So It Begins....

My husband and I have lived together eleven years in August (and yes, been married nine, figure that one out). Over the course of those years I have learned a lot about him. I know he likes to curl up under every blanket imaginable for the first hour he's asleep and then throw it all on top of me and sleep with nothing the rest of the night. I know not to cook with anything white (mayo, sour cream, etc) and just the thought of gravy makes him gag. He drinks out of six glasses an evening and leaves them throughout the house for me to find the next morning. He subscribes to magazines he's never read. He has selective hearing.

I can live with all of that.

He does, however, have this strange tendency to require his closet neat, clean, and in perfect order.

How dare he?

This particular quirk was livable in our old house because we had separate closets. Oh, how I miss my very. own. closet. Everything was mine. I could put it where I wanted it and if I wanted to hang pictures on the closet walls I could (and I did).

This house does not have separate closets.

Here is our closet:



Our one closet.

And yes, it was almost a deal breaker.

Before we made an offer, we walked through and mapped the closet out, who went where and didn't go where. We shook on it and then placed our imaginary tape down the middle for no one to cross. Ever.

On my side of the closet is a handy-dandy little nook.



The husband easily agreed to steer clear of the nook where I currently house all my children's sentimental keepsakes in huge rubber tubs. I like the nook. A good place to stash the crap I don't want to look at on a daily basis. Also, did I mention that it's all mine? Because it's ALL. MINE.

Imagine my surprise, though, when I walked into the closet last night and found an unfamiliar rubber tub. Upon further inspection I determined that said tub did not belong to me so therefore it was infringing upon the rule of THE NOOK IS MINE. So I scoured the nook of the offending box and placed it on it's rightful side of the closet.

This morning it returned. Not to MY NOOK, but in the middle of the closet.



Oh no, he di'nt.

He did not just put that tub right where I'd trip over it this morning, did he?

GRRRRRRR!

And you know what else? There was a hamper all nestled in my green shirts too.

I don't use a hamper.



You know I moved it all back to their rightful places.

I wonder where they'll be tomorrow.

Game on, Dude. Don't mess with a chick and her closet.
.

Corny

Finally.

Something she'll eat that isn't attached to my body.

GE, This Sucks

I am loving this new house! The extra room! The working air conditioner! The friendly neighbors! If I weren't still living out of boxes, it'd be perfect.

Well, that and the microwave....



See my purdy microwave, all stainless and faddishly cool? We are now hip according to our home builder and all who enter our kitchen will know so instantly because apparently stainless appliances are it. It's the avocado and harvest gold of the new millenium.

I liked my stainless appliances until I got here. Did you know magnets won't stick to them? I didn't. I should have, but I didn't. One of the many useless tidbits of my brain that seeped out after I had children. I needed somewhere to store those underarm/rect*l temperature conversions, you know. This was a huge blow to a person like me who likes her refrigerator like this:



But I digress.

The real story here is how I popped in a bag of ultra-nutritious microwave popcorn our first night here and never, ever heard the pops. Hmmm. But since the husband has a Mensa IQ he rolled his eyes and attempted to "teach" me the microwave because it's all so new-fangled and I ain't never seen me no fancy microwave before and, hmmmm, no pops for Smarty-pants either.

A brand new house and the microwave doesn't work. Amazing.

You'd think the home builder would come out and help since they're just one street over chilling in the model home, but no. Once we signed the papers to say we owned this house, they ceased to care. We actually have a paper we signed that says so. Not in so many words, but that's what they meant.

So we went to the appliance company. We produced our warranties and a technician was scheduled to come out two Saturdays ago. He stayed a whopping five minutes before declaring the microwave dead (really?) and letting us know that the special make-it-work-radioactive-space-alien-magnatron-doo-dad was hopelessly backordered and as he was shuffling toward the door told us it would be at least August before we'd see the likes of him again.

HUH?

Oh, how this pissed the husband so! Not only had we wasted an entire Saturday waiting around for Gone Like a Flash Man, but we just dropped a ton of money on a house without a working microwave! Do you know what it's like to live so long without a microwave? This ain't the fifties, people!

So last Monday, he called the company again and let them know that, we had an unused, unworking appliance that he wanted replaced as soon as possible which, according to our handy-dandy warranty, they should do in the absence of a repair.

Can you believe just three minutes later they found a stray part just lying around that huge corporation??! How lucky are we?

But Jesus (that's his name), the technician, could not come out again for another ten days.

Sucks, but so be it. I was getting good at warming up leftovers in a skillet.

So we waited for the tenth day which was yesterday and it was good. Jesus showed up early for his 8-5 appointment. I was going to get me a microwave. Finally. Until Jesus started packing his bag again and shaking his head and getting mad AT ME because there was no way he could remove the microwave because of the molding around the cabinets which he was not going to be liable for damages and he suggested I call the home builder and have one of their contractors come out and remove it and then play a little more phone tag with his dispatcher.

Uh, yeah. Call the home builder who couldn't care less whether we had a working microwave or not. They rid themselves of this money pit, BWHAHAHAHAH!

I called the home builder and, sure enough, they couldn't care less. Said they'd get their warranty department out here "sometime" and that was that.

But the husband wanted that microwave fixed TODAY and as the smoke flew from his ears, he removed the microwave himself and cussed Jesus, the builders, and the company the entire way.



None of the cabinets or molding was damaged during this demonstration. We thinks Jesus was just being a bit of a lazy ass.

So I wait again, from 8-5, for Jesus and his little blue bag to finally do his damn job and fix my fricking microwave. He didn't show up early today. I think we're going to be here a while.

I'm Glad I Didn't Pay For Those Speech Lessons

Just a little snippet of my all day, every day.

That Was A Lot of Diapers!

See that?



That's the last of my major award.

What was supposed to be a three month supply of size three diapers for one child, turned into an eight month supply for sometimes two children. Eight months! It was like the loaves and fishes, man, there was always enough.

Those diapers cruised me right through the semi-sorta potty-training so I still only need to buy diapers for one now.

So if anyone is giving away size TWO diapers, give me a shout okay? With two mortgages, I could use all the help I can get.

Ah, Nature

One of the nice things about our new neighborhood is that it borders a nature preserve and has a creek, an actual made-by-God creek, that runs through it. We don't actually live on the creek, because, well, we like to eat, but it isn't a long walk to go down there so it's all good.

When we dropped the first box here two weeks ago, Jacob started asking if he could go down to the creek and look for a turtle because he was so sure there were turtles down there. I was all like, "Sure" and "Maybe later" in that I-am-really-busy-right-now-please-leave-me-alone kind of brush off that tends to happen when you are stuffing all your worldly goods into a three car garage.

Eight hours later when I tried to sit down and take a breather, there was Jacob with a hand decorated box wanting to know if I was ready to hunt turtles.

*Sigh*

So off for turtles we went.

We searched for an hour and got nothing but a ton of mosquito bites.

The next day more of the same, yet a lot of me saying things like, "Turtles probably don't like neighborhoods." and "I am not going turtle hunting every day." and "Don't you have a new Game Boy cartridge you want to play?" except I got smart and unpacked the repellent that time.

No turtle = very disappointed little boy.

For the next few days we hunted turtles for shorter and shorter periods of time until the boy decided that maybe there really weren't any turtles down there after all so ending Turtle Quest 2008. Hallelujah!

And then. Then the turtle found us.

The husband opened the door one morning and there it was. Right there on our front porch. Just hanging out like he was supposed to be there.

I'll be damned. The kid was right. There were turtles out there.

This neighborhood is so fricking awesome, the turtles come to you!

Meet Shelly, ya'll.



Turns out, though, that Shelly is a snapping turtle and since we all enjoy having all our phalanges, we thought it best to set Shelly free to enjoy the creek once more.

So long, Shelly! It was fun while it lasted.



So now that we know there are turtles down there we're on Non-Snapping Turtle Quest 2008.

*Sigh*

We're going to need more repellent.

I Really Should Be Unpacking

*tap, tap, tap*

Is anybody still out there? (((((out there, out there, out there)))))

Man, has it been a week already?

I feel so lost and out of touch. I know, now, that I could never cut it on Big Brother or Survivor. One week without my connection to the outside world was close to torturous. I just found out this morning that Hilary conceded. Totally missed that. Yeah, yeah, I know they sell newspapers, but what fun would that be?

And the one thousand updates on my reader. Wow. I'll need a vacation just to catch up on you all.

But, thankfully, we are back in the land of the technologically dependent. Cable television, phone, and (drum roll, please) high speed internet. Sort of. I think they should call it highish speed kind of internet out here, but whatever. It's better than dial-up. Of course, my back is killing me having to stand at my dining room niche just to check my email because I can't even sneak into the study. It is locked my friends. Yes, locked. Something about keeping the kids out of it, but I know who he really meant. You can cut him some slack, though, because I am slowly taking over our shared closet and I'm squeezing him out of the laundry room as well. Oh, and I am so getting complete control over the tivo. Bye, Bye, Battlestar!

I have missed my old house. It's strange to wake up in another room, still, a week later. It makes me cry to go over there to pick up things. Yesterday, I just spent the afternoon there watching my good, old, Dire*TV and napping and enjoying it when I really should have been boxing up my winter clothes and craft supplies. It's just strange, like I feel like I'm cheating on that house with this one. Like I should apologize everytime I walk in that door.

This house, though, is awesome! Aside from the fact that the brand new microwave doesn't work and we have to wait here all day Saturday for the GE man to come and fix it, it's been great. The neighbors are really friendly, some even brought gifts! We actually know our next door neighbors names! After only a week. Did I mention there's a jacuzzi tub? Because, yippee! There's a jacuzzi tub.

I tried my hardest to get one last pretty picture at the old house.




Maybe we'll have better luck in this new house.

How Will I Live So Long Without Noggin?

So the cable company is coming on Wednesday, you know, between 8 and 5, to set us all up with the goodies that make my life worth living.

It's going to cost a fortune, but I've found me some high speed. I think. I've had to give up my DirecTV, for whom I am mourning, but ya gotta do, what ya gotta do, right?

I'll be Amish until then, so don't miss me too much.

The End of This Chapter

Today is our last day in our old house.



I watched all my babies take their first steps here.



I survived Thomas here.



I watched my first baby become a brother here.



Twice.



I drove my big kid to kindergarten from here.



There've been eight Christmases,



eleven birthday parties,



And one graduation.



We've been through so much in this old house, but now it's time to pass it on to the next little family who I hope will make just as many good memories in it.

I am sad, but I am ready to see how our life will unfold at the new house.

If it's anything like this one, we're in for a wild ride.

I Need More Cowbell

I served chicken for dinner last night.

The adults enjoyed it as is, but my children, as usual, needed condiments to make it all more palatable. Jacob went for mustard and Adam kept asking for "the cowbell water".

Cowbell water?

Maybe he was saying ketchup. No. Not ketchup. He even said it slower and enunciated so well. Miss Janet would have been so proud.

"Cow. Bell. Wat. Er."

Well then.

It wasn't horseradish or mayo or soy sauce.

Have you guessed yet?



He wanted the BBQ sauce! Duh. Makes perfect sense.

How cute! There's a cow on the bottle so it must be cow water! Not only that but did you know that b-u-l-l spells bell? To my three year old it does.

Unbelievable.

I didn't even know he knew his ABCs much less string them together to make words.

Wow. Maybe next spring he'll be able to do our taxes.

I Really Should Be Packing

I am totally ignoring my children right now so I can spend some quality, warm-fuzzy time with my internetz because who knows what might happen on Monday. I shudder to even think of it. I did find out that, yeah, I can get me some high speed through a cable company but that would require 1. a cable modem that we don't currently have ($$$) and 2. Signing up for a ridiculously priced package with lots of things we really don't need or can really afford (more $$$) and 3. Quite possibly my fifth born child because, man, they think really highly of it.

And to answer Melissa's questions, who was the only one to participate:

I am 5 foot 3.

I prefer cooking over baking, although I like them both. I have won awards for my orange brownies (twenty bucks and a cheap medal) which are really Paula Deen's orange brownies, but no one in my real life needs to know that. I am asked to bring them to all of Jacob's school functions. You can find the recipe here.

I have learned to be a pretty good cook thanks to the library and The Food Network. My husband's friend calls here at least once a week begging me to drive six hours to give his new wife lessons. I don't really think there's a trick to it. I just know how to follow a recipe. Tonight we're having chicken piccata. Quick, easy, and delicious.

And since ya'll didn't have any more questions, I'm giving you the ones I stole from Becky.

So there.

What is your biggest pet peeve? Rude people. If it's really that hard for you to smile and be friendly, stay home. And all the crazy people breaking the pick-up/drop-off rules at Jacob's school every day. Again, I am surprised we made it through the year without being in an accident and/or being mowed down by a Christian giving me the finger.

Anyone going to see the Sex in the City movie? No. Can you believe I've never even watched the show? But apparently I am most like Charlotte according to some Facebook quiz I took a while back.

What is your favorite crappy song to jam out to? I don't listen to crappy music. I do, however, turn on The Smiths, Volume 1 every. single. day. I have also been caught singing along with "Let My Love Open The Door" on the ipod. This may explain why the current neighbors don't speak to us.

What makes you gag? Taking a pill. I have a hard time swallowing pills. Cleaning vomit is pretty bad, too.

What’s your least favorite thing to do? Clean pee off the floors, toilet seats, and walls in all three bathrooms of my house every. single. morning.

What’s your favorite part of blogging? The friendships, the social interaction, the feeling that someone, anyone, might feel the way I do. I think my husband's favorite part is that he doesn't have to hear all my complaints now that I can gripe online from time-to-time.

I Am Wearing Black Today

Life as I know it is over. It's horrible, really.

My new neighborhood does not get high speed internet access. No DSL. No Broadband. Just dial-up. Hopelessly slow, can't download photos, dial-up.

Oh, the rest of the little town can get it, just not my neighborhood. I have begged, pleaded, contacted every cable, phone, and satellite company in the area, but have been repeatedly told, "that service is currently unavailable".

WTH? I live but a few exits from the fourth largest city in America and I can't get high speed internet?

I'm suddenly not liking my new house so much.

No wonder it was so cheap.

Damn.

Did They Forget To Give Me The Manual?

I still consider myself a boymom. I know how to do boy stuff.

Girl stuff, not so much. First it was the bloomer thing. What's up with the bloomers? They need to make those attachable so mamas like me wouldn't leave them all over the place after every diaper change.

Then it was the whole headband thing. Do you headband or don't you? Where exactly do you put that thing? Is it a forehead band or a top-or-the-head band? There should be a warning on those things reminding you to remove it before you strap your baby into the back seat and leave or else you'll drive into a ditch trying to save your daughter from certain strangulation.


And now. Now it's the hair. What do you do with a baby girl whose hair is in the way? Why, you drive to Tar*et and spend a fortune on barrettes, that's what.



My first girly hair-do.



It took me five minutes to wrestle her still and stick the clip on her head and it took her five seconds to free it from her straggly hair.

Is there some sort of You-Have-A-Girl orientation class that I missed? How do I unlock the secrets to all that is girlmom? Am I missing something?

I'm thinking it's a good thing she likes hats.

I Can't Even Come Up With a Title

We interrupt the normally scheduled Boy Crazy programming to bring you the latest edition of Twenty Questions, or in other words, my brain is in a frazzle attempting to pack, clean, move, and raise three needy children simutaneously I have encountered a huge case of writer's block.

I can't even think of anything to say about my brand new kitchen which is totally awesome if I do say so myself.





I can't even piece together words about how he....



is now a SECOND GRADER! When did they start letting babies go to school? How can he be old enough to be in second grade? Weren't we just at Gymboree last week? Of course, this is where you pipe in and say I am certainly not old enough to have a second grade child. I am so young, really.

So since my next two weeks will be filled with boxes and moving vans and, quite possibly, a lot of little beer, which will limit my sitting sloth-like in front of the monitor while my kids watch Noggin computer usage, I give you this wonderful, one time only, if-you-call-now-we'll-pay-all-shipping-offer to call the next Boy Crazy posts. Tell me what you want to know about me and mine and I'll do my best to fill in the blanks.

Please Give Me Some Space

So everything is falling into place with the new house. After a six hour inspection with the most thorough home inspector in Texas, new brown house was deemed perfectly livable so we're just waiting for Wells Fargo to get their ducks in a row for the closing on June 3.

Why yes, that's next week. It only took the husband eight years to want to leave the current neighborhood, but once his mind was made up he certainly wasn't going to waste any time staying here.

I think he's just a little giddy over his brand, spanking new study.

You see, the husband has always wanted a study. He's always talked about one day having a room in our home that belonged only to him, a room to hold all his junk treasures that he'd keep under lock and key, his sanctuary against the cold cruel world of the family he so desperately needs to escape from on a daily basis. Of course, it doesn't matter that he already has his own private Idaho currently known as his office that none of us have or ever will see, but yeah, yada yada something, he deserves a study, he wants a place in the house all to himself, whatever.

I don't have any pictures of the study, though, because I am not allowed in it.

I'm okay with the husband having his little piece of solitude in the new house. Really. The kids will all have their own bedrooms, why not? Then I began to wonder, um, where's my private place? Where do I put my things? Where can I go to escape the noise and confusion?

Well, um, looks like right here.



I get this little, private nook off the dining room. It's the perfect spot, so I've been told, to place my laptop and the drawer is just right for holding pencils and paper and my daily calendar, it's organizational heaven right there with a granite countertop!

I. am. so. lucky. I mean, who needs a private study when you have that?

Oh, and the husband did say I could have the laundry room. Really. I can have the laundry room. I can share it with the cat who does her private business there. Don't ya'll be jealous now. My husband is smart AND generous.



I'm wondering if there's a way to squeeze a recliner in there.

Officially a Toddler.....

An Hour With One Friend is Better Than Ten With Strangers

Two and a half years ago I started my little ole blog as a way to post pictures and post funny things my kids were doing while my husband worked out of state three weeks out of the month. Adam was about six months old when he started his little work, let's say "adventure", and he did miss out on a lot. A few months later when the blog started to become more of an outlet for my single parent angst, he kind of quit reading so much.

And nobody else did either for a while.

Eventually, though, a few people found me, and some actually came back for more.

When my mom had her "episode" the first people to console me were through the internet. When I got pregnant unexpectedly, the internet encouraged me. When my sons have issues, the internets have advice, and when I had a baby girl, I got more well wishes from the computer than in my real life.

All this time I thought I had no friends here but I was wrong. I have lots of friends. It's just not that easy to crack open a beer with them that's all.

But now I can finally say I had a beer with a friend this weekend......



Although my mom warned me that I could be meeting one of the Dateline predators last weekend, I met Lynsey for lunch while she was in Houston for a visit.



Even though her baby sleeps twelve hours a night, I still like her. And him. I could kiss his cheeks all day long. And he'd be okay with that because he's such a sweet laid back baby. I was really hoping some of his demeanor might rub off on Elizabeth, encourage her to sleep a little more, sit still some more....

But alas, she's just as ornery as ever.



Before Adam ate all the fortune cookies, I was able to snag one and my fortune read:

"An hour with one friend is better than ten with strangers."

That. Was a good fortune.

Thanks friend. That was a good hour (or two).

Because Inquiring Minds Want To Know.....

Last week on Boy Crazy:



On a whim, we bought a house.

Really.

On Mother's Day something possessed us go to to an open house in the neighborhood across the highway from new house. We weren't impressed. That house was huge but it was very pink. We liked the room, but we weren't willing to sink thirty thousand bucks in it to rid it of it's pinkness. We were trying to pull left out of the neighborhood forever so Derick took a right and said he was going to turn around in the new house neighborhood and then, since we were already there, why don't we go see if our house was still available. Funny, but we have referred to that house as "our house" since we found it in January. It was a little joke because when we saw it in January, it was WWWAAAYYY out of our price range. Why we even walked through it back then is beyond me, maybe we were bored, but we did and we loved it instantly, but we could not afford it. Not even close. But anyway, after another drive-by, Derick said he wanted to go into the sales office to see if the price had come down anymore, and honestly, if the littles weren't asleep in the back I would have told him don't bother, but since they were sleeping and I wanted them to sleep a little longer, I said go ahead but we'd sit in the car. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Thank goodness I had my knitting because I waited some more. Then I started to get mad because, damn, does he know how much gas we're wasting keeping that AC running? Then he came running out all googly-eyed and said the sales dude would sell it to him for only 20,000 more than the butt-ugly house across the street we had semi-considered. WTF??? The price, the "deal" he'd give us was 73,000 off the original asking price, 30,000 off the price he gave us in January. And March. He wouldn't drop the extra 9,000 to bring it into our price range, but he did take the trip for two to Paris they were offering for May sales and subtracted that amount off the final price if we agreed to close before the end of their fiscal year on June 26. We thought about it for a couple of days and agonized over such a huge mortgage, but we have figured out a way to swing it. The deal was just too sweet for a house and neighborhood that we absolutely love to walk away from it. In the end, it really just came down to the fact that we would be sad if we ever saw someone else living in that house. That was our house.

That is our house.



So that's how I got a house for Mother's Day.

Next on Boy Crazy: The Inside Tour. Stay Tuned.

You're Golden, Dude!

Guess who got his Gold Star?



Fifty-seven verses recited from memory one day before the deadline.

We were so proud, we bought him a new house!

My New View

You like that?

It's not exactly my direct view, but if I walk ten houses down and to the right a bit, there it is. Me likey.



I am still stunned that finally, finally we'll be moving away from here.

And I am stunned that I am sad about it. Would you believe I have actually been sobbing about it most of the day?

Pulling into the driveway this morning, I got a different view of this house. I realize I actually do like this house. I like my huge bedroom and the his and hers closets. The covered porch is beautiful and I love having dinner out there when the weather is nice. I will really miss the orange trees and the hibiscus we planted right after Jacob was born. I love having mature trees that shade us from the Texas heat and hold the homemade swing Jacob is so crazy about (what he'll miss the most he says). And my laundry room! I think I'll miss it most of all. I LOVE having an upstairs laundry room. How will I ever adjust?

Mostly, though, I am sad because my kids probably won't remember this house at all. I can't show Jacob where I stood at the mirror in the entryway as we entered the house with him the first time and tell him how I cried just seeing myself holding our wee baby in our house. How I gauged his growth every night by that same mirror as I hefted him up the stairs to bed every night. How I've done that with each one of them and I still remember that day every time. None of them will remember joining the family here, walking through the door the first time as we struggled to adjust to a new life with a new person. This is where our family began. This is where our view on life changed. I will miss it for that.

We'll miss you little red house. We'd stay if you weren't so small and in the middle of a crappy neighborhood. We'll find a nice family to appreciate you or be able to get funding, whichever comes first.

House, Meet Internetz

Internetz, meet my new house!

We're moving on up. To the big time. To a gated community off the freeway.

Thank you housing slump for making this dream possible.

This Makes My Stomach Hurt A Little

We've lived in Texas for eight years now.

It was my idea, mostly, to move here so we could be closer to my parents, who in the grandest twist of irony I have known, moved to the exact town we moved away from one year later.

When we pulled into our driveway for the first time, we had to ask the neighbor kids to move off the porch so we could unlock the door. We had to ask the same kid's parents to move their cars out of our driveway so we could park ours there. They all pretended not to speak English. It didn't get much better after that. In fact, I pretty much began plotting our departure from crap-ass neighborhood before the boxes were even unpacked. Have you ever gotten the distinct impression that you don't belong somewhere?

That was eight years and four months ago.

At this moment my husband is talking with our mortgage company trying to get us preapproved for loan on a house we have been stalking admiring for months. It's a brand new home, never been lived in, in a gated community we really can't afford. The house has sat empty for almost ten months and the price has continued to drop and drop until it's now only nine thousand dollars more than our self-imposed limit. We're going tomorrow to see how badly that extra nine thousand means to them.

We like the neighborhood. We've sat in the house and watched the minimal traffic drive by. We've watched the kids come and go from the park. We've introduced ourselves to the neighbors and, so far, they seem pretty easy to get along with. The backyard is smaller than we'd like and we'd no longer be on a cul-de-sac, but we like the neighorhood. It seems to be a place where we might actually fit.

I think it's time.

Keep your fingers crossed.

Happy Mothers Day!

Was I crazy to even think of this?

WANTED: Mother to Three.
HOURS: Full-time, twenty-fours a day, seven days a week.
REQUIREMENTS:Must provide nutrition by preparing three square meals a day and being an on-call open milk bar. Heavy housekeeping is a must. You will be responsible for transportation to all children's activities including school, gym, sports, library, music at all times. You must be able to fix boo-boos, both physical and emotional, entertain troops during periods of boredom, tutor students in all subject areas, fix broken toys. You will clean vomit and wipe poop. You will scrub fingernail polish from the floor. There will be lots of breakage. You will wear pajamas in public at least once and you will forget to button your blouse after nursing and expose yourself to the man trying to fix your phone.
VACATION: You must remain on the job roughly eighteen years then we'll discuss
PAY: Oh, there's no pay. You were expecting a paycheck?
BENEFITS:



Always someone there to let you know if your camera lens is broken.



You can go into the petting zoo without looking silly.



You'll finally have a way to get rid of those pesky telemarketers.



You can get a little help with your blog.



Your driveway will always be pretty.



You can play Webkinz. A lot.



The grocery store is always an adventure.



Easter dresses....



And funky Easter eggs.



Three more Mountaineer fans



Yes, there are many, many requirements to this job. And the pay really, really sucks. But the benefits outweigh them all. I was meant to do this.

It's the perfect job for me.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you. I hope you're enjoying your benefits today.

The Gold Star Treatment

Only twenty more days of school.

Hallelujah!

You don't know how happy I will be NOT to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to risk my life in the Houston traffic just to get my kid to class on time. I know I am just jinxing myself here, but the kid hasn't been tardy all year long. I think my new system of going in barefeet and pajamas has made a world of difference.

I will also be glad to put "The Gold Star" behind us.

You don't know what "The Gold Star" is? Well, I didn't either until a couple of weeks ago. I did know about the red stars though.

Every child in every class in every grade at Jacob's school is required to recite a new scripture from memory at the beginning of each month. They then take their turn standing in front of the class and saying it and if they do it correctly, they get a red star on a chart and on their report card. A child cannot be passed on to the next grade until they have all of their red stars. THEN they must recite all nine monthly verses all together to earn "The Gold Star" or else you may feel like crap sitting at the awards banquet surrounded by your classmates who did say it. It was easy-peasy last year because kindergarteners only have to say one verse and I really was expecting a little more work this year, I mean, he is a first grader after all, but I wasn't expecting him to recite the same ten to sixteen verse scriptures as the twelfth graders!

Yes, reread that if you must. Everyone says the same verse.

I don't get that.

Every month when the newsletter comes home, there is a picture of some high-schoolers with a caption underneath that states, "Congratulate these-persons for saying their Gold Star". And for two years I have been impressed by this. "WOW!" I'd think. "That girl must be such a hard worker and so smart to have done those ultra-hard scriptures three months ahead of schedule! I so hope my kids will strive to be just like her" After a little research, and yes, finally reading that dern manual, I find out that ain't no big thing at all! You're eleven years older than my kid who's doing the same thing! You SHOULD do those scriptures! Maybe even the first week of school. It's first grade work after all.

Jacob did his red star scriptures flawlessly. He was usually the first one in class to do so. He recited April's verse in January and was so pleased to be three stars ahead of the rest of his class. Of course, his mama, not knowing anything about first graders being required to say "The Gold Star", ceased practicing them with him after he finished May's verse in March. Because, you know, I have other kids to tend to in the evenings and we like to eat dinner around here sometimes.

So, a couple of weeks ago, the teacher sent a mass email letting us all know that the last day to recite "The Gold Star" would be May 15 and a few of the children had already accomplished it and, pretty much, yada, yada, yada, get your ass in gear and practice those scriptures that you obviously should be reciting at the dinner table every evening so as never to forget them because you'll be so embarrassed if your child is the only one without a trophy on awards day. But in a much nicer tone, of course. Yikes.

So for two solid weeks, over and over and over again, my son is reciting Proverbs, and Colossions, and some other book of the bible that I don't even remember, and he still doesn't quite have it. I mean, after months and months of this you would think I might be able to memorize them too, but no, I can't even tell you this second what's the first word. I know they have something to do with Jesus. Does that count? I am thirty-cough years old, I can't do it. How do they expect a six year old to do it?

My kid has ADD. The smaller verses were easy to him because he only had to concentrate for about two minutes. There is no way his brain can process the amount of words in the fifteen minutes it takes him to get through that whole passage. He tries, damn he tries, and I think for six years old he does a phenomenal job, but I just don't think he's getting "The Gold Star" this year. I hate to be negative and I hope like hell I am wrong, but it's hard. And stressful. And really, I don't like making him feel badly about himself every time we practice it. I'll trade his self-esteem for that stupid gold star, but he wants that trophy because Hummer Mama has offered to throw a party for the kids who get one.

That. Is just wrong.

And it doesn't matter that I offered him his own party, or a new Game Boy game, or a week's worth of Marble Slab, he wants to be included. He wants to feel important too.

So, if you don't hear much from me between now and May 15, just know we are gold-starring it until we get it right.

Lord, help us.

This Post is Gross

Can you think of anything worse than cleaning up vomit?

How about cleaning up vomit everytime you get in the car?

Apparently, Elizabeth gets car sick.

Last week when she spewed orange chunks all over Jacob after we'd retrieved him from school, I figured she had a stomach bug and limited her meals to bananas and toast and bright red pedialyte most of the weekend. When she yakked again yesterday, I thought maybe she still had a touch of the bug. This morning when I caught her in the rearview mirror spraying the back car seat as if she were auditioning for the remake of The Exorcist, I was going through the list of all possible deadly puking illnesses because, dang, that just ain't right! Salmonella? We haven't been around any dirty amphibians lately. E. Coli? She doesn't eat meat. Reflux? Again? Oh no! Please not the reflux again. Then Adam started crying, "Sissy is car sick Mommy....Sissy bummetted all ober me"

Duh. She's car sick. Is that even possible? Can babies get car sick? I've never heard of anything like that. But, she's only sick when we're in the car. Isn't that the definition of car sick? UGH.

You do realize we are in the car twice a day, right?

Do you know how much fun it is to scrub your child, your car seat, and your car twice a day?

Do you know how lucky you are to be driving a car that doesn't smell like Gerber bananas vomit?

I don't know what to do about this. She's only sixteen pounds so I can't turn the seat around yet. Does anyone else have car sick children? If so, spill it. And if you could give me some tips in the next hour before I have to get in the car again, it would be much appreciated.

Let's see....no sleep, tantrums in public, lots and lots of vomit. Refresh my memory. Parenting is lots of fun how?

Colic Survivors Unite!

Have you been to Jennifer's blog this week?

Did you happen to notice who was Site of the Week?

Go check it out, I'll wait.

dum-de-dum-de-dum

Cool huh?

I smiled when I noticed the "colic survivors unite!" tag. So true. But then I started to wonder. Have we really survived the colic?

Elizabeth still cries. A lot. In fact, she's sitting at my ankles right this very second screaming her bitty head off for no apparent reason. Maybe it's because the operator won't complete her call as dialed or because all our Webkinz have died because the site won't log us on or maybe she's still wondering what the deal is with Facebook, but either way, she's mad and she's screaming.

Twelve months later and I am still getting three hours of sleep a night. Sure, I enjoy spending time with my old buddy Alton, but I am sure he'd be just as cute funny during the daylight hours. At midnight, three, and six Elizabeth sits right up in the bed and shrieks pitiously while signing "more milk" over and over. Yes, it was cute the first time, but now I think she's just being mean. The sleeps-through-the-night spot in the baby book is just screaming (Haha, I am so punny funny) to be penciled in every time I open it, which I admit, isn't that often, but still.

I've tried the cry-it-out in the crib method but, no, she never cried it out. Not even a break in the caterwauling. Do it for a few days Dr. Ferber says, but that was just enough time to convince her that her room is a haven for all that is evil, a place right out of a Stephen King novel, so now she screams when we enter her room for any reason, so that's all fun. Who needs a diaper change anyway?

My husband has tried to keep her at night, but when I heard her muffled screams from the garage while the husband was snoozing on the couch, I didn't think that was such a good idea. Oh, she wan't alone. The dog was with her. Cowering. Funny, but he suddenly likes to be outside and alone all day and night. Hmm, wonder why?

She won't take a bottle. She won't take a sippy cup. When the sun goes down she must be pinned to my side. Or my arms. Or my boobs. I rock and jiggle and feed the hefty toddler who takes up two-thirds of my bed. I know one day, and one day very soon, I will miss this, but right now, I'm just tired. So. very. tired.

I know I've said it before, but it still rings true today: If you are getting eight, shoot, six hours of sleep, just now I hate you. Well, not really, but I am very, very jealous.

Colic survivors unite! Sort of.



I am the Princess and I rule this house. They will have to learn this eventually.