I love Sunday.
It's the only day I don't ever have to work. Well, and Federal Holidays, but you get what I mean.
I plan nothing on Sundays.
We hang out in the house, catch up on laundry, and eat meals I otherwise, have no time to cook.
This morning, I made pancakes. Actually, I made letter pancakes. So, the kids each got their names spelled out in pancakes on their plates. I even made some extra letters with the left over batter.
They were a hit.
Until the boys used the letters to make up naughty words.
Brilliant.
Moving on... laundry, 6 loads.... washed, folded, and put away. House vacuumed, kitchen cleaned, baseboard installed in the bathroom (so we can finally have the sink installed, Woo-hoo!), mention to the kids that someone should go out and shovel, and hopped my butt into the shower.
Fresh out of the shower, I see Youngest all ready for his play date at his friends. He's very excited since I have never let him go to a friend's house before. Yes, he's almost nine. No lectures please, we have food allergies, a behavior issue, and no time like, ever. We have friends here often, I'm not that horrible.
Suddenly I notice that Oldest is no where to be found.
Crap. Where is he???
He's out shoveling snow off the entire driveway.
Seriously.
I mean, it's only two inches, but it was heavy and wet. And, I mentioned it once, in general, and with no prospects of being paid.
So, with our newly shoveled drive, I'm off to drop off Youngest, run some errands with Oldest, and back to the house to start the "project of projects"... Oldest's scrapbook on Orville Wright. He's had 3 weeks to do it... it's due on Friday.
Yippee.
While he's elbow deep in Glue sticks and printed fonts, I am right beside him, working on the wedding "invites of invites". They're reminiscent of old passports, with hand bound, hand pressed pages, and several different embellishments.
Also, yippee.
Youngest stayed an extra hour at his friends and upon arrival home, engaged in bickering and extreme Beyblade-ing with his brother.
Joy.
Now we're on to dinner, showers and a movie.
And that's it.
Sunday at my house.
Don't be too jealous.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Supervillian Series... Court Day 1...
To read the first of the series... click here.
She sits quietly in the court room, admiring the woodwork, the clean lines, the newness of the building. It's nothing like the old courthouse she spent so much time in all those years ago. Back when the wounds were still fresh, and visiting the courthouse became a monthly, sometimes weekly occurrence.
The bailiffs all still remember her. Less now from her predictable "appointments" and more now for her calm demeanor against his irate abusive behavior. All too often, while trying to get a rise from her, or trying to assert himself to get his way, he has been asked to leave the court house. The bailiff this day is like an old friend, and they revel in conversations regarding weather and vacations. He has not seen the other party this morning yet. A good sign she thinks.
Truthfully, this is not the appearance she dreads. This is a minor technicality, a safety net of judicial proportions. A renewal of an existing restraining order. He's already petitioned for it's modification, so today's hearing could go many different ways. If he shows up.
She sits in the court room as proceedings start. She has always sat alone. She has many people who'd gladly come with her, support her, and offer up testimony if necessary. But she prefers to go alone. She is strong. He usualy shows with an entourage, and the court officials see this. They see the harem of women he has swooning about him, shaking their head from the benches, sizing her up, calming him when he's clearly out of control. She is not phased by this anymore.
It appears as though he will not show this day. She sits and listens to another woman unfold before the judge and bystanders, her current fate and tales of love gone badly. Oddly, after listening to her story, she sighs, as it is similar to where she has been. She feels a bit comforted in knowing that that piece of it, the piece still engulfed in emotion, is behind her.
When it is her turn to approach the stand, she stands quietly as the judge reviews the case. It is not her regular judge, but she has been before him in the past. He issued the first order, 3 years ago. With a bit of reservation, he continues the order, unmodified, for another year. This was to be expected, as his disappearance act leaves no counter argument.
She leaves the courthouse and is off to issue his re-service of the continuation at his reported place of residence. She files all her paperwork together, and makes the long drive to the Police Station that will serve him at his supposed new residence. Pulling over to check her GPS, she encounters a police offer parked doing detail reports from his car. After a bit of discussion, he takes the orders and serves them himself. He calls her within minutes to tell her the results. She finds it comforting to know that he took an interest in her situation, and that he personally was looking after this for her. It is a comfort she has not often had with officers of the law in the past.
The real challenge would be in two days. His next visit. He would most likely be angered by the new order, and that would effect the boy's time with him. The hope is always that it won't, but she knows it will.
Deep down she knows.
And it did. Upon returning to his residence, he gets mad at the dog. He throws his keys and breaks a window. Expletives fly, yelling ensues. The boys stare quietly. The new woman and her little girl are used to his behavior, and sadly so are his boys. After regrouping, they play games. The oldest son doesn't want to play, and a battle ensues between them about what to do and how to behave. Devastated, he calls her on her cell phone, hysterically crying that he wants her to come get him. She can not. His refusal to bring him to the meeting place is infuriating. She talks with her youngest, who wants to stay, and convinces her oldest to just try and get through the next 30 minutes. She abruptly leaves her appointment, and races to the rendezvous point as if that will make it better. It doesn't. She sits and waits, sick that she couldn't go get him.
Sick, that she had no idea where he was.
They returned to her twenty minutes early. She was glad she was there waiting. Her youngest son bounds into the car, unfazed by the night's events.
Her oldest is broken.
He never wants to see him again.
He is now a stranger.
The state is requesting her appearance at another court appearance in 13 days.
Nine days before their next visit with him.
Court will not go well for him, and she is sickened by how their visit will go...
If he is not otherwise detained......
....to be continued.
She sits quietly in the court room, admiring the woodwork, the clean lines, the newness of the building. It's nothing like the old courthouse she spent so much time in all those years ago. Back when the wounds were still fresh, and visiting the courthouse became a monthly, sometimes weekly occurrence.
The bailiffs all still remember her. Less now from her predictable "appointments" and more now for her calm demeanor against his irate abusive behavior. All too often, while trying to get a rise from her, or trying to assert himself to get his way, he has been asked to leave the court house. The bailiff this day is like an old friend, and they revel in conversations regarding weather and vacations. He has not seen the other party this morning yet. A good sign she thinks.
Truthfully, this is not the appearance she dreads. This is a minor technicality, a safety net of judicial proportions. A renewal of an existing restraining order. He's already petitioned for it's modification, so today's hearing could go many different ways. If he shows up.
She sits in the court room as proceedings start. She has always sat alone. She has many people who'd gladly come with her, support her, and offer up testimony if necessary. But she prefers to go alone. She is strong. He usualy shows with an entourage, and the court officials see this. They see the harem of women he has swooning about him, shaking their head from the benches, sizing her up, calming him when he's clearly out of control. She is not phased by this anymore.
It appears as though he will not show this day. She sits and listens to another woman unfold before the judge and bystanders, her current fate and tales of love gone badly. Oddly, after listening to her story, she sighs, as it is similar to where she has been. She feels a bit comforted in knowing that that piece of it, the piece still engulfed in emotion, is behind her.
When it is her turn to approach the stand, she stands quietly as the judge reviews the case. It is not her regular judge, but she has been before him in the past. He issued the first order, 3 years ago. With a bit of reservation, he continues the order, unmodified, for another year. This was to be expected, as his disappearance act leaves no counter argument.
She leaves the courthouse and is off to issue his re-service of the continuation at his reported place of residence. She files all her paperwork together, and makes the long drive to the Police Station that will serve him at his supposed new residence. Pulling over to check her GPS, she encounters a police offer parked doing detail reports from his car. After a bit of discussion, he takes the orders and serves them himself. He calls her within minutes to tell her the results. She finds it comforting to know that he took an interest in her situation, and that he personally was looking after this for her. It is a comfort she has not often had with officers of the law in the past.
The real challenge would be in two days. His next visit. He would most likely be angered by the new order, and that would effect the boy's time with him. The hope is always that it won't, but she knows it will.
Deep down she knows.
And it did. Upon returning to his residence, he gets mad at the dog. He throws his keys and breaks a window. Expletives fly, yelling ensues. The boys stare quietly. The new woman and her little girl are used to his behavior, and sadly so are his boys. After regrouping, they play games. The oldest son doesn't want to play, and a battle ensues between them about what to do and how to behave. Devastated, he calls her on her cell phone, hysterically crying that he wants her to come get him. She can not. His refusal to bring him to the meeting place is infuriating. She talks with her youngest, who wants to stay, and convinces her oldest to just try and get through the next 30 minutes. She abruptly leaves her appointment, and races to the rendezvous point as if that will make it better. It doesn't. She sits and waits, sick that she couldn't go get him.
Sick, that she had no idea where he was.
They returned to her twenty minutes early. She was glad she was there waiting. Her youngest son bounds into the car, unfazed by the night's events.
Her oldest is broken.
He never wants to see him again.
He is now a stranger.
The state is requesting her appearance at another court appearance in 13 days.
Nine days before their next visit with him.
Court will not go well for him, and she is sickened by how their visit will go...
If he is not otherwise detained......
....to be continued.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
So To Recap...
In case you missed it, in my last post I asked for fabulous suggestions in time management.
Because honestly, until my Youngest can perfect his machine that interrupts the time space continuum, I'm going to need to cram as much stuff as I can into my day.
So since all of our plates seem to be so full it's reminiscent of the chocolate buffet line on a Norwegian cruise line, I have recapped some of the helpful hints for you all, and included all of their links in case you want to check them out!
You're welcome!
Gina likes to combine her blog reading time with doing tedious paper shredding. Excellent plan as long as you don't combine it with bill paying, and shred the wrong paper. Not that I've ever done that or anything. I would also like to add here, that Gina uses her crock pot all the time. Don't believe me? Check out her blog for some great slow cooker recipes.
Portia and MA Mommy both like to utilize all things in the kitchen. MA Mommy does tons of prep work early on, IE: doubling or tripling a recipe and freezing for later. This takes much of the craziness out of "What's for dinner?" Portia is Gluten Free like us, and as most GF folks will tell you, prep is the key. Making your own stocks, soups, baked goods, etc. then popping them in the freezer for use later, eliminates a ton of waste (as GF foods don't last long out of the freezer) and adds portion controlled convenience.
Nari also had some great sanity tips regarding taking turns grocery shopping, and having her daughters plan and cook one meal a week. I love this idea!! Now if I could only keep the kids from burning the house down, or acquire a weekly craving for peanut butter and fluff sandwiches.
Now, I have to be honest here. I never have time to exercise. Yes, I know I need to make the time, but I don't. Kimberly has managed to combined exercise into her daily errand runs, which to be honest, I think is awesome! Now if only Mother Nature would agree and give me some 40 degree days, oh... and a bike. (Almost Hubs, are you reading?)
Sandra had no suggestions, just some supportive words. Which is surprising since she has like a bazillion kids. Personally I think she's keeping all her secrets to herself, so she can can effectively plan her tiara- wearing quest for world domination. Yup. That's it...
George went the single man's route, combining two things I'm not sure should be combined. But hey, if washing your delicate items with your last night's dishes works for you, who am I to judge. Just don't be offended when I don't come for dinner...
I will leave you with the best comment ever from Female...
What a great reminder of how important it is to appreciate and utilize all of the modern day conveniences we have at our fingertips.
Because as tired as I am today, I can not even imagine walking up hill, both ways.
But Almost Hubs can...
Because honestly, until my Youngest can perfect his machine that interrupts the time space continuum, I'm going to need to cram as much stuff as I can into my day.
So since all of our plates seem to be so full it's reminiscent of the chocolate buffet line on a Norwegian cruise line, I have recapped some of the helpful hints for you all, and included all of their links in case you want to check them out!
You're welcome!
Gina likes to combine her blog reading time with doing tedious paper shredding. Excellent plan as long as you don't combine it with bill paying, and shred the wrong paper. Not that I've ever done that or anything. I would also like to add here, that Gina uses her crock pot all the time. Don't believe me? Check out her blog for some great slow cooker recipes.
Portia and MA Mommy both like to utilize all things in the kitchen. MA Mommy does tons of prep work early on, IE: doubling or tripling a recipe and freezing for later. This takes much of the craziness out of "What's for dinner?" Portia is Gluten Free like us, and as most GF folks will tell you, prep is the key. Making your own stocks, soups, baked goods, etc. then popping them in the freezer for use later, eliminates a ton of waste (as GF foods don't last long out of the freezer) and adds portion controlled convenience.
Nari also had some great sanity tips regarding taking turns grocery shopping, and having her daughters plan and cook one meal a week. I love this idea!! Now if I could only keep the kids from burning the house down, or acquire a weekly craving for peanut butter and fluff sandwiches.
Now, I have to be honest here. I never have time to exercise. Yes, I know I need to make the time, but I don't. Kimberly has managed to combined exercise into her daily errand runs, which to be honest, I think is awesome! Now if only Mother Nature would agree and give me some 40 degree days, oh... and a bike. (Almost Hubs, are you reading?)
Sandra had no suggestions, just some supportive words. Which is surprising since she has like a bazillion kids. Personally I think she's keeping all her secrets to herself, so she can can effectively plan her tiara- wearing quest for world domination. Yup. That's it...
George went the single man's route, combining two things I'm not sure should be combined. But hey, if washing your delicate items with your last night's dishes works for you, who am I to judge. Just don't be offended when I don't come for dinner...
I will leave you with the best comment ever from Female...
"There's never enough hours in a day for me either, BUT sure makes one appreciate the times we now live in MORE.
Would NOT have wanted to walk in my great great grandparents shoes for one second.
I remember us having a ice chest and carrying large hunks of ice and emptying the pan under it so as not to have a flood on the floor.
No refrigerator. :0(
I remember pumping our daily water up on a hill and carrying it back to the house. :0(
I remember taking a bath in a galvanized tub set down on the kitchen floor.
I remember cold water flats. ( no hot water) :0(
I remember outhouses. ( Used many) :0(
I remember carrying what we called a Slop Bucket to the outhouse to empty it out after a nights use in the winter. :)( :0( :0( P U !
I remember wringer washing machines and getting my maternity top that I was wearing caught in the rollers. Not just ONCE either! :0(
I remember no electric irons and shoveling coal into a furnace for heat and, and, and, and.
Always makes me stop and think....bet those folks said the same thing. Not enough hours in their day either . :0)
Love my memories of then, but love my conveniences now with or without enough time in my day. :0)
Oh....and how about that one ....walked uphill to school, both ways. LMAO"
Because as tired as I am today, I can not even imagine walking up hill, both ways.
But Almost Hubs can...
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Never A Spare Minute...
I entered a contest to become a Mommy blogger.
I didn't win.
Which is good, because as soon as I entered, I found myself thinking "When the heck am I going to find time to do this too?"
Really. I am thrilled I didn't win. And, even more thrilled that this fabulous blogger friend o' mine did!
When I told my friend Ty that I had entered the contest, she looked at me and said "Oh. No. You. Did. Not. How the hell are you going to commit to that too... did you forget you're getting married? The kids? This beloved hell-hole of employment bliss? School meetings? Easter? Upcoming Birthdays? Shall I go on?"
No. Not necessary. I think you can stop now.
I love her, I really do. She always has a way of verbally slapping me back to reality. She, like myself, believes that their are just not enough hours in the day. They key, we have both found, is good time management.
And multitasking.
Like a billion times a day.
Some of my better strategies include...
So how about you my imaginary friends?
What fabulous time saving multi tasking tip you you swear by?
I could use some new ideas...
I didn't win.
Which is good, because as soon as I entered, I found myself thinking "When the heck am I going to find time to do this too?"
Really. I am thrilled I didn't win. And, even more thrilled that this fabulous blogger friend o' mine did!
When I told my friend Ty that I had entered the contest, she looked at me and said "Oh. No. You. Did. Not. How the hell are you going to commit to that too... did you forget you're getting married? The kids? This beloved hell-hole of employment bliss? School meetings? Easter? Upcoming Birthdays? Shall I go on?"
No. Not necessary. I think you can stop now.
I love her, I really do. She always has a way of verbally slapping me back to reality. She, like myself, believes that their are just not enough hours in the day. They key, we have both found, is good time management.
And multitasking.
Like a billion times a day.
Some of my better strategies include...
- Buying things when I see them, then tucking the receipt in the bag. As soon as I find that I don't need the item, or I need to exchange it, it goes into the car with the receipt. That way, when I'm out and about, I can return/exchange it without wasting time and gas.
- Keeping an on going list of things we're out of in my purse. Then if I have a spare 15 minutes, I can run in and grab those few items, kid free. Or, even better, when Almost Hubs calls and asks if he can pick up something, I can tell him, avoiding the store all together.
- Having the numbers of the gas/propane company, court house, doctor, school, etc. pre-programmed into my phone, so that when I'm driving around thinking, "Oh! I really need to call them..." I can.
- Combining my work schedule with my own personal errands. Don't tell my boss. For instance: Every Thursday I run the same mail route. I deliver mail into 2 grocery stores, 3 banks, 2 insurance companies, my propane company, 4 gas stations, 2 pharmacies, the Dollar Store, and the boy's elementary school. So, every Thursday, I plan all my banking, bill paying, check-ins at the school, and pick up last minute items at the grocery store. And if I happen to pick up a Red Box movie, I can return that as well.
- Never allowing down time at work. Other carriers stand around, complain, and take a million smoke breaks. Not me. Our office is 1/4 mile from a shopping plaza. You guessed it. Cat food, copies at the office supply store, a return at TJ Maxx? Done.
- Drinking my breakfast on the go. Love my Yopliat smoothies, they get me going without slowing me down. Kind of like Dunkin' Donuts... but without the gluten.
- Delagate. And, let things go. The kids really want to help, I just have to let go of the dishes being put away in the wrong place and the towels not being folded just right.
- I let the kids wash the car in the summer when it rains. They get soaked, can throw soap at each other, make a mess, and Mother Nature cleans it all up. I don't even have to pay for water.
So how about you my imaginary friends?
What fabulous time saving multi tasking tip you you swear by?
I could use some new ideas...
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
"Lil Bit Of Chicken Fry" & Some Random Stuff The Kids Said...
There are many reasons I would not make a good kidnapper.
First, No amount of money in the world would make me want to take someone else's kid overnight for any period of time.
Second, My ADD and need for streamlined efficiency would clearly get the best of me and I'd screw up the drop.
"Leave the money in the bag next to the bench... no not in that bag, the pretty Coach one from your closet. No wait, I think I have an appointment at 3pm, could we move the drop location to the pediatricians?"
And third, I could never sit long enough to clip and paste the ransom note...
These are the invitations to Youngest's Birthday party this year. We're taking the kids on a spy mission, should they choose to accept it. These were by far the least expensive invites ever, but the lettering on the folders took days. Which in Mom time is like, forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As I was delivering Oldest to chorus practice the other night, I pulled up to the doors of the Middle school, and asked Oldest if he'd like me to walk him in.
Oldest: "No, I'm good."
Me: "Are you sure?"
Oldest: "Um Ye-Ah. I'm ten Mom.... (rolls eyes) double digits."
Me: "Okay..."
I watched as he ran towards the curb, then abruptly turned back to the car, stuck his face i the window...
"Love you Mom"
"Love you too."
"Love you more."
And with that he turned, jumped his way to the curb, sprinted down the walkway, launched himself off the bench and bounded into the school.
Maybe It'd been safer if I'd walked him in... double digits indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
There has been much discussion around here regarding what they will call Almost Hubs after the wedding. Double D is popular (Because he's a stunt double dad... and yes, he does all his own stunts.) Pi is fast becoming a favorite as well, as it is Portuguese for father and is easy to remember. Then the conversation turned to Youngest....
Me: "What will you call Double D after we're married?
Thinking for a minute...
Youngest: "Nut job"
*trying to control my laughter...*
Me: "That's not very nice, maybe you should call him something else."
Youngest: "No. Nut job's good"
Sigh... he's more like Almost Hubs than he'll ever know.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Youngest decide on Sunday that he'd be changing his name to Shamus.
Seems he's getting in touch with his Irish side.
Oldest is dis-inheriting his Italian side altogether, as he announced that his father will now be known only as "the stranger".
This comes from a very bad visit with their father this weekend. Very bad as in Oldest called in hysterics that he wanted to come home and he refused to meet me. Bad as in within the first 5 minutes of being there, his father got so mad he broke a window. They see him once a month for 3 hours. How bad is it that the ex-hole can't keep it together for 3 hours?
And so it starts again... stay tuned for the next installment of "The Making Of A Supervillain".... there's many court appearances on the horizon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It occurred to me that with everything going on I still have a wedding to plan. Seems if you give it virtually no attention at all, it doesn't come together quite as one would hope. I met with the JP the other night, seems our original vows lacked personality and resembled the efficiency of a drive through order at McDonald's. So, the rewrite is now more personal, and more representative of us. We are now reciting our own vows, which is nice, right? And, I have to say what Almost Hubs is reciting to me is beautiful. I know, becasue I wrote it for him. See what a great wife I'll make.
Remember how Almost Hub's Sister In Law was going to make the cakes? Yes. well she decided to get divorced from his brother after 20 something years of marriage. So, I started talking to my cousin about making the cakes for the wedding, since they own a fabulous bakery. Turns out, they'll be in FL that week.
Glorious.
So now, I'm budgeting twice what I was for the cakes and have to find a bakery that can accommodate our bizarre allergy/ flavor preferences.
A bride's work is never done.
The honeymoon flights are finally booked though, Almost Hubs made sure to that. Seems now we will need to find someone new to stay with the kids, as or original plan is not going to work out so well. (see previous post regarding how it's good Youngest is so cute.)
Aah, a mother's work is never done.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've had this song stuck in my head most of the weekend..
"Lil bit 'o chicken fry, cold beer on a Friday night, pair o' jeans that fit just right, and the radio on..." -Zac Brown Band
And this has become my latest drug of choice...
Really, my garage is starting to look like a (root) brewery.
So of course last Friday night, I was craving fried chicken and an IBC. Really craving. Being Gluten Free we just can't run down to KFC and pick some up, so I went to work in the kitchen.
About an hour later, Almost Hubs had to run to the grocery store for a back up dinner.
Help me my imaginary friends! How many more chickens have to needlessly die to satisfy my Gluten free fried chicken needs? Feel free to include links and or recipes below...
It wasn't a complete loss however, I did spend most of the evening dancing in the kitchen in my comfy jeans....
First, No amount of money in the world would make me want to take someone else's kid overnight for any period of time.
Second, My ADD and need for streamlined efficiency would clearly get the best of me and I'd screw up the drop.
"Leave the money in the bag next to the bench... no not in that bag, the pretty Coach one from your closet. No wait, I think I have an appointment at 3pm, could we move the drop location to the pediatricians?"
And third, I could never sit long enough to clip and paste the ransom note...
These are the invitations to Youngest's Birthday party this year. We're taking the kids on a spy mission, should they choose to accept it. These were by far the least expensive invites ever, but the lettering on the folders took days. Which in Mom time is like, forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As I was delivering Oldest to chorus practice the other night, I pulled up to the doors of the Middle school, and asked Oldest if he'd like me to walk him in.
Oldest: "No, I'm good."
Me: "Are you sure?"
Oldest: "Um Ye-Ah. I'm ten Mom.... (rolls eyes) double digits."
Me: "Okay..."
I watched as he ran towards the curb, then abruptly turned back to the car, stuck his face i the window...
"Love you Mom"
"Love you too."
"Love you more."
And with that he turned, jumped his way to the curb, sprinted down the walkway, launched himself off the bench and bounded into the school.
Maybe It'd been safer if I'd walked him in... double digits indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
There has been much discussion around here regarding what they will call Almost Hubs after the wedding. Double D is popular (Because he's a stunt double dad... and yes, he does all his own stunts.) Pi is fast becoming a favorite as well, as it is Portuguese for father and is easy to remember. Then the conversation turned to Youngest....
Me: "What will you call Double D after we're married?
Thinking for a minute...
Youngest: "Nut job"
*trying to control my laughter...*
Me: "That's not very nice, maybe you should call him something else."
Youngest: "No. Nut job's good"
Sigh... he's more like Almost Hubs than he'll ever know.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Youngest decide on Sunday that he'd be changing his name to Shamus.
Seems he's getting in touch with his Irish side.
Oldest is dis-inheriting his Italian side altogether, as he announced that his father will now be known only as "the stranger".
This comes from a very bad visit with their father this weekend. Very bad as in Oldest called in hysterics that he wanted to come home and he refused to meet me. Bad as in within the first 5 minutes of being there, his father got so mad he broke a window. They see him once a month for 3 hours. How bad is it that the ex-hole can't keep it together for 3 hours?
And so it starts again... stay tuned for the next installment of "The Making Of A Supervillain".... there's many court appearances on the horizon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It occurred to me that with everything going on I still have a wedding to plan. Seems if you give it virtually no attention at all, it doesn't come together quite as one would hope. I met with the JP the other night, seems our original vows lacked personality and resembled the efficiency of a drive through order at McDonald's. So, the rewrite is now more personal, and more representative of us. We are now reciting our own vows, which is nice, right? And, I have to say what Almost Hubs is reciting to me is beautiful. I know, becasue I wrote it for him. See what a great wife I'll make.
Remember how Almost Hub's Sister In Law was going to make the cakes? Yes. well she decided to get divorced from his brother after 20 something years of marriage. So, I started talking to my cousin about making the cakes for the wedding, since they own a fabulous bakery. Turns out, they'll be in FL that week.
Glorious.
So now, I'm budgeting twice what I was for the cakes and have to find a bakery that can accommodate our bizarre allergy/ flavor preferences.
A bride's work is never done.
The honeymoon flights are finally booked though, Almost Hubs made sure to that. Seems now we will need to find someone new to stay with the kids, as or original plan is not going to work out so well. (see previous post regarding how it's good Youngest is so cute.)
Aah, a mother's work is never done.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've had this song stuck in my head most of the weekend..
"Lil bit 'o chicken fry, cold beer on a Friday night, pair o' jeans that fit just right, and the radio on..." -Zac Brown Band
So of course last Friday night, I was craving fried chicken and an IBC. Really craving. Being Gluten Free we just can't run down to KFC and pick some up, so I went to work in the kitchen.
About an hour later, Almost Hubs had to run to the grocery store for a back up dinner.
Help me my imaginary friends! How many more chickens have to needlessly die to satisfy my Gluten free fried chicken needs? Feel free to include links and or recipes below...
It wasn't a complete loss however, I did spend most of the evening dancing in the kitchen in my comfy jeans....
And that's all the random I've got. Feel free to visit Keely at the Un-Mom's
for more randomly scheduled updates.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Motherly Love...
I think that when I was expecting my first son, I expected too much. Most of the books, and all of the stuff portrayed on TV depicts these mothers instantly falling in love with their child the instant they laid eyes on them. For some, that love was before the child was even born. They describe an unimaginable explosion of love for this teeny tiny individual they hadn't even met yet.
Yeah. Not me.
Horrible right? Well, combine severe postpartum depression, being left alone for hours, sometimes days, and being a first time mama, and it's a wonder I could even love my breakfast, let alone another human being. Yes, I did have a connection to him, a maternal bond if you will. But, I didn't know him. I didn't have any idea why he way crying at all hours of the day. Or, why he wouldn't eat. Or, why he hated me already.
I just had no idea who he was or what the Hell he wanted from me.
But then he grew.
Every day he changed, and we figured stuff out together.
I knew why he laughed, what made him cry. When he was really happy....
.....and when it was just gas.
I counted his freckles, knew every hair on his head, and actually loved getting up at 5am for his bottle and to rock him back to sleep. Every moment, every second, I knew him I loved him more and more. I fell in love with him as a person, not just as my baby. When he was 6 months old I found out I was pregnant with Youngest. Altogether I had 16 months just with Oldest to learn every little nuance and quirk that made him who he is. I loved that time with him, and wish it had been longer. And, I think it was that time that makes our personalities "click" today. I get him, and I love the person he's turning into.
With Youngest, my experience was all together different. I knew my marriage was over by then, the only question was how long I would stay. Every day that went by, I just kept thinking that this baby was all mine. Selfish, I know, but when you go to every ultra sound alone, every doctor appointment alone, and make every decision alone, you begin to draw the conclusion that you are in fact, alone. So, every twirl, every flip, every nauseating kick to my stomach just made me love him more.
And when he was born,
He was beautiful. I loved him instantly.
There was no getting to know him period necessary, he was all mine and Oldest's, and I loved every bit of him.
I remember thinking how lucky I was that I felt that instant bonding with him as I rocked him in the same chair at 5 am when he was about 3 months old. Because with an extremely active 16 month old in the house, there was no time left in the day for bonding. Or showers.
Yes, my friends, somehow the spirits that guide us always make sure we get what we need to survive. The big guy upstairs always has a plan.
He devises a way to ensure that you'll love them unconditionally. Weather it's learned, or by nature.
Then he makes them unbearably cute.
So you won't murder-ize them.
Seriously, he's in big trouble this time.
And Damn it. It's a good thing he's cute.
Yeah. Not me.
Horrible right? Well, combine severe postpartum depression, being left alone for hours, sometimes days, and being a first time mama, and it's a wonder I could even love my breakfast, let alone another human being. Yes, I did have a connection to him, a maternal bond if you will. But, I didn't know him. I didn't have any idea why he way crying at all hours of the day. Or, why he wouldn't eat. Or, why he hated me already.
I just had no idea who he was or what the Hell he wanted from me.
But then he grew.
Every day he changed, and we figured stuff out together.
I knew why he laughed, what made him cry. When he was really happy....
 |
| As seen here, in his Killer Whale costume... |
 |
| I believe he was making "gifts" for me here... |
 |
| Excited, crazy, a a 'lil bit o'fresh. |
With Youngest, my experience was all together different. I knew my marriage was over by then, the only question was how long I would stay. Every day that went by, I just kept thinking that this baby was all mine. Selfish, I know, but when you go to every ultra sound alone, every doctor appointment alone, and make every decision alone, you begin to draw the conclusion that you are in fact, alone. So, every twirl, every flip, every nauseating kick to my stomach just made me love him more.
And when he was born,
He was beautiful. I loved him instantly.
There was no getting to know him period necessary, he was all mine and Oldest's, and I loved every bit of him.
I remember thinking how lucky I was that I felt that instant bonding with him as I rocked him in the same chair at 5 am when he was about 3 months old. Because with an extremely active 16 month old in the house, there was no time left in the day for bonding. Or showers.
Yes, my friends, somehow the spirits that guide us always make sure we get what we need to survive. The big guy upstairs always has a plan.
He devises a way to ensure that you'll love them unconditionally. Weather it's learned, or by nature.
Then he makes them unbearably cute.
So you won't murder-ize them.
Seriously, he's in big trouble this time.
And Damn it. It's a good thing he's cute.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Some Like It Hot...
Parenthood has forced me to drink and like my tea warm. I have gotten used to things lukewarm and even cold, especially dinner, as I'm the last to sit down, and the first one asked to get what everyone else needs. When the days came that I was forced to heat the house more conservatively, and the words "Put on a sweater!" poured from my lips, and I was further submersed in icy tendencies, as I realized I have finally become my parents. Yes, I am at that point in my life where I am doomed to never eat a hot meal, or crank the heat high enough so I may dance around in my underwear. Not that I'd ever do that.
Anyone else share my pain?
What's worse is that I have actually developed an affinity to these things. I prefer iced tea, ice cream is a staple around here, and I've discovered the simple pleasures of leftovers. And, who doesn't love a good sandwich and an ice cold Diet Coke?
Say no more?
Did 'cha just meet me?
I'll go on to say that I have even gotten to the point where I even like my lukewarm foods mild in flavor. No Cajun style wings for me, thanks. I use sensitive toothpaste. Mint is only for extreme breath emergencies, and forget about cinnamon flavored. Why do they even make that, really? I even like my dead-of-summer days a nice breezy 80 degrees, with zero humidity.
But there is one thing that I haven't been able to let go of....
My shower.
Often, it is the only 5 minutes of "me" time in the day. With no coffee, and my only prospects of a mid morning pick-me-up being Diet Coke, it is the one thing that gets me going in the morning. And some mornings getting me going is a real challenge.
So, my shower needs to be hot.
Like can feel the heat on the outside of the bathroom door hot.
Like pump the water line in directly from Hell hot.
I like the bar soap to disintegrate into a puddle of liquid soap, my skin to be that rosy shade of red, and the steam to plume out from the shower so plentifully, that it can steam all the wrinkles out of my Birthday suit.
But, I am trying hard to conserve this winter. It's good for the environment, and my wallet. So the water heater doesn't go much higher that the #2 setting. It's also safer for the kids... yadda, yadda... The water heater's in the basement, and although it's wrapped in it's very own special insulating Snuggie-like blanket, it doesn't stay as warm as it should. I have found that when the tank is newly heated, I can get a shower that is just right. But, if it sits in the tank for any length of time, I get the lukewarm "parenthood" shower.
I have tried running the dishwasher timer to go off at 3 am. This causes the tank to be emptied and refilled at around 6 am... just in time for my morning routine. But I don't do dishes every night, so this is only about 3 days a week.
When Almost Hubs is here, he takes his shower firstas the sacrificial lamb because I leave later than he does. If I jump in about 15 minutes later, presto!, it's like bathing on the Sun. But, he's not always here, and, if I send in the kids first, well, then we'd never get out the door.
A new fancy-schmancy instant hot water heater is out of the question, as my water heater is only 4 years old.
Are you seeing my dilemma?
I can't live without a good hot shower.
It makes me angry...
And you won't like me when I'm angry.
Any suggestions?
Anyone else share my pain?
What's worse is that I have actually developed an affinity to these things. I prefer iced tea, ice cream is a staple around here, and I've discovered the simple pleasures of leftovers. And, who doesn't love a good sandwich and an ice cold Diet Coke?
Say no more?
Did 'cha just meet me?
I'll go on to say that I have even gotten to the point where I even like my lukewarm foods mild in flavor. No Cajun style wings for me, thanks. I use sensitive toothpaste. Mint is only for extreme breath emergencies, and forget about cinnamon flavored. Why do they even make that, really? I even like my dead-of-summer days a nice breezy 80 degrees, with zero humidity.
But there is one thing that I haven't been able to let go of....
My shower.
Often, it is the only 5 minutes of "me" time in the day. With no coffee, and my only prospects of a mid morning pick-me-up being Diet Coke, it is the one thing that gets me going in the morning. And some mornings getting me going is a real challenge.
So, my shower needs to be hot.
Like can feel the heat on the outside of the bathroom door hot.
Like pump the water line in directly from Hell hot.
I like the bar soap to disintegrate into a puddle of liquid soap, my skin to be that rosy shade of red, and the steam to plume out from the shower so plentifully, that it can steam all the wrinkles out of my Birthday suit.
But, I am trying hard to conserve this winter. It's good for the environment, and my wallet. So the water heater doesn't go much higher that the #2 setting. It's also safer for the kids... yadda, yadda... The water heater's in the basement, and although it's wrapped in it's very own special insulating Snuggie-like blanket, it doesn't stay as warm as it should. I have found that when the tank is newly heated, I can get a shower that is just right. But, if it sits in the tank for any length of time, I get the lukewarm "parenthood" shower.
I have tried running the dishwasher timer to go off at 3 am. This causes the tank to be emptied and refilled at around 6 am... just in time for my morning routine. But I don't do dishes every night, so this is only about 3 days a week.
When Almost Hubs is here, he takes his shower first
A new fancy-schmancy instant hot water heater is out of the question, as my water heater is only 4 years old.
Are you seeing my dilemma?
I can't live without a good hot shower.
It makes me angry...
And you won't like me when I'm angry.
Any suggestions?
Friday, February 18, 2011
All About The Fonts..
Any of you who are not new here know that HTML hates me.
Hates ME.
Can you imagine?
Anyway...
Some of you may have noticed that I've become a bitschizophrenic, scattered, diverse with my page designs lately. What? Oh, just zip it... Mmmm, kay, moving on...
So, back like a million months ago, Blogger decided that we could upload our own photos into the background of our blogs. Oh! The possibilities, right?
Wrong.
Every time I tried to upload a picture, it came back with the pixel size being too large. The pix-a-wha size? So after much Google-ing and scouring the internet for a solution, I determined that I have no idea how to change the pixel size on my photos. Shocker, right? I know!!! Then I remembered something in Picnik that allows you to save and share pictures in other formats, and Voila! There it was!
Now I realize to most of you these are just random stamps. But to me, because I'm a giant dork, they are quite representative of who I am. Long before I ever thought of becoming a mail lady, I loved stamps. My Mom and Grandmother would always check out the new ones coming out. I've even gone as far as ordering special ones on line for Birthdays, holidays, and themed parties. And, I'm marring the guy who sells stamps all day long, so what does that tell you? I know... I need help.
When I bought my house, the previous owner was so kind as to leaveworthless stuff behind that he thought I'd need in the attic. In one such box, in amongst the 1960's electrical textbooks, I found a plastic baggie full of canceled stamps from all over the world. Some of the post marks are from before the 1930's. There are some from countries that don't exist any more, as well as ones from Cuba, Ecuador, Iran, Brazil, Poland, and right here in the US (4 cent ones!). It seems that Bob's (the man I bought my house from) grandfather was in the service. He routinely wrote letters home to Josie, and she in turn, would keep the stamps from those letters.
Aww, it's my very own old fashioned love story lost in my attic!
Almost Hubs wanted me to sell them on EBay. Hello? These are part of an American love story!!! How could I sell them?Besides they weren't worth much anyway. So I kept them. I have them all decoupaged onto a breakfast tray in the kitchen, along with a few other special ones my Mom and Grandmother had given me. And now, I am sharing them with you.
So, now I'm feeling bold, wreck-less, and crazy.
See kids? This is what happens when I've had too much Diet Coke.
What else can I change?
Fonts? Background Colors? Borders? The controversy over Universal Health care? Maybe later...
I picked "Cherry Cream Soda" as my header fonts. Hello? Cherry. Cream. Soda. It's like they knew I was coming.
I chose "Chewy" for the rest because it's the name of my cat. Nope. We didn't name him, but he fits right in with our Star Wars themed home.
Almost Hubs has decided he needs to be better represented on the blog, since he's now getting National attention and all. Um, Okay honey. So at some point, he and I will get better pictures. But otherwise, this is it.
My new home.
Until I decide to have another Diet Coke and rearrange all the furniture again.
Hates ME.
Can you imagine?
Anyway...
Some of you may have noticed that I've become a bit
So, back like a million months ago, Blogger decided that we could upload our own photos into the background of our blogs. Oh! The possibilities, right?
Wrong.
Every time I tried to upload a picture, it came back with the pixel size being too large. The pix-a-wha size? So after much Google-ing and scouring the internet for a solution, I determined that I have no idea how to change the pixel size on my photos. Shocker, right? I know!!! Then I remembered something in Picnik that allows you to save and share pictures in other formats, and Voila! There it was!
Now I realize to most of you these are just random stamps. But to me, because I'm a giant dork, they are quite representative of who I am. Long before I ever thought of becoming a mail lady, I loved stamps. My Mom and Grandmother would always check out the new ones coming out. I've even gone as far as ordering special ones on line for Birthdays, holidays, and themed parties. And, I'm marring the guy who sells stamps all day long, so what does that tell you? I know... I need help.
When I bought my house, the previous owner was so kind as to leave
Aww, it's my very own old fashioned love story lost in my attic!
Almost Hubs wanted me to sell them on EBay. Hello? These are part of an American love story!!! How could I sell them?
So, now I'm feeling bold, wreck-less, and crazy.
See kids? This is what happens when I've had too much Diet Coke.
What else can I change?
Fonts? Background Colors? Borders? The controversy over Universal Health care? Maybe later...
I picked "Cherry Cream Soda" as my header fonts. Hello? Cherry. Cream. Soda. It's like they knew I was coming.
I chose "Chewy" for the rest because it's the name of my cat. Nope. We didn't name him, but he fits right in with our Star Wars themed home.
Almost Hubs has decided he needs to be better represented on the blog, since he's now getting National attention and all. Um, Okay honey. So at some point, he and I will get better pictures. But otherwise, this is it.
My new home.
Until I decide to have another Diet Coke and rearrange all the furniture again.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Dear Anonymous American Male...
Dear Anonymous American Male,
I am writing to you in regards to the post you left on this recent post, in which you commented...
"I am an American man, and I have decided to boycott American women. In a nutshell, American women are the most likely to cheat on you, to divorce you, to get fat, to steal half of your money in the divorce courts, don’t know how to cook or clean, don’t want to have children, etc. Therefore, what intelligent man would want to get involved with American women?
American women are generally immature, selfish, extremely arrogant and self-centered, mentally unstable, irresponsible, and highly unchaste. The behavior of most American women is utterly disgusting, to say the least.
This blog is my attempt to explain why I feel American women are inferior to foreign women (non-American women), and why American men should boycott American women, and date/marry only foreign (non-American) women."
First, let me say Thanks! It made me laugh out loud. But, forgive my ignorance, but what exactly does this have to do with my (almost) step son's Anime costume? Nothing? Oh good. Because I thought my simple American female mind may have missed the relevance somehow.
Second, I feel I must in good conscious, delete your comment, as you've included your link, and I'm afraid I'm already having issues with my computer and I don't need any new foreign viruses. Also, I would hate for another simple American to stumble upon it and infect themselves as well. Sorry.
And third, since you clearly were new here and haven't read any on my posts recently, or ever, allow me to educate you.
I am an American woman. Born, raised, and proud.
I am divorced. I didn't cheat, but he did.
I am a bit heavier than I was when I was 18. I have curves and a shape that comes from truly loving everything that makes living amazing. Every stretch mark, extra pound, and dimple, is a testament to labors born, ice cream shared, and memorable dinner cooked from scratch and savored.
When I divorced, I was left homeless, with two children under 2 years old, no job, and $7 in the bank. He also left me a $10,000 bar tab on MY credit card, and I haven't seen a dime in child support in 5 years. Every thing I have, my home, my cars, my life, is because I EARNED it on my own. I've never stolen anything, except maybe a pen by accident, and even then, I gave it back.
I LOVE the look, smell and satisfaction of a clean house, and expect everyone who lives here to help keep it that way.
And, No. I don't want any more children, I already have 2 + 1 Bonus teen, so I'm all set.
As for being generally immature, I do admit I do enjoy a good round of "UNO" or "Go Fish". I play jokes on my children and am often found up to my elbows in craft projects, although I do refrain from eating the paste. I will also admit to being extremely selfish in wanting another 15 minutes of sleep. Just 15 minutes, then I'll go on about my day of pleasing every one around me. And You got me, it was entirely irresponsible to not insist on getting my own driveway free and clear of snow, before I went over and shoveled out the elderly woman two doors down, the entire neighborhood's mailboxes, and my other neighbor so that when she got home from work she would hurt herself on the slush and ice.. I really should have taken care of myself first, you're right, how irresponsible and selfish of me.
As for your suggestion of marrying someone who is foreign, I did consider that.
Almost Hubs is not from here. He was born in Europe and happily resided there until he was ten. He learned English, created a life, and CHOSE to become an American. He studied our history, took our tests, and was naturalized in Faneuil Hall. He votes in every election, follows current events daily, stands up for what he believes, contributes to the economy, and faithfully pays his taxes. In many ways, he is more American than I am. I was given those rights and privileges, he earned them.
He is one of the smartest, well read, well spoken men I know, and I am so thankful everyday that he chooses to love me.
Clearly from the copy/pasted excerpt you felt compelled to publish into my comments, either you've been hurt badly by your ex-wife, or you're still bitter from not dating in High School. Perhaps, they had the foresight to see the train coming through the tunnel to hit them. In the mean time I offer you this...
Let. It. Go.
Or, move. Quite simply, if it is foreign women you want they are plentiful overseas. You could have your pick of any woman in the entire country. May I suggest somewhere in the Middle East? I hear Egypt is welcoming American men who are willing to come visit and take their women.
God speed.
I am writing to you in regards to the post you left on this recent post, in which you commented...
"I am an American man, and I have decided to boycott American women. In a nutshell, American women are the most likely to cheat on you, to divorce you, to get fat, to steal half of your money in the divorce courts, don’t know how to cook or clean, don’t want to have children, etc. Therefore, what intelligent man would want to get involved with American women?
American women are generally immature, selfish, extremely arrogant and self-centered, mentally unstable, irresponsible, and highly unchaste. The behavior of most American women is utterly disgusting, to say the least.
This blog is my attempt to explain why I feel American women are inferior to foreign women (non-American women), and why American men should boycott American women, and date/marry only foreign (non-American) women."
First, let me say Thanks! It made me laugh out loud. But, forgive my ignorance, but what exactly does this have to do with my (almost) step son's Anime costume? Nothing? Oh good. Because I thought my simple American female mind may have missed the relevance somehow.
Second, I feel I must in good conscious, delete your comment, as you've included your link, and I'm afraid I'm already having issues with my computer and I don't need any new foreign viruses. Also, I would hate for another simple American to stumble upon it and infect themselves as well. Sorry.
And third, since you clearly were new here and haven't read any on my posts recently, or ever, allow me to educate you.
I am an American woman. Born, raised, and proud.
I am divorced. I didn't cheat, but he did.
I am a bit heavier than I was when I was 18. I have curves and a shape that comes from truly loving everything that makes living amazing. Every stretch mark, extra pound, and dimple, is a testament to labors born, ice cream shared, and memorable dinner cooked from scratch and savored.
When I divorced, I was left homeless, with two children under 2 years old, no job, and $7 in the bank. He also left me a $10,000 bar tab on MY credit card, and I haven't seen a dime in child support in 5 years. Every thing I have, my home, my cars, my life, is because I EARNED it on my own. I've never stolen anything, except maybe a pen by accident, and even then, I gave it back.
I LOVE the look, smell and satisfaction of a clean house, and expect everyone who lives here to help keep it that way.
And, No. I don't want any more children, I already have 2 + 1 Bonus teen, so I'm all set.
As for being generally immature, I do admit I do enjoy a good round of "UNO" or "Go Fish". I play jokes on my children and am often found up to my elbows in craft projects, although I do refrain from eating the paste. I will also admit to being extremely selfish in wanting another 15 minutes of sleep. Just 15 minutes, then I'll go on about my day of pleasing every one around me. And You got me, it was entirely irresponsible to not insist on getting my own driveway free and clear of snow, before I went over and shoveled out the elderly woman two doors down, the entire neighborhood's mailboxes, and my other neighbor so that when she got home from work she would hurt herself on the slush and ice.. I really should have taken care of myself first, you're right, how irresponsible and selfish of me.
As for your suggestion of marrying someone who is foreign, I did consider that.
Almost Hubs is not from here. He was born in Europe and happily resided there until he was ten. He learned English, created a life, and CHOSE to become an American. He studied our history, took our tests, and was naturalized in Faneuil Hall. He votes in every election, follows current events daily, stands up for what he believes, contributes to the economy, and faithfully pays his taxes. In many ways, he is more American than I am. I was given those rights and privileges, he earned them.
He is one of the smartest, well read, well spoken men I know, and I am so thankful everyday that he chooses to love me.
Clearly from the copy/pasted excerpt you felt compelled to publish into my comments, either you've been hurt badly by your ex-wife, or you're still bitter from not dating in High School. Perhaps, they had the foresight to see the train coming through the tunnel to hit them. In the mean time I offer you this...
Let. It. Go.
Or, move. Quite simply, if it is foreign women you want they are plentiful overseas. You could have your pick of any woman in the entire country. May I suggest somewhere in the Middle East? I hear Egypt is welcoming American men who are willing to come visit and take their women.
God speed.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Going Postal...
This is one of my collection boxes...
It's it nice?
It's outside a grocery store on one of the routes I do regularly.
Please note the close proximity of the trash receptacle...
Please also note that they look nothing alike.
The Mail Collection box is bright blue, with an "in only" slot, and has the USPS logo displayed predominately on the front. It also says US MAIL on all sides, and has pick up and restriction labels on the front.
The trash receptacle is light brown in color, has a large opening in the front and back, is placed right outside the door, and says TRASH on it. I believe there is also another one inside the doors. And inside the next set of doors as well. They are routinely changed and are never over flowing.
Would you like to know why?
Behold a partial list of things I have found in the collection box...
No. Scratch that.
The last thing they want to do is walk back 20 feet to the trash can.
My bad.
Carry on.
It's it nice?
It's outside a grocery store on one of the routes I do regularly.
Please note the close proximity of the trash receptacle...
Please also note that they look nothing alike.
The Mail Collection box is bright blue, with an "in only" slot, and has the USPS logo displayed predominately on the front. It also says US MAIL on all sides, and has pick up and restriction labels on the front.
The trash receptacle is light brown in color, has a large opening in the front and back, is placed right outside the door, and says TRASH on it. I believe there is also another one inside the doors. And inside the next set of doors as well. They are routinely changed and are never over flowing.
Would you like to know why?
Behold a partial list of things I have found in the collection box...
- A half eaten banana
- A slice of pizza
- A half eaten slice of pizza (different days)
- A full cup of coffee, with cream... in the summer
- Numerous empty cups of coffee
- Napkins
- Paper plates
- Receipts
- Losing Lottery tickets (Yes, I checked)
- A phone number (most likely fake)
- Porn magazines
- A library book (I returned it 'cuz I'm nice like that)
- Used paper plates
- Used tissues
- Unused rubber gloves
- Used rubber gloves
- Condom wrappers (dodged a bullet there)
- Porn DVDs (see above?)
- Feminine hygiene products (I didn't check for used unused status)
- Apple cores
- Orange Peels
- Elastics
- One shoe (really?)
- To-Do lists (I guess it just didn't get done)
- Grocery lists (BTW, you're out of milk)
- Forks, knives, and spoons
- An ice cream cone
- Candy wrappers
- Spare change
No. Scratch that.
The last thing they want to do is walk back 20 feet to the trash can.
My bad.
Carry on.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Ezio...
Remember how I said that Bonus Brother loved Anime?
His favorite character right now is from Assassins Creed. His name is Ezio. He's a cool assassin guy who shoots knives and walks around with girly fru-fru renaissance style clothes.
Awesome.
Remember how I told you that theytag teamed asked me and forced, gently persuaded, nicely asked me me into making him this costume this year? 
Yeah.....
It's a good thing I love them.
Anyway, so I started to work on this project forthem him. All I had was the above picture and this to go by...
Yes, that's right. I had a drawing and a 12 inch doll. Um, I mean action figure.
Okay, now I realize that I am amazing in many ways. But making a fictional 2D hand-drawn character come to life creates many design challenges. Not to mention questions all the rules of fashion. Like, for instance, how exactly does half a cape hang and stay in place on a real body? Or, what in god's name is that belt strapped around his chest for? It doesn't hold anything, or attach anything to him. It's just kind of there. Don't even get me started on why he only wears one glove, yet shoots blades from both hands. And, why the ruffle of lace on one sleeve? Really?
Another challenge is finding women's boots, in brown, in a size 11 wide. Really don't these buyers know that they'll be a run on these babies? It's what all the 6 foot teenage boys are wearing these days. Lucky for me, this was not part of my responsibilities. The costume was clearly enough.
So we went to the fabric store. And, the craft store. And, back to the fabric store. Repeat about 13 more times (no lie) and you're about where I am. 11 yards of fabric, 6 spools of thread, 75 feet of white leather strapping, and another 8 yards of brown, 12 inches while lace, various buckles and rivets, 1 sewing machine, a razor blade for my many many mistakes, 18 hours and one hammer later this is what he got...
So what do you think?
It's not perfect, but I think even the other Anime-niacs can tell who he's supposed to be.
And, I can shed my evil step-mother reputation,
and revel in my awesomeness.
Bwahahahahahaha!
His favorite character right now is from Assassins Creed. His name is Ezio. He's a cool assassin guy who shoots knives and walks around with girly fru-fru renaissance style clothes.
Awesome.
Remember how I told you that they
Yeah.....
It's a good thing I love them.
Anyway, so I started to work on this project for
Yes, that's right. I had a drawing and a 12 inch doll. Um, I mean action figure.
Okay, now I realize that I am amazing in many ways. But making a fictional 2D hand-drawn character come to life creates many design challenges. Not to mention questions all the rules of fashion. Like, for instance, how exactly does half a cape hang and stay in place on a real body? Or, what in god's name is that belt strapped around his chest for? It doesn't hold anything, or attach anything to him. It's just kind of there. Don't even get me started on why he only wears one glove, yet shoots blades from both hands. And, why the ruffle of lace on one sleeve? Really?
Another challenge is finding women's boots, in brown, in a size 11 wide. Really don't these buyers know that they'll be a run on these babies? It's what all the 6 foot teenage boys are wearing these days. Lucky for me, this was not part of my responsibilities. The costume was clearly enough.
So we went to the fabric store. And, the craft store. And, back to the fabric store. Repeat about 13 more times (no lie) and you're about where I am. 11 yards of fabric, 6 spools of thread, 75 feet of white leather strapping, and another 8 yards of brown, 12 inches while lace, various buckles and rivets, 1 sewing machine, a razor blade for my many many mistakes, 18 hours and one hammer later this is what he got...
It's not perfect, but I think even the other Anime-niacs can tell who he's supposed to be.
And, I can shed my evil step-mother reputation,
and revel in my awesomeness.
Bwahahahahahaha!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
It Is The Best Medicine...
Friday night I was grocery shopping, picking up a few things for this new recipe I saw at Lisa's that I wanted to try for Sunday. I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't drive a bit slower, or have a little more saunter in my stroll through the aisles, as this was a much needed break from the boys. As I checked out the produce, and scoured the aisle for spices, my mind was spinning with what I had to do, how bad a day I'd had, how tired I was, and how stupid some people could be.
And that's when I heard it.
The most peculiar sound. A low groan-like babble of sound, and then silence. Again. And again. And again. A perpetual 8-track of human like garble coming from behind me, then the next aisle, then around the meat coolers. When my eyes finally wandered to the cause of the sounds, I couldn't help but smile.
There in the cart was the most beautiful little boy, maybe two. Gleefully singing and laughing his head off, completely unaware that his laughter and gurgles were unlike those of the people around him. You could see from his face that he has Downs Syndrome, but also seen was how happy he was just to be riding along as his mother obviously picked out chicken, and compared prices of pasta. Smiling from the cart, swinging his feet, he laughed joyfully telling his story to anyone who'd listen.
I smiled all the way home.
Later that night, I lay in bed. The boys bedroom is down stairs directly beneath my own. The heating vents resonate the mumbles and whispers between brothers well, and I often catch them off guard when I holler down an unexpected "Go to bed." That night, instead of inflicting my motherly charm, I listened. I listened to the mumbles, the hushed back and forth, and heard the giggling. Giggles that can come only from the joy of childhood, and top secret code known only to boys.
In the craziness of the last few weeks, I'd missed that. In fact, I couldn't even tell you if it's ever happened between them. I've been too busy, too tired to notice. But, that night those giggles reverberated within me until I thought I would burst. Eventually my emotion overflowed into a beaming smile that lasted me through the night, and woke me in the morning.
The next day I was determined not to ruin this new discovery. I laid out the ground rules, no fighting for the day. Period. Yeah right. Despite my efforts, they still fought. But, there were moments that they played well together. They competed as well as they shared their toys, and compromised on game choices. And again, they laughed. They laughed at a good shots on basket, a fantastic battle of the Beys, and at my expense. And again, I smiled. Suddenly I was less tired. Less cranky. Less over it all, and ready to take it all on.
I thought about the last time I had laughed out loud. Really laughed, not because I'd been tickled or amused, but rather because I was so joyful by an experience my emotion couldn't be contained. Sure I'd laughed for the every day reasons, gotten in a good chuckle at work, or a snicker at something said. I'd even laughed uncontrollably, tears streaming down my cheeks, because in my exhaustion, I simply just couldn't stop. But how long had it been since I'd actually felt so happy inside that I couldn't contain it?
Way too long.
I'd barely turned on the computer all weekend. I'd barely answered the phone. I'd mindlessly sat and watched television with the kids, and mindfully watched them. I saw how they talked, how they moved, and even noticed a few new freckles. I watched a movie with Almost Hubs, with a plot so complicated, we talked the whole time about where it was going. We didn't talk about work, or money, or the kids. Just talked about the moment we were in.
Morning came and I was renewed. Almost Hubs woke me his usual sweet manner, and whispered that he'd like to go to breakfast. I quickly threw tonight's dinner into the crock, and after showers, we were off. Straight to our usual breakfast place, where Youngest and I can choose freely and without worry that an attack will interrupt our day. The meal of choice this morning? Chocolate chip GF pancakes with whip cream. Because is there any other way? I had a GF Belgium waffle loaded high with strawberries, powdered sugar, and whip cream. Something I hadn't indulged in in far too long. It. Was. Delicious.
Driving to the store, the kids began yammering on and Almost Hubs and I were adding our sarcastic two cents where necessary. At one point I said something, I can't remember what, and then totally threw Almost Hubs under the proverbial bus. His face was priceless.
It made me laugh.
Really laugh.
I laughed so hard my heart jumped. I took a deep breath and then laughed some more. I laughed with full abandon, not caring that my braces would show, or that I was too loud. I felt muscles in my belly unused for what seemed like years, push the laughter out, enveloping the car, until it became contagious. The kids started giggling, then full out laughing. Almost Hubs began to retaliate with more sarcastic zings, and the laughter continued all the way home.
All this time I'd been waiting for a break. Trying to get this and that crossed off the list so I could relax. Hoping for just one solid night's sleep, or some time away from every one and every thing. I needed to work less, commit to less, produce less. I needed to care less, seek medication, or let it all go. Turns out, I had it all backwards.
I needed to play more.
I needed to listen more. Watch more. Enjoy more.
Laugh more.
So now, if you'll excuse me, there's a bowl of popcorn and three boys waiting for me.
And that's when I heard it.
The most peculiar sound. A low groan-like babble of sound, and then silence. Again. And again. And again. A perpetual 8-track of human like garble coming from behind me, then the next aisle, then around the meat coolers. When my eyes finally wandered to the cause of the sounds, I couldn't help but smile.
There in the cart was the most beautiful little boy, maybe two. Gleefully singing and laughing his head off, completely unaware that his laughter and gurgles were unlike those of the people around him. You could see from his face that he has Downs Syndrome, but also seen was how happy he was just to be riding along as his mother obviously picked out chicken, and compared prices of pasta. Smiling from the cart, swinging his feet, he laughed joyfully telling his story to anyone who'd listen.
I smiled all the way home.
Later that night, I lay in bed. The boys bedroom is down stairs directly beneath my own. The heating vents resonate the mumbles and whispers between brothers well, and I often catch them off guard when I holler down an unexpected "Go to bed." That night, instead of inflicting my motherly charm, I listened. I listened to the mumbles, the hushed back and forth, and heard the giggling. Giggles that can come only from the joy of childhood, and top secret code known only to boys.
In the craziness of the last few weeks, I'd missed that. In fact, I couldn't even tell you if it's ever happened between them. I've been too busy, too tired to notice. But, that night those giggles reverberated within me until I thought I would burst. Eventually my emotion overflowed into a beaming smile that lasted me through the night, and woke me in the morning.
The next day I was determined not to ruin this new discovery. I laid out the ground rules, no fighting for the day. Period. Yeah right. Despite my efforts, they still fought. But, there were moments that they played well together. They competed as well as they shared their toys, and compromised on game choices. And again, they laughed. They laughed at a good shots on basket, a fantastic battle of the Beys, and at my expense. And again, I smiled. Suddenly I was less tired. Less cranky. Less over it all, and ready to take it all on.
I thought about the last time I had laughed out loud. Really laughed, not because I'd been tickled or amused, but rather because I was so joyful by an experience my emotion couldn't be contained. Sure I'd laughed for the every day reasons, gotten in a good chuckle at work, or a snicker at something said. I'd even laughed uncontrollably, tears streaming down my cheeks, because in my exhaustion, I simply just couldn't stop. But how long had it been since I'd actually felt so happy inside that I couldn't contain it?
Way too long.
I'd barely turned on the computer all weekend. I'd barely answered the phone. I'd mindlessly sat and watched television with the kids, and mindfully watched them. I saw how they talked, how they moved, and even noticed a few new freckles. I watched a movie with Almost Hubs, with a plot so complicated, we talked the whole time about where it was going. We didn't talk about work, or money, or the kids. Just talked about the moment we were in.
Morning came and I was renewed. Almost Hubs woke me his usual sweet manner, and whispered that he'd like to go to breakfast. I quickly threw tonight's dinner into the crock, and after showers, we were off. Straight to our usual breakfast place, where Youngest and I can choose freely and without worry that an attack will interrupt our day. The meal of choice this morning? Chocolate chip GF pancakes with whip cream. Because is there any other way? I had a GF Belgium waffle loaded high with strawberries, powdered sugar, and whip cream. Something I hadn't indulged in in far too long. It. Was. Delicious.
Driving to the store, the kids began yammering on and Almost Hubs and I were adding our sarcastic two cents where necessary. At one point I said something, I can't remember what, and then totally threw Almost Hubs under the proverbial bus. His face was priceless.
It made me laugh.
Really laugh.
I laughed so hard my heart jumped. I took a deep breath and then laughed some more. I laughed with full abandon, not caring that my braces would show, or that I was too loud. I felt muscles in my belly unused for what seemed like years, push the laughter out, enveloping the car, until it became contagious. The kids started giggling, then full out laughing. Almost Hubs began to retaliate with more sarcastic zings, and the laughter continued all the way home.
All this time I'd been waiting for a break. Trying to get this and that crossed off the list so I could relax. Hoping for just one solid night's sleep, or some time away from every one and every thing. I needed to work less, commit to less, produce less. I needed to care less, seek medication, or let it all go. Turns out, I had it all backwards.
I needed to play more.
I needed to listen more. Watch more. Enjoy more.
Laugh more.
So now, if you'll excuse me, there's a bowl of popcorn and three boys waiting for me.
Friday, February 11, 2011
And Then, I Woke Up.
And then I woke up...
And, I took on the day.
I finished my shift an hour early...
Picked up Youngest, hit the fabric store, picked up the Oldest, and made it home by 5pm. Making it the earliest I've been home in easily 5 months. The kids got a jump on all their homework.
I had time to make a real dinner.
I worked on Bonus Brother's Aname costume for two hours. The kids got into a craft project. They are trying to make their own Beyblades. According to Youngest, they're like "spinning tops of doom, but only for the other top you're battling against, not for the actual people". Um, whatever. They managed to not fight which was an epic achievement.
I caught up with my imaginary peeps, and went to bed.
The next day's meeting with the school went as well as to be expected. With only 15 weeks left to school, we just need to make the best of it. The school is offering a Para professional for the classroom, as well as structured plans for his day. He's also transitioning to the full time school psychologist for full week availability. Only 15 more weeks, we can do this.
Then off to work, pick up kids, eat, sleep... repeat.
And yet, I still need a nap.
Sunday.
I'm reclaiming Sunday as my day of rest.
I'll see you all on Monday.
And, I took on the day.
I finished my shift an hour early...
Picked up Youngest, hit the fabric store, picked up the Oldest, and made it home by 5pm. Making it the earliest I've been home in easily 5 months. The kids got a jump on all their homework.
I had time to make a real dinner.
I worked on Bonus Brother's Aname costume for two hours. The kids got into a craft project. They are trying to make their own Beyblades. According to Youngest, they're like "spinning tops of doom, but only for the other top you're battling against, not for the actual people". Um, whatever. They managed to not fight which was an epic achievement.
I caught up with my imaginary peeps, and went to bed.
The next day's meeting with the school went as well as to be expected. With only 15 weeks left to school, we just need to make the best of it. The school is offering a Para professional for the classroom, as well as structured plans for his day. He's also transitioning to the full time school psychologist for full week availability. Only 15 more weeks, we can do this.
Then off to work, pick up kids, eat, sleep... repeat.
And yet, I still need a nap.
Sunday.
I'm reclaiming Sunday as my day of rest.
I'll see you all on Monday.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
I Have A Dream...
I have a dream...
That one day the boys will walk side by side to the bus stop and not beat each other along the way.
They didn't.
That I may send said children off to school and enjoy a blissful day to myself. A day free of laundry, sewing costumes, dishes, communication, meetings, and doctor's appointments. A day to spend, hair in the messy pony, lounging in last year's soccer jersey, blogging from the comforts of my Sealy Posturepedic.
I wanted this day to be today.
It wasn't.
Somewhere between making pancakes and debating not taking a shower, the phone rang.
And off to work I went.
Work went exceptionally well, considering it is a "four letter word". I was out in plenty of time to get a few things done, and maybe, just maybe, enjoy an hour to myself.
Until the phone rang.
One of the girls in Youngest's class is up to her tricks again. This is a girl that has given my son a hard time since Kindergarten. When I have mentioned this, it has always been dismissed. This year, the teacher outright denied there was any animosity between her students.
Today she left a note on Youngest's friends desk. It said she was going to hurt him. Stab him with a toothpick. She even signed her name. Then, when Youngest walked by her later, she said she was going to do the same thing to him.
Crap. Game on.
Youngest, being himself, then fashioned a dart and spear out of plastic and straws for defence. And that was the end of it. He made these things, tucked him in his desk, and went about his day.
But, at recess this girl decided to turn the tables and told the VP that she felt threatened. Which then prompted a full investigation via the Vice Principal. When the teacher was asked if there was anything going on in her classroom today, she said "No." She saw Youngest working on a craft project at his desk but didn't think to check it out. Further investigation revealed his "weapons" and the discarded original note to his friend. Which then led to my son being removed again from the classroom, and being put on a 1 1/2 day out of school suspension. He's eight.
This left me scrambling to find someone to watch him so I don't lose my job. He also can't go to the after school program because he will be absent from school. So that means that I now have to fit a 9.75 hour day into 5.5 hours.
Awesome.
The universe has perfect timing however, and Youngest's therapy appointment was scheduled for tonight. We rehashed the entire event for a third time, and then he proceeded to work out plans with his therapist for next time. Next time? Lord help me.
Almost Hubs called when he got out of work, and I reiterated the story for the fourth time, while running Oldest to choir practice. We finally returned home at 8pm.
I had a dream for a quiet day of nothing.
I got a complicated, messy, craptastic day of life that lasted for 11 hours.
Oh, and the cat is making weird choking noises. Joy.
And now, I think I'll go to bed.
So I can have a better dream.
That one day the boys will walk side by side to the bus stop and not beat each other along the way.
They didn't.
That I may send said children off to school and enjoy a blissful day to myself. A day free of laundry, sewing costumes, dishes, communication, meetings, and doctor's appointments. A day to spend, hair in the messy pony, lounging in last year's soccer jersey, blogging from the comforts of my Sealy Posturepedic.
I wanted this day to be today.
It wasn't.
Somewhere between making pancakes and debating not taking a shower, the phone rang.
And off to work I went.
Work went exceptionally well, considering it is a "four letter word". I was out in plenty of time to get a few things done, and maybe, just maybe, enjoy an hour to myself.
Until the phone rang.
One of the girls in Youngest's class is up to her tricks again. This is a girl that has given my son a hard time since Kindergarten. When I have mentioned this, it has always been dismissed. This year, the teacher outright denied there was any animosity between her students.
Today she left a note on Youngest's friends desk. It said she was going to hurt him. Stab him with a toothpick. She even signed her name. Then, when Youngest walked by her later, she said she was going to do the same thing to him.
Crap. Game on.
Youngest, being himself, then fashioned a dart and spear out of plastic and straws for defence. And that was the end of it. He made these things, tucked him in his desk, and went about his day.
But, at recess this girl decided to turn the tables and told the VP that she felt threatened. Which then prompted a full investigation via the Vice Principal. When the teacher was asked if there was anything going on in her classroom today, she said "No." She saw Youngest working on a craft project at his desk but didn't think to check it out. Further investigation revealed his "weapons" and the discarded original note to his friend. Which then led to my son being removed again from the classroom, and being put on a 1 1/2 day out of school suspension. He's eight.
This left me scrambling to find someone to watch him so I don't lose my job. He also can't go to the after school program because he will be absent from school. So that means that I now have to fit a 9.75 hour day into 5.5 hours.
Awesome.
The universe has perfect timing however, and Youngest's therapy appointment was scheduled for tonight. We rehashed the entire event for a third time, and then he proceeded to work out plans with his therapist for next time. Next time? Lord help me.
Almost Hubs called when he got out of work, and I reiterated the story for the fourth time, while running Oldest to choir practice. We finally returned home at 8pm.
I had a dream for a quiet day of nothing.
I got a complicated, messy, craptastic day of life that lasted for 11 hours.
Oh, and the cat is making weird choking noises. Joy.
And now, I think I'll go to bed.
So I can have a better dream.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
RTT Mental Notes...
First and foremost, check out all my public stalkers favorite imaginary friends...
42!
Who'd have thought I'd have 42 BFFs? Take that all you snotty girls from high school.
I feel so loved. And, not in a creepy, some body's watching me at all times, kind of way.
Mental Note: Make time for more blogging. Don't want to disappoint the masses.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It has been brought to my attention that I have not been posting much. But, it is Tuesday, and I feelan unbelievable amount of pressure to post something the need to ramble. So, I headed over to Keely's for RTT...
Feel free to head over yourself and grab her button.
Go ahead. I double dog dare you.
Mental Note: Start preparing RTT early in the week, because by Tuesday your mind's pretty much toast.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Youngest informed me last night that when he turns nine he's moving out. Or, more specifically, on March 15th at 10:52am, he was leaving this horrible house and never coming back.
He has no job, no car, no place to live, no girlfriend to mooch off of, and his mad ninja skills are not very marketable in today's economy.
I expect him to be back by 10:53am, when he realizes we're all eating his birthday cake without him.
Mental Note: Ensure he learns a practical life skill before he's 18 or I'll never be rid of him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The boys share a basement bedroom. It is heated, but in the winter we also utilize a space heater to help distribute the heat more efficiently. It's got several safety features, an auto shut off if it tips over or if something substantial is within 12 inches of the front sensors, the coil is the only thing that gets hot, and it shuts off after two hours. Overall, I am comfortable with it for them. But, every night I double check to see if there's anything around it, over it, jammed in it, or on top of it, before I turn it on.
The other night, I noticed a lot of clutter creeping dangerously close to the heater. I made mention that we had to get down here and give this room a "good cleaning."
Oldest: "Nope. That's never gonna happen Mom."
Me: "Oh, it's not, huh?"
Oldest: "Nope. The junk's here to say. We're hoarders Mom. Face it, the room's never gonna be clean."
Mental Note: Add TLC and Discovery Channel to the parental block list.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hate that Almost Hubs knows how to play me.
Meaning, when he wants something, he knows just what to say and do.
And, he's teaching his talent to the boys. All three of them.
Bonus Brother is big into Anime. Anime Boston is in late April. He needs a costume. This is what he wants...
It's Ezio from Assassins Creed.
Lord help me. I've got 17 hours invested into this costume already and It's not even remotely close to being done. Damn my incredible sewing skills. Why couldn't I be talentless? It's a curse, I tell ya.
Mental Note: Pretend to be clueless and incompetent. It makes for far less work later on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I got the mail truck stuck badly in the ice and snow last week. Like two tires in the ice, and one in the air spinning kind of stuck. Stuck so badly, that two neighbors came out in their pajamas to help. Another customer, saw me, turned his Jeep around and came to my rescue. And of course, I was on the worst corner of the road, with traffic whipping by at 45+ mph.
*yeah*
They shoveled.
They spread de-icer and sand everywhere.
They jumped on the back of the truck.
They pushed.
They laid down on the ground, and dug out chunks of ice from beneath the tires with their bare hands.
In the end, the PO came with the plow, and on the wrong side of the road, ram the plow into the truck freeing it from it's icy death.
Needless to say that house #573 is not getting mail until April.
Houses #575 and #1249 got big a$$ chocolate bars in their mailboxes later that night.
Mental Note: NEVER underestimate random acts of kindness.
42!
Who'd have thought I'd have 42 BFFs? Take that all you snotty girls from high school.
I feel so loved. And, not in a creepy, some body's watching me at all times, kind of way.
Mental Note: Make time for more blogging. Don't want to disappoint the masses.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It has been brought to my attention that I have not been posting much. But, it is Tuesday, and I feel
Feel free to head over yourself and grab her button.
Go ahead. I double dog dare you.
Mental Note: Start preparing RTT early in the week, because by Tuesday your mind's pretty much toast.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Youngest informed me last night that when he turns nine he's moving out. Or, more specifically, on March 15th at 10:52am, he was leaving this horrible house and never coming back.
He has no job, no car, no place to live, no girlfriend to mooch off of, and his mad ninja skills are not very marketable in today's economy.
I expect him to be back by 10:53am, when he realizes we're all eating his birthday cake without him.
Mental Note: Ensure he learns a practical life skill before he's 18 or I'll never be rid of him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The boys share a basement bedroom. It is heated, but in the winter we also utilize a space heater to help distribute the heat more efficiently. It's got several safety features, an auto shut off if it tips over or if something substantial is within 12 inches of the front sensors, the coil is the only thing that gets hot, and it shuts off after two hours. Overall, I am comfortable with it for them. But, every night I double check to see if there's anything around it, over it, jammed in it, or on top of it, before I turn it on.
The other night, I noticed a lot of clutter creeping dangerously close to the heater. I made mention that we had to get down here and give this room a "good cleaning."
Oldest: "Nope. That's never gonna happen Mom."
Me: "Oh, it's not, huh?"
Oldest: "Nope. The junk's here to say. We're hoarders Mom. Face it, the room's never gonna be clean."
Mental Note: Add TLC and Discovery Channel to the parental block list.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hate that Almost Hubs knows how to play me.
Meaning, when he wants something, he knows just what to say and do.
And, he's teaching his talent to the boys. All three of them.
Bonus Brother is big into Anime. Anime Boston is in late April. He needs a costume. This is what he wants...
Lord help me. I've got 17 hours invested into this costume already and It's not even remotely close to being done. Damn my incredible sewing skills. Why couldn't I be talentless? It's a curse, I tell ya.
Mental Note: Pretend to be clueless and incompetent. It makes for far less work later on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I got the mail truck stuck badly in the ice and snow last week. Like two tires in the ice, and one in the air spinning kind of stuck. Stuck so badly, that two neighbors came out in their pajamas to help. Another customer, saw me, turned his Jeep around and came to my rescue. And of course, I was on the worst corner of the road, with traffic whipping by at 45+ mph.
*yeah*
They shoveled.
They spread de-icer and sand everywhere.
They jumped on the back of the truck.
They pushed.
They laid down on the ground, and dug out chunks of ice from beneath the tires with their bare hands.
In the end, the PO came with the plow, and on the wrong side of the road, ram the plow into the truck freeing it from it's icy death.
Needless to say that house #573 is not getting mail until April.
Houses #575 and #1249 got big a$$ chocolate bars in their mailboxes later that night.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Exhausted...
She has always put the needs of others ahead of her own, and this week was no exception. This is fine with her, as it is what she knows.
She's stopped by the specialty store to buy the dinner that her youngest son loves. She's arranged for transportation for her oldest to attend an extra practice that he'd otherwise miss. She's coordinated even more activities for both boys to guarantee fun while she's away. Away, for a much needed escape, at the worst possible time.
She's worked tirelessly for a son, not her own, to help him fit in while pursuing a passion she doesn't understand. She is happy she can do this for him, but knows deep down that he will never really understand the magnitude of what is involved. She works long hours at home, and even longer hours at work, only to return home to a court summons on her back door. Because, it seems that he thinks she's not working hard enough.
She tries to be supportive and understanding when her companion does not come home. Driven by his unwavering loyalty, he's been called away to other responsibilities. She won't ask for his help or his time right now, because she knows that that is where he needs to be.
She is trying to support her family, as they relive their grief and sadness, only allowing herself those moments alone and in private. Her presence is requested at breakfast and brunch, and she does her best to attend. She leaves with a full stomach, and more often than not, an empty heart. She drives for miles to drop off, pick up, and circle back home. Only to finally arrive in the drive way, turn around, and do it all over again.
They just need one. more. thing.
She is trying hard to find a minute in her day to revisit the things she loves, the things that renew her. She knows she will find those minutes, just not today.
And most likely, not tomorrow.
She's stopped by the specialty store to buy the dinner that her youngest son loves. She's arranged for transportation for her oldest to attend an extra practice that he'd otherwise miss. She's coordinated even more activities for both boys to guarantee fun while she's away. Away, for a much needed escape, at the worst possible time.
She's worked tirelessly for a son, not her own, to help him fit in while pursuing a passion she doesn't understand. She is happy she can do this for him, but knows deep down that he will never really understand the magnitude of what is involved. She works long hours at home, and even longer hours at work, only to return home to a court summons on her back door. Because, it seems that he thinks she's not working hard enough.
She tries to be supportive and understanding when her companion does not come home. Driven by his unwavering loyalty, he's been called away to other responsibilities. She won't ask for his help or his time right now, because she knows that that is where he needs to be.
She is trying to support her family, as they relive their grief and sadness, only allowing herself those moments alone and in private. Her presence is requested at breakfast and brunch, and she does her best to attend. She leaves with a full stomach, and more often than not, an empty heart. She drives for miles to drop off, pick up, and circle back home. Only to finally arrive in the drive way, turn around, and do it all over again.
They just need one. more. thing.
She is trying hard to find a minute in her day to revisit the things she loves, the things that renew her. She knows she will find those minutes, just not today.
And most likely, not tomorrow.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Walter...
This is Walter...
He's the second one from the left. The other three men are President Hoover, Thomas Edison, and Henry Ford.
Really.
As in invented the light bulb.
And, the Ford Motor Company.
And, the President of the United States.
And, there's Walter in the midst of them.
Walter was born March 3, 1891. He grew up wanting to be a part of law enforcement. When President McKinley was shot in 1901, the Secret Service was officially put in charge of protecting the President. It was then, that Walter decided that that was what he was destined to do. He became one of the first 8 members of the White House detail. He served for 14 years under Presidents Harding, Coolidge, Wilson, and Hoover.
He accompanied them on many trips.
He was at the signing of the Treaty of Versailles.
He snuck women in and out of the White House for President Harding, often guarding the door on the lookout for his wife. Harding also utilized Walter's name to secretly buy and sell stocks. He may have been the most scandalous president in history, but according to Walter, he was absolutely the most fun.
He traveled thousands of miles in days before television, accompanying Presidents, assuring their safety while they met all of their new constituents after they'd been elected. Back then, presidents actually shook hands, kissed babies, and thanked the people after they were elected, as well as before.
He was described as a rugged man, who could intimidate anyone with his tall stature. His pleasant nature and love of sports made him a joy to be around and a strong ally. He was partial to wrestling which kept him quick and limber, a huge asset when the element of surprise and eminent danger was alwasy present. He would ask people politely to step away from the president, once. When the gloves came off, however, bodies flew. Often, over the hood of the car.
That was his job.
He loved it.
But, he loved these girls more.
The girl on the right knee is Mary. She was better known as Fergie. She was feisty, and grew up to be just like her Dad. She joined the FBI. She had a great life, her own home in Georgetown, and many male suitors. Then one day, she found her true love. God. She sold it all, and joined the convent. She still resides there today, happily teaching the ways of the Lord, and still as feisty as ever.
The girl on the left is Helen. She went on to marry and have nine children. Those nine children had 15 grandchildren. Who in turn, had 12 more children. Two of which, are my boys.
Walter is their great-great grandfather.
Walter left the Secret Service after 14 years when his wife was sick with Cancer. He moved the family to a summer home in Rhode Island, and became head of the FBI there. He was personally placed in charge of infiltrating counterfeit money operations, and was responsible for one of the largest busts of the time. He volunteered in addition to contributing to many causes within the community. He was vigilant with his involvement with the boy scouts. After an industrious career, he retired and became "just another" Grampa to my mother and her sisters. He taught them how to fish, play cards, and about love. He told few stories about his time with the Secret Service, as I'm sure, once he told someone he may have "had to kill them".
He died in August of 1960.
He took many of his stories with him.
My grandmother, his daughter Helen, died one year ago on Saturday. I am like her in so many ways. Ways that can not be explained. My Mother became the keeper of many of her albums, photos, and newspaper clippings. As we slowly unearth the articles about Walter in the boxes, I am finding a startling coincidence within my own children.
Oldest is an avid wrestler. Loves it. He's the only one in the whole family who does. He's tall and wiry, and can pin a kid twice his size. Nicely.
Youngest wants to be a new age vigilanti. A one man police force. He has an abnormal obsession with spy gear and gadgets. He had an undeniable desire to rid the world of unfairness and bad guys. It's just who he is.
Walter was a very good man.
He did amazing things, and greatly contributed to the world and all the people around him.
As will my boys.
Because, as we all know, the best apples grow on the trees with the strongest roots.
He's the second one from the left. The other three men are President Hoover, Thomas Edison, and Henry Ford.
Really.
As in invented the light bulb.
And, the Ford Motor Company.
And, the President of the United States.
And, there's Walter in the midst of them.
Walter was born March 3, 1891. He grew up wanting to be a part of law enforcement. When President McKinley was shot in 1901, the Secret Service was officially put in charge of protecting the President. It was then, that Walter decided that that was what he was destined to do. He became one of the first 8 members of the White House detail. He served for 14 years under Presidents Harding, Coolidge, Wilson, and Hoover.
He accompanied them on many trips.
He was at the signing of the Treaty of Versailles.
He snuck women in and out of the White House for President Harding, often guarding the door on the lookout for his wife. Harding also utilized Walter's name to secretly buy and sell stocks. He may have been the most scandalous president in history, but according to Walter, he was absolutely the most fun.
He traveled thousands of miles in days before television, accompanying Presidents, assuring their safety while they met all of their new constituents after they'd been elected. Back then, presidents actually shook hands, kissed babies, and thanked the people after they were elected, as well as before.
He was described as a rugged man, who could intimidate anyone with his tall stature. His pleasant nature and love of sports made him a joy to be around and a strong ally. He was partial to wrestling which kept him quick and limber, a huge asset when the element of surprise and eminent danger was alwasy present. He would ask people politely to step away from the president, once. When the gloves came off, however, bodies flew. Often, over the hood of the car.
That was his job.
He loved it.
But, he loved these girls more.
The girl on the left is Helen. She went on to marry and have nine children. Those nine children had 15 grandchildren. Who in turn, had 12 more children. Two of which, are my boys.
Walter is their great-great grandfather.
Walter left the Secret Service after 14 years when his wife was sick with Cancer. He moved the family to a summer home in Rhode Island, and became head of the FBI there. He was personally placed in charge of infiltrating counterfeit money operations, and was responsible for one of the largest busts of the time. He volunteered in addition to contributing to many causes within the community. He was vigilant with his involvement with the boy scouts. After an industrious career, he retired and became "just another" Grampa to my mother and her sisters. He taught them how to fish, play cards, and about love. He told few stories about his time with the Secret Service, as I'm sure, once he told someone he may have "had to kill them".
He died in August of 1960.
He took many of his stories with him.
My grandmother, his daughter Helen, died one year ago on Saturday. I am like her in so many ways. Ways that can not be explained. My Mother became the keeper of many of her albums, photos, and newspaper clippings. As we slowly unearth the articles about Walter in the boxes, I am finding a startling coincidence within my own children.
Oldest is an avid wrestler. Loves it. He's the only one in the whole family who does. He's tall and wiry, and can pin a kid twice his size. Nicely.
Youngest wants to be a new age vigilanti. A one man police force. He has an abnormal obsession with spy gear and gadgets. He had an undeniable desire to rid the world of unfairness and bad guys. It's just who he is.
Walter was a very good man.
He did amazing things, and greatly contributed to the world and all the people around him.
As will my boys.
Because, as we all know, the best apples grow on the trees with the strongest roots.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
ANOTHER Snow Day...
We had another day off from school today.
My boys have not had a full week of school since mid November.
So, today instead of hiding inside the house in pajamas and drinking cocoa all day, I was brave....
And ventured out into the crazy, dangerous, driving.... rain?
Yup. They called school for about 3 inches of rain.
Awesome.
After venturing to the mall, Walmart, and donating a bunch of stuff to Savers, Youngest and I shoveled out all the cluster boxes in our neighborhood. (WAIT! Before you ask, NO it is not part of my Post Office job, it's the residents job. I just do the entire neighborhood to be nice. And, becasue Terri is my friend, and I don't want her getting frost bite on her pinkie toes trying to deliver my Netflix)
On the way home, we stopped at Mrs. L's house.
Mrs. L is well into her 70's and still lives alone. I worry about her for two reasons. One, she's alone all day. Two, she's clearly a hoarder. I have fears of her being buried by her "Great Wall O' Pizza Boxes". She is quiet and keeps to herself most of the time, but she is always kind to my boys on Halloween and waves happily to us from her couch amongst her pizza box and magazine treasures. Over the years we have all offered to mow her lawn and pick up groceries for her, but she is too proud to accept help.
Youngest and I secretly cleared her walkway and her stairs. I just feel better knowing she won't break her hip getting her newspaper, and knowing that if necessary, the fire men can get into the house. At least every 3 months or so, she is taken out for something. Her family comes over, fills a dumpster with trash bags, and then she is allowed to return home. On the one hand, it makes me sad that she lives that way, on the other, I am happy that her family steps up when they need to.
I just know that at one time her life was so different. She clearly had a love for gardening judging by the lilies and poppies that still grow all around her property. I wonder if it is her age, her being alone, or something else entirely, that has gotten her to this point.
Anyway...
After some miscellaneous acts of kindness, we returned home, had ice cream for dinner, and called it a night.
A great night with my boys.
But, if they call school again next week, I'm calling the doctors.
You know, the ones who give you the free white jackets with the sleeves that allow you to hug yourself...
My boys have not had a full week of school since mid November.
So, today instead of hiding inside the house in pajamas and drinking cocoa all day, I was brave....
And ventured out into the crazy, dangerous, driving.... rain?
Yup. They called school for about 3 inches of rain.
Awesome.
After venturing to the mall, Walmart, and donating a bunch of stuff to Savers, Youngest and I shoveled out all the cluster boxes in our neighborhood. (WAIT! Before you ask, NO it is not part of my Post Office job, it's the residents job. I just do the entire neighborhood to be nice. And, becasue Terri is my friend, and I don't want her getting frost bite on her pinkie toes trying to deliver my Netflix)
On the way home, we stopped at Mrs. L's house.
Mrs. L is well into her 70's and still lives alone. I worry about her for two reasons. One, she's alone all day. Two, she's clearly a hoarder. I have fears of her being buried by her "Great Wall O' Pizza Boxes". She is quiet and keeps to herself most of the time, but she is always kind to my boys on Halloween and waves happily to us from her couch amongst her pizza box and magazine treasures. Over the years we have all offered to mow her lawn and pick up groceries for her, but she is too proud to accept help.
Youngest and I secretly cleared her walkway and her stairs. I just feel better knowing she won't break her hip getting her newspaper, and knowing that if necessary, the fire men can get into the house. At least every 3 months or so, she is taken out for something. Her family comes over, fills a dumpster with trash bags, and then she is allowed to return home. On the one hand, it makes me sad that she lives that way, on the other, I am happy that her family steps up when they need to.
I just know that at one time her life was so different. She clearly had a love for gardening judging by the lilies and poppies that still grow all around her property. I wonder if it is her age, her being alone, or something else entirely, that has gotten her to this point.
Anyway...
After some miscellaneous acts of kindness, we returned home, had ice cream for dinner, and called it a night.
A great night with my boys.
But, if they call school again next week, I'm calling the doctors.
You know, the ones who give you the free white jackets with the sleeves that allow you to hug yourself...
 |
| Picture from here... |
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Random Sitters, Snow, & Shamrocks...
We are trying out a new babysitter. She's a friend of mine from work's daughter. She's 15, has taken the babysitter safety course at the hospital, is certified in CPR, plays various sports, loves kids, and tolerates her 13 year old brother's antics.
I figure she's qualified.
So, we left the kids for a test run on Friday night. Nothing big, just dinner out.
I come home and find my children have been replaced by aliens. Aliens that sat quietly, watched TV, didn't fight, and ate all their dinner. The youngest one even asked to put himself to bed at 8:15.
EIGHT FIFTEEN.
What the heck? Can I keep them? PLEEASE???
The next morning I asked if they liked her. Oldest said yes. Youngest said no. Upon furthermilitary style grilling investigation, I discovered this....
"She took away my forks of doom."
The forks of doom are fondue sticks that Youngest has acquired for his baton twirling pleasure. Yes, I know they are dangerous, I thought I had hidden them really well. I guess not.
"She thought they were too DAa-ng-eR -us to be twirling." (You have to say dangerous with high pitched affliction and an eye roll to get the full effect.)
Good call.
I also came home to a house cleaner than when I left, and all the dishes washed and put away.
Yup. She's a keeper.
On Monday Morning, her Mom came over and told me what she had heard about the evening. At one point I guess she had asked the boys what they did for fun. Did they go to the movies? Bowling? The arcade? Ice skating? Youngest was the first to respond...
"Nope. We don't do anything. We're broke."
Got to love my boys. They tell it like it is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Youngest discovered my igloo.
With the new snow, it's gotten quite impressive. You can no longer recognize that it's a picnic table.
He was hanging out in it tonight as I again shoveled the supposed-to-be-2-inches-turned-6-inches of snow off the driveway. It's also a fabulous haven for a snow ball ambush.
So in a playful spirit, (which is so totally out of character for me... I hate the snow) I threw a shovelful of snow over the top of the igloo in his direction.
Except I got a direct hit.
Youngest got an eyeful.
Que hysterical wailing, angry face, tragic injuries incurred. I believe, at some point he said he wanted to live in a foster home.
I'll take my Mom Of The Year trophy now, thanks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have found another reason to count the minutes until March.
As if the nightly weather report wasn't reason enough...
Or the fact that, thanks to knee deep snowy mail delivery, I can no longer feel my pinkie toe.
Amber at Airing My Dirty Laundry, One Sock At A Time reminded me of the upcoming annual bliss known as....
Shamrock Shakes at McDonald's.
'Nuff said.
And this concludes this weeks version of...
We now return you to our regularly scheduled chaos.
I figure she's qualified.
So, we left the kids for a test run on Friday night. Nothing big, just dinner out.
I come home and find my children have been replaced by aliens. Aliens that sat quietly, watched TV, didn't fight, and ate all their dinner. The youngest one even asked to put himself to bed at 8:15.
EIGHT FIFTEEN.
What the heck? Can I keep them? PLEEASE???
The next morning I asked if they liked her. Oldest said yes. Youngest said no. Upon further
"She took away my forks of doom."
The forks of doom are fondue sticks that Youngest has acquired for his baton twirling pleasure. Yes, I know they are dangerous, I thought I had hidden them really well. I guess not.
"She thought they were too DAa-ng-eR -us to be twirling." (You have to say dangerous with high pitched affliction and an eye roll to get the full effect.)
Good call.
I also came home to a house cleaner than when I left, and all the dishes washed and put away.
Yup. She's a keeper.
On Monday Morning, her Mom came over and told me what she had heard about the evening. At one point I guess she had asked the boys what they did for fun. Did they go to the movies? Bowling? The arcade? Ice skating? Youngest was the first to respond...
"Nope. We don't do anything. We're broke."
Got to love my boys. They tell it like it is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Youngest discovered my igloo.
With the new snow, it's gotten quite impressive. You can no longer recognize that it's a picnic table.
He was hanging out in it tonight as I again shoveled the supposed-to-be-2-inches-turned-6-inches of snow off the driveway. It's also a fabulous haven for a snow ball ambush.
So in a playful spirit, (which is so totally out of character for me... I hate the snow) I threw a shovelful of snow over the top of the igloo in his direction.
Except I got a direct hit.
Youngest got an eyeful.
Que hysterical wailing, angry face, tragic injuries incurred. I believe, at some point he said he wanted to live in a foster home.
I'll take my Mom Of The Year trophy now, thanks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have found another reason to count the minutes until March.
As if the nightly weather report wasn't reason enough...
Or the fact that, thanks to knee deep snowy mail delivery, I can no longer feel my pinkie toe.
Amber at Airing My Dirty Laundry, One Sock At A Time reminded me of the upcoming annual bliss known as....
Shamrock Shakes at McDonald's.
'Nuff said.
And this concludes this weeks version of...
We now return you to our regularly scheduled chaos.
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