Three kids + fighting + screaming = bleeding ears

So Christmas was lovely and fun. The kids had a blast, and I've been busy drooling over and buffing and loving the new set of cookware I got. I know. Cookware. But it's some kickass Wolfgang Puck cookware, and it's heavy-bottomed and oven-proof and SO SHINY.

Things are slowly getting back to normal here, but I'm sure all won't be completely right until Big D goes back to school next Tuesday. Seriously, who starts school on a Tuesday? How weird is that? And why won't he quit making Smella shriek at the top of her lungs all day? And why won't she fucking NAP so I get at least an hour reprieve in the afternoon?

The mutha effing tree is still up, and I have no idea when I'll have time to take it down. Oh, sure, I could do it during the day, but the husband is at work. That means I'd have to do it all by myself. He's the one who usually hauls the boxes in and out of our storage shed while I carefully and lovingly pack the boxes up. From the couch. In the warm. So you can see where doing it alone would be a problem.

So there's my attempt at blogging again. I know, right? Lame. I promise to post something substantial and brilliant later. At least by Friday. Yeah. Or something. I have to go caress a stock pot now.

Random Tuesday thoughts

1. I went Friday for an upper right quadrant ultrasound. For my gallbladder. They made me strip down to underwear and wear a gown for said ultrasound. I'm not sure why I couldn't wear pants.

2. They called and left a message later that they would like to talk about removing my gallbladder. I'm not dealing with this until after Christmas, and they can't make me.

3. Last night at work, we were down to only a couple of gallons of milk. The only thing worse would be to run out of coffee. I went to the local grocery store and purchased sixty gallons of milk. Note to all assholes: Your little comments were not necessary, especially the douche who asked, "Got milk?"

4. The milk delivery truck got there about five minutes after I'd unloaded sixty gallons of milk.

5. I don't go back to work until Saturday, and it's a good thing. I'm two steps away from burning the joint down.

6. It's too cold.

7. I have to run now because a certain 19-month-old is dumping the contents of my purse onto the floor. Soon he'll be tarting himself up with all the lip gloss and maxing out my credit card. Floozy.

Sentimentalist

It's weird. Christmas is next week, yet I feel so freaking...relaxed. School is over, finally. I only have a few days left of work, and then I'm off pretty much all of next week. My shopping is done, and the majority of it is wrapped. All I have left is to cook and bake what I want and enjoy the babies.

And, oh, the babies. Big D of course absolutely "gets" Christmas. And I know I only have a year or two before the whole gig is up. Not that it stops being fun for him, but I know from experience that a tiny part of the magic is gone. I'm taking advantage of his naivete while I can.

This is the first year that Smella completely understands Christmas. We get gifts, we give them, Santa comes, cookies, wrapping, secrets...she loves it all. She one hundred percent believes, and it's so much fun to watch.

Boobers comprehension is limited, but he's loving the decorations and ornaments and exclaims "WOW!" at every light, bauble, and bow. I can't wait to see his face on Christmas morning when I finally let him open the presents I've been trying to salvage from his baby hands all month. I'm not sure he'll know what to do with himself.

So for the next week, I'm going to immerse myself in the holiday. Watching and feeling it through my babies' eyes makes it magical and breathtaking again. And instead of rushing around and running myself ragged, I want to slow down, drive around and look at lights, bake cookies with the kids, sing "Jingle Bells" at the top of my lungs, watch Christmas movies, and actually enjoy myself.

It should be a nice change of pace.

Random Tuesday thoughts

1. I know, right? Maybe I'll just post on Tuesdays. It makes things easier.

2. I went to my family doctor yesterday because all last week I kept having this searing pain under my ribcage and around my back intermittently. It looks like I have a bum gall bladder, but I'll know for sure on Friday.

3. Friday was my 30th birthday, and I can't tell you the asshole 30th birthday cards they make out there. And I know, because I got like, four of them. HA HA. Real funny, guys.

4. Yesterday after the doctor had examined me, he said, "Well, in people your age..." WHAT? SAY THAT AGAIN, BITCH.

5. I may be a bit touchy.

6. I've pretty much given up eating because everything seems to aggravate my gall bladder. (Jesus. I sound like I'm 90. Next I'll be telling you about my recent bowel movements and my hammertoe). Anyway, it's almost Christmas, and what with all the fudge and cookies and ham and candy hanging around, I'm pretty sad.

7. I've taught my 19-month-old "shoo." As in, "You talkin' all crazy again. Shoo." And Smella let out a "Oh, snap!" yesterday after I threw a particularly good barb and the husband.

8. The place where I work used to put red sprinkles on their holiday pepperminty drinks. They've given them up this year, and I don't know why. But what's hilarious is when a customer came back up to the counter, took off her lid, and asked for red sprinkles. She was well over the age of six, and I told her to grow the fuck up and go away.

9. No, I didn't. I apologized and told her the chocolate shavings we use instead are just as yummy.

10. Except they aren't.

11. I'm going to quit now. Shoo.

Random Tuesday thoughts

I should've done this a long time ago, but in case Keely hasn't noticed, I can be waaay lazy. (I'm sure she has but is way too polite to say anything.) I'm also not big on following rules, so while I'm posting completely random things, they have to be numbered. I hope this doesn't get me kicked out of the RTT club. (I'm totally shortening it to RTT because it's too much to type out. See? Lazy.)

1. Our Wii came yesterday. I can foresee many sleepless nights ahead. I'm also thinking I may lose a few pounds; that boxing kicks my ass.

2. I only have a couple things to buy, but then I'm done Christmas shopping. Then all I have to do is wrap the mountainous pile of gifts. I adore wrapping presents.

3. I hate winter SO MUCH.

4. Have I mentioned I have a cat? I think I have. Anyway, she's a cat, which is why I don't post much about her. She's an old fart now, ten years old, and she spends most of her time hiding from the kids. She comes out at night when they're asleep and does cat things...like shedding, licking plastic bags, and stalking random things. She also adores curling up on anyone's lap and purring, so that's why I let her stay.

5. In three days I'll be turning 30.

6. I can't tell you how much #5 bums me out.

7. The husband informed me that he's happy I'm turning 30 so that I can be old like he is. I really sort of think he sucks sometimes.

8. I have to go study now. For a psychology final. I only need 50/150 points to get an A in the class.

9. I think I'll probably just go play Wii instead.

An Early Morning Flight

I wrote this as a "radical revision" in my English Comp class. I radically revised the first paper I wrote for that class, which was a compilation of How I met the husband. This paper is written from my mom's perspective. Since I'm feeling lazy and worthless and thought I'd better post something on this poor blog, here you go.

***

I sat and blinked, bleary-eyed, as a sipped at my cup of coffee. It was nearly 6 o’clock on a warm Friday morning in June. The sun was already up, and I could hear my daughter in her bedroom, stuffing things into her suitcase and zipping it up. I was trying to wake up enough to drive her to the airport.

In a moment, she came down the hall, dragging her suitcase and small carry-on with her. She saw me and smiled.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

“Almost,” I replied, giving her a wan smile.

She grabbed the keys to my car and went to the garage to load up her luggage. My smile disappeared, and I stared into my dark pool of coffee. She needed to be at the airport by 6:30, and her flight was due for take-off at 7:30. I would be driving her to Indianapolis International and then seeing her off as she flew to Arkansas to stay for a week.

I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about it, but I think “dread” was the best term to use. She had met a man over the Internet nearly five months before. I had met the husband, and I liked him immediately, but he lived almost 600 miles away. I could tell that Kelly adored him, and while I was happy for her, it also scared me to death.

“We need to go soon,” Kelly said as she came back into the house.

I nodded and finished up the rest of my coffee. She followed me as I took the empty cup to the kitchen sink.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I nodded and fought back tears. I slipped on my shoes and held out my hand to her for my keys.

***

We were quiet during the drive to the airport, both of us listening to early morning radio. I glanced over at her and saw how young she looked, radiant and excited. She was young, too young, but she was eighteen, graduated from high school, and by all means, an adult. I wanted to tie her up in her room and never let her leave, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I knew I had to let her make this trip.

I helped her check in at the airport, and we went and found the gate she would be departing from. We found seats, and she offered to get me a cup of coffee while we waited. I handed her a couple of dollars and watched as she walked away from me.

She was happy, and in turn, I was happy for her. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this trip, this small, seven-day trip, was the beginning to so much more. I had already thought about all of this before; she was in love with this man, he seemed to love her, they lived 600 miles apart. Not all of the math added up, and ever since Kelly had been young she had always wanted to move away and explore the country. And while I’m thinking Arkansas was never really at the top of her list, I knew her well enough to know that she had a decent reason to go there anyway.

Kelly came back with my paper cup of steaming coffee and handed it to me as she sat down. She kept glancing over at me with a worried look on her face.

“Really, are you okay?”

“Mostly,” I answered.

“You’re not acting okay.”

I sighed softly. How could I tell her? She was so happy, so excited. Why should I ruin a trip for her? How could I tell her I didn’t want her to go, not even for a week? That I was afraid that after this week long trip she would decide she wanted to stay there with him? How could I tell her it would break my heart if she left and moved away permanently?

“I’m just…sorry to see you go,” I offered.

“Oh, it’s only for a week!” she cried, smiling. “It’s not like I’m leaving forever!”

***

I knew I was worrying her by being so quiet, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t tell her everything I was thinking. Even though she was eighteen and fairly mature for her age, I knew she wouldn’t want me blubbering in the middle of an airport about how sad I was. I could also tell she was holding back some of her excitement for me. She was thrilled to be flying by herself for the first time, and she was excited to be seeing the husband again.

Our relationship had been a bit strained for the past year. She met the husband online a few months ago, and since then it had been a whirlwind. He had flown to Indiana to take her to her prom. She had been staying up into the wee hours of the morning to chat with him, either online or over the phone. If I questioned her, she was prone to blow up at me, using the good old standby of “You don’t understand me!” as a line of reasoning. And since our relationship was strained, she was kind of right. I had a pretty good idea of what she was feeling, but nothing was ever confirmed. I wasn’t sure what she was planning or what she was exactly thinking. All I knew was that she was in love, and kids in love can do crazy things, like moving far away from their parents.

They began announcing boarding for her flight. She stood up and grabbed her carry-on.

“Well,” she said, “I think this is it.”

I looked up at her. Eighteen-years-old, young, impressionable. My baby. I finally let the tears that had been threatening to escape flow.

“Mom! You can’t cry!”

I stood up and gave her a hug. She hugged me back fiercely.

“Can you call me when you get there?” I asked.

She told me she would call as soon as she landed and that she’d call later with her hotel room number. They announced her boarding row. She shifted her bag on her shoulder and grinned.

“Really, I have to go. That’s me.”

I grabbed her one more time and hugged her, telling her I loved her and to be careful and to call me and to be safe. She squeezed back.

And then I let her go.

***

Listy McListerson

1. Thanksgiving was lovely, as was the turkey, despite what the husband says. And only because of the holiday did I relent and let him have a slice of tart (that sounds dirty).

2. Black Friday was lovely also, and I got a good head-start on Christmas shopping. Neither one of us was trampled or witnessed anyone being trampled, so I consider it a success.

3. I have a psychology final next Tuesday and then I'm done done done! with this semester. Amen.

4. I started a Twitter account last week. If possible, I think I suck harder at updating it than I do my blog.

5. Keely tagged me for a bookworm meme. She specifically said I couldn't use textbooks, but it really is the closest book to me, AND she really isn't the boss of me or the meme. So there. Rules state:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 56.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next two to five sentences.
5. Don’t dig for your favorite book, the cool book or the intellectual one. Pick the Closest.
6. Tag five people to do the same.

Sooo...

"It is this system that allows the brain and spinal cord to communicate with the sensory systems of the eyes, ears, skin, and mouth and allows the brain and spinal cord to control the muscles and glands of the body. The PNS can be divided into two major systems, the somatic nervous system and the autonomic nervous system."

Tell me that isn't fascinating.

I'm tagging the husband, Elisa, and Melanie.

The turkey should've totally been the national bird anyway

The husband is on thin ice, people. I always knew he was never fond of turkey (if that's even POSSIBLE), but to have him declare it publicly like that...woo. I don't even know, man.

I adore turkey the whole year, but Thanksgiving is like, the pinnacle of turkeydom. Yes, there were those few years of the pale, anemic, dry turkeys, but I've encouraged my mom change her roasting ways. Now our turkeys are toasty brown, crispy skinned, and oh so juicy. Meat falls off the bone and is perfectly seasoned. Not bland and boring as the husband insists.

I'm not even sure I can be with a man who thinks otherwise.

Besides, let's talk about mashed potatoes. When I merely suggested this year that we make another kind of potato dish rather than mashed, my family, including the husband, nearly rioted. I calmly offered up several other options...scalloped, roasted, casseroled...and was met with angry stares and the threat of looting. COME ON. We eat mashed fucking potatoes all. the. time. They're not even that tasty! They're simply a starchy vessel on which to eat cream and butter. We can actually eat cream and butter in better forms!

But whatever. All I know is that I will be bringing two homemade maple pecan tarts to my mother's for Thanksgiving. And I'm thinking that slices of tart will only be handed out to card-carrying turkey lovers who can convince me of their utter adoration of the bird.

Selfish? Weird? Obsessive? Maybe. But a marriage is at stake here.

Say cheese

The husband and I took the three kids to have professional pictures taken for Christmas. This was the first time I've attempted this feat with all three, and I'm thinking that after Saturday, it was probably the last, despite my mom's pleas.

Our appointment was at 10:40, and we arrived promptly and were told it would be 10 to 15 minutes. Fine. We browsed Target. I tried to keep Smella's curls under control. We went back to the portrait place and were told it would be another 10 to 15 minutes. FINE. By now the kids are bored and whiny. We browsed the $1 bins, trying to keep the kids from rolling on the floor and clean.

We were finally taken back almost an hour after our scheduled appointment.

The photographer was sweet and has three kids of her own, so she was understanding of my COMPLETELY NUTBAG CHILDREN. Big D refused to listen to instructions AT SEVEN YEARS OLD, Smella was easily distracted by bright, shiny objects, and Boobers forgot how to smile. The smiliest baby in the world was stone-faced sober.

I should've known better; I've tried taking pictures at home of all three of them at the same time. But I figured that in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, things would go a little more smoothly. Cha.

By the end of the appointment, Smella was whining for a drink, Boobers was crying because I wouldn't let him destroy the fake Christmas scene they had set up, and Big D was bouncing off walls...because, uh, that's what he does, I was sweating and gritting my teeth, and the husband was vowing to never do that again.

But we have lovely, lovely Christmas pictures to stuff into my Christmas cards. I certainly hope my mother's happy. Next year, I'm making her take them.

Karma is a bitch

I'm not a tiny person. Short, yes. Small waist and little hips? No. So when Mr. LA Fitness came into work a few weeks ago, I think he saw a prime target.

Construction has begun on a new LA Fitness just a little down the road from where I work. In the meantime, they have a small table and chair covered by a tent sitting on the side of the road with a huge banner that reads, "JOIN NOW!" I'd love to know how many people have stopped, cranes and steel beams in the background, battling four lanes of traffic to sign up with a guy who has a folding chair as his only piece of office equipment.

He had on his little white polo, embroidered with the LA Fitness logo on the pocket. He ordered his drink and then asked, "Hey! Do you need a gym membership?" UM. I probably do, really. We all have eyes, we can all see that yeah, I'd probably benefit from a little exercise, and it's quite apparent you're the biggest salesy salesman, but really. Don't try to hawk your wares to me while I'm at work.

I told him it would probably be way more money than I could afford, and besides, I really do love donuts. He assured me he'd give me THE BEST DEAL EVER. I assured him it would still be too much. "BEST DEAL EVER!" "UNLESS IT'S APPROXIMATELY $2 A MONTH, NO WAY!" He continued that way the whole time I made his drink. Him going, "I can cut you such a deal," and me going, "Uh, doubt it."

While he was standing, waiting for his drink, an older guy who comes in at least once a day, stepped up behind him. I turned to him, smiled, and said, "You need a gym membership? This guy will totally help you out."

LA Fitness guy turned to him and started his spiel. Older guy patted his small gut and said he was already in shape. He squinted at the guy's polo and smirked slightly.

"Oh. You're that guy that's been sitting on the side of the road!"

The flustered look of the LA Fitness guy was priceless. He stammered, handed out business cards and slunk out of the store.

No means no, ya know?

Meow, quack, blargh

Boobers has been working on his animal sounds. Occasionally they sound deranged.

Ingrates

Let me tell you how absolutely cool I acted yesterday during dinner. I was ever so proud of myself. I spent yesterday cleaning the whole house and doing countless loads of laundry, but I still managed to cook dinner. There was a recipe in last Sunday's paper for a pork tenderloin with Asian peanut sauce, so we had that with buttered noodles and green beans.

My oldest? Big D? He's kind of a butthead when it comes to eating. As in, he doesn't really like to eat anything save for chicken nuggets and maybe a grilled cheese. In the past year, I've put my foot down and said that I will NOT be making a separate dinner for him; he has to eat what I cook or nothing at all. Oh. And he's not allowed to vocalize just how gross or yucky or smelly dinner is. For the most part, this has worked okay, and he's even realized that hey! manicotti really isn't disgusting!

Baby steps, people.

So on to my tenderloin. It was perfectly cooked and tasty, and I love peanut sauces. Big D started bitching immediately, and Smella, being the small mockingbird she is, echoed all of his sentiments. I gently reminded them both of how rude it is to tell me repeatedly that dinner stinks, so shoosh and eat already. They both got hesitant bites, and Big D told me that was the weirdest tasting barbecue sauce* and Smella echoed that yes, it was stinky barbecue sauce. EWWWWW. GROSS. IT SMELLS BAD. YUCK.

I sucked in a breath and then slammed my fork on the dinner table and um, "voiced loudly" that they were to both stuff a sock in it and not speak for the whole rest of the meal. Either eat or starve to death. I was met with blinking eyes and the husband trying not to make eye contact with me.

The best part after a person explodes like that is the aftermath. Lots of cleared throats and clinking of silverware while the husband quietly adds up how much therapy will cost for three children.

Whatever. Wanna know what we're having tonight? I'm throwing tepid corndogs and ketchup at them and letting them figure it out.

*What? You think he'd eat it if I told him there was peanut butter in it? Come on.

Listy McListerson

1. Just a friendly reminder, once again, to leave when a place of business closes. Please don't wait for me to walk into the lobby and jangle my door keys suggestively in your direction. It's just awkward for everyone.

2. I only have about six weeks left of school in this semester. It looks like I'll be winding up with a 4.0. Hot damn. We'll see how long it lasts.

3. Big D has had a 4.0 gpa since 1st grade. It runs in families!

4. How's about Tuesday night, huh? Could it be any more awesome than that? Was I the only one pinching myself all day yesterday to make sure I wasn't dreaming?

5. Did you know the day after Halloween all the fun-size Snickers, Butterfingers, and Skittles go on sale? Did you also know they go ahead and vomit Christmas all over the fucking aisles? Hello? I think we forgot about Thanksgiving.

Election Day

Well, it's done. I filled in all the bubbles on my ballot. Now waiting and hoping that the people I was standing in line with for 45 minutes came to their senses and voted for the right person. And not the decrepit old man and his lipstick-wearing sidekick.

I love voting. I love the small sense of power it gives me.

I also love seeing the person I voted for win.

Here's to change.

So a cop, Blue, and a mouse walk into a bar

Here's the obligatory Halloween post! Halloween is slowly closing in on Christmas as being my favorite holiday. The weather is typically better, there's tons of free candy involved, and costumes do something about making your children the cutest they ever are.

First, my mouse. I asked this random cat if he would hold my mouse's hand. The cat complied and wound up holding his hand until it was time to leave. What's really funny is that Boobers let him.



Miss Blue, who actually said, "Happy trick or treat!" when someone answered the door and then sweetly told them, "Thank you!" I was pretty proud, and her bucket wound up being the heaviest because people would give her an extra piece or two for being too freaking cute.



My cop. He ran off early with the older kids and I didn't see him much the whole night. But when it came to meet up and head towards home, he blew his nifty whistle to let us know where his group was at. Handy, no?


And finally, the whole group. There were ten kids in all, and after doing head count after head count, it makes me appreciate people with more than three kids. Jon and Kate? Jim Bob and Michelle? You go, people.

In preparation

We took Smella trick-or-treating last year when she was a touch over two-years-old. She was a bumblebee, and blond and cute, but she really didn't grasp the concept. Yes, she loved candy, but that whole speaking-to-strangers thing really bummed her out. She's shy until she warms up, and unfortunately the whole "Hi! Trick or treat! Thank you!" isn't long enough for her to warm up.

I've been talking about trick-or-treating for the last several days. I tell her she's going to dress up, have her ghastly orange pumpkin bucket, and then she'll need to say "Trick or treat!" after she knocks on someone's door. And then she has to say "Thank you!" after they slip her candy.

"But what else do I say?"

"That's really it. 'Trick or treat' and then 'Thank you.' Do you think you can do that?"

"They'll give me candy?"

We've had this same conversation over and over. It blows her mind that people hand out candy for free. She insists up and down that she'll say what she's supposed to, but I have my doubts. Nonetheless, I'm so excited. Smella sort of gets it, and Big D totally gets it, and this year Boobers will be wearing the same mouse costume that the other two wore on their second Halloweens.

I love this part of parenting. Adorable, happy kids and free candy times three. It doesn't get any better.

And again with the lists

1. Remember when K moved to the middle of nowhere a few months ago? Well, due to some unfortunate events, she's moving again. And while the reason she's moving is kind of terrible, I'm so excited because she's moving 10-15 minutes away from me. Yay! I might actually get to see her more than twice a year now. Which is good because she just found out she's pregnant with number four. Our middle and youngest children are five weeks apart each, but I told her she has to go this one alone. I'm totally with her in spirit though, especially since I'll get to snuggle and smoosh a brand new baby in a few months.

2. I finished my 1500-word argument paper for English, and I took my psychology midterm last night, so I'm done for the week. It seems weird not to have anything to do or study or write, but I'm enjoying the week of rest.

3. This blog. Gah. I want so much to keep up with it better, but I'm having a hard time doing that. I don't even really have anything exciting going on to write about, but I feel like I should check in at least once a week.

4. This list is only going to have four things on it. Completely weird and even numbered, but I can't poop out anything else. I think I may go nap instead.

Listy McListerson

1. I'm sitting here, taking a break from house-cleaning, eating a bowl of fajita lasagna. Perhaps the trashiest casserole I've ever made, but man. It's tasty.

2. You know what? I enjoy the Doodlebops. They're creepy half-puppet humanoid things, but their tunes are catchy. And that one blue Doodle? Rooney? You know he'd be HOT without make-up and puppet fingers. Rawr.

3. The husband took the day off of work to watch Obama speak in downtown Indy today. I can almost bet he only went so he could blog about it later.

4. I finally bought Halloween costumes for the kids. I actually didn't procrastinate this year, so Big D gets to be the police officer he's wanted to be for like the, oh, past two years. Wonder when the Mother of the Year awards are handed out?

5. Even though I can't be downtown watching Obama speak, I'm still totally voting for him. And unlike when I voted for Kerry, I'm actually excited to vote for him. I'd vote for whatever Democrat was nominated, but I actually like the guy and what he stands for. I can't wait for November 4.

It's fall, y'all!

Perhaps the only thing I like about fall is our annual trip to the orchard. We always seem to pick the best day in October to go, and this past Sunday was no exception. Cool and crisp but still warm in the sun. Apple cider, hooded jackets, and prickly hay. What more could one want?










And finally, this is my favorite picture. Maybe of all time, ever. First, ignore my sister's butt in the background. (And if she knew I were posting her butt for everyone on the Internets to see, well, let's just say hell hath no fury like a woman whose butt's been posted on the Internets for everyone to see, know what I mean?)

Anyway, that's Super Smella down at the bottom of the picture. I had snapped the photo just as she decided to head-dive into the pumpkins, but it completely looks like she may have been flying and was just coming in for a landing. (No babies were hurt in the making of these pictures.)


Happy Autumn. If it didn't drag in its pal Winter, it'd be a completely badass season.

Customer of the day updates

1. Remember this guy? I've come to find out that he is a regular in the mid-afternoon (when I'm not there) and he consistently puts nuts on the top of his drink. He also has to widen the notch of his lid to slurp his nuts (that's what she said.)

2. And remember this lady? She still comes through drive-thru and gets her four Splenda ice tea. Even though she cussed out a barista, called corporate on our store, threatened to sue, and swore UP AND DOWN she'd never be back.

3. How I could I forget The God Squad? Well, it appears I had, or I haven't been working enough Sunday nights, because I completely forgot how annoying pure they were them until they showed up a few nights ago. Still syrupy sweet and still giggling wholesomely, I might add.

4. And finally, this chick. All summer long it's been her stupid Frappuccino, the one where we have to add so much extra ice to it that it's actually broken down our blenders. But now that the weather's turned cooler, she's back to ordering her hot drink. It's been over two years and she only orders these two drinks. It's like going to McDonald's daily and ordering either a Big Mac or a side salad. Who can live without any variety?

5. Can I just say that people, in general, are so very, very weird?

Why we need a dog

or What happens when you skip a day of sweeping
or The cat really needs to step up her game
or You know your blog has gone to shit when you start posting pictures of piles of dirt
and I still need a digital SLR and maybe a photography class

Listy McListerson

1. I HATE Comcast with a fiery, red hot passion. I hear the other ones aren't much better--DishTV and DirectTV--but I plan on dumping Comcast just out of principle. I'm almost positive they employ the dumbest humans on the planet. "Oh, your IQ is 4? HAVE I GOT A JOB FOR YOU!"

2. We went to this place on Friday night to celebrate K's husband's 30th birthday. It was a lot of fun, and someone requested Ben Fold's "Army." Perhaps the worst version ever, but you have to give the piano guy an A for trying. I guess.

3. I had one too many mai-tais at the above mentioned place. I'm still paying the price of it. Big old wuss when it comes to alcohol? Oh, hi. That'd be me.

4. I'm on hold with Comcast right now. While I write a blog post. Did I mention I hate them? The last time I called them, which happens to have been Thursday, the person who answered was whispering. I had to say three times, "I can't hear you very well, sorry" before the chick decided to actually speak into the phone receiver/headset. And then she told me that she really couldn't help me with my problem. I Googled and found the damn solution myself. And I send in money to these people monthly. Really.

5. They couldn't fix today's problem. They'll be sending someone out on Tuesday morning. If that isn't some FINE customer service, I don't know what is.

Ben Folds revisited

Last Friday, the husband and I went with a couple of friends to see Ben Folds play with the Fort Wayne Philharmonic Orchestra. We've seen him several times, but this is the first time we've seen him with an orchestra. I'd love to know who did the arrangement, because he typically doesn't have tubas and cellos in his music. It was lovely, and the "opening act" was the orchestra all by themselves, and they played a Beatles medley. You just haven't lived until you hear violins bust out on "Come Together."

But I guess I should've warned our friends that we are the people that always sit in close proximity of assholes. Friday was no exception! Right behind us were the young, probably half-drunk assholes: the assholes that sang WAY too loud, wolf-whistled WAY too many times, laughed WAY too loud at Ben's jokes, and kept yelling out, "Rock This Bitch!"

We were in a theater. Like super old, ornately gilded ceiling kind of theater. It was gorgeous. And small. Small enough that you could hear pretty much everything an audience member said. (I would've taken pictures, but photography was forbidden, not that that stopped anyone and then I felt like an ass for following the rules.)

Look. I want you to enjoy your concert experience, I do. You paid just as much money as I did. But you're only two feet behind me; I can hear everything you say and do, jackass. And when I'm trying to listen to Ben sing, I don't want your tone-deaf ass muddling that up. And for the love of god, if you shrilly wolf-whistle in my ear ONE MORE TIME, I'm dragging you out of the theater to beat the ever-loving shit out of you.

Rock that, bitch.

The more you know

So Keely from The Un Mom tagged me. She also writes at A Letter to Xander. This meme totally fits in with my whole listy thing I have going, so I'm doing it. I have to list seven random things about myself and then pass it on to seven other blogs. Ready?

1. I could be vegetarian if it weren't for poultry. I really, really like chicken and turkey. I like to go to steak houses and order chicken. Screw a bunch of beef, pork and DEFINITELY fish.

2. Smella's into asking what time it is. Constantly. I confess to sometimes telling her the wrong time just because she doesn't have a clue.

3. I can deal with blood, poop and barf, but snot does me in. Like turns me into a gagging hot mess. I'm really hoping my nursing gig doesn't involve much snot.

4. If a customer is unnecessarily rude to me at work, I give them decaf. So don't order your drink and then say, "And make sure you make it right." Oh, I'll make it RIGHT, buddy.

5. I kind of want my eyebrow pierced and a tattoo on my foot. The only thing really stopping me is that they're both kind of expensive.

6. Like Keely, I'm an atheist. Unlike Keely, I'm the only one in my family. I'm also way more liberal than they are. Family gatherings are a blast.

7. I think I'm allergic to pumpkin guts. When I scoop out a pumpkin, my hand and arm get kind of burny and itchy. But I can scarf a pumpkin pie without any ill effects.

So there you go. I shall tag:

Ane
Ann
Elisa
The Husband

Okay, um, I think that's everyone I'm going to pester. I'd totally tag Dooce, but I bet she'd totally snub me. Something about 4 million emails a day or something. Cha.

Listy McListerson

1. We're going to see Ben Folds tomorrow night. BEN FOLDS. That's really all I need to say.

2. The beauty of having a husband who is smart? He helps write your research papers. The beauty of online classes? That you can have your husband help write your research papers.

3. Can we just agree that petulant, whiny little bitch Kenley needs to go home already? Did you see the "hip-hop" ensemble she whipped up? She even had LL Cool J stuttering.

4. In the span of about two weeks, Boobers has had a black eye, a huge goose-egg on his head, rug burn on his nose and upper lip, and last night I was informed he somehow fell and bit his lower lip. He's our little prizefighter. Not a winning prizefighter, mind you, but still.

5. Perhaps the only good thing about fall is candy corn. And the best thing about candy corn is that I can only eat about five pieces (or two of those pumpkin ones) before I get a little gaggy. It's like they are their own portion control! Also, at my local Target, I found caramel and chocolate candy corn. Huzzah!

5b. "Huzzah" is a real word. I had no idea.

Oh deer

We live in a pretty suburban area, but we're butted up against some woods. The woods are small and on the other side of them is another subdivision.

Yet we still have these visitors often. I think the two that came to hang out in our yard today were the babies I've seen hanging around their mama. These fawns have grown and their white spots are fading. I'm not sure where mama was, but they were feasting on my slightly overgrown yard.

NOM, NOM, NOM

Oh, shit. You're looking at us WAY too hard.

I call this "Deer in Headlights." Yes, I know there are no headlights. WHAT OF IT?

I completely want a pet deer now. Are deer like cats? If you whip out a can of tuna, will they be your best friends? These guys didn't seem to mind me at all. I stood on my front porch for a good ten minutes, snapping pictures. They would occasionally pop a head up with weeds dangling out of their mouths to check me out and then go back to eating. They got a touch nervous when Smella came out though, and they decided to nonchalantly walk back into the woods.

See? I have the best of both worlds. Deer in my yard and a Target within three miles. Woot!

School is officially making me real tired

I have gobs of homework to do, we're out of clean spoons, and there is a very fine layer of dust on everything. There are also piles of laundry to wash, and they expect me to occasionally show up at work.

I called the husband Thursday morning and sobbed at him. I'm sure he was grateful I did it while he was at work instead of waiting for a more opportune time. But I couldn't help it. I was having a moment of frustration and was feeling SO overwhelmed. I didn't know what I wanted him to do. Just listen, I guess. And he did. And surprisingly, I felt a little better.

But I'm probably going to be scarce around here for a bit. Just until things calm down and it feels like I have control of the reigns again.

So possibly sometime in January.

I kid! I kid!

Why I can't be bothered to post properly today

I've been playing Oregon Trail all day. Sorry. It brought back tons of memories of playing in my elementary school's tiny computer lab on computers that used Windows 2.0.

One word of warning: it's slightly disturbing and sad when you use your real family members' names for your Oregon Trail family. When it pops up "Smella has cholera" or "Boobers has drowned" or "Big D has broken a leg," I get a little choked up.

Listy McListerson

1. This is the first season that I've watched Project Runway from the beginning. I love the show (The one where they designed for the drag queens? I couldn't love it any more.) I know I'm the last to tune into this show, but bear with me. First, Tim Gunn. I do kind of love him. He's stuffy! But witty! He just attempted "Holla at ya boy"! But the thing he does that makes me (and the husband, who is groaning because I just ratted him out) snicker wildly is "Thank yoooou!" at basically the end of every sentence. That would be a fun drinking game. I'd be trashed in the first ten minutes.

2. Secondly, why does Heidi carry a purse/bag/clutch on stage at the beginning of the show? Yes, I know she's a model. I know purses are a major accessory. But it looks like she's headed out on her way to Target, but oh first, lemme stop here, chat with these designers and "auf Wiedersehen" a model. I wish we could get rid of Heidi and replace her with Tim all the time.

3. On Friday morning, I loaded the babies into the car, buckled them in, dragged all of our various bags to the trunk, and backed out of our driveway. I heard a distinct flubbaflubbaflubba and promptly pulled back into the driveway. My tire was completely flat. Holding back tears of rage, I unloaded everything and everybody to go back inside. Smella wanted to know what the hold up was, and when I told her my tire was flat, she bent down to take a look. "Mommy! It's okay! It just needs some fresh air!"

4.

These are like crack and should carry the "can't eat just one" motto. I don't feel satisfied until I've had at least four. Sometimes one of each flavor. And I really like to let them to sit out for a bit and get a little melty so I have something to suck up at the end of one. I make sure I save the green ones for Big D. He says those are his favorite.

5. The husband and I are going to see Burn After Reading with friends on Friday. I have a baby shower Saturday morning to attend, a kid's birthday party to attend Saturday afternoon, and my mom's birthday is Sunday. Wanna know what I really want to do? Sit at home in my pajamas and vegetate in front of the TV. Preferably with an episode of Project Runway while gorging myself on Fla·Vor·Ices.

Because the husband and I celebrated our 10th so hard, all you get is a video today

I think I figured out what all those Post-its I sent to school with Big D were for. Or at least, I kind of hope that's what they were for, because this video is pretty neat.

Of fortune-telling and being shot in the face

There's no way for me to top the husband's tenth-year anniversary post. He sums everything up so fluidly and eloquently, no? Exactly everything I feel is written right there. 311 and and Yahweh. Verbatim, baby.

I will say that yay! ten years! Amazing. And amazing that I still like him. A lot. He's funny. His eyes are a lovely shade of dark blue. He's scary smart. He makes cute babies. So here's to another ten and beating all the odds.


Happy anniversary.

Soooo...

I promise this will be the last time I speak of $35 next-day shipping. Last time. For this semester at least. Promise.

I ordered my psychology book online on a Monday afternoon. After forking over money to receive it really, really fast, it was delivered Friday. That's four days.

I had to reorder a book for my first year seminar class. (The dude at the brick and mortar bookstore handed me the wrong book. That's a completely different ranty post.) I ordered the book through the same online store on Saturday afternoon. I used regular ground shipping. Want to know when it came? THREE DAYS LATER. I opened the box, not really believing it would be the book, but it was the book, delivered faster and cheaper than next-day shipping, and then my head exploded.

So that's it. I'm done with the fucking textbook-shipping talk.

***

In other news, I was sitting at the computer this morning while the babies melted their brains with some TV. Boobers was dancing around, giggling, when he decided to throw his blankie over his head, which completely covered his eyes, and run straight into the side of the computer desk. He hit so hard that he fell backwards.

He's fine. He doesn't even have a bump. But do you have any idea how hard it was to have to bite my lip and not laugh? His noggin is fine, but I have bloody tooth marks on my lower lip.

Customer of the day

After my coworker had handed back a lady's change in drive-thru, I was standing next to the open window, counting said coworker's till. I noticed the lady had opened her car door, and while juggling the small dog on her lap and her huge drink, was fishing for something on the ground. I heard her mutter something, and I turned to her.

"That girl dropped my dime on the ground."

I blinked a couple of times, watching her fumble around for a bit. After it looked like she really wasn't giving up the good fight for the dime, I offered her another one from the till I was counting.

"Here. Take this."

She actually took it.

I've dropped change before at drive-thrus, and I'm here to admit that if it isn't actual paper money, it's gone. And I'm okay with that. There's no way in hell I'd try to retrieve ten cents. Honestly, if you are in so much trouble that you have to worry about every single dime you drop, I'm thinking you should probably stay at home with your annoying little dog.

At the very least, you definitely shouldn't be spending $4+ on a frou-frou coffee drink.

Random Monday thoughts

1. Man, this poor little blog. I've neglected her. But hey, my kids are mostly happy, the house is mostly clean, I'm mostly caught up on laundry, and I'm a week ahead in my homework. Soooo...

2. It really is the end of summer. I sent Big D to school in jeans for the first time, as opposed to shorts. I could just cry. I love fall, but the thought of battling winter that follows behind depresses me. The snow, the layers of coats, the cold temperatures. It just gets worse the older I get.

3. Also neglected? My TV shows. I'm three episodes behind in Project Runway, two behind in America's Next Top Model, two behind in that new series the husband wants me to watch, True Blood. And I'm sure it's only a couple of weeks before all my other favorites come back. Won't someone think of my television viewing?

4. K's birthday was August 27. We've still not gotten together to celebrate it. I adore her, but I'm still really bummed she moved so far away. I really, really hate being grown up sometimes.

5. The husband and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary this Friday. I have a three day weekend off of work too. I need to come up with something fun and different to do without it costing a whole lot of money. Honestly, just being alone, no kids, at a grown-up restaurant will probably be enough. We're easily amused at this house.

Listy McListerson

1. This blog, my friends, has finally come in handy. I compiled the posts of "How I met the husband" into one paper, tweaked it a little, and will be sending it in as my narrative rough draft for my English class. After it's peer-reviewed and tweaked some more, I'll send it in as my final draft. Score!

2. The husband dragged all three kids out to run errands so I could enjoy the peace and quiet and do some homework. I really do like him quite a bit. The dimples don't hurt either.

3. On a completely unrelated note, you really know it's time to shave when your fifteen-month-old starts petting your legs. Lovingly. Like they're, I don't know, a beloved dog.

4. Boobers has begun talking up a storm. His favorite thing to do is to point a chubby finger at anything and say, "Whadat?" When looking at pictures, it's, "Whodat?" I'm still not being called mama on a regular basis. His huge brown eyes framed with dark lashes is the only thing that saves him.

5. The husband just wandered through, saw that I was posting, and made some snide comment that I have three kids, work a part-time job, go to school, and yet still manage to post more to my blog than he does his. Like it's a contest or something. It's not. But if it were, I WOULD TOTALLY BE WINNING.

Inflicting psychological damage on our children

I'd love to regale you with tales of how annoyed I am with work, of how utterly lost and overwhelmed school makes me feel most of the time, of how tired I am, of how I'd like to just lock myself in a room and cry, and of how I feel like a crappy mom and sometimes wife because of all of that, but I won't. Because man, that would just be one big Debbie Downer.

Instead, let's imagine we're tripping on acid together while watching this video. I've never tried LSD and won't be any time soon, but from what I've heard, this video would probably be awesome while doing it:

You can thank me later when you realize you've been humming that tune all. day. long.

And the winner is...

It's here. The time where I announce the winner of a super fabulous $10 giftcard to Starbucks! I was happy to find out I'm not the only one that curses like a drunken sailor on occasion. I even learned some new curses to add to my repertoire.

Soooo, without further ado, I announce that:


Comment #5 is the winner which translates to Teri of wishes, hopes and dreams! Teri likes to keep it clean with an innocent "tartersauce!" I should probably adopt more of Teri's innocence, what with all the small mockingbird toddlers I have running around here.

Teri, email me at notinsaneperse@gmail.com so I can get your address and drive to your house all stalker-like unless you live really far away because gas is really too expensive for a road trip, so then I'll just resort maybe emailing you occasionally and sending spam send you your giftcard.

And in spirit of the contest, thanks a fucking lot to all of you who entered. It's been a fucking blast.

Fuckin' A.

100th post! And a contest!

FINALLY! The moment you've all been waiting for. This marks my 100th post. Woot!

It's been brought to my attention lately that maybe I curse too much in my posts. It made me nervous and a little paranoid, and I went back and reviewed some of the stuff I've written, and I've come to a conclusion.

Nuh uh.

I don't curse in every single post. And I really don't use the big, ugly curse words often. And it doesn't matter. This is my blog, dammit, and if I want to drop an F-bomb, I will. Feel free to mentally place ***'s in strategic places, or read some other blog that's all about rainbows and puppies, but here, in Per Se Land, the occasional "fuck" will be written. I can't help it. How else will I describe the frustration of paying $35 for expedited next-day shipping for my psychology book on Monday and then receiving it on FRIDAY?

So in honor of my potty-mouthed blog AND my 100th post AND to delurk some of you lurkers, I'm going to have a contest. All you need to do is leave a comment. But I thought I would spice it up a little. In your comment you can leave your most favorite curse word/phrase/saying. You don't HAVE to, I completely understand some of you don't curse. In that case, just say "hey" or "howdy" or "I WANT PRIZE." Post whatever you want, and feel free to comment as often as you want, because I'll be picking the winner at random. (By the way, the husband says he's going to enter, but he totally can't be the winner. I won't allow it. Once again, it's my blog!)

Okay, want to know what you can win? It's so exciting. It's fabulous! It's a $10 giftcard to Starbucks! Woohoo! I know it's not much, but if you choose wisely, you can get at least two mocha choca lotta ya yas out of it. (The husband brought up the fact that it should be a $100 giftcard. But then I had to remind him, yet again, of $35 shipping and the fact that my children like to eat once in a while. Damn kids and their "needs.")

So that's it. Post your favorite curse word or something else, as often as you want, and I'll pick the winner at random on Friday at 9:00 AM EST.

And just to get started, my favorite curse is "clusterfuck."

Ready? Go!

Dear Smella,

Today you turn three. I've been doing that thing all day where I go, "And this time three years ago, I was at my weekly doctor's appointment or driving to the hospital..." Right now, at this time three years ago, I was probably still in the process of answering all of those admittance questions, hanging out in my hospital gown, a bundle of nerves and excitement. You were born a little after 10 PM. An easy labor and delivery, all pink (and a little cheesy) and adorable.


You've changed so much in the past year. You've perfected screaming. You've learned that by screaming, almost anyone will do anything you want to make you stop. You know how to count to eight. I no longer have to buy diapers for two babies. You finally had enough hair to cut! You know how to use those dimples and blue eyes to their full advantage.


You adore your brothers. Big D can make you giggle faster than anything, and Boobers is a constant source of practicing all your empathy and mothering skills. I know that if Boobers needs anything, you'll be first in line to help. As the only baby girl, you're equally adored, and will probably always be the go-between.


You had a blast at your party on Saturday. You reveled in the fact that everyone in the room was singing to you, and you had enough steam to blow out all three candles by yourself. You were so proud of yourself, and I was of you too.


I adore you. I love the conversations we have on a daily basis. Like, "You have to work today? But I don't want you to! I neeeeed you here!" I adore your screaminess, your fierce determination, your utter stubbornness, your dimples and your crazy blond curls. You're my only, my most wanted, my lovely baby girl. Happy birthday.

Love,

Mom

Listy McListerson

1. I ordered my psychology book on Monday with next day shipping. Next day after what, I don't know, because IT STILL ISN'T HERE.

2. Smella turns three on Monday. When I asked her what she wanted me to cook for her birthday dinner tomorrow, she first replied, "Chocolate cake!" I assured her there would be cake, but what about dinner? "Chicken nuggets!" So I'm making chili. I feel like it's a good compromise.

3. There was a huge store meeting at work last night. We were told that they would be cutting down on our ten minute breaks, and that we MUST start tucking in our polo shirts. a) Thanks for nothing, assholes; b) I can't believe we just had a store meeting over that stupid shit; c) Some humans should never, never tuck in their polos, especially humans with asses as large as mine.

4. Since Smella is finally three, I am SO buying her some Barbies. I'm going to try to get her one of those Kelly dolls, you know, Barbie's littlest sister. The husband maintains that Kelly is really Barbie's illegitimate daughter, a love child that everyone was so embarrassed about they had to come up with another story, but he doesn't really know.

5. My BFF, K, turned 29 on Wednesday. I talked to her Tuesday, we even talked about getting together for her birthday later. I completely spaced calling her ON her actual birthday. Totally forgot. And when I tried calling her several times yesterday to apologize for my blunder, she didn't answer. I spent most of the day sniffling around, thinking she was so mad at me she didn't ever want to talk to me again. Turns out she had just been really busy yesterday and wasn't avoiding my calls. Then she called me a big dork for thinking she'd give up on a fifteen year relationship because I'd forgotten to call. Then I called her a dork for not answering multiple phone calls and frantic text messages. We're all good again. Whew.

School's going great, thanks for asking

Soooo...this English composition class I'm taking? I have to write posts in the class blog. I was actually really pumped about it, because hey! Blog posts? I got 'em. But no, we're given a topic to blog about, which completely takes all the fun out of it.

So instead, I'll just be creative about it here. The first week's topic is, here we go, "If this class were a journey, what kind of journey do you want it to be?"

Sigh.

Complete cheesiness. And I had to write at least 250 words. It was HARD. I'll paraphrase what I actually wrote:

I like to write, blah, blah, but I kinda hate being confined to specific topics, blah, I wanna learn how to get through that, blah, blah, I love you guys, I'm gonna try real hard, BLAH.

Here's what I really wanted to write:

Um, this class? I'm taking it because I have to. I don't really want to. I think I write pretty well already, and from reading some of the other students' posts, I'm a damn genius. This isn't a journey, it's a damn prereq to classes I actually WANT to take. But I'll humor you, and if this class really were a journey, I'd hope it'd be the kind of journey that surprises me. Like, "Ooh, I think this trip might suck," but actually turn into, "Hey, that wasn't so bad. I guess. Whatever."

I'm not going to get this degree without offending several people, am I?

It's been a fun, fun day

But not really.

I started out this morning gathering up the babies for a trek to the campus bookstore. I claim temporary insanity. I circled and circled the parking lot, looking for a spot closer than sixteen blocks away to park in. Nothing. I wound up crying and calling the husband, prompting him to come home from work and meet me in the driveway when I got home, bookless.

I called my mom to come sit with the babies as the husband and I drove back to campus. The line to get into the store was wrapped around the building. Finally in the building, they only had two of my textbooks in stock. Thanks. I cried some more.

The husband and I drove to the next closest campus where we were informed that no, you can't buy books there for online courses, those have to be purchased online. NOT TRUE, DUMMY, but I scanned the shelves myself and determined that they didn't have the book either.

I wound up coming home and just ordering the damn book online. I paid $35 for expedited shipping.

Since I'm off work tonight, it's really my only time to get online and finish up what I can for the week. In the middle of posting my introduction for Psychology 101, the online format I'm using crashes and my access to everything is suddenly denied. ON THE FIRST DAY OF CLASSES. I cried a little bit more, slammed a few doors, shrieked at the husband profusely. He threw chocolate and soothing words at me.

I guess I should quit shrieking at the husband. He's been nothing but supportive in this adventure of mine. And I know for a fact he won't whine once if dinner's late, if he has to finish up a few loads of laundry for me, or if I need him to patiently explain integers one more time. He's a pretty terrific husband.

I'm going to finish up my chocolate, snuggle the husband for a minute, and try logging in to my classes one more time. If you hear cursing and general unpleasantness in the vicinity of Indianapolis, it means access was denied again, and my head is probably exploding. Duck.

Brazil nuts in your mocha? OH HELL YEAH!

This afternoon, a guy came in and ordered this drink: a large latte with one pump of chocolate, four pumps of sugar-free caramel syrup, nonfat milk steamed to 140 degrees, with light whipped cream and caramel drizzle. I handed him his finished drink and out of the corner of my eye watched him take the lid off. He stirred it, took a drink, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of finely chopped pecans. He sprinkled the top liberally with the nuts, replaced the lid, took another sip and walked off.

WTF?

At what point did he decide chunks of pecans would be a lovely accompaniment to a hot espresso drink? And he carries them around in his pocket? Who carries nuts in their pockets?

And how the hell do you SIP on pecans?

Listy McListerson

1. I have three children. I can't even tell you how many times I've held my baby for some nurse to poke with a needle. Today, when the otherwise very sweet nurse stabbed my fifteen-month-old's chubby, dimpled thigh two times, I wanted scream velociraptor-style and then rip her head off. SHE MADE MY BABY CRY. Apparently it never gets easier.

2. While Boobers completely recovered and is just fine now, I still used him as an excuse to get out of something I didn't want to go to tonight. If you're going to feed, clothe, and rip people's heads off for your kids, the least they can do is give you an out for something once in a while.

3. I officially start school on Monday. I'm taking seven credit hours. I already know that I'll have to do a research paper for the English class I'm taking. I'm already overwhelmed and nervous that this will cut into my blogging time. Fucking higher education.

4. Oh, and school? I don't have books yet because I'm taking online classes and the damn online classes don't show up online until the very first day of school. Look, I like procrastination as much as the next gal, but not when I've invested several thousands of dollars on something. Speaking of, WHERE IS MY STUDENT LOAN?

5. This post right here makes my 94th post. That's only six away from 100! (I did the math for those who have trouble with it, like, uh, me.) I'm thinking I'm going to have a little contest to celebrate and to make all you lurkers delurk. So keep an eye out for it, and prepare to be dazzled by fabulous prizes! (Okay, a prize, and it probably won't be SUPER fabulous. But still.)

Olympic Observations

I've enjoyed watching the Olympics this year, probably too much. I love the swimming, diving, gymnastics. My only complaint is that you have to watch during the day or very late at night to catch the coverage of the not so popular sports.

Women's 20K race walk. I didn't even know race walking was an Olympic event. It may very well be the oddest thing ever. The rules are simple: one foot must always be on the ground and your knee has to be straight unless the leg is behind you. This makes these women's strides look alien, like their legs are perhaps made of Jell-O. Jell-O going 60 miles an hour. The whole time I watched, I kept wondering, why don't they just go ahead and jog? Or you know, break out in a run? And how do they stop themselves from not?

Badminton. Best sport ever, really. My partner and I were number one in our 10th grade PE class tournament. It was the first and only time I was number one at anything regarding PE. I'm sure we were a site to behold: a short, chubby girl and her tall, chubby, gay male partner. BUT WE KICKED ASS. And if I had only known at the time that badminton was an Olympic event, I may have tried even harder in gym.

Table tennis. I knew this was in the Olympics, but the other day they were showing the ping pong players as they "trained." They kind of jogged around the ping pong tables and did little arm rotations. And yes, I giggle, but I'm fully aware of the fact that even the worst table tennis player could whoop my ass into a grease stain.

Rhythmic gymnastics. That's the one where they twirl ribbons and throw balls in the air, flip and turn, and then catch them. I adore the sport even though the husband insists it was made up for the people who couldn't cut the real gymnastics. I haven't caught any coverage of it yet, but I think I'll DVR it and force the husband to watch all of it.

So what's your favorite lesser-known Olympic event? Your answer has to be one of those sports that's only shown at 3 AM. Everyone adores Michael Phelps and little Shawn Johnson. I want to know about your crush on Olga Kaniskina, the awesome Jell-O legged race walker.

Free to good home

While sitting on the couch, Boobers and Smella snuggling in my lap, Smella declares that she likes her baby brother.

"You do?"

"Uh huh. And he likes me!"

"I think he does too. Do you think we should keep him?"

"Yep."

"Should we throw him in the trash?"

"No!" Complete with horrified expression.

"Okay, no trash. Should we give him to C (a close friend of mine that Smella adores)?"

"Yes!"

"But I thought we were keeping him! Why do you want to give him to C?"

"C likes him too! We could share!"

Okay, okay. I guess maybe Barney isn't all that bad. Just look at the lessons she's learned already!

And I come running when you want me here*

On Friday, I bought tickets to see Ben Folds in October. He's playing with a philharmonic orchestra, and it should be fairly mind-blowing. It will be about the sixth or seventh time I'll have seen him live, and I can't wait.

But did I ever tell you about the time I kinda sorta met him? No? That may be because it barely really happened. Hell, I was there and almost missed it.

A few years ago, he was doing a tour at small colleges. I happened to hear a blurb one day on the radio, and tickets were only $10, so the husband and I decided to go. Tickets were general admission, so we got to De Pauw early to walk around and then eventually get in line to wait for hours for the best possible seat. On our way to the end of the snaking line, walking down the sidewalk towards us, was a shortish guy, camera slung around his neck, a stretchie cap pulled down low. The closer he got to us, we realized it was HIM.

Just as I had decided that yes, by god, that was Ben Folds, he looked up and made eye contact and smiled. Are you ready for this? I said,

"Hi."

I think he replied hi back, grinned at our stunned faces, and kept walking.

No autograph. No handshake. No "Ohmigawd, I adore you, you're talented, I will have your babies RIGHT NOW." Just "hi."

I don't have many regrets in life. But that whole scenario has to be number two or three on my list.

So on a Friday evening in October, I will be hanging around the venue, keeping an eye out. Because next time I meet Ben Folds on a sidewalk, I will totally offer to bear his children. Or at least formally introduce myself.

*If you know where that's from without benefit of Mr. Google, we can be BFFs. Seriously. 4-ever.

I blame my age on that damn Michael Phelps

"So you know that watching the Olympics means we're old, right?"

"But I've watched the Olympics for several years now!"

"Yeah, me too. But this year? This year I've actually been excited that the Olympics are on."

"Oh, well, yeah, that can't be a good sign."

FAIL

It's happened. One of those "my kids will NEVER..." happened. See, I always took pride in the fact that MY kids only watch kids shows that I could tolerate. My children's baby-sitter was going to be high quality. That meant no fucking Barney.

Big D was born in 2001, right at the height of Barneydom. The few kids I had baby-sat for before Big D were completely and utterly addicted to Barney, so by the time I had Big D, I knew I had to keep him as far away from the dinosaur as I could. And it worked. Big D was hooked on a lot of other less migraine-inducing shows, like Blues Clues and Dora. Those I could handle. The cheesy, singing purple guy? No.

Sometime late last year, a good friend of mine sent me some of her daughter's outgrown clothes for Smella. Some of them were a bit too big still, so I tucked them away while we waited for a growth spurt. A couple of weeks ago, I dragged that box out, hoping to find some pj's for Smella. There was a Barney t-shirt. Barney and his good chums BJ and Baby Bop. I tried to quickly hide the evidence, but it was too late. "Mommy! Who is THAT?"

She has bugged me ever since that day to watch Barney. I have no idea how she knows Barney is a show. No one let it slip over here. So this morning, as Smella wore her t-shirt, she insisted I put Barney on right.this.minute.

In a moment of weakness, I did.

Not only did Smella thoroughly enjoy the show, her baby brother busted several moves to the chirpy, syrupy songs.

It only took one hit off the crack pipe that is Barney, and they're already scrambling to sell toys to get their next fix.

I'm not even sure they make new episodes, but On Demand has some.

They've watched two of them already.

I'm looking into DVRing some reruns that are on later this afternoon.

I should've torched that damn t-shirt.

He could totally get a job in Times Square

Purell, Post-its, and Kleenex, oh my

I tried to keep my excitement to a minimum, but I probably grinned way too big as I waved Big D off to second grade this morning. It helps that he was so ready to go back; hanging around the house with your little sister and brother is only so entertaining.

Do you see that backpack? It was stuffed with folders, crayons, and scissors. But that wasn't all. Big D also had to carry a separate bag filled with Other School Supplies that Annoy Kelly. OSSAK, as we will refer to them, include hand sanitizer, facial tissues, Post-its, baby wipes, and Ziploc bags.

Let's review. I pay taxes. People who don't even have children pay taxes. I pay $100 for "book rental." And on top of that, I have to send in freaking Kleenex.

Okay, fine. Kids are messy. I'm sure baby wipes come in handy at times. Come flu and cold season, I'll be grateful they're passing around the Purell. But Post-its? I was asked to send three packages of Post-its. Let's say there are 25 kids in Big D's class. That's 75 packages of Post-its. And there are usually three to four pads in a package. So that's...AN INORDINATE AMOUNT OF POST-ITS. While I try my best never to sound like a bitter old woman, I went to school for thirteen years and not only managed, but thrived without Post-its.

I'll hush, be glad I can afford it, and send in the OSSAK. But if I don't see some terrific project made entirely out of yellow sticky sheets of paper by the time this school year is over, I'm raising all sorts of hell.

Listy McListerson

1. I went and had my hair dyed last night. I've never had my hair professionally colored, but I sprung for some highlights. It is so freaking cute.

2. The husband would never blog about it, but he has a cold. A little head cold. The whining that has taken place in this house has been deafening.

3. This is the last weekend before Big D heads to second grade. I'm excited and sad all at once. Mostly excited. But it also means homework, deadlines, bedtimes, et cetera, et cetera. And it means fall is around the corner and then fucking winter with its ice and snow and holidays.

4. Boobers has learned to climb up on furniture all by himself. While it's kind of neat and very cute to watch him sit on a couch and feel SO proud of himself, I spend most of the day saying, "Sit down. Boobers, sit down. Sit. Sit, Boobers. SIT DOWN!" so that he doesn't fall head first onto the floor. I don't think he grasps that whole concept of gravity yet.

5. Last night, every time I wandered into the pantry to look for something to graze on, I kept smelling this...smell. Like someone had perhaps shoved a dead body in there. And then let it mold. AND NO ONE LET ME KNOW. So I spent a couple hours emptying it and wiping down walls and throwing away boxes that had three noodles left in them. The culprit? A bag with three potatoes that had been sitting on a shelf for, oh, nine years? Okay, not nine years, but I can't tell you when I bought those potatoes. I also had no idea innocent little potatoes could ever smell that bad. I'm also more than a little ashamed I don't clean out that pantry more often.

What I've been reading this summer

My mom, who shares my obsession with pouring over cookbooks, bought me the holy grail of cookbooking:

There are things I've always wanted to try to make but didn't want to just randomly pick some recipe from the Internet, I don't care how many good reviews it had:

I *heart* mac and cheese and adore trying new versions of it.


Okay, honestly, I've never tried Saag Paneer. But I want to. And I want to try my own hand at it. I love that I now have a trustworthy recipe for it.

And then some recipes are really, really interesting to read, but I'm pretty sure my local Kroger doesn't carry some of the ingredients:

Ostriches will totally peck your eyes out if you get close enough.

I'm thinking several dinner parties are in my near future. Because it's no fun cooking if you don't have an audience. Much like blogging! And then I can totally turn around and blog about cooking.

I'll be sure to thank the mom for the multiple gifts.

Charlotte has taken up residence

Big D's always been a bit of a sleepwalker. Several months ago, after he'd been in bed for a couple of hours, we heard him banging around in his room. When we opened the door to check on him, he had dropped trou and was standing at his nightstand, peeing on it. He never really woke up, and so we steered him back to bed and cleaned up the mess.

It looks like Big D will be keeping us on our toes at night. Sometime around 2 AM this morning, we were woken up by Big D saying, "Uh, there's a spider in my room?" The husband jumped up, and as he grabbed a wad of tissue to kill said spider (Seriously. I already knew Big D was full of shit, but the husband, he's gullible), Big D says, "Yeah, he built a web on my bed!"

The way all this was said, dreamy and quiet, I knew Big D wasn't fully awake. I followed the husband into Big D's room to find...nothing. Just a slept-in bed scattered with a couple of Matchbox cars. We told him that hey, looks like the spider's gone, big guy, how 'bout we go back to sleep? And in his sleepy haze, Big D agreed and climbed back into bed.

The husband and I giggled all the way back to our bed. As long as no one's hurt or really upset, Big D's middle-of-the-night escapades are hilarious. If for nothing else, just so we can ask Big D, "How'd YOU sleep last night?"