When You Have Blog Drought....

I found this one while cleaning out my draft file and simultaneously flipping through football games yesterday. I swore I'd posted this way back when, but well, I was suffering from severe sleep deprivation. Since I am woefully at a loss for good posting material, I'll take a cue from Aunt Becky and revisit the past.....

Has anyone ever regretted their child's name?

I am beginning to wonder about Elizabeth....it's so long, so many letters, and takes forever to roll off the tongue.

You can't easily make up songs in the middle of the night with it. It doesn't work with the Name Game song either.

You start to think you may have chosen a clunker when the grandparents start calling her by her middle name.

Elizabeth is a beautiful name, but is it really my kid's name?

How did we come up with our baby's name you ask?

It wasn't easy.

As you know we struggled with that issue throughout the pregnancy. I thought I would go with the first two names I came up with, Lorelei and Noah, but the husband despised those names. I would come up with one I thought was wonderful only to have husband nix it because he could make a stupid nickname with it or someone else down the family line already owned it. It was very frustrating. I, in turn, nixed most of his names because, well, they were just ugly AND he had the audacity to suggest Heather, thinking I would not remember the time when we first started dating and he drove the ten hours to the beach to visit me only to stop off in Richmond for a quickie with "his friend" Heather. Yeah, let's name her Heather.

One weekend as we were traveling to the lake, Derick and I spent the entire three hours going over the name book, both boy and girls, and Jacob piped up from the back seat that he wanted Jordan for a boy (absolutely not) and Elizabeth for a girl. The husband was so sick of rehashing the whole scene that he decided he loved the name Elizabeth and why hadn't we thought of it before (he agreed with me about Jordan, sorry Jordan lovers). I, ready to move on to boy names thinking it was much more relevant, said okay and that was that.

Fast forward a couple months and I am still searching for a boy name. I sat down with husband one night to rehash it and for whatever reason I decided I wasn't too keen on Elizabeth after all and that we should just completely start over and find something we absolutely loved without a doubt. Husband still expressed his love for Elizabeth but agreed to look at anything I came up with....ditto boy name. So, I narrowed my list to variations of these names:

Boy: Ethan, Samuel, Benjamin, Noah, Andrew, Peyton, Nathaniel
Girl: Rachel, Sarah, Paige, Bridget, Erinn, Whitney, Gwendolyn (Gwen)

And eventually went with Ethan Samuel and Rachel Erinn. Obviously husband didn't agree with me. After much discussion, we then agreed on Nathaniel Peyton (to be called Nate) and Laura Elizabeth (to be called Laura Beth). So we tried on those names for a few weeks and decided we didn't like those so much either because Nathaniel was taken by some cousins and friends and, well, it felt too creepy to call our child Laura everyday (although idiot husband told sister we were using that name and now she is mad at me for not using it, whole other story), so we were back to square one.

Two days before Elizabeth's birth husband came in while I was watching Letterman (do not disturb during top ten list, geez) and let me know that he just really felt in his heart that we were having a girl and that he continued to see the name Elizabeth all kinds of places, like the news and The View and to him it was a sign that it was to be her name, so I agreed I would think about it but I still wanted to pack the name list in my bag and wait to see what she (or he) looked like. I did find it strange, though, when I woke up from what little sleep I got the morning of the birth and the song "Beth" by Kiss was tooling around my brain. Have you ever had that happen? What was even creepier, was that the same song came on the radio halfway to the hospital. Cue The Twillight Zone music please.

But anyway, after she was born and I got a good look at her, I felt she was a Rachel. Husband swore she was an Elizabeth. So, just like her brothers before her, she went nameless her first day of life, although unbeknownst to me, husband had already told everyone at work and church that her name was Elizabeth Laura.....gee thanks for letting me have some input dude. Of course, the next day was Friday and the birth registry lady came through to finish the birth certificate papers and she needed a name by 4 p.m. because, of course, she wasn't working over the weekend. I was still holding out for Rachel and he was still holding out for Elizabeth. It was a struggle of wills, I tell you, and I still think that after being cut open three times that I should have hand in that situation, but in the end we decided to go with our trusty formula used the other two times. We just put our choices together. The reason Elizabeth won out as the first name is because Adam won out as the first name last time, which was my choice and that's how we came up with our only daughter's name.

I guess it's too late to change it once the announcements have gone out right?

So there you have it, Elizabeth. When you're a teenager and want to change your name to Soleil or something equally "cool". You have proof that Elizabeth was NOT my idea so you can quit rolling your eyes at me.

Christmas Card Fiasco 2008

Or why Mommy isn't mailing cards this year.

Martha Stewart I Am Not

Well, we got rid of the fleas finally.

The mother-in-law, not so much.

She arrived two days later than planned due to a train derailment that delayed her connection. My husband even looked at me funny when he heard that news and I assure you all, I DID NOT have anything to do with that. I did look at him funny when he informed me that his mother would not be smoking while she was here because she'd told him she'd quit months ago. Weird, but the weekly letters she mails stink up our mailbox. Maybe it's the postman? But she's his MOM, she would never lie to him!

She was here a whole hour before she approached ME, away from HIM, to beg pitifully and pull the sick old woman card ask if she could smoke because how dare I assume she could go so long without one? The husband grinned at me beside his grill through the kitchen windows and I figured they'd concocted that one.

"I don't care if you smoke, Mom, but you need to ask Andria because her head will spin and she will rake my privates over these coals if I say it's okay. Make her feel like shit about it. Go ahead."

And that's when I started calculating just how much I'd have to make to afford this mortgage all on my own. And, well, I can't.

So I smiled, told her how I felt about my kids and secondhand smoke, told her I really didn't want her too, but if she really had to, we had a patio. And a park across the street. And I left it at that while my blood boiled.

That's how Martha Stewart would've handled it. Right?

And WOW, that was the first time I'd seen the monster-in-law smile since she walked through our doors. Oh, the joy over slowly feeding us nicotine and tar! So she went outside to smoke. And I swear, my husband's head started to spin.

"But Mom, you said you'd quit. You said you wouldn't smoke AT ALL. You swore this would not be an issue. Where did those cigarettes come from? Did you just buy them or did you BRING THEM WITH YOU?"

Because, duh, she totally brought them with her. Because, you know, she doesn't smoke anymore. You're the one who fell for that one, man.

Tell her NO! NO, you won't allow our children to be exposed to the carcinogens! Tell her she can stay at a motel if she insists on smoking! She LIED to you! You're not going to put up with that are you????

But no, she's smoking on the porch. And lucky me, because I can't tolerate the smell of smoke, she's been very kind to cover it up with three different scents of perfume. I know it's just coincidental that two of them trigger migraines for me, but surely she can't remember that little conversation we had when she bought the crap last year.

After two solid days of the migraine from hell, the husband did finally ask her to lay off the drugstore cologne, but it's too late. It's in our furniture, our carpet, Adam's room and his closet full of clothes. I found an old bottle of Fe*reeze in the garage and that has helped, but now when you open the door instead of that lovely new house smell, you're hit with White Diamonds Avec Smoky Air Freshener and you swear you're at the bingo hall down the street.

Martha Stewart probably wouldn't tell her guest to quit their perfume would she?

What burns me the most, though, is that EVERY time she wants to smoke she shuffles right on over to ME, right in front of her perfect son, and looks me right in the eye and asks me if it's okay if she has a cigarette. And she always adds how she's gone as long as she possibly can without one and she wouldn't ask if she weren't about to be sick without it. And it's always up to me. Isn't that polite and considerate? Her son looks at me as if to say, "I dare you. I dare you to tell MY MOTHER that she can't do something that she so obviously needs to do. Go ahead. Let me watch you try." To which I have to reply, "Sure, L, go right ahead. Would you like to snuff it out in my open hand when you're done, too? And everyone smiles and everyone's happy and life is good again in our home sweet home.

Until last night when she went out at 1 a.m. setting off the alarm and my husband thought we were being burglarized.

She can thank me later for keeping the husband from getting his gun.

And for being considerate and polite about her feelings and not shoving that lighter up her ass for waking us all up like that. How nice it was for her to be able to go right to sleep after that while I was up until 5 a.m. with my adrenaline pumping and getting kids back to sleep.

But, you know, I'm a bad hostess for not indulging my guest's addiction to cigarettes. I should be more tolerant and accepting and truly understand her need to light up twenty times a day, because, you know, I've never walked a mile in her shoes, yada, yada, yada. Nevermind that she totally LIED about her freaking cigarette addiction before she got here. Nevermind that she agreed without hesitation to NOT. SMOKE. AT. ALL.

Yeah, I am no Martha Stewart. I'm not that nice.

But the fleas are gone. So, YEAH!

Haley

We had a dog when I was growing up. An old black mutt that just showed up one Sunday morning while I was in second grade. My parents were not going to keep that dog, no way, no how, but three weeks later my mom was making sure it had water every morning. Two weeks after that she picked up a bag of food to add to that. Somewhere down the line a flea collar was purchased "only because we don't want fleas near our house". We were told not to name her because she was not our dog, but when we took her to the vet two years later for vaccinations, "just in case", my mom said she was Baby, because we always called her Baby.

Baby was there when Granny died. She eased the transition from Texas to West Virginia. She weathered many a sad high school break up with me. She was always the first to greet me when I returned from college. I loved that dog.

One winter day when I was in graduate school, I returned from work to see my mom sitting in her car in my apartment parking lot. I knew why she was there before she ever made it out of the car. Baby got sick. She could no longer walk. She cried a lot. My parents couldn't watch her suffer anymore so they they put her down. My mom drove three hours immediately to me, my dad drove four hours immediately to my sister. They didn't want to tell us over the phone. My mom and I cried for two days straight. I am guessing my sister and my dad did too.

Going home after that was strange. No wagging tail to great me at the car door. No lumpy dog to sit under my feet. No one to sneak food to under the table. We talked about another dog, but no one was ready for that. We already had the best dog ever, how in the world could we love another one like that?

But we'd never had a cat. We never loved a cat before. Maybe that would be good. But the parents were againstit. They never wanted another animal again. They just die and make you cry and you can't go on vacation on a whim! No, no animals!

So on a rare day off, I had nothing to do, no friends in my college town for the summer, so I spent ten minutes thinking that I really needed a cat for company and found the animal shelter in Morgantown and went looking for a sweet, yellow cat.

I found one too. So pretty, that cat. I wanted that yellow cat.

But the volunteer was crying. Sobbing, actually. She wanted me to look at a different cat. Plllleeeaassseee would I look at this other cat? The other cat she was taking to the back room? The other cat who would be put to sleep in forty minutes that the volunteer couldn't take home with her because her husband was already mad about the twelve other cats she'd taken home with her?

Ten minutes later I was driving down the road with a kitten clinging to my neck. Because, you know, I'd never had a cat before and didn't know she could just climb right out of that cardboard box I'd brought.

On June 1, 1993, I brought Haley home. She was not yellow. She was not sweet. She was black. She was tiny. She never meowed. She never purred. She would jump out from under the bed and bite my ankles. She nipped at my ears while I slept. She erased messages from my answering machine and killed the fish in the fish tank. But she had the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen. And she was always waiting for me at the door when I came home. I liked that.

When I moved to Virginia to start "My Life", I lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets, so I left her with my parents until I could buy a house and bring her home. Nine months later, my parents brought her to me as promised, but I sent her back after seeing how attached she was to them. She was sweet to them. For two people who'd complained incessantly about being saddled with a cat, they seemed pretty happy to be going back with her.

So a few months later I got my own cat. My parents were enjoying "their" cat. After years of being dog people, we were suddenly cat people.

But as animals always do, they age. They get old. Haley did too. She lost some weight. Her bones became brittle. Her hair became matted because she was too tired to clean it. She got picky with her food. She didn't run from the kids anymore because she could barely hear them. But she was still Haley. Her green eyes still sparkled. She still ran to the door when I came, just a little slower. She was okay.

But she really wasn't.

Haley died two days ago.

We don't know if something was wrong with her or if she just got old.

I am voting for old because my parents feel bad enough about it already.

Either way, she lived fifteen more years than she would have if I hadn't been bored and impulsive one summer afternoon.

She was a sweet cat.

FYI

If you own a dog and are currently paying $240 bucks a year for monthly flea pills, just know that flea pills DO NOT kill or prevent fleas. That cute little puppy at the summer camp is liar! I know this is fact because A. We have fleas. and B. A call to the vet confirmed that it's not completely effective if you do things like take your dog outside. Seriously.

Me: "I think my animals have fleas and I'm wondering how that's possible since he's been taking a flea pill for, oh, about five years now."
Vet Tech: "Does Ezra go outside?"
Me: "Uh, yeah. Sometimes."
Vet Tech: "Is he walked?"
Me: "Uh, yeah. Sometimes."
Vet Tech: "Then you run the risk of him getting some fleas."
Me: "But he's taking that flea pill that was recommended for him."
Vet Tech: "uh-huh"
Me: "Shouldn't he NOT have fleas?"
Vet Tech: "Well.....Does he go outside?"
Me: "Yeah"
Vet Tech: "Then that's where he got the fleas."

WTF?

I'm still waiting for her to call me back with the information about the so-called miracle pill that will rid my dog AND my cat of this foulness because did you also know that flea powders, flea shampoos, and flea collars sold at the big red store of goodness do not work. Oh no. I'd just be wasting my money on those things. They need a pill. Because, you know, those pills worked so well for them before.

Fleas and smoke.

I might as well just live in a damn barn.

November Fun

I remember Election Night 2000. I was pregnant with Jacob. We had Hooters for dinner because all I could eat until Christmas that year was hot wings. Then I spent the rest of the night monitoring contractions thus beginning my odyssey into pre-term labor. Fun.

On Election Night 2004, I was pregnant with Adam. Jacob had his first hot dog for dinner that night. Two hours later we all met the hot dog again on his sheets, his floor, his wall. More fun times.

On Election Night 2008, I was home alone with three kids who had maneuvered themselves into the pantry and on top of the highest shelf to feed themselves Halloween candy while I was sprawled out on the cool, cool tile of the bathroom floor puking every fifteen minutes.

Election Night does not agree with me, apparently.

In fact, I did not even know who won until I woke up this morning.

And I guess I could write an entire soliliquy about the entire event, but you can find all kinds of takes on it all over the web today, and plus I have bigger things on my mind today.

My mother-in-law is coming tomorrow.

She arranged her trip, paid her money, hopped on a train, all without running it by us first. Well, at least that's the husband's story and he's sticking to it.

She left a series of strange voice mails detailing her trip arrangements while we were at the lake a couple weeks ago. When she knew we'd be at the lake. When she knew we wouldn't get her calls. When she could just do whatever and we could just accept it because she couldn't get her money back. She'll be here tomorrow and she's staying until November 23. Or maybe the the 15th. It changes everytime she calls. Which is a lot. I do love Caller Id.

In case you missed last year's installment, my mother-in-law hates me. Well, all my in-laws do, but she's the only who thinks it's her God given right to show up here whenever she pleases. I have no idea why she comes. She spends the first half-hour acting like she loves the kids but when times up she sets about her "vacation" which is too park herself at the table with our telephone and call everyone she knows every single day to let them know "Can you believe she br*astfeeds that baby?", "She cooks the strangest meals, all I want is a pot of beans. I'd give anything for a pot of beans.", and my all time favorite, "They are beautiful children. Thank goodness they all look like Derick."

But you know the biggest reason I dread her visits?

She smokes. Oh, sure, sure, she'll smoke on the patio. She'll give me the evil eye while she's doing it, but she'll go out to the patio because the husband lets her know just how much I hate it. Never mind that he hates it too, it's really just my problem because then he'd have to disagree with his mom about something and we can't have that can we? What a monster I am to want to shield my children from all that tar and nicotine that could potentially give them cancer one day! So, yeah, she'll smoke her pack and a half a day outside, but when she comes back in she reeks. And her clothes reek. And then my furniture reeks. And then my daughter's room will stink because all her stuff stinks.

You know what I love? When I walk into my house it still has that new house smell. I've never had new house smell before. I love me some new house smell. I'll be trading new house smell for sleazy bar smell in just a matter of days. My heart is breaking.

Another November. Another eventful election. Another Mother-in-law visit.

Is it over yet?

Halloween Fun

How was your Halloween? Good?

We had a nice time. It was a beautiful day, all day.

We finally fixed our pumpkin. The lazy way.


We had a picnic lunch.



And then Adam camped out on the bathroom floor for a while between pukes.

There's not much sadder than a kid vomiting in a festive costume.

Poor kid. He always gets the short end of the stick. Middle child AND sick on Halloween.

I am sure the right thing to do there would've been to cancel Halloween and replaced it with some other fun activity like, say, sipping mugs of chicken soup, but you try telling your candy-deprived, costume-clad youngsters that trick-or-treat is over.

And he seemed better.

So we went anyway.



Good thing I was swayed to buy that extra costume. Optimus Prime became Bumblebee, a new sort of Transformer I guess, and we were on our way.



We circled our side of the neighborhood. We got tons and tons of really good candy. There were 100 Grands. And Butterfingers. And lots and lots of Snickers bars. No crappy candy here.



Elizabeth was in heaven. Slobbery, sticky, heaven.

And we met a lot of the neighbors. Nice people.



And all was right with the world.

Until right about the time Daylight Savings Time ended.

Adam was suddenly sick again. More vomit. High fever.

And he's still sick.

And now I'm sick. And the husband is flying out of town tomorrow morning. Joy.

And we spread our joy throughout the entire neighborhood.

Sssshhh. Don't tell anyone it was us.

House Selling Saga Part Two

So we FINALLY sold that old house.

I thought, initially, that it would be easy to sell. It was completely updated, in great, move-in shape, and priced at the very low end of comparables for our neighborhood. Yeah, it was a crappy neighborhood to me, but tons of people live there and seem to like it so surely some saps would fall in love with it instantly.

So we bought the new house and started paying two mortgages.

And we kept paying two mortgages.

Yeah, maybe it was the housing market. Could've been the mortgage companies. Might have been the lookers didn't like what they saw, you know, if they actually saw the house.

Because, really, I think it was the realtor. And here's the story:

Back in April before we'd even decided to buy and sell, I got an email from a semi-sorta friend who was just starting out in the real estate business. And by semi-sorta I mean the wife of the husband's co-worker who sent me mass evites and emails to come purchase baskets, candles, stamps, and even electricity each month. We went to the same college and sometimes I'd see her at the alumni functions, but my kids seemed to make her nervous, so we never got together any other time. And yes, writing this, I realize she was just another face in the crowd, but we went to the same college! And we live far away! That makes us friends, right? Sorta?

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, well, back in April I got another mass email. She was trying to sell her own house and not having much luck (can we say WAY over-priced?)and was wondering if any of her "friends" were on the house hunt and, of course, if you knew anyone who needed a realtor she was available. I know. I should have pressed delete but instead wrote her a complete saga about how we'd found a house we loved that we couldn't afford and, really, couldn't afford what we liked so we were staying put. To which she instantly replied inquiring about our needs, wants, and price range, and, of course, I instantly answered. And we played a little game of email tag where she'd send me links to homes in our price range and I'd tell her again how we weren't interested but thanks anyway and eventually they tapered off to nothing.

And then we drove by this house.

And decided to buy it.

And then I got another link to an okay home in the neighborhood across the street. And I didn't delete that one either. I shot back another saga about how, WOW, we can afford that awesome house after all and we'll be signing the papers TOMORROW, thanks a lot, but we're good.

And then I started getting frantic emails about how we shouldn't sign anything without her. We need to be represented by a realtor. Do we need her to call an inspector? Since the emails contained CAPITAL LETTERS and words like, OH MY G*D, I HOPE IT'S NOT TOO LATE!, I forwarded them to the husband who told me that part of the reason we were getting the house cheaper was because we weren't using the builder's realtor and, yeah, she could represent us, but then we'd be paying her about 12,000 bucks for sitting in a meeting with us. So we signed the papers without her and pretended I didn't get the email until a few days later. By then she'd worked up all the comparable lists on both homes and had the email equivalent of the Amway man's foot wedged into my front door jamb. Let me show you this.

Well, to make this long story as short as I can, Because I am such a stupid idiot nice person, I convinced the husband that we should use semi-friend to sell our house because if either of us were in the same situation, we would want someone to do the same for us. Plus, I figured, if she only had ONE home to sell, she could really work to sell that ONE home. That, and the realtor he wanted to use once lived three doors up and never spoke one word to me, yet when she came to our house she acted like we'd been dear friends even commenting on how she couldn't believe how much Jacob had grown since she'd seen him last. And they moved before I was ever pregnant. Wow.

So Semi-friend brings her boss over to check the house and we like him immediately, kinda a grandfatherly type who at one point balanced both littles on his lap while dodging attempts at a lip balm makeover. Sold. We'll take him.

So Semi-Now Realtor-Friend makes a date to come sign the contracts and take pictures and when said time arrives, her boss came instead. Something came up for Semi but he didn't have a problem taking care of it. Okay. Whatever.

So now our house is on the market. We've moved to new house. Let the buyers line up!

Semi holds an open house. Five families showed. All of them our nibby neighbors. She couldn't figure out why no one came. Couldn't have been the fact that she didn't advertise it on the MLS site or only put a sign in the front yard. We lived at the end of a cul-de-sac, how was anyone BUT the neighbors supposed to know about it? But we were nice, gave her some tips about signs and the internet and waited for the next open house.

But Semi didn't show up for the open house. Her boss did. Seems Semi went on vacation. Might've been nice if she'd given us a little heads up about that. But it was all good. The boss put out street signs and an ad in the newspaper. More lookers, but no takers.

When the friend returned from vacation she called to let us know that we had an offer on the house (didn't pan out). We were shocked because we never even knew it was being shown. We really expected a heads up each time she (or another realtor) showed it. Maybe she figured she didn't have to call because we weren't living there, but still. She could've just emailed me. That always worked before.

The next week it was posted at husband's work that Semi's husband had taken a transfer to Ohio effective the end of June. It was, like, June 18.

A few phone messages and emails later, my husband finally contacts her and very nicely gives her an out on the deal by telling her we would just let Boss-man handle everything and didn't even add the part about how he was pretty much already doing that anyway. She seemed offended. We didn't have to worry. She wasn't going to Ohio until at least September. She had to sell her house. And see all the friends she was going to miss. Okay.

Then husband went to her husband's farewell party where they announced that they'd be having another baby. In December. Uh-huh. So he approaches her to congratulate her and ask how she's doing and, of course, she's sick as a dog and SO tired, and he, again, gives her an out, and she assures him she'll sell that house soon. She was going to go with her husband to Ohio for a week to look at houses, but she'd be back and we'd meet and strategize the sale then. Okay.

That was the last time we ever heard from our Semi-Sorta Realtor.

The next week I went back to old house for more stuff and noticed her name had been removed from the For Sale sign. The husband thought maybe the neighborhood kids had stolen it, but I knew. Her boss would tell us every time we asked that she was still working on our house just "behind the scenes". Supposedly she came back in late August to pack up her own home and Boss-man asked if we were able to get together with them before they left and seemed a tad confused when we told him we hadn't spoken to her since June.

I still can't believe she did that.

Once she found out she was leaving town she was done with us. Totally blew us off personally and professionally. I don't even get the mass emails anymore.

I really did like her boss. I'd use him again. In fact, we might even have him over for dinner one day. My kids miss him. He's a good guy. I sure hope he kept the entire commission.

So the lesson for today children:

Don't do business with your friends. Even your sorta-kinda friends. It's more hassle than it's worth.

One Week Ago....

Elizabeth was eighteen months old.

A year a half old, she is. Amazing. Wasn't it just Adam who was eighteen months?

Dear Elizabeth,

I can still remember this day. It doesn't seem that long ago. I still feel a wee bit giddy when I buy a pretty dress or lacy socks. Will that ever get old?

I pulled your baby book out of the waterproof hurricane container and I almost cried when I realized I hadn't kept it up as well as I should have. I know you have more than six teeth and you had a first word. Just don't ask me what day they came. Or what the word was. It was kitty wasn't it? Adam maybe? I know since you are a girl you will want these milestones recorded and I'll try to do better from here but the fact remains that Jacob has an extensive chronicle of his baby/toddler/child days because he came first. There are advantages to being the baby. This just isn't one of them.

You are talking more. In fact, you talk a lot, we just don't understand most of what you say. It sounds a lot like babble, but there's an inflection to it that makes me think it's words you have either made up or just can't pronounce yet, either way it's very cute. Your words we do know are: Mama, Daddy, Adam (Am), Brother (brub), Ezra (e-ra), kitty, NO, baby, snack (nack) and Star Wars. Seriously. We sat down to watch the new cartoon a couple weeks ago and as soon as it started you pointed to the screen and said "Star Wars". And I don't want to forget that this past week you always say it twice, "Star Wars, Star Wars". It is really sweet, but Gammy doesn't like that she rates after your brother's latest obsession in your language acquistion.

You are a picky eater. If it doesn't contain sugar, you don't like it. You still eat baby food, you love baby food, and it's really the only way I can get a vegetable down you. You do love green peas, though. Can't get enough of those. Or bananas. Or the H*rmel Natural Honey Ham. Only that brand and that kind. How dare anyone try to sneak cheap turkey in on you. You also love cereal, all kinds of cereal. You figured out how to pull off the door knob covers and I spend a good portion of our day dragging you out of the pantry and sweeping various kinds of sugary goodness from the floor.

You are still teeny, but you're getting taller, about thirty inches now. You can wear your six month dresses, but they are awfully short so you are wearing mostly twelve month things now. With size two diapers. Size three just falls right off of you. You still face backwards in the car seat because you weigh only eighteen pounds. You don't mind it much, though, because you can see the boys better this way.

You think you are one of the boys. If they ride bikes, so must you. If your legs were longer, I know you'd just take off on Adam's little bike, but now you just scream as loud as you can and one of those boys will come running to push you and it makes you so happy. Ditto for the backyard swing. And the wagon. You love your brothers and greet them every morning with a kiss. Sure they gross out and wipe it off, but they really love it. You were smart to come last and have two big brothers to take care of you. I don't think you'll have to worry about anybody ever messing with you. Of course the dating years may be rough.

So you are eighteen months today (okay, last week). I promise I'll try to do better with the baby books. Maybe your two year post will occur on your actual birthday. Just know that we are still just as thrilled as we were a year and a half ago, Sweet Goosey Princess, and I know that will never get old.

Three Little Pumpkins Sitting on a Log Drove Their Mama Crazy.... Something, Something

How I love the pumpkin patch!

So what that it's really more of a small church yard than an actual patch. I love me some pictures of my children amidst all that beautiful orangeness.

Everybody sit still and look at the camera....


Can you smile for Mommy?


Okay, that's not the spectacular picture I was looking for bad.....


Maybe if we look around some and change locations. Yeah, that'll work!

Where are you going, Baby?


Okay, this looks like a good spot.

Sit your ass down and look at the fricking camera already Look at Mommy! No one's going on the fancy tractor until you look. at. Mommy.


Where'd the girl go?


Okay, we'll get an orange pumpkin picture on a blue tractor. Whatever.
Quit fighting. Everyone will get a chance to drive. Just look. At. MOMMY!


*SIGH*

Why are you playing on the Hurricane Ike stump? There are pumpkins here.
PUMPKINS!
Whatever. Just give me a minute while I hoist you all on that huge liabilty to take a fricking picture already.

What?? The stump was FUN! Why aren't you smiling???

Do they sell beer here? Whiskey shots?


Valium?


Oh, how I hate the pumpkin patch.

House Selling Saga Part 1.5

Finally!

Although we had to wait an hour and were almost killed in rush hour traffic getting there, it's done. Old house doesn't belong to us anymore. It would be sad if it weren't such a relief to never set foot in that neighborhood again.

I took the oldest and the youngest by on the way to say good-bye. I thought I'd be more torn up about it, but it wasn't so bad. We took some pictures:







We pulled some limbs off the hibiscus bush we planted while Jacob was in the NICU. We plucked all the oranges we could reach. We played chase through the empty rooms. We said a little prayer for our good old house hoping the new owners treat her well and are blessed as much as we were there. Even if they are a tad on the bitchy side.

Oh, and yesterday they were all up in arms because NONE of the faucets were working. They would need ALL new faucets! Until our realtor informed them the water had been turned off last week. Like we told them it would be. Like, last week. Morons. Poor house. I feel bad for her.

I know I'll want to post more about it later, but for now, I'm closing up the computer, taking my kid out of school, and heading to the lake for a mini-vacation.

House Selling Saga Part 1

It appears our neverending house selling saga may soon be over...

We're supposed to be at the title company DOWNTOWN at 4 tomorrow afternoon. That is if they don't reschedule. Again.

Our first closing was scheduled for September 18, but when Ike blew through they wanted an extension to have the roof checked out. Of course, the roofers have been plenty busy so it took some time to get one to come out, but he did, found the roof in excellent condition and the closing was then set for September 30.

The second closing came and suddenly the buyers decided they really, really loved those solar screens that blew away in the hurricane. The same solar screens they hated just three weeks before so they could not, no, would not, close on September 30. They would reschedule when new screens were installed.

Now, we signed a contract on September 7 after haggling over a low ball deal and finally getting the price back up to asking if we kicked in 3,000 in closing costs. We didn't want to pay someone to take our house, but we know the reality that is the housing market and decided it was something we needed to do. We'll still turn a profit. Barely. The buyers also wanted us to close on the 12th, yes five days later, so they added the "as is" clause into the contract stating they would take that house "as is" and take care of any needed repairs themselves. They weren't even going to get an inspector. They needed that house. Right. Then.

But two days later I got a phone call from my realtor wanting to know where the magnet was to open the child lock under the sink because the inspector couldn't finish his work without it.

HUH?

So dumb ass inspector reports that the brand new air conditioner isn't functioning and the garbage disposal was broken and the kitchen faucet leaked a little bit. I think that's pretty good for an eighteen year old house especially considering the air conditioner and garbage disposal AREN'T broken. Seems trusty inspector dude stayed all of ten minutes and didn't allow our 85 degree set thermostat to cool down AND he didn't turn the garbage disposal switch on. So, guess what? We had to pay a hundred bucks for an AC technician to spend five minutes determining our furnace was in working order. Then we got a phone call that the buyers wanted a new disposal so the husband had to drive over and show the big doofuses how to work a light switch and while he was there he fixed the faucet and replaced some wood that was semi-sorta-if you squint you might see it- rotting under the sink.

So much for as-is.

Okay now. Let's sell this thing!

Third closing scheduled for October 2.

Oh, but hold up a second. As-is buyers decided they really, really needed a fancy-schmancy new faucet. You know, since the previous one leaked before it might do it again and, oh no, they couldn't have that because obviously they have never seen an episode of House Hunters or Property Virgins. If they had they'd realize that they're getting an eighteen year old house with new tile floor, new carpet, brand new heating/AC, free of termites and mold, and it's so effing clean you could feed your children off the floors, you're kinda stupid to be bitching about how ugly the kitchen faucet is. Especially with that capital lettered AS-IS clause they added.

We're GIVING them 3,000 bucks and it's still not enough?

If we were selling this home five years ago we would have told them to take a hike, but it's now and we don't want to pay another mortgage payment on the fifteenth, so the husband offered to refund their hundred dollar option fee to cover their "faucet expenses". Bah.

Fourth closing scheduled for October 7.

My mom came to town on the 6th to watch the kiddies while we went to the closing.

On the 7th they rescheduled for the 8th. Something about not having the buyer's proof of employment. Never mind that they were preapproved for a loan and we have a sheet of paper attached to the contract stating so. Ya think maybe this might be why all the mortgage companies are in such a bind???

On the 8th we started to head DOWNTOWN when we got a call an hour before telling us they still weren't ready. The lender hadn't sent in all the required documents to the title company. Maybe tomorrow Tara at the title company said.

Nope. Didn't happen on the 9th either. The 10th for sure. Tara assured us.

Uh, no. Tara isn't to be believed. Her word means nothing.

My mom went back home and backed away with my middle child mumbling something about how we'll never sell that home, those people won't be able to get a loan, ya'll are so damn screwed. But not just like that because she doesn't swear. Or say screwed.

Tara called at noon today. She wants to see us at 4 tomorrow. Two hours after the buyers because she probably assumed we would want to kick their asses if we were in the same room. She assures us it's a go this time. Supposedly all the paper work is in. Apparently as-is buyers DO have jobs and an income. Yippee.

Then my realtor called to see if I'd gotten her message and let me know that ASSHOLE is "still fussing about that faucet".

I think for 3,000 bucks I reserve the right to show him exactly where to shove his fancy faucet.

So maybe we'll sell our house tomorrow. I am sad knowing I'll never set foot in the house I brought my children home in, where we've watched them come and grow for the past sevenish years. Maybe I'll start a sappy I-miss-my-house post later, but right now, I am just wanting to get past this.

I hated that neighborhood. I am so glad we don't live there anymore. We just didn't fit there.

But I am thinking these new people will fit right on in.



Coming soon, part two or, Why you never, ever hire a friend to be your real estate agent.

People in Your Neighborhood

Jacob went out for the afternoon with his Gammy. They went shopping for new school shoes and are having a quiet dinner at his favorite restaurant, Olive Garden.

I am currently watching three children, not my own, playing in our backyard. Three kids came to the door about an hour ago looking for Jacob. I told them that when they saw the other car in our driveway he would be home and they could play then. So they left. Ten minutes later they rang the bell again and asked if they could just wait for him because they didn't want to miss him. They are planning all the fun things they are going to play when he gets here. They're excited.

Eight miles away the doorbell never rang. The neighborhood kids didn't want to play with my kid. They liked to laugh at him and try to fight him at three years old, but never did anyone come over to play with him.

I'm guessing I probably should've insisted the kids head home until Jacob returned but I was just so happy that my kid has kids who actually LIKE him I didn't really know what to do. They peek in here now and then and wonder if he's back. They need to tell him about some new Star Wars toy and the new Bakugan they got. What the hell is Bakugan? Should I even let my kid play that? Am I supposed to be outside watching them (I can see them from the living room windows) because I really have things I need to do in the house. I didn't figure on baby-sitting today.

I'm hoping Jacob gets here soon. I know he will be so thrilled that he has not one, but three friends waiting on him. It's new territory for him.

And for me too.

Anyone have a book on neighborhood playmate etiquette I can borrow?

And why does this song keep going around in my mind?

Six Things

Dana tagged me to tell six things about myself so here goes:

1. I was once engaged to someone other than my husband. I may erase this one soon because I don't think the husband is aware of this fact. I met this other guy in high school and dated him briefly then, but the majority of our relationship occured off and one while I was in college. He would profess his undying love for me and how he could not live without me and then, BAM, within three months he would be with this other girl. Always the same other girl. I would swear upon all that was holy that I would never speak to him and then he'd show up with some sort of sob story and a repeat of the undying love and I'd fall for it everytime. I was young and stupid. If he hadn't knocked up other girl and ran away to the Marine Corps to escape it all, I have no idea where I'd have ended up. His mother broke up with me for him, in tears because they loved me so much. I still wonder if I stayed with him because of them. They have since died. We were to have been married December 10, 1994. I want something great to happen on that day so I can stop remembering it every time it rolls around. I am indebted to other girl because if it weren't for her and her obvious attempt to trap him into marrying her, my life might have been very different and I don't think I would have been very happy.

2. I will eat anything that has blue cheese in it. Blue cheese is the bomb. When I go to a new restaurant I always scan the menu to see if any of the entrees or appetizers contain it. At one time Bennigans had tons of things with blue cheese and I must have eaten there three times a week until I got pregnant with Elizabeth. I will only, though, eat the Ultimate Blue Cheese Dressing that is sold with the salad veggies. All of the rest suck.

3. I have been phasing in The Feingold Diet for a few months now. If you haven't heard of it, it's eating food that does not contain artificial colors, dyes, and preservatives. You'd think it would be easy, but it's harder than you think. You can read the labels, but depending on the amount, sometimes the artificial things aren't listed. Or an ingredient in the food happens to have an artificial ingredient in it. The Feingold people will send you book with all the foods they have researched to be "pure", but it costs 85 bucks and I don't have an extra 85 bucks when groceries cost the way they do. I started this after learning about it at the ADHD support group. Apparently dyes and preservatives are linked to behavioral problems. Jacob's breakfasts and lunches are entirely Feingold acceptable and there has been a difference at school this year, so who knows? I am sticking with it because I don't think my little kids need so many chemicals in them. I don't know if we will ever be fully preservative free because it's very expensive to buy everything on the list. That and we like junk food a lot.

4. I LOVE the movie Sound of Music and I only just saw it for the first time in May. Julie Andrews rocks, man.

5. We had not agreed on a name before Elizabeth was born. I wanted Rachel or Erin (or better yet, Rachel Erin) and Derick was sold on Elizabeth which Jacob came up with from a Thomas car he had. On the drive to the hospital at 4:30 a.m., I was going to push Rachel when the song "Beth" by Kiss came on the radio. I took that as a sign that she would be a girl and her name should be Elizabeth. Hormones are a bitch. I still sometimes wish she'd been a Rachel. Sshh, never tell her.

6. My college roommate died of breast cancer in 1999. She was 27. I have been pen pals with her mother ever since I mailed a sympathy card way back then. We exchange letters about once a month. I send pictures of my kids and she mails them gifts on their birthdays, Christmas, and Halloween. I have not spoken with her on the phone or in person in nine years, but she considers my kids her other grandkids and their pictures claim a spot on their baby grand and my kids think she's their other grandma. I kind of feel like my friend led me to her because we have both been a big help to each other a different times in our lives.

You can play. Tell six things about yourself and then drop me a comment so I can go over and read yours too.

Tuesday Tidbits

I'm home today waiting on the cable fix-it dude. More channels bite the dust everyday. We are now down to the Spanish-speaking ones and some local channel that carries all the trashy talk shows and hours of Cheaters. All I have to say is he better fix that DVR WITHOUT erasing Cars because all hell will break loose if we do not have at least one daily viewing of Cars.

We are not closing on the house today. Nice of them to let us know. TODAY. Apparently we owe them some solar screens, some kind of natural disaster clause. Funny, but one of their biggest concerns was getting rid of the solar screens four weeks ago because they made the house too dark. Sudden change of heart or trying to take advantage of poor people in a poor home market? You decide. I just know for that, I WILL be taking my three kids to the eventual closing making your first home-buying experience your new birth-control.

Jacob is doing very well in school this year. Thank you for asking. His teacher is very nice. Quiet, sweet, smiling, yet she expects the best. Each week a different child is given the Christian Character award and given a trophy to keep on their desk until passing it to the next child. Guess who got it the second week of school? He never did get it last year. He was so proud of himself. He's done ten extra credit book reports and he's finished his scripture recitation through November. He's gotten a few demerits for talking but the teacher always gives me a thumbs up when I pick him up. I had a conference with her early on to let her know about some of the bullying he endured last year and she assured me she'd keep on top of it. So far she hasn't seen any of that and she said he seems to mesh really well with the kids in his current class. I don't know if he's matured or if it's the absence of the first grade boy clique, but he seems happier and less stressed, which in turn makes Mommy happier and less stressed. And the bitchy ladies are still bitchy, but I don't have to deal with them this year so all is good.

I have not seen THE CAR since Ike came to town. The neighbors sustained significant damage to their roof and subsequently lost all of their upstairs carpet and some of their furniture. Even if it comes back, I won't be saying anything to them about it. They have enough to deal with at this point. The HOA is working to have our boat ramp and boardwalk repaired and cleaned up so I figure a car on the street is the least of their issues.

I did not have Elizabeth's hair cut. I did think about it, but in the end I decided there was nothing I wanted a stylist to do to it. My mom kept my hair in bangs until I was old enough to make my own hair choices, like in high school, and I always hated it. I got crazy last week and purchased a ton of cute little clippy bows and I pull her "bangs" to the side like this:



But only if I hold her arms down to keep her from pulling it out.

When she gets away from me, it looks like this:



Is that Chris Farley on The View? Isn't he dead?

Oh yeah, I got my morning shows back this week. Yeah.

Let's see. Today I've made the beds and scrubbed the toothpaste out of the sinks and, of course, wiped all the boy pee off the bathroom toilets/floors/walls. Then I took my place on the couch to wait for the cable guy. Unshowered. Waiting. Can't go out back, might miss the bell. Can't go upstairs, might not hear the bell. So I sit. And wait. I won't even fold the laundry because I don't want to jeopardize being reunited with good teevee today.

Plus, I have help with that.



Adam comes running when I unload the laundry. He loves to fold. Seriously. And I let him do it. Because he wants to. I swear. And he takes the garbage out too. I'm going to have to fight the women off with sticks, man. He's gorgeous and he likes housework!

So Mr. C*mc*st Dude is now 47 minutes late. Someone call the police because surely he's been in an accident. He PROMISED he'd be here by 10. Geez, I hope he's allright.

I have a feeling I won't be getting a shower today.

Perspective

I have a hard time, sometimes, coming up with things to blog about. I guess since I've been doing this almost three years, I feel like I've run out of things to talk about. Sometimes I'll think something is kinda funny and realize I already did that somewhere deep in my archives. Sometimes I am just too busy with three kids to stand my old bones up at the granite slab sit down at the computer and put thoughts together.

I thought about all kinds of things I could post about today, though.

I could tell you about how I got a speeding ticket from a fourteen year old ass of a cop on Friday and how I almost missed the birthday pedicure I had scheduled on the only day I have been without my three children since, well, since pretty much they were born.

Or maybe, the huge fit my SEVEN year old threw in front of no less than ten of our new neighbors in the middle of our street might be more interesting.

And then I sliced my fingernail in half with a razor and that really sucked.

And then I got another call from our realtor relaying the message that our buyers now want a prettier kitchen faucet (and solar screens, and a new garbage disposal, maybe a new AC and definitely a roofer to look at the house because, no, they aren't busy) before Tuesday obviously not understanding the clause THEY included to take the house "as is".

And of course, there's the bathtub full of blue shampoo that my daughter decorated while I was blind in the shower.

But nothing beats the fact that my C*mc*st DVR has been broken for almost a month leaving me without 57 of the good channels on the upstairs teevee and I can't get someone out here to fix it. How now I have to watch the forty inch brand-new birthday gift plasma screen if I want to catch the House marathon. With no screen guide! The horrors!

And I'm freaking forty. FORTY. My mom was old when she was forty. You know what that means.

GAWD. My life sucks. Boo-hoo for me.

Then I read the paper.

While lying in my hammock with my tea and my healthy daughter.

I read this.

And took a look at this.

Really puts things in a certain perspective doesn't it?

I have seen the devastation on my DVR-less television ever since the storm. It's the Overcoming Ike show all day, every day on all the local channels, you can't see much else but the devastation. I haven't been able to have my morning love fest with Matt Lauer for a while now. Makes me cranky. I see all day how the homes are gone, the businesses are dark, and find out which schools will be starting back that day. Then there's some people complaining because they still don't have power and then they show the debris trucks, well, picking up debris. And then I turn it off. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I have power. My kid went to school last week. I finally got my hands on some milk. Two kinds. Can I just watch The Today Show please?

I had no idea. I just assumed everyone heeded the mandatory evacuation orders and left when we did. I thought the place was deserted. I hoped it was deserted.

I knew some people died in that storm. As of now the official count is like 24 and I think that's the last I heard of it last week. Things ARE getting back to normal and we haven't heard much about any rescue/recovery attempts. At least I haven't. I've seen nothing more about Ike on the national news and the local news deals more about how to help the survivors, many of whom are just that. They survived, but have nothing left. We don't even hear that much about them anymore. Maybe our local media doesn't want to air about the dead or thought-dead because it's hard to hear and probably harder to tell about. Who knows. I just know that I was too busy worrying about my own petty problems to think about just how lucky we were get out of here when we did and even luckier to have a house to live in.

Most of those people thought they had enough time to get out. They waited until Friday to secure their homes and pack their things. We were going to wait. We thought about staying. Would this have been us if we did? If the storm had been stronger? If we'd bought the house we wanted last year so much closer to the water?

So I got a speeding ticket and I'm forty.

At least I lived to be forty.

And I still have my lead foot.

Strike a Pose

At 17 months, I am finally seeing some difference between boys and girls.

Elizabeth loves to pick out dresses and change her clothes throughout the day. I have to stand over the boys and make sure they change their underwear every day.

Elizabeth loves to have her hair styled and brushed (although she still won't keep the clips). The boys hide the tangle spray and combs.

Elizabeth wants her shoes on her feet first thing in the morning and always knows where they are. The boys are lucky to find two shoes that match and wear them only under duress

My sons both began running from the camera at this age. Elizabeth will grin and pose anytime she sees one



Maybe a little feminine influence will be all it takes to finally get a beautiful picture of my children.



I can dream, can't I?

Happy Birthday To Me

I am forty today.

Yippee.

For almost a year we have planned my fortieth birthday. We would have a big party at my usual birthday restaurant and celebrate because, WOW, forty! Who says you have to depressed over it? The husband was going to take care of it all because no one should plan their own birthday party right?

Two weeks ago the husband was once able to focus on a little more than his own impending work-related doom to let me know that "with all he had going on" he didn't invite anyone to my party. Sorry. Since he also cares so much about etiquette, he refused to pick up the phone and invite anyone then because it would be too rude to give such short notice. Whatever.

Of course that doesn't matter now since most everyone we know is still out of town. I'll take husband forgot the party over no one wanted to come any day.

So two weeks ago we came up with Plan B. We'd stick with tradition and head to Galveston like we do every year for my birthday but this time we'd go all out and rent a beach house for a long weekend on Crystal Beach right here:



And we can't go with our usual Plan C:



And Plan D, drinking beer while watching the Mountaineers play, was moved to Thursday. And it wasn't fun.

So it's my birthday today.

Yippee.

I will spend it at my house with my family like every other Saturday before it.

But I will appreciate it so much more because at least it's still there.

About Ike

We're okay!

We are currently at the lake waiting on the word to return. The husband went back home yesterday and replanted the small oak saplings that were overturned in our yard and hooked the refrigerator up to a generator, but other than that we sustained no damage at the new house.

The old house....well, it's okay, too, but the yard it's a mess.

A huge oak in the back snapped and fell over the fence into the neighbor's yard. Another tree's limbs blew into another neighbor's yard. Our orange trees were completely destroyed. We'll need to buy a new swing set. Our solar screens blew all over the street, but it didn't bother the neighbors at all. They just kicked them aside and went about their basketball games and beer drinking. There's a small leak in the boy's room that will need fixed. Derick thinks a tornado went through due to the path of the damage. It's not great and will take some elbow grease but it could have been a lot worse. We're just keeping our fingers crossed that the buyers weren't really in love with the trees and will go ahead with the closing next week.

Oh yeah, we signed a contract on our house last week.

Power was restored at both homes late last night and school is slated to open on Wednesday so we are hoping to get back tomorrow. The weather here is wonderful today and Anna came to visit so we are treating it like a mini-vacation, a break from the storm so to speak.

We know how lucky we are to have come through this terrible storm virtually unscathed. We want to get back and help those who weren't as fortunate. I appreciate all of you for thinking and praying for us.

I'll keep you posted.

Stormy Weather Part Three

You know it's bad when Jim Cantore comes to town.

School is cancelled for the rest of the week and people are starting to panic just a little and since we're in Zone A, which means, you better get the hell out of here before you get blown away, we'll be leaving town. Again.

Figures we'd get the big one just as soon as I move into my dream home in my dream neighborhood fifteen miles from the coast.

Wish us luck or at least clear traffic.

I Really Hate to Complain But.....

I really love our new neighborhood.

The people are friendly, there's a creek down the road, and we have our own personal playground right across the street for our anytime enjoyment. Love it. My only regret is we didn't find this place sooner.

Anyway. Ya'll know how much I hated our last neighborhood. It hated me in return. You know, because I didn't find it cute when the children were pulling all our annuals or dismantling our gutters in search of lizards or because I didn't allow them all free access to our driveway 24/7. Yeah. Our old neighbors liked to park in our driveway. Sometimes I'd go out and raise the garage door to leave and find I couldn't because they'd just helped themselves. When I complained, they pretended not to speak English and then leave their car there until I'd have to call the cops, who for them they'd speak English. Go figure. Of course, this was six or so years ago and they eventually understood that their mortgage only covered their own driveway and that I was on to their fake language barrier. So they started parking in front of our house. Not their own house, but our house. Then they started cleaning their car out onto our lawn. Starbucks cups, beer bottles, dirty diapers, empty packages of Top Ramen, old school papers, candy wrappers, and little Buddhas all made it onto our lawn at some point or other. I wasn't happy about that, but I figured the curb was a public street that anyone was welcome to park so I just gathered up the trash every day and deposited it over their fence into their garbage cans and cussed about it under my breath all the way there.

And you just know they've been parking in our driveway ever since the U-haul pulled away.

So before we closed on this house, the husband requested the HOA rules packet to find out what we were dealing with here. It stated the basics, you know, the keep your lawn mowed, no appliances on your front porch, no dead vehicles on blocks in your driveway, and no parking on the street. You can't park on the street here. If you have visitors they can park on the street, but for only a few hours. If the board determines you are using the street as a permanent parking space you will be asked to move it and if you do not comply they can place a lien on your home.

Wow. A lien on your home for parking your car on the street. That's kinda harsh.
But I don't really care because we don't park on the street! Allright.

I mentioned how much I love this neighborhood right? And our neighbors? Totally awesome people they are. I like them. A lot. I really do. I can see us being friends with them for a long time.

Lately, though, they've had a friend living with them. They didn't say why and it's really none of our business, but they've had a friend living with them temporarily for the past couple of months.

Guess where the friend parks?

Every evening and most of the day, there is a white car parked directly in front of our house. I'd like to think he'd park in front of his friend's house, but they are located in the bend of the street and don't have much curb. They do have a driveway, however. A huge driveway that could easily fit his tiny car.

We are not too bothered about the car being there. Really we're not. We do wonder why he doesn't use the driveway, but not enough to risk our relationship with the neighbors by bringing it up. We're so happy to finally have neighbors who speak to us. And bring us cookies. And chase our dumb dog down the street when he escapes. What's an old white car out front?

I think, though, some other neighbors think it's ours and aren't happy about it.

See, the car showed up pretty soon after we did. One afternoon while we were enjoying the park right across the street, a friendly woman came up and starting talking to me and she mentioned that rule about no parking on the street. I didn't take the hint, you know, it not being my car and all, but later on I realized she's on the community board. The board that sends out warnings about these sorts of things. The board that can place a lien on your home. The board that now thinks we have an old car parked on the street every day.

And as of yesterday, an old car parked up on jacks missing it's right front tire.

Now we're breaking two rules! But we're really not because the cars not ours!

I really don't want to complain to the neighbors. I don't want to end up like we were at the last place, I want to get along with these people and have cook-outs and know their kids and go over for sugar if I need some. But at the same time, I don't want the other neighbors thinking we own that car and are deliberately breaking the rules.

So helpful internetz, do I wait until we've received a warning letter and then hash it out with the community board? Should I go next door and ask what's up? Or should I bury my head in the sand and go about living in ignorant bliss? I'm thinking ignorant bliss, but go ahead and correct me if I'm wrong.

I Am Not June Cleaver

Leave It To Beaver was one of my favorite shows growing up. It came on every afternoon at 3:30 and I'd park my tired elementary school self in front of the tube with my snack and devour them both as soon as I got home pretty much every single day. I don't know what it was that drew me to the show, maybe the boys intriqued me since I didn't have brothers or maybe the black and whiteness of it all caught my kodachrome eye, but mostly I think it was the mom.

As a young girl I never doubted I would grow up and have my own family. My mom has a book she kept for me detailing each of my school years and at each grade there was a blank to fill in about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always put "Mom" in the blank. I think I had a great mom and I'm sure a lot of my eagerness to birth and raise children came from the example she gave.

And, of course, there was June Cleaver.

June Cleaver was the epitome of Mom to me. She was so kind, she never yelled, and even when Beaver did something that my mom would have hit the roof over, she kept her cool and made sure those boys were well fed and had warm cookies to make them feel better. Oh, and she was soooo well-dressed. She wore heels and pearls and perfectly starched dresses even while serving an big early breakfast to her family. I was going to be June Cleaver all right. Right down to perfect lipstick.

Yeah, right.

My first clue that I would never be June was when I first moved in with the husband and didn't yet have a job. The then-boyfriend (something else June would never do) would awaken at 5:30 to prepare for work and the very first day it occured to me that it would be nice of me to wake up also and cook a healthy breakfast and possibly a sack lunch. I dreamt I was doing it, but I couldn't drag myself out of bed at that hour so it never happened (still hasn't happened). I started buying his favorite flavor of Pop-tarts and leaving them on the counter before I went to bed at night. Now I just buy the Pop-tarts.

You know another way I know I am not June Cleaver? Well, for one thing, I am still in my pajamas today and it's after noon. I do usually dress each morning, and before eight at that, but it's definitely not in a fancy dress. I doubt June would ever have donned jean shorts and an old stretched out tank top EVER. My pearls remain in the safe where I parked them when I got them two years ago. I don't own even one single pair of heels, and I haven't ironed in thirteen years. No joke.

This weekend, though, just sealed the deal on my anti-Cleaverness.

The husband is having a hard time at work these days. I won't get into details, moslty because I don't understand them, but basically, he and the boss have a huge personality clash and there was some sort of meeting on Friday where the boss and his pets got together and slammed the husband, accused him of not being able to do his job, and kinda sorta demoted him. If you call taking all the responsiblities that weren't his to begin with demoting him. The husband was a mess on Friday. We went to a ball game and he didn't speak a word to anyone. He was mean to the kids. He spent a lot of time locked in his study with his head hung in his hands. I found my inner June and patted his back, baked him a pie, and listened. And listened and listened.

And on Saturday, I listened, and listened, and listened. I even listened while West Virginia was being thumped by East Carolina on ESPN in my living room. I mean, even the kids know not to bother Mommy when the Mountaineers are on.

Yesterday, though, when I saw him lying on the couch wearing his best pitiful look while I picked up another glass, another beer can, four pairs of his shoes and every toy we've ever bought, I didn't feel very Junelike. Well, maybe June, as in June Carter Cash and I wanted to run over there and smack him senseless and tell him to snap the hell out of it and it's a freaking job! Get a new one if you're not happy. Do you not see me working my ass off for an unappreciative company without even a weekend to take a break from it? I haven't slept in sixteen months, man! Get over yourself, dude!

(I didn't say that, by the way. I am not that mean).

Somehow I don't think June would have ripped Ward a new one like that.

It's official. I am not June Cleaver.

I am not Donna Reed.

Shoot, I don't think I could even be Marge Simpson at this rate.

But you know what? I'm okay with that. I'm just me. I try to be a good mother. I try to be a good wife. Sometimes it's easier than others. Sometimes shit happens. I figure if my husband wanted a June Cleaver wife he would have found himself one. He likes his pop-tarts. At least he says he does. My kids know they are loved even if they have to go out wearing unironed shirts. Sure, they get yelled at sometimes, but they're no Wally and Beav themselves.

I still love June Cleaver. I'm just glad I didn't turn out like her.

This is a Hairy Situation

What do you do with a baby girl when her hair gets in the way?

Seriously.

What do you do?

When the boys were Elizabeth's age and their hair began to grow past their eyebrows, we took them to the funhouse hair cut place with cameras in tow. Little boys took the place of my little babies, tears were shed, and then we returned to our car to head home and go about our lives until the next cut six weeks later. Lather, rinse, repeat for the past sevenish years.

What do I do with Elizabeth?

Ninety percent of her day is spent at home like this:



But sometimes I need to dress her and take her out and she's gotten quite a few, "Wow, your hair is really growing!" comments lately and a few, "Baby, can you see?" from some old bitties who did not offer to fix her hair for her.



What? Straggly's not in?

I am not well versed in the girly way of things. My boymom brain tells me to take her to the funhouse for a trim, but I'm afraid she'd come out of there looking like a boy, you know, since my boys came out of there looking like boys. I've tried to make some ponytails, but they didn't look good. I had a hair bow once. I thought it was cute, but I don't think Elizabeth liked it much. She lost it pretty soon after this picture was taken.



Is there some sort of manual I should be receiving soon about how to do girl hair? If you have the key to this mystery, please share your knowledge because according to the old bitties she can't learn with all that hair in her eyes and, geez, I sure don't want that. Do you know where I can purchase some girly hair products that will stay put in superfine girly hair? And do they come with step-by-step directions?

My girl would really appreciate your help in this urgent matter.

All Better

Elizabeth's back to her old, ornery, cereal-loving self this morning.

Of course, Cheerios just wouldn't cut it today.

She's sixteen months old and can open the pantry, climb onto a shelf, and help herself.

I am starting to see why some people have powder rooms off of their kitchens.