also get at Home Goods.

But now, our quilt (which I like very much) is showing its wear and the washer/dryer abuse. Time to replace! However, I have a problem:

The problem is two fold: 1) The Husband is very particular, it needs to be light, and not pink. Light; as in not a heavy comforter. He's a super hot sleeper, he'd probably be comfortable sleeping on a block of ice... and covered in snow. Actually, those ice hotels might be right up his alley! I am perma-cold at night, so I just have to come to bed in multiple layers, ending in an oversized fleecey hoodie. Basically, the only viable option is a quilt. Then we come to 2) I don't want an ugly quilt. All the non-ugly, chic and modern quilts are a billion dollars, handmade, or just a pattern to which I must learn how to quilt (so not happening) All the quilts in a general price range I am willing to spend for a quilt that will eventually degrade at a quick rate due to all the washing, well they tend to all look like this:

Brings new meaning to the phrase "cabin fever."

(image cred)

There's an elderly woman out there missing her quilt.

(image cred)

Ack! Why is this quilt trying to poke my eyes out?!

(image cred)

Yeah, it's a scary world out there full of really hideous quilts.

Of course, what I'm looking for? They are gorgeous, and litter my Pinterest boards:

Source: camilleroskelley.typepad.com via craftyashley on Pinterest

This beauty: just a pattern and some fat squares... or whatever quilters call all the fabric.

Source: pbteen.com via craftyashley on Pinterest

Pottery Barn Teen always has the cutest stuff... at Pottery Barn prices. Please shoot me if I ever start using Pottery Barn quilts as my expendables.

Source: urbanoutfitters.com via craftyashley on Pinterest

Then there's Urban Outfitters openly mocking me.

I need to find some on-clearance-semi-adorable-quilts... and fast. My last trip to Home Goods yielded nothing. Clearly, the internet has been none too helpful either. Perhaps I will be forced to finally learn how to sew? (Oh, that was a good laugh)

Unfortunate Before and After

2011-09-28T15:34:00.000-07:00

I thought I did a pretty stellar job of babyproofing when the twins hit toddlerdom. The girls never climbed to unreasonable heights. They never caught hold of dangerous household items. I was incredibly pleased with myself.

That would all come to an end as Little Man grew into his reign of terror. He's into EVERYTHING. ALL THE TIME. It's driving me to madness. And there is only so much I can do to prevent it. Yesterday was particularly problematic as I found him on the kitchen island with a knife (from slicing bananas) in his mouth. You heard me! In his mouth! A knife! Then, later that same morning, he somehow found a hammer- a real hammer. There are not words to describe finding your toddler armed with a HAMMER. Had you asked me prior to the incident where we kept the hammers, it would have taken a while for me to answer correctly. (apparently we keep a hammer in one of the kitchen drawers- he can reach into drawers now) These were just the most egregious events. He is constantly climbing up onto the counters and spilling cranberry juice all over himself... and other things I would rather not be covered in sticky juice. He climbs up onto the same counter and drags a half empty carton of yogurt the girls have abandoned around the house, smearing it on the walls.

People... it is a nightmare at my house sometimes.

I decided to try yet another extreme step to rectify the situation. This is after putting locks on every cabinet, relocating all the office supplies to various new places in the house, and pushing everything on the counters or the dining room table a minimum of six inches from the edge, hiding the diapers & tubes of Desitin, and stripping down most of my decor, we have moved one step further to the feeling we are living in Denny's:

We're hoisting the stools ontop of the counter, straight up restaurant style. Looks lovely, no? And oh so practical come meal or snacktime. Love lifting those babies up and down a zillion times a day. You may notice the highchair strapped to the dining room chair? It will come into play later...

... as Little Man proves he is no dummy...

It's as easy as pushing the highchair over to the counter.

Your foolish attempts to contain me are useless, silly woman.

I'm convinced that I am raising the next Mac Gyver over here. So now not only do I store the stools on the counter, I have to move the highchair over to a carpeted area. (where I assume he cannot easily push it anywhere he pleases... yet)

Question to all you parents of "adventurous" children out there: At what point do I stop feeling like I live in a maximum security prison?

Mother, this is the way to love me

2011-09-28T08:53:00.000-07:00

This night, just like every night, I laid in bed after a long day and stared up at the dark ceiling fan and its slight clickity click. The Husband likes to get in bed and then proceed straight to sleeping. Poor Husband has me for a wife; I need to get in bed and release the millions of thoughts, anxieties, lists, and prioritizing that flood my brain as I slide between the sheets. Begrudgingly, The Husband sits and listens to them, until at some point he sighs and reminds me how late it has become.

On this particular night I was agonizing over the twins, and how I was raising them- as a mother. You see, there are a multitude of pretty twin-specific things that I worry about. Are they too dependent on each other? Do they need more individual time? How are they adjusting socially around other singleton kids? How can I help them be happier? Ultimately, I'm trying to avoid them laying on a shrink's couch in their adulthood listing off all the ways I, their mother, had failed them. (Like I'm sure every mother does- it's our worst fear)

Earlier that day I had decided that The Husband and I would take each twin on a "date." To give them some one-on-one attention that they hardly ever get. It started off simple enough, we asked the girls who would like to go with which parent first. It was instantaneous, Bunny chose me and Squirt chose "dadda." I'm not gonna lie, that stung- and I felt stupid for feeling that way. I want my kids to have a close relationship with their father too. I just... well, I half expected them to fight over who got to go with me. And of course, that opened up an entirely new slew of worry that perhaps Bunny favors me and I am not relating as well to Squirt.

I thought about love languages, (the internet, being acutely attuned to my thoughts, found Maggie's thoughts on love languages pop up in my Reader) and I began to scrutinize the possible languages in which each girl felt loved and valued. That this theory, among many I'm sure, could be adapted to the relationship between my girls and I.

Bunny is a hugger. I'm pretty sure her language is "physical touch." She can often be found in my lap, she holds me close wherever we are. I can see the feeling of relief and comfort a little hug or kiss on the forehead from me gives her. I must have unconsciously made a note of this because I give her reassuring pats, a squeeze of her hand, and stroke her hair almost constantly. I have done this automatically, probably in recognition to their need. And I have done this with Squirt too, but I've noticed she kind of... just tolerates it. Of course there are times she wants to be close to me, and she always needs a good snuggle and kiss goodnight. But she doesn't seem to thrive on that, I give her a big squeeze and she more or less stares off into the distance, like "oh great, she's coddling me again." Of the times when Bunny crawls into my lap, I think Squirt just wants a turn because they have a thing with each other about "fairness." (a whole other twin-specific issue entirely) She doesn't really want to snuggle up to me for long periods of time, she just knows Bunny wants it- and thus Squirt must be involved.

So I'm rambling on to The Husband, who is undoubtedly exhausted, about what Squirt's love language might be. (he's not entirely convinced that she favors him- she does seem to be more aloof in general than her twin... oh, look at me go and comparing the two; I'm sure all the parenting "experts" would be appalled) As I file through my memories, I come to the uncertain conclusion that perhaps her love language is "words of affirmation." (I'm desperately hoping it isn't quality time, because that is in very short supply around our house)

I resolve to make more of an effort to compliment and verbally express "I love you" to Squirt, to perk her spirits and buoy her self-confidence. All of which I have found with a rowdy four year old is often difficult. There are times I have to really concentrate to find something to compliment. Not that they aren't good children as a whole; It's just so much easier to take notice (and deal with) the tantrums, bickering, and sassiness of a little one struggling with independence and growing into her own person. It's a challenge to stop when things are somewhat calm (and I'm usually racing around to make ample use of the time... as I am doing now jotting down this post) and compliment the girls for behaving and being polite. (Ok, I just yelled up to the playroom and praised them for playing nicely- it has been lovely. I just wonder if I will go upstairs in a minute and find an epic array of toys strewn throughout multiple rooms, or perhaps all my shampoo rubbed into the carpets) How messed up is that concept? That I tend to focus on the times I have to get yell-y? Mother of the year award: right here.

Anyway, Squirt: I hope you notice that I am trying, and that I love you!

On another note, I did take that quiz for myself. I went into it thinking my love language was gifts. I have had a couple people tell me this because I like to give gifts. (even if it's just a plate of cookies) That is how I tend to show my caring for others. As I took the test, I was faced with questions like, "if my husband brought me a gift, I would be very excited." The answer is no- I would not be excited, in fact I would carefully, and with much trepidation, open it and hope for the best. (My husband has a poor track record with giving me gifts) Most of the time I am disappointed, and then wracked with guilt because I know he means well, we're just so ridiculously different as people. That fact may have skewed the results, the thought of my husband giving me a gift of his own choice and volition makes me nauseated.

The results were surprisingly: "words of affirmation" followed closely by "quality time." Tonight when The Husband is begging for some sleep, and I keep chatting away, I will make sure to inform him of this.

Now I am daunted by my upcoming mission- discerning Little Man's love language as he grows into more of a kid and less of a baby with the kissable, mushy cheeks. So far? Physical contact: he won't let go of my neck. This conjures up images of Modern Family, of which I will share with you now:

Open letter to every member of my family: I love you. But it would be easier if you all had the same love language. -with love, Me.

Red Flag

2011-09-27T10:42:00.000-07:00

It's never a good sign when your toddler comes up to you and hands you a half-empty box of Ziploc baggies.

It means this scene is not far behind:

He can now reach into drawers. His powers of mayhem are getting stronger...

Pray for us all.

Food Methodology

2011-09-22T17:57:00.000-07:00

Who has been clogging up The Twitter with all the whining about how hard it is to come up with dinner for her family every. single. night? Oh, right. You're looking at me.

Yes. I have dinner anxiety. I'm not a good cook. In fact, I kind of hate cooking entirely. (of course it more or less comes and goes) And yet my family has the gall to insist they are fed properly- a thrice daily basis, even! It's a nightmare.

One week I was particularly lazy with my weekly grocery run which left me whipping up meals like Nachos! Grilled cheese sandwiches! Chili-cheese fries! Pre-made meatballs you can get in the freezer! By the end of the week The Husband, dripping in melted cheese, announced this had been "the best week ever... food wise." I just stared at him. (in both disbelief AND horror)

Obviously, we have different "tastes."

Anyway, the normal fare around dinnertime is only slightly better than The Husband's "best week ever." So if you, like me, have little-to-no mealtime motivation, I recommend you stock up on some of my essentials:

- Red Pepper Flakes: A generous sprinkling really spices up a dull/bland meal; like pizza, spaghetti, baked chicken, etc.

- A small can of Sliced Black Olives: The most versatile armory in my kitchen. I throw olives into everything; Chili! Casseroles! Pasta!

- Cilantro and Black Beans: if you have these two ingredients, you are ready to make plain soft-taco-Tuesdays a little more expensive tasting.

My husband, of course has a different list of ingredients he insists on adding to his plate:

- Cheese: In any form, any kind, on any thing. I used to be insulted when we were newly married and he'd come home and dump a pile of cheese on top of the elaborate meal I had attempted. Now, meh. I'll just buy another gargantuan bag of shredded cheese tomorrow.

- Mayonaise: This man simply MUST clog his arteries at every available opportunity. It's madness. If his burger does not have mayonaise, he will glower in the corner (He'll still eat it, mind you. But he won't be happy about it)

- Sour Cream: (he's dubbed it the "mexican mayonaise") Non-mexican food gets mayo, tacos, burritos, all that south of the border stuff, it gets three serving-spoon-fuls of sour cream. I buy the tubs two at a time. Never does it sit and expire in our fridge.

Tonight I made Parma Rosa, a little powder mix that I poured ontop of Penne, dumped a can of olives in, and sprinkled it with mozzarella cheese. It was pretty fancy... for us. And yet, I am still guessing The Husband will waltz in and break out the giganta-bag of shredded cheese... as well as the sour cream.

Location, Location, Location!

2011-09-21T09:59:00.000-07:00

My kids are very schedule-oriented... perhaps I had a hand in this?

I'd rather not dwell on how every little move I make shapes who they are on a daily basis... it's just so much PRESSURE.

When the twins were tiny babies, I was told to talk to them during the day, making a narrative for them as we went about our activities. So I would go about chatting them up, things like, "We're going to go to Target again! For more diapers!" or "Let's all go upstairs and change your clothes again- they are dripping with spit up!" and "Mommy is going to fold yet another load of laundry! Wanna watch me from your swings?" It was like having my own reality TV show. Sometimes I would break out my Julia Child impersonations while whipping up enough homemade babyfood to feed a small village.

I thought all this would help them with cognition and speech as their brains developed. And as they got older, talking about sequences of events would help prepare them for what we were going to do next- you know, trying to be a good mother!

Well, all this has had a rather unfortunate side-effect; when I tuck them into bed (for naps or bedtime, to the twins it's the same thing, apparently) I get asked "But wait! What we do tomorrow?!" This is a question that MUST BE ANSWERED. Not only answered, but in a satisfactory manner. "I dunno! We'll see!" is grounds for feet kicking and refusal to accept sleep-time.

I'm sure you can imagine the kind of mental stress this can place on my weary brain. I have to make "going to Target again" sound fun! and exciting! (they're big enough to know going out for things like deodorant and toothpaste does not make for a sporting good afternoon) Plus, there are times- lots of times- that I just plain don't know what we are doing the next day! Stuff! We'll do STUFF, guys!

As if sensing my anxiety at the question, my smarty-pants four year olds have taken it upon themselves to come up with activities for the day. Yesterday I woke them from naps, excited to tell them I had planned a super fun trip to the nearest splash pad/park. I was rebuffed with silence, followed by: "No Mama, we needs to go swimming at Grandma's pool... with Grandma."

Luckily my mother is happy to oblige these requests at the last minute. (Bless her! She even fed us dinner, no cooking for me!)

Most of the time, the girls' solution for a "tomorrow" with nothing planned in advance is "playing squishies." I've been fine with that. They mess around with non-edible spaghetti, shape cutters, and rolling dough into snakes, I catch up on some reading... or television.

The only wrench in this perfect plan has been Little Man. When the girls climb up to the counter, he assumes they are eating. Rule #1 in his book: Nobody eats without me. (enter huge fit involving Little Man climbing into his highchair with a big HARUMPH! and refusing to stop screaming until food is proffered)

I tried giving him play-doh on his highchair tray. It lasted all of five seconds; Partially because our Play Doh is old and hard, it even gives me hand cramps from muscling it around. He mostly wanted me to sit right next to him and "help" him play with it. While I'm glad he did not try and eat it, I do not want to be so highly involved with what is supposed to be "mommy-free-quiet-play-time."

Pinterest came to the rescue again and yielded this great homemade Play Doh recipe. I drag the highchair closer to where the girls are playing, and viola! Hours of quiet play time:

It never ceases to amaze me- just how dedicated he is to being part of the big kid crowd.

Moving him up two feet solves the whole problem. However, the issue of "what we do tomorrow, Mama?" is still in play.

Fist Pumping At The Gap

2011-09-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

My clothing situation has been getting pretty dire lately. What with the yo-yo, up and down weight loss/gain, I am pretty reticent to shell out more cash for stuff I may or may not be able to wear for more than a couple months. So I get most of my duds off the clearance rack at Target. It ain't pretty- sometimes my outfits border on twinge-worthy... especially when The Husband notices. That's when you know it's bad. Epically bad.

So this weekend, as I was putting on the last of my makeup and The Husband said "So... do you think that really, um... matches?" I looked down, and I knew he was right. An ill fitting, odd color t-shirt paired with a heather grey maxi skirt, it was questionable at best. I decided something had to be done about my wardrobe issues.

That's when I went to a REAL CLOTHING STORE, not a clearance rack, not a "big girl sizes" store. (with every anxiety about my weight and body type in tow) I noticed that pre-baby, jeans from The Gap just fit me funny. I've always had, shall we say- "child bearing" hips, but combined with a tiny waist, I was always wearing a belt. (oh the problems I thought I had back then!) Now, with my post-baby, most-of-these-issues-are-permanent body, Gap jeans fit me perfectly! Will I ever get the tiny waist back? Only surgical intervention could solve that, I'm afraid. Skin aprons- they're no joke.

I do plan on losing more weight, while also toning and maybe trying for some definition. (I signed up for a running class at 6 am this weekend- let's see if she can show me how to make running enjoyable, and less like my lungs are fighting for escape through my mouth. Let's also see if I will be capable of getting up at 6 am on Saturday) For now, I think I will be round about this size spectrum for a bit, and I need clothes that Little Man hasn't spit up on. (Spit up? It's a special kind of stain, I tell you)

Another huge success I found while perusing the racks at The Gap? There are sizes in that store THAT DO NOT FIT ME. As in- THEY ARE TOO BIG. Seriously- let's all throw a freaking parade. There are multiple sizes there that are way too large! (Cue the high school band and guy on stilts)

I actually BOUGHT things. FOR MYSELF. I even stayed out of the kids' section. (that clearance rack- I cannot be trusted around) I left the store with a bag of clothing just for me. It was weird. And exhilarating. And I still felt incredibly selfish for buying myself a couple shirts and a pair of jeans.

Also, I would like to award myself the title of Sole Survivor as I got to the store and realized I left the stroller sitting on the floor of my garage. So I was carrying Little Man the entire time, and cajoling the twins to get out from the clothing racks, hangers of clothes were dangling from my wrist and I kept my purse from tossing all its contents on the floor. Little Man only broke away and ran/quickly toddled across the store ONCE. I even got into the changing room and tried on clothes, with three kids, all running amok. (my usual Target drill is buying multiple sizes and trying them on at home, where I can wail at my fatness in private and return what doesn't vaguely stay on my person or hug me so tight you can see each and every stretchmark)

It sucked that I forgot the stroller, but that shopping trip... it was happening.

Duplos and Chubby Baby Hands

2011-09-19T09:41:00.000-07:00

The post-nap climate of our house is either "the best of times" or "the worst of times." More than likely, it degenerates into the latter of the two. Only on scant few glorious occasions does naptime hit the kids' RESET button and restore them to their default mood: tolerable (they are generally happy and lovely children, in this regard I am crazy-lucky)

There are days when Little Man has woken up "on the wrong side of the crib," if you will. And he is a monster. A monster of shrieks and wildly unreasonable demands. There is usually a lot of thrashing around on the floor in a fit of rage... not only by me.

Well one particularly prickly post-nap evening found Little Man playing with his Duplo blocks. (a certain little boy's favorite pastime) Except on this occasion, Munch (as I am affectionately calling him these days- a shortened version of Munchkin... and the fact that my boy is an EATER- much unlike his big sisters) found his lack of fine motor skills extremely troubling. He took it as a personal insult that the little block tower he was trying to construct did not magically build itself, but rather crumbled easily when swung around and manhandled by chubby baby hands. I give you the proof in all of it's full-speaker-volumed-glory:

It was both hilarious and driving me bonkers. He was clearly upset with his clumsy baby reflexes,(which is just plain funny to me) however these fits of rage lasted ALL EVENING, until I put him to bed early... just because I couldn't take the screaming any more.

The Horrors of DMV Photography

2011-09-17T10:45:00.000-07:00

I believe it to be a universal truth that each of us gets one (and only one) decent driver's licence photo in our lifetime. Unfortunately, I used mine up years ago.

I had such high hopes when I got the little letter from the DMV a couple months ago that I would not be able to renew my license through the mail like last time. (although even if I could, I don't think I would have wanted to live with that photo for another four years)

I was going to have to go in and get a new picture. So I was at least minorly pleased to visit the DMV.

Here's my last picture, in all it's hideous glory:

The Horror! The Horror!

When this feat of photographic treachery was perpetrated, I was fresh off the heels of giving birth to twins. They were about 7 months old, and I was in NO SHAPE for picture time. (Notice the mismatched blue shirt paired with warm-toned necklace? The product of serious sleep deprivation) I had chipmunk cheeks from the pregnancy... the pregnancy in which every part of my body swelled to massive proportions. It was a truly awful thing to be subjected to this shot for four years. I winced every time I was asked to show ID.

I was bolstered with the hope that I could try again in four years- after having had ample time to shed the pounds. (and the cheeks) I got pretty fit there when the kids were two and a half- eeking ever closer to my ideal size. Then Little Man happened. (a blessed and wonderful addition to our family, who I love ever so much) And while that "baby" is now a year and a half, I've... erm, not exactly made huge strides toward non-chipmunkery. (I'm still so fluffy!)

To further decrease my odds of license picture glory, the DMV has changed their picture taking procedures. They now take your picture, shuffle you off, then inform you to wait two weeks for your new license to arrive in the mail. I'm sure this cuts down on some (ahem) impetuous citizens demanding a re-shoot... like I would have done.

Two weeks after what I thought had the potential to be a decent enough license, I opened an envelope, to find THIS atrocity:

Good lord, shoot me NOW.

Did I really give the camera a half-drunk, half-priced hooker smile? (Eeeey there, sailor! You lookin' for a-- hiccup-- good time?!) And thanks for zooming in so far- that is certainly attractive, to have your whole, gigantic face squeezed into the itty-bitty space.

What a massive failure.

Fake Fall

2011-09-16T09:10:00.000-07:00

When we moved into the new house, the backyard struck me as odd. There is the dilapidated "sand box," grass half-eaten by the previous occupant's pet bunnies, (it is now currently overrun with crazy weeds- too many to pick, and The Husband has already mowed over them- so they've spread like plague) around the perimeter are these curious river stones, (which I am a fan of, normally landscape rock around these parts are jagged little rocks that hurt to walk on without shoes, these are smooth and lovely, but I think they are expensive, a funny choice when there has been no money spent in any other areas of the house) and there are orange crispy leaves all over, as if they had just fallen... except that the leaves don't match the leaves of any trees in the vicinity... and it was the middle of summer, all the trees had green leaves... and they are just- everywhere. A mystery, to be sure... on so many levels.

I do not mind the leaves, however. Sometimes I can trick my mind into thinking it is fall when I see all the leaves scattered on the ground. Sometimes I don a hoodie in the middle of the summer heat... in vehement protest of this horrible heat. This is the only way I can make it from May to October- without getting rash and running away to Seattle- the land of rain and reasonable temperatures.

Since the weather has cooled down a smidge, I can now let the kids outside to play and I can leave the screen open to "supervise" while I catch up on some emails and twitter. In the morning... before it shoots back up to a million degrees. This has caused me large amounts of joy, I release the hounds to the backyard, and they are relatively entertained for a decent amount of time.

We are REALLY into collections at our house. (pronounced by the girls: Cor-rections!")

Am I raising future stars of Hoarding: Buried Alive?

Remember When We Had Dreams?

2011-09-15T08:51:00.000-07:00

People, I have been noticing something very unusual going on with my dreams. Highly suspicious, I say. I used to have dreams that involved things like flying toasters, and whacky hijinx. There may have been a heffalump or two.

Like when I was a kid, I would have this awesome recurring dream in which I was driving my parents car, while my pet hamster Lester (yes, I named my hamster Lester. I was a weird kid) navigate. He had a tough time re-folding the map. We drove all the way to Morocco. Those are the kinds of dreams I am used to having. Nonsensical whateveryness.

But lately? I am dreaming about planning on stripping and refinishing the dining room table! Or organizing a family photoshoot! Last night? Dreamt about backing up my computer files. Computer files! It's all very normal and mundane, there is nothing that flies. It could have just been another part of my awake-day. Then I wake up a little bit stressed out and think "Sheesh! I really SHOULD refinish the dining room table! And the black buffet cabinet, too!" And while we're at it, Little Man's chest of drawers we don't even use, but because I didn't want to sand, the paint on it is all icky. Except that I don't really want to refinish anything!

My dreams are bossing me around! Making me feel guilty about NOT backing up my hard drive!

All I want to do at night is curl up between the sheets and start surfing on a wave of ice cream, for heaven's sake! When did my dreams become all adult (ewww, not in that way) and RESPONSIBLE?!

I'm tired, man!

Things You Should Not Yell

2011-09-14T11:35:00.000-07:00

... with all the windows in your house open.

- How did the baby get a hold of a STAPLER?!

- I don't care whose turn it is! Just stop FIGHTING over it!

- If you don't cut it out right now, I will give you something to cry about!

- Go away! Mommy is reading her email!

-I'm only going to say this once: if it isn't bleeding, it doesn't need a freaking bandaid!

- You touch that baby ONE MORE TIME- and you're getting the biggest spank I can muster!

- We're not watching any more kids' shows! (the kid asks why) Because I'm sick of watching Max & Ruby, dangit!

- No, I don't know if that basket full of laundry is clean or dirty! Give it a smell and then you'll know!

- Get in that bathroom right now! And you'd better pee this time!

- Quit making that annoying sound, already!

- NO MORE KUNG-FU, GIRLS!

I sure hope the neighbors kept their windows closed during all the rain and cool weather.

I should have probably yelled more things like:

- Oh, you've cleaned up the playroom without asking! How nice!

- Yes, I am making a homemade, nutritious meal for dinner!

- Thank you for eating your vegetables, angel children!

- Of course all the laundry is washed and folded, Husband. Your socks should be in the second drawer to the left.

- Only 18 months old, and solving complex quadratic equations- that's my boy!

- Sure, let's read War & Peace one more time, then it's off to bed!

- Wow! I can't believe you are all filing upstairs for naps without a fuss!

... but then again, I wouldn't want to tell lies.

---UPDATE, because Carina made me feel better.

A Morning that Doesn't Suck

2011-09-13T09:29:00.000-07:00

I woke up to the sounds of distant rumbling thunder. I could hear the raindrops ping as they fell onto our neighbor's patio cover. For the first time in a long while, I was not dragging myself sleepily out of bed. I threw off the sheets and busied myself opening each and every window. The smell of crisp air filled with the savory smell of water filled the house, it's such a different feeling than the air conditioning- the artificial cold. Oh, beautiful rain- it is my favorite thing in the world. They should make a candle that smells just like this- I would buy that!

I made banana pancakes before waking up the kiddos. We ate warm pancakes as we sat and watched the rain dance along our patio. The kitties came by, (as per their usual morning routine) and batted at the exceptionally long blades of grass. (we're anti-grass mowing over here)

The girls were in their summer pajamas, cupcake flip flops, and their raincoats.

I'm convinced there is no better way to start the day.

My thermostat says it is 73 in my house. Seventy three! I may just burst from sheer delight. Hope your day is just as lovely.

Mind Games

2011-09-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

In my head, all three of my kids are little bitty babies. They are my babies, and (obviously) never allowed to grow up, start making me feel old, not wanting my company, and insisting I stop giving them a hug and kiss before we part.

So when I would pass the board game aisle, I would not give them a second thought- my babies were not KIDS yet, board games were way too advanced, surely. Of course, then I started to realize my girls are a firm FOUR, turning FIVE in January. The preschool games- well, they probably should have started them a year ago! And hey- it sounded like something fun to do with them during the hour after baby goes to bed, but before the girl's bedtime, the scarce hour they have me all to themselves. (and sometimes The Husband is there too) For Easter last year, they got a couple little Hello Kitty games in their baskets (the games were kind of hidden by the cute toys and candy) and I had not really thought they would go over so well with the twins. But oh, goodness! I simply cannot play another game of Hello Kitty Bingo, Hello Kitty Old Maid, or Hello Kitty Go Fish. I can't. I CANNOT!

I swiftly purchased Candy Land- my favorite game as a kid- to spice things up. I was delighted to find the kids got the concept, were able to follow along pretty easily, and were having a ball. Even if us, (ahem) older players were not exactly having a rollicking good time. (I give The Husband "the look" whenever he started with the trash-talking. Just because you got the chocolate square to zoom ahead of the rest of us.... you're bumming out the 4 year olds, man!) After two games, The Husband was complaining. It is a bit of a slow moving game, and we were being badgered into playing it every single night.

He suggested Chutes and Ladders as an alternative. His argument? There's ladders! And Chutes! It's way more fun. (brilliant reasoning, Husband) I acquiesced and bought not only Chutes and Ladders, but Hi-Ho-Cherry-O too, even it it does look like a game we will lose all the pieces to. (A million tiny plastic cherries? Really?) I'm saving the Cherry-O game for a Christmas present (when you have Christmas, plus three kids' birthdays soon after, you shop ahead- and stash gifts in the closet... 'cause I'm no dummy)

Turns out Chutes and Ladders has the capability of taking forever. Like Monopoly-style FOREVER. Everyone hits the big slide all the way to the bottom and we all START OVER. It's maddening.

A couple thoughts on board games, and why they drive me bonkers:

- I can't read numbers upside down. I'm constantly going the wrong way, and The Husband acts like I'm on the short-bus because of this.

- Each night, the kids' pick a different player- usually they fight over the girl in the pink dress, or the one with the pony tail. I get confused with who is who, and not even the girls can remember which is their piece. (this happens with Candy Land too- are you the red gingerbread guy, or the blue gingerbread guy?! What do you mean, you don't know?!)

- Everyone has to win. Well, at least each of the kids have to reach the end before we can stop playing. Bunny reached the top? We keep going until Squirt does too... sometimes I stealthily force the spinner onto the exact number to the winning ladder- I'm not above cheating... after 45 frustrating minutes of bumbling game play.

- It's just not fun unless you're four. I'd rather be watching House Hunters International right now.

- The twins fight over who gets to pick up what, who folds the board into the box, who corrals the playing pieces into the Ziploc bag. It has to be "fair." And fair? It takes an inordinate amount of time, and sometimes tears...

- Now I'm whining about playing games with my children. Bad Mommy!

His Reach is Expanding

2011-09-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

That used to be a basket with diapers perfectly stacked inside... until Mr. Climbs-a-lot got to it.

And then there's the office supplies...

Of course I only needed one or two binder rings, and such things are only sold in buckets of 2,000.

Nothing in this house is safe from his tiny, prying hands.

Also, would you like to see what the twins looked like when they were Little Man's exact age? I did too:

The Bunny (L) The Squirt (R) Sept.2008- 19 mos.

Little Man, Sept. 2011- 19 mos.

... I think they're related.

Avoiding CATastrophe

2011-09-08T12:48:00.000-07:00

I'm a big softie when it comes to animals. (as may be evidenced by my continued care and sheltering of The Dog Who Pees on Everything) I cry during the ASPCA commercials... in the arms of the angels... SOB!.... dogs with big, sad-eyes... WEEP!

It's a problem.

One night as we were preparing to go to head up to bed, we let the dogs in from outside and noticed they were cowering by the door and racing inside- not normal behavior. It was then we noticed the small black and white tabby lazily strolling through the grass. No collar, no tags.

I could feel the drawbridge of my heart opening up... this cat was so little, so purr-y, so loving. I know there are coyotes in the desert beyond our housing development. And probably a smattering of poisonous snakes, too. It became clear to my warped, horribilizing brain, that this cat was in IMMINENT, LIFE THREATENING DANGER. Clearly, there was a puma crouched right behind our yard... just waiting to pounce and devour this poor little kitty. The Husband scoffed at me, reminded me that I am deathly allergic to cats... and already had two dogs and three kids to keep away from the pouncing puma. (and rattlesnakes)

The image of that poor cat bothered me all night. Nagging away at my sensitive side; in which I am solely responsible for the life or death of every single animal on this planet. I decided I could at least leave a bowl of water out for the kitty... if it survived the night...

I agonized over the whereabouts of the kitty for the next few days, checking the bowl for traces of cat. Trying to discern whether the water was being lapped up by a thirsty stray, or evaporating in the 110 degree heat.

Then we met our new neighbors- the nice neighbors that fixed our tree- I asked casually if they, perchance had a cat? A white and grey cat? They told me yes! They have two cats; the grey one and an orange striped one. Both cats were out of sorts about moving three doors down and had started prowling the neighborhood, having found out how to use their new doggy door.

The knot in my stomach disappeared; stray cat has a family! I am not directly responsible for this cat! Hallelujah!

The woman apologized profusely and added, "they probably just want to play with your dogs." HA. Play... with my dogs who don't like any ONE or any THING new. Yes, have fun with them, cats.

The orange cat, Pooh Bear, has made it a point to visit our backyard (and whip the dogs into a tizzy) every morning while the grass is still dew-y and cool. The girls LOVE THIS. Kitty is our new best friend. They abandon their bowl full of Cheerios and dash out in the yard to harangue the new visitor.

He's a sweet cat, that puts up with a lot.

The girls started lining up rocks next to him- as they informed me "it's for his collection!" Every cat simply must have a rock collection, yes. He seems to enjoy the offerings brought to him by his avid admirers. The dogs are still shaking in the farthest corner, only puffing up their tails and strutting around when they put a sliding glass door between them and The Intruder. My dogs mean business... when there is no actual threat to be had.

I have also been reminded that I am still fiercely allergic to cats. I would pet the kitty, then wash my hands with soap. Minutes later I would be sneezing, sniffing, and my eyes would be fire-engine-red. Lovely. I tried NOT petting the cat. Somehow, the kids, drenched in cat hair, dander, etc. would start off the chain of allergy again. Mark me Non-Plussed on the cat situation now.

Laboring

2011-09-05T14:53:00.000-07:00

So I totally forgot about Labor Day until it was too late and I sat all slack-jawed in front of a store that was "closed." Irksome. To me it is just another Monday... except that it isn't.

The Husband has the week off from work, and will be... erm, in my way the rest of the week. I don't know how I am bothered by it, but it's an interruption in the schedule. And we all know how much I love THE ROUTINE. I also feel like we should be doing something entertaining, not that The Husband has asked to be entertained, and probably doesn't even notice that I am acting all weird around him. Once the kids are taking naps my mind is thinking "I need to go sort out all that laundry upstairs... and mop the floor... and maybe clean out that bottom drawer in the bathroom stuffed with bandaid boxes and nailpolish... and none of these things are exactly two person jobs. Daytime TV isn't exactly exciting, and because he is not used to lowering his standards of entertainment to include shows like "Famous Food" and "Celebrity Rehab," he rolls his eyes and physically winces when I scroll through the DVR offerings.
And I still have the regular stuff that needs to get done- not enough to delegate of course- (if you want something done right, you do it yourself, yo) and I have this guy hanging around. I have my suspicions, that a weekend with the kids is usually enough time for The Husband to feel ready to get back to work- away from the whining, the fussing, and the tantrum making. I think the kids' and their antics are wearing on The Husband's patience. (I may secretly enjoy it) I have booked The Husband up solid with past-due doctor's and dentist appointments, so that I can have some of my own alone time.
Am I contradicting myself too much? I get all lonely and cabin fever-y, and then I get all ruffled when I have a tag-along for a week. Fickle... I am sorry Husband, there seems to be no pleasing me.

I am working on the Harry Potter series, progressing at quite a clip- 2/3rds through the last book. I've been watching the movies, along with the reading. I've been positively immersed in Harry Potter lately. I am starting to dream in Hogwarts- it's unsettling. Now that The Husband has joined in and wants to do a movie marathon, I am getting weary of it. (although I am dying to know how it ends) I had been shirking my housework a bit too much, so I had to back off- that and the fear that once I am done with the books, I, well.. I will have no more Harry Potter to read! No more reasons to flip on some PBS for the little ones while I hunker over a book and disappear for a while. This has underlined a good reason why I should not get into books until the kids are more independent, (or at school) I have no willpower to put the book down and get on with life until an opportune moment to crack the book back open and start the story back up again.
I would like to say one thing about the books, there is too much Quiddich. The Husband finds this hilarious; I cannot even stand IMAGINARY sports. I am totally skimming through the Quiddich matches. Less sports, more magickery, please!

I found a full gallon of paint at the old house, and the idea of painting the crayon-scrawled walls of the downstairs playroom... well, the idea pestered and pecked away at my brain until I could resist it no longer. My hands are aching from all the painting. The room looks so much better, though. Freshly painted walls- is there any better feeling? I now keep the double doors wide open, so I can see the lovely clean-ness of the room every time I pass.

This time of year is like spring for me. I know that winter is coming, and it will be time to DO THINGS once more. We can go places! Holidays are coming up! I can't wait! In waiting for the weather to change from dreadfully oppressive heat to lovely and crisp cool, I am cleaning out the house. Yes, the very same house we moved into like three months ago, it is already feeling past-due for a good over haul and reorganizing. Naturally. Because I'm insane.

Now I must go mop the floors. Adieu!

Verbose Baby

2011-09-02T10:00:00.000-07:00

Worried about Little Man's vocabulary, I started keeping tabs on the words he would grasp and use often. I'm sure my pediatrician just loves the lists of things I hand to her each visit. There might be a little notation in each of my children's files that says "insane mother."

Either way, it's been rather fun keeping track of his growing vocabulary and listening close to his speech. Here are the words he's mastered so far:

You may have noticed that "mama" has not reached the list- I am only slightly disgruntled about this.

It is my right to stay in my pajamas all day

2011-08-30T20:09:00.000-07:00

Being a stay-at-home-Mom. It affords me certain flexibilities. Like this morning- I needed to head to Sam's (out of baby wipes? Never a welcome discovery) and Target. I decided to do neither of these and stay home. Which ended up being a good thing, as Little Man ended up projectile vomiting by the end of the night. Truth be told, I never changed out of my pajamas today. Nor put on a bra. I took my trashcans to the curb in my slouchy pj's, boobs a-swingin'.

It was later in the night that I ran into a quandary with my lazisfare attitude... some of The Husband's friends showed up unexpectedly before he got home from work. And I got to answer the door... with my boobs a-swingin'. Humiliating. So much so, I broke into the emergency stash of Rolos.

I like big BEIGE and I cannot lie!

2011-08-29T12:54:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend I was going through our empty old house and cleaning it up a bit, doing some patchwork with the paint, trying to make it look extra awesome and spectacular. As I touched up the paint in Little Man's nursery, I was thinking how much I just loved the color. How it had set off his crib bedding so nicely, the accents of electric turquoise popping exquisitely. I remembered an idea I'd come across on Pinterest:

Source: marthastewart.com via craftyashley on Pinterest

As I may have mentioned a million times, I have a special place in my silly sentimental side for this house. I poured my heart into picking the perfect shade for each room, every picture was hung with a certain amount of... incessant eyeballing and serious face-making, every piece of furniture was in just the right place. It was, indeed my masterpiece-in-progress. (I never did get to flex my tiling muscle)

I decided to go ahead and pick up some stir sticks (if you sweet talk the paint mixer guy at the hardware store, he'll give them to you for free- instead of charging ten cents per stick) to make a reference for our next house.

I pulled out all the paint cans from their veritable hibernation. It was almost like Christmas morning, I found a completely full gallon of paint! (I will be painting the downstairs playroom when I get that crazy-painting-feeling)

I dipped the little sticks into each beautiful shade. Oooh! I remember how this color made the hall look so big and airy! Oooh! This one reflected the violent Laura Ashley pink accent wall in the girls' room! I found a couple buckets had sticky, goopy almost-dried paint at the bottom. I still dug out a bit and haphazardly smeared it down the stick- it looks terrible- but heck if I'm losing the perfect shade of Limoge Bathroom Blue!

I was feeling so proud of myself, I mean really! I actually DID something I saw on Pinterest! I should get a plaque. I let the sticks dry and came back for them later, I was semi-shocked to find this:

A million EVER SO SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT shades of BEIGE.

I like to think I have taste. Good taste, in fact. But the sticks just looked so... bland fanned out next to each other. I'm pretty sure if I held them up, The Husband would not even be able to tell they are snippets of different colors. But I painstakingly picked these colors from the mountains of paint swatches, (how FUN are THOSE?!) they weren't boring looking when placed in context of a room!

I'll have to resign myself to my true self; my inner-beige-freak.

In case you were curious, the other non-beige colors looked like this:

Notice the gloppy mess of half-dried paint- Lovely.

Chitty Chitty

2011-08-28T14:05:00.000-07:00

Bang Bang!

In other words, I went and got bangs.

And they make me feel all Brigitte Bardot.

I get ridiculous about new hair.

In The Backwards Land of Real Estate

2011-08-25T11:53:00.000-07:00

Do you mind if I rant about my house for a while? Thank you. Here, have a doughnut. And check out the new blog design if you are checking in on Reader. Big thanks to the lovely Lena at Simply Fabulous.

So, back to my house. It's an adorable little home, it was everything we could have dreamed of, and loved it dearly. However there are a host of issues (including three growing children) that made living in our sweet little cottage impossible. Life has been a rollercoaster ever since. (Raise your arms up! It's more fun with your arms up! Wooo!)

We're doing a short-sale, and I refuse to feel ashamed or give into the antiquated stigma of stuff like this. It is what it is, the world is a very different landscape now than it was in the past, when neighbors would close the drapes and gossip about "did you hear about the So And So's? No wonder they have to leave town! Scandal!" Or is that just what my own mind conjures up?

Well, anyway!

We moved into a larger rental once we got an offer on our house and things were, what we presumed to be, progressing quickly. (Stop chuckling, you over there in the corner)

Moving to a place relatively close to the house you're moving out of... I am dubbing it the hardest thing in the world. Why? Because you leave stuff behind. You don't pack everything. Because you reason meh, I'll just pick that up next weekend. And then most of your belongings end up falling into that "pick up later" category... and you want to Windex the mirrors, only to realize the Windex is a 5 minute drive which now seems like an eternity with three kids in tow. I know, first world problems. Totally.

So the sale. Ha. I thought it was going rather smoothly. Turns out- not so much. The bank is being cranky and demanding we pony up large sums of money they know we don't have. (they request our bank statements on a monthly schedule) We had to really think about things. How much were we willing to lose to get out of this house? You know, doing our due diligence and making informed decisions. (or really, me obsessing about it and talking endlessly about it with the now nearly deaf Husband)

By the time we got back to our realtor that, fine, we will go into more debt to get out of the house, she calls me this morning to tell me the buyer is backing out. And as a bonus, she's already thrown our house back up on the market. I can feel the color drain from my face. Not only is this a gigantic speed bump that I do not have the patience for, I know what state the house is in. Moving-refrigerator-goop is all over the tile downstairs, there are stray lamps, ladders, bottles of Windex, and probably a layer of 3 months worth of dust over the whole place.

Not to mention! I remember what it was like showing the house. The realtors who make appointments never show up on time, or at all, and I end up keeping everything/everyone in a painfully pristine state for over three hours. (back when we lived there while showing the house) I know showings will be impossible now with the a/c off, shuttling back and forth with the quite unwilling kiddos. (the girls always drop their hands angrily to their sides and shout "No! Not old house again!")

I am so supremely bummed. As I know just how hard this putting-the-house-back-on-the-market is going to suck.

A second after hanging up the phone (and slamming it hard down on the counter in frustration) I gathered the kids and shoved them all in the car. I managed to spiff up a bit (refrigerator goop is fun to scrub out of grout, LET ME TELL YOU!) while the kids ran through a sprinkler in the backyard.

I am furious, my face is bright crimson... and only partly because I was working in Sahara Desert temperatures of the hot house.

GAH.

Wondering If I Am a Grown Up Yet

2011-08-24T09:36:00.000-07:00

I'm technically an "adult." (the big 3-0 is looming, approaching ever so sneakily)

I have three kids. (that I am entirely in charge of?! Eeep)

And a house. (That we're selling, quite unsuccessfully)

I get bills more than letters or party invites.

Yet I found myself yesterday talking to a lawyer's assistant about drafting up a trust. (like a will) She was asking important questions related to drawing up the thing. It went something like this:

Her: Do you have a Pre-Nup?

Me: (kind of giggling) No.

Her: Do you have any investments?

Me: (bemused) No.

Her: No stock or anything?

Me: (getting a sinking feeling) Um, no.

Her: How about retirement plans, like a 401k?

Me: (feeling like an utter loser) Nope.

Her: Do you have any other assets?

Me: No.

.... and now I feel like I'm a kid playing house. Thank you, Lawyer's Assistant.

This Is Not The Time

2011-08-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

To worry about water conservation.

(notice that "report water waste" section: squeal on your neighbors!)

I'm ready for summer to be over. When park visits don't automatically involve swimsuits and sunscreen. I am not going to lie- I have been feverishly checking the school district's website; in desperate hope that suddenly, miraculously, the kindergarten cut off dates had been pushed back a couple months. The girls turn 5 in January, so we will be waiting yet another year before starting real school. (read: a blissful couple twin-free hours in which I can do things hampered by only one child) Maybe preschool will pan out this year, but I'm not holding my breath.

I've also had this phrase lodged in my brain, I think about it multiple times a day: "Friends are the family you choose." How true are those words? I've been a terrible friend lately, holing myself in my own chaos. I tend to be more of an introvert. However, I am learning the value of a good bunch of Mommy friends. They are keeping me sane. I need more of them, in fact. I need to revive the friendships I once held dear. Facebooking a little "Hiya!" or "Happy Birthday" just doesn't cut the mustard! I need to talk to my friends in real life! I need their kids to come over and keep my kids from killing each other over a plastic shovel! I need someone who is in the thick of parenting to share war stories with! (Although some of my Twitter friends do give me more than a few chuckles a day in that regard)

Isolated and feeling alone is no way to live. (I know, that pearl of wisdom just blew you off your seat)

Sometimes I feel a bit like the chick in this commercial!

I have 687 friends! This is living!

I also read an article... well, I read the the majority of an article online...

This Morning I...

2011-08-22T08:40:00.000-07:00

- Went into a hysterical fit of rage when I found I had a voicemail at the crack of dawn with bad news that I had to send the same document for the FOURTH TIME IN A ROW... and this time "they" needed it before noon OR ELSE.

.... It was so bad, The Husband had to hug the girls and reassure them that "mommy is just mad at someone else, not at you. You are being good girls." The girls were crying... er, yeah. Not my finest moment.

- Have had to yell at Little Man every five minutes. He's either pulling on the drapes, climbing up the couch and onto the pony wall behind it, or snatching piles of documents he should not have been able to reach on the counter.

- Seriously need to get these kids out of the house.

- Had a brilliant idea: BABY STRAIGHTJACKET.

It Appears I am THAT Neighbor

2011-08-19T13:17:00.000-07:00

We moved to a new subdivision, and we've been... getting to know our neighbors lately. I am used to neighbors who keep to themselves, are relatively quiet, and maybe wave slightly if you make eye contact with them. Also, the people in our old neighborhood? Snow birds... the elderly... drying out like prunes in the blazing sun and heat, waiting for death. But still, I had little to complain about.

The new digs? We have real neighbors- with children. Mostly older (7+) and teenagers. This has been a drastic change to our lifestyle. Like, the 4th of July... the fireworks and noise started at 2pm. TWO FREAKING O'CLOCK. Can you say... naptime?! I was fit to be tied. However, I am also very anti-confrontational.

There is always some sort of child mele going on in the streets during naptime. There's constantly a basketball game in the middle of the road. General kids stuff that bugs me- of younger children who mostly stay indoors and play with Duplos.

So neighbor #1 is, from what I can gather, a large family with kids ranging from 18-3. I have yet to see a real adult, like one that is old enough to HAVE an 18 year old. And they have at least four cars. The first two I have never seen leave the property so I assume do not work, and are parked in the driveway, collecting spiderwebs and leaves underneath. The other two they park on the street in front of the driveway. Sometimes a bit in front of our driveway. It makes it hard to back out of our house and spot any oncoming traffic when they do this... which is all the time. Did I mention the trash? It's everywhere. I found half a deck of playing cards alone in our bushes, not to mention the DIRTY SWIFFER WET PAD left in my driveway. Yes. It's that bad.

These people also love to toss stuff into our trashcans AFTER the garbage men have come. I know it is them because the same palate of Arrowhead water that is found in my cans are also found on their side of the curb come trash day. If I hear the garbage truck leave our street, I dash out to collect my cans from being re-filled. I should also mention, my cans have our house number spray painted unmistakably on the front. It is no mistake when errant garbage is thrown in them who it belongs to. Well that, and the neighbors don't OWN THEIR OWN trash bins, they just pile up bags on the sidewalk. So... color me peeved.

Then there is neighbor #2. The quiet couple residing there when we moved in promptly moved out a couple weeks ago. The couple was quiet, but yard maintenance? Not their forte. It looked like Vietnam up in there, and it spilled over onto our yard, choking out some plants and... it was hideous. But I couldn't be too judgy-Mc-Judgerston about it because the last remaining tree in our front yard was at a 90 degree angle right into their yard, and had been, for what I suspect was the past 7 years. I'd tried to right it, and it wouldn't budge. The landlords were planning on taking an axe to it at the end of the month.

So anyway, the house was vacant for a bit, and as I learned later, the FIREWORKS family from up the street's rental was going into foreclosure, and thus moved in right next door. The fireworks family is loud and boisterous. The kids are friendly, but as we soon found, they liked to start up making loud noises in the evening, right at Little Man's bedtime. Not to mention there are rusty monster trucks, an entire VAT of mud, (yes, a you read that right, a vat of mud) and wood planks of various sizes scattered around the front yard. My eyes practically rolled out of my head every time I drove past.

I was getting testy. The Husband was a little surprised at how irked both sides of neighbors were making me. I was pacing in front of the door, debating on if and how I should go bat crap crazy and yell at them.

That was until last weekend, when we pulled up and saw fireworks family all in the yard, armed with clippers, plastic trash bags, and a chainsaw. They were fixing the insane mess of branches, weeds and debris from their new yard. My heart lept, as I was genuinely thrilled to see that SOMEONE cared a stitch about the state of their dwelling.

I went over and told them how happy I was to see someone was taking care of that mess of a yard. The woman told me just what kind of state the previous tenants had left the house in (sharpie marker over every wall- apparently they had been none too happy to leave) and that it bugged her, so they were going to fix it up a bit. I apologized about our tree leaning right over into their yard and told them it would be fixed soon.

It was two hours later when we got a knock on the door. Fireworks family's mother asked us if it was ok that they propped our tree up. OK? I gasped in amazement. It was more than OK! Not only had they propped it up! They'd lobbed off all the branches that were cumbersome and ugly, nailed a 2x4 at a slant on the side to keep it afloat, and by gosh! It looked almost like a NORMAL TREE!

The effort that must have gone into that was staggering. Our entire yard looked clean and trimmed. I almost cried. Gave her a big hug and told her she would be seeing a large plate of cookies from us the next day.

As I closed the door, I felt properly guilty. I had been thinking such terrible things about these clearly wonderful and sweet people! I'm terribly glad I hadn't gotten up the nerve weeks ago and stormed out to yell. I'm so grateful my better side had taken control and kept me from squashing the lovely relationship we now have with our fireworks neighbors. The girls and I lovingly made them Rolo Cookies and delivered them with a big thank you note.

My faith in mankind restored, I ventured out to collect my trashcans this morning, and found them in the OTHER neighbor's (neighbor #1's) driveway filled to the brim with tree clippings. Apparently, annoying car-surplus-family had found the branches of their own tree getting in the way of their terminally parked cars and decided to rectify the situation this morning- a mere two hours after the garbage truck had come by.

Well, at least I like ONE of our neighbors!

My First Thoughts on Potter

2011-08-17T16:50:00.000-07:00

If you weren't aware, I'm reading the Harry Potter series for the first time. Stop by here first, if you're unfamiliar.

So I finished Book 1: The Sorcerer's Stone in about a day and a half. Picking it up, putting it back down again, reading like a patchwork in my day. I found myself always wanting to get back it it. I found the entire time the kids' napped was taken up with reading. And I won't lie, I did turn on an extra Bubble Guppies episode to sneak a bit more reading in.

First impressions- I enjoy the books. I do find myself "skimming" a bit when I feel like the story is lagging and I 'already know what's going to happen,' but mostly I am loving the details.

It gives more story just where I want more story to be. Even the little things like the prankster ghoul Peeves, reading each and every book on the required reading list for First Years. Eating it up with a fork. It's like looking at a folded map, gently opening the accordion to find more and more detail, more windy roads, more little peaks and valleys, more of the good stuff.

I'm also getting better acquainted with the secondary characters, people like the Weasley family. (the ones that aren't Ron, that is) And I love them. (The Weasleys especially) More bits of Neville and his constant frog-losing. Some of Harry's thoughts, like pining for the four poster bed with the curtains drawn. It's like getting an extra slice of cake at dessert.

I do "see" everything through a different eye. I'm seeing Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and my above-all favorite, Emma Watson. I'm hearing Alan Rickman's voice when Snape speaks. I'm sweeping through the Hogwarts Castle that Warner Brothers computers created. Is it cumbersome? I don't feel it is.

I am finding myself wanting to break out the DVD and watch it again, just to soak up more of the world of Potter... when the children won't behave like perfect child-statues and I cannot be absentee-mom behind a book. It's actually quite exhilarating.

So there, that is what I am thinking about it. If anyone was the least bit curious.

This morning, on my birthday

2011-08-17T09:36:00.000-07:00

I was awoken at 6am by a tap on my shoulder. You should know I'm no good to nobody before 7:30. I blearily opened my eyes to The Husband standing over the bed with a big McDonald's breakfast. (my favorite, hotcakes and sausage) He had set his alarm extra early to go fetch me breakfast before getting ready for work.

Gold stars for The Husband!

I was hardly hungry after being woken up so early, but I scarfed down breakfast in bed while watching Teen Mom. It was a good morning surprise, being my birthday and all. I do enjoy a good birthday surprise. I do not enjoy The Husband informing the girls (after singing me the Happy Birthday Song) that their Mommy is now "really old."

But now I am wicked tired. (yawn)

In other news, the Harry Potter books arrived a couple days ago and I have started Book 1: The Sorcerer's Stone. I've been using every excuse to scurry upstairs and read a few pages. I'll write about all that, plus more things about the house still not being sold, a stray kitty that I am actively trying not to adopt, and other such things keeping me from sleeping soundly later. Because dudes, I am so freaking sleepy!

Also, did you know I share a birthday with Pierre de Fermat; the patron saint of unfinished business? (Coincidence? I think not) As well as Davy Crockett, I don't really know what to think about that. Either way, interesting... or not.

I Wear Sweaters in Summer

2011-08-15T11:55:00.000-07:00

The highs have been consistently hanging around 105 or so. As I was getting ready to go yesterday, I was thumbing through all my summer tops. Meh. Eh. Er. Blahhhhh. I gave my hoodies a sideways glance- there they hung impotent and unused. Things look sad when they slump down on a hanger.

I knew I would be inside most of the day, and thus I decided to stage a protest. A protest of SUMMER!

I wore the sweater. It had front pockets, which I am obsessed with. Everybody looked at me like I was crazy. Crazy lady, ten o'clock! Sure, I ended up huddled next to the big air vent. But I did not complain. Because I could fold the sleeves around my hands, my flabby arm parts weren't a-flapping, and the front zipper just knows how to gloss over my post-twins-tummy-pooch.

IT WAS GLORIOUS.

Yet a bit... warm.

Summer! Take a hint! I am so over you. Time to move on.

Portraits of The Boy

2011-08-12T09:24:00.000-07:00

In repose:

The most elusive and rare of sights deserves an extra helping:

Especially if you knew that being strapped into a carseat is the least favorite pastime of The Boy. It was glorious to have a quiet drive for once.

The Boy, Naughty Climbing Edition:

If the iPod will not come to The Boy. The Boy will come to the iPod.

Upon hearing that climbing the shelves were unacceptable, a protest was mounted:

Another foray into inappropriate heights... and plasma tv destruction:

The coffee table had been strategically positioned to avoid this constant problem:

We will be seeking out alternative cabinet-locking mechanisms this morning. I am now prepared to drill into my favorite buffet/tv stand to bring the toddler-looting to an end.

The Boy and his favorite thing of all-time:

(the green carpet cleaner behind him) The Boy is a neat freak, constantly in search of a spot in the carpet for me to "fix." He is downright petrified of the whirring sound, so he watches from a safe distance until it is turned off. Then he insists on doing a second pass at the spot with the cleaner in the "off" position.

My dear adventurous boy, you scare the life out of me sometimes. You test the boundaries. You insist on exceptionally clean carpet.

I love you anyway.

Canine Insanity

2011-08-11T10:20:00.000-07:00

Can we take a minute to talk about the dogs? You would think actual human children would be the tough part in parenting? I disagree. It is having children along with dogs who are jealous beyond all reason... and vengeful... and possibly deranged.

That is the tricky part, my friends.

Let me tell you of some adventures with our cranky four legged residents.

So we rented this house not knowing it comes with a water softener. Due to the salt that "softens" the water or something, it is a bad idea to give the dogs tap water to drink. The outside hose water is fine, but our spigot is located in a rather unfortunate, anything-but-convenient location. So we replaced the dog's water bowl to reduce our treks to the hose. Judging by the dog's reaction, I have defiled all that is good and holy and brought Satan himself into our home:

That contraption, similar to any watercooler you'd find in office breakrooms around the world. It has my dogs locked in a battle of wills. They will either perish from dehydration or die of a heartattack due to extreme mental anguish.

Do you see the fear in Peaches' eyes?

It's blurry (she's also afraid of cameras... tv remotes... vacuums...) but I believe the unbridled fear and dread is palpable.

I believe the issue to be twofold: 1) it is bigger than her. 2) it bubbles. You know like watercoolers do? That special sound? Blub, blub... Peaches hits the wall. Seriously, she vaults herself as far as possible, without regard for what is in her path. Sometimes I just hear the Glug, glug... THUD, there goes Peaches again.

While our differently-psychotic dog, Scotty is much more covert about his anxiety, I have noticed him tip toeing up to it, body shaking, lapping as fast as possible, then backing away. Rule #1- never turn your back on a water bowl; You never know what they're capable of.

------

Yesterday. Oh, yesterday. I let the dogs inside from assumably going potty on the grass. It is t-minus 2 minutes until naptime, so I am a bit... frantic. Bunny has a fun new habit of refusing to go down for a nap. Like won't even walk upstairs. It's... precious.

As soon as Scotty hobbles in, I notice his visibly limping. Not just a slight limp; One of his front legs is tweaked up as high as it could go, and he's falling all over, unable to get stability on the slick floor. RED. FLAG.

But I can't deal with it right now, I have got to get the three cranky children TO NAPS forheavenssake! I hope he can "walk it off" by the time I return downstairs.

I wearily trudge down the stairs to find Scotty licking his paw, crying like a newborn, and shaking like a leaf. He won't let me near his paw, and I spend the whole of my blessed nap time trying to coerce the dog to just let me see it! About every hour he will give me five seconds to glance at the problem area before he gets hysterical and I cannot contain him in my lap. During one of these peeps, I find a long prickle and pry it out from in-between the pads of his paw.

At this point, I am thinking, "YAY! Problem solved!"

Except that for the next two hours he is still excessively limping and I am preparing myself for a gigantic vet bill... and dragging an injured dog plus three kids and a stroller into the vet. Rewind two months prior, where Peaches was acting super sick/odd and a $400 bill later- she is fine. Nothing appears to be wrong, she was even kept overnight for observation. NOTHING. FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS OF NOTHING.

I start texting my husband in panic. I cannot take much more of this! It's been a tough day anyway, and THE DOG! The dog is on his DEATHBED. I'm a little on edge from stress- a whole 'nother post entirely- and this is THE LAST STRAW.

I put him in his crate so he will quit flailing all over the house trying to get away from me. I retreat upstairs to fold some laundry and get away from the whole situation, then wake up the kids from naps (wince)

When I let the dogs out of the pen? Scotty walks ON ALL FOURS. Just a slight favoring of his problem leg, but still: weight on paw. Good sign.

He proceeds to be fine the rest of the night. headdesk.

Dog drama took up 50% of my day. The other 50? Bra shopping: the worst kind of shopping known to man. Dear heavens. Someone shoot me already.

The Stranger SIde of "Vintage"

2011-08-10T08:45:00.000-07:00

Did you know I keep a relic in my wallet? My library card from when I was seven.

My very first library card:

I remember my Dad taking my brother and I to the local library to get it. It all felt very official as the librarian (and my parents) made sure I was aware at just what a big responsibility book borrowing was. (I now quiver at the thought of my kids being responsible for books that I would have to pay for upon loss... or a complete thrashing.)

I even got to sign my name on the back:

Which was a big thing to a seven year old.

That was my "fancy script."

Each time I have to renew it, (It has fallen into disuse with the advent of the internet, my ability to buy my own books, and frankly my plan to upgrade to an iPad... when I become fabulously weathly one day) the librarian tries to sell me on a new card- like one from this decade. I refuse, and the librarian behind the desk always seems a little miffed... with a sprinkling of perplexed. I should try informing them that Dude! It's practically an ANTIQUE! Perhaps it should be in a library MUSEUM! Leave me be, librarians.

I like this little plastic reminder of my youth. Of all the books I would pour over, of the frantic book searches and subsequent library runs as we realized the inked due date was upon us. (I'm sure my Mom loved that special time) I just like to run my fingers along my seven year old handwriting, to remember who I was. The girl with huge peach colored glasses, crimped hair, and a big toothy smile. The girl who would climb the umbrella tree in the front yard. The girl who saved her allowance tucked in a big gold bangle bracelet. The girl who slept on My Little Pony Sheets, listening to her pet hamster, Lester running away on his squeaky exercise wheel all night. (yes, I named my hamster LESTER- I CAME UP WITH THAT NAME. I also had a parakeet named Capt. Nemo) She's also the girl who dreamed of becoming an astronaut, from watching the 80's phenomenon Space Camp on VHS- over and over again.

That girl is just a fading memory as I watch my girls grow and I get to catch glimmers of her in their bright blue eyes.