It only gets worse

K will be closing on her house 54 miles away on May 30. It's official. I'm looking into getting Vonage (woohoo hoo hoo hoo woohoo hoo hoo hoo) and their free unlimited long distance.

But the worst part? The part that I'm not sure I could live with if I were her? There's no Target. The closest Target will be an hour drive away. How does she expect to survive, people? The delicious $1 bins. The cute baby clothes. The hundreds of rows of wonderful Target goodness. Gone. Just a Wal*Mart 30 minutes away and a crappy Piggly Wiggly or something. Gah. I'm not even sure I can visit her knowing I'll be that far away from a Target.

Please keep her in your thoughts.

How I met the husband, Part I

I've been meaning to type out the whole story of how the husband and I met, moved in with each other, and married. Then I get all overwhelmed and post something else. I might have to do installments of this, but we'll see. Are we ready? Here we go.

Sometime in February of 1997, we were on mIRC in a chatroom called chaos. Or #chaos, I guess. It was a game run by a bot and it was like the board game Outburst. My screen name was aenima because Tool had just released that album, and I may have been slightly obsessed. The husband was flowwolf, which I thought at the time (and still do, sorry babe) was pretty lame. He private messaged me one night, saying that he liked Tool and that album and my screen name. Innocent, no?

I played #chaos just about every night, and most of the time the husband did too. We would chat and play for hours. We learned everything about each other during those chats. He was in college, living with a roommate, working full-time. I was a senior in high school getting ready to graduate in May, living at home, and working part-time.

Eventually I was logging onto #chaos nightly, but not so much to play the game. The husband would be there to meet me, and we'd do the chat thing for hours and hours. I'm not sure how I managed to function back then, because there would be some nights I'd only get a couple of hours of sleep before having to go to school. Oh hell, that's not true. I know how. I skipped A LOT of school that senior year, and study halls were just MEANT for napping.

We chatted nightly for a couple of months, and at some point we started talking over the phone. I don't remember who or why or the specifics of it though (sad!), and I know at some point I mentioned that prom was coming up and I didn't have a date for it. He mentioned casually that he'd love to take me. I pshawed him, because hi? you're 600 miles away? The husband was persistent though. We sat down and chatted about logistics. He went to a local tailor to have his measurements taken, and I took the emailed numbers to a place to rent his tux. He bought a plane ticket and I procured a motel room for him.

In the meantime? My parents FREAKED the fuck out. Which honestly, I can't blame them right now. I was 18, he was 21. He could've been a murderous, stalkery asshole from hell from the Internet, no less. They calmed down once I promised the could meet him and talk to him and judge him.

Prom was on a Friday night, and he flew in that Thursday afternoon before. I made my friend K come with me to the airport to pick him up. Now, I'd love to sit here and tell you that I soon as I laid eyes on him it was love at first sight, but honestly, the whole thing was slightly awkward. Ask K, she'll tell you. K dropped us at my house, and it was more awkwardness as he met my parents, some more awkwardness when we went out to eat dinner and see a movie.

I dropped him off at his motel room that night with the promise that I'd be there to pick him up the next morning to pick up his tux and the corsages. But as I drove home, even with all the awkwardness, I knew I adored him. He was cute, well-mannered and sweet, but had a smartass side too. He was everything he seemed online and over the phone, and as it all turned out, he wound up making a fine prom date.

Yep, we're doing installments.

Read this

While surfing around, I came across this blog. It made me sob uncontrollably. You know, that ugly snarfling cry. This guy's amazing, and his daughter is absolutely lovely.

BFF

I've known my bestest friend forever since eighth grade. She was newish to school, and when another friend invited her to sit at our regular table during lunch, I didn't like her. Thought she was a total snob and rather bitchy. But she ate lunch with us everyday, and then I had a few other classes with her, and the more I talked to her, I realized that hey, maybe I did like her. Maybe she really wasn't a bitchy snob, just kind of quiet until you get her riled up. Because hoo-boy, she can get riled up.

We haven't been apart since.

There were sleepovers in the beginning, mingling of siblings and families (hers is award-winning crazy), and later, some underage drinking, some aimless driving around asking, "I don't know, what do you wanna do?" and then boys, marriage, babies, new houses... We've done them all together.

K currently lives 2.91 miles away (thanks, Mapquest). I like this fact. And no, it's not that we're at each other's houses constantly. We have six kids between us, two jobs, two husbands, a house apiece to clean, trumpet lessons, soccer, etc, etc. So no, there's not much visiting. We try to meet up every other Thursday with another mutual friend and we also talk daily on the phone. We're there for all six kids' birthdays, Christmas, our birthdays, and the occasional midnight freak-out when one of us pops up unexpectedly pregnant.

K is moving soon. Well, as long as the house passes inspection. And I'm happy for her. Mostly. I'd be totally happy save for the fact that this house will be an hour away. 53.72 miles. She will be long-distance to phone. We talk every.single.day. I don't even have a long-distance provider on my land line. I don't randomly pop in on her very often, but I can if I want. 54 miles away? Not so much. I'm going to have save money for gas just to visit and rollover minutes just to call her.

I'm going to miss her. And I can almost guarantee that since she's not easy to hop in a car and run down the road to see, I'm going to miss hanging out with her. She promises to "drive into town" as often as possible, but really, with the above mentioned responsibilities, that's easier said than done. She is truly the only person who fully understands me, gets me, and never judges. We can finish each other's sentences, she's watched me give birth three times.

I'm hoping, fingers crossed, that nothing changes between us. I'm not sure I could take it.

1, 2, 3

1. I was going to go on and on about how Smella might really be potty trained for good, seeing as how she has gone to the bathroom to do all her business by herself for the past couple of days, and how all morning she managed to poop! in her potty too several times. But then she woke up from her nap this afternoon and pooped on the bathroom floor. *sigh*

2. Yay for antibiotics! My bladder feels 100% better. Which is great, because Big D was complaining his ear hurt and was sort of plugged up this morning.

3. This list will only be three things long. I'm freaking tired and there's a rice krispie treat calling my name. Hear it?

Boobers: All Gussied Up

My mother-in-law sent me a box of clothes for Boobers sometime late last year. Most of it was too big, so I stored the box away. I found that box today. Wow. There were these three little outfits, I believe they're called john-johns, that uh, are so, uh...feminine. People. They have smocking and peter pan collars.

So I decided to dress Boobers up, take pictures for posterity, and show him off.

Up first, a lovely green gingham faux overall with what I believe are golf clubs on the smocking over a white short sleeve shirt with a hah-yuge peter pan collar:









Next is a solid blue john-john with sailboats on the smocking and that collar again:






And our last outfit because all this dressing up was making the Boobers really, really cranky, a blue gingham with fishes! on the smocking, and yes, a big-ass collar:




And I do mean cranky:

So these are kind of cute. They'd be a lot cuter on a little southern boy trying to snag himself a lovely southern bell, I do declare, but I'm pretty sure here in Indiana, people would just snicker.

None of this changes the fact that he's the cutest freaking baby boy ever and ohmygod, don't you just want to scoop him up and smoosh his little cheeks?!

Customer of the Day

So when you spill a little of your venti frappuccino on yourself, all by yourself, don't glare at me. Be grateful I brought you a damn towel to mop it up. And don't passive-aggressively say, "So you want to make another one, or should I just take this one?" Even though that frappuccino is just fine, even though you only spilled about a tablespoon of it, I'll make you another one. Oh yes. But I'll also think you are the biggest asshole this side of the county line. And I'll probably blog about it too. Asshole.

Oh, and when your smartass kid says, "It's probably because you put too much whip cream on it," please tell him to shut up. I'm pretty sure the weight of whipped cream didn't make you fumble your drink. Seriously, if you can't handle 24 ounces of cold blended beverage, order something smaller.

Did I mention you're an asshole?

Shaken, not stirred

The husband and I were awoken about 5:40 this morning to an earthquake. Being that I've lived my whole life in Indiana, save for that one year in Arkansas, I've never had the pleasure of being shaken awake. So at first, I was wondering who the hell drove into the house. Because that is just not called for. I grabbed the husband's shoulder, because that fixes everything, you know. And since he has only lived in Arkansas and Indiana also, he asks, "Is that an earthquake?"

After the rumbling died down, he turned on the TV. All the local news anchors had peed all over themselves (man, I can't get away from it), and a few of the male anchors were sporting woodies in the excitement. The husband came back to bed, confirmed it was indeed an earthquake, and promptly fell back asleep.

When I got up at 8:00, the local news was STILL on. The Today Show is supposed to come on at 7:00, but there was Earthquake News to Be Covered. I mean, someone in Brownsburg suffered a scratch, dammit.

I'd be all excited too except for the fact that they act this way during "tornadic activity" too.

Notes from Puddleville

1. Smella's not really doing so great on the potty training front. Yes, I know it's only been two days, but I'm over it already. And wow. I had not the faintest idea how much urine a teeny tiny 28 pound baby girl could produce. Oh, and it is really a lot of fun when you hear, "Oh, boy. Oh boy!" realize that's the "I gotta pee" call, go running to find the toddler, and then actually slip in a puddle of piss. And then look up to see tiny pee footprints down your hallway. No, really, a BLAST!

2. Speaking of peepee, I have a bladder infection. I think it started Monday, but I hate going to the doctor, so I tried to drown it in liquids and hope. Didn't work. I now have orders to drown it in liquids and an antibiotic. Nice.

3. I have to plan some kind of yummy birthday dinner and cake for the husband on Saturday. He'll eat anything and is so not picky, so he's no help whatsoever. Wonder how he'd like lasagna with a side of pee?

4. My mom came to watch the kids today while I finally hauled myself to the doctor. She likes to call it "tinkling." MY LORD, I hate that phrase. It's what she used when my sister and I were little, and I hated it then. She knows my hatred of it, so all day she was telling Smella, "Do you have to tink---pee?" I love that woman.

5. Did I mention pee? Because I've had several puddles of it all.over.the.house. I feel like I may be drowning in it. *glub*

The peepee dance

So I just up and decided to give potty training a shot today with my two-year-old. Oh, hell, I've been dreading thinking about it for some time now because she shows all the signs and girls are supposed to be waaaay easier than boys and I just don't have enough stuff to do. We've had the pottychair sitting in the kids' bathroom for several months now to, you know, acquaint her with it. She's sat on it a few times and played around, enough so that's she's not too freaked out about it.

When I asked her if she'd like to big a Big Girl now and wear Big Girl Underwear just like mommy this morning, she politely declined. I reminded her that if she wanted to wear Big Girl Underwear that she wouldn't have to wear diapers and I'd never have to bug her about changing her diapers. That piqued her interest a little. Smella really hates to be interrupted during Oswald. The whole thing was sealed when I told her that her bestest little guy friend was using the potty and wearing Big Boy Underwear (c'mon, all the other kids are doing it!). I let her pick out a pair of Little Mermaid undies (which ohmygawd, baby girl underwear is SO cute) and she's been dry for about two hours so far. I ask approximately every three seconds if she has to pee and she says, "No fank you." I figure the first time she pees all over Ariel's head she will have a complete and utter meltdown, but I'm hoping this takes. I'll only have one baby in diapers then.

Oh, and she was looking quite fetching this morning in a Beauty and the Beast t-shirt, Little Mermaid undies and hooker shoes. And crazy hair.

Lots and lots of crazy hair.

Happy Tax Day, baby

Today the husband turns 32. I've known him for eleven whole years. I met him in February 1997, a couple of months before he turned 21. Since we met on the Internet (which is a whole 'nother story), we really only communicated through IRC, email and the occasional phone call back then. He went out that night to party hard, and I remember being a little worried for him and a little jealous and sad that I couldn't be there. I adored him even after only knowing him for two months, but since it seems a little, I don't know, impossible to adore someone you've never even seen in the flesh, I kept that to myself. But he came back safe and sound if not a little hung-over, and we eventually moved in together, married, and have celebrated all birthdays together since (I'll have to write out the whole sordid tale later).

So 32 isn't one of those huge milestone birthdays, but it makes me think of his 21st and how long ago that was and how stupid and young we both were and how I absolutely wanted to be with him but didn't want to tell him and scare the hell out of him, because once again, two months over a computer, blah, blah, blah. I still adore him, but luckily, I don't have to be scared to tell him now.

Happy birthday. I love you bunches. Ya dork.

I wanna take a nap for the next 17 years

I really don't know what my problem is. I just had three whole glorious days off, plenty of rest, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. So here I sit, with a house to clean, butts to wipe, and dinner to plan, but I just can't. I only have three and a half hours before I have to be at work, and I can't make myself get up and DO anything except count down the minutes. I feel tired and overwhelmed. I feel like crying. I feel like I never have time to do anything. The husband helps out a ton, but it never feels like it's enough. Which pains me to say that, because I know he helps. If he weren't here, I'm pretty sure nothing would get done, ever.

I'm tired of having to work out of the home. I have enough to take care of AT home. Three kids, homework, dinners, lunches, mopping, endless piles of laundry, toilets to clean... But I have to work. I carry all the health insurance on the kids. We have a mortgage, two car payments, debts...blah, blah.

I don't think I've ever had depression before, but I think I may have a touch of it now. Between the kids, work, and money, I never feel satisfied or like I'm doing a good job. And it feels those three things are sitting on my chest, crushing me. All I do is worry and then worry about worrying and then try to hide that worry so others don't.

And I only work out of the house about 20 hours a week. Not even full-time. I don't know if I'd be able to function if I had to work full-time. Many props to those who do it, because this part-time barista, full-time mom, half-assed housekeeper is just about at her limit with what she has.

Whew.

I finally had that much-needed break (shout-out to the husband for suffering through three kids all alone). It was cooling and refreshing and I feel so much better. Or maybe it was just the fact that it was raining. I dunno.

I'm not sure the husband realizes how much I need to escape like that, because he occasionally gets, I don't know, grumbly, about me leaving for the night. But I ate a grown-up meal at a relatively grown-up restaurant and I didn't have to share. If I had ordered something hot, I would've eaten it at that temp (shout-out to lettuce wraps though. Not hot, but still delicious). I had real grown-up conversation with two women I absolutely adore. I come back after a few hours out and actually miss the offspring and husband. I sometimes want to sneak into the offsprings' bedrooms and nuzzle their heads. But I refrain. Because they're asleep and it's SO rude to be woken up by your mom nuzzling your head. Seriously.

I have two more days off of work (shout-out to Becca the schedule maker. I needed three days off in a row) before I start a five day stretch with another three days off. The weather's gorgeous today, so we're heading out to bask in it. I'm hoping to birthday shop for the husband tomorrow and not eat myself silly because I've lost four pounds since Tuesday morning (shout-out to Weight Watchers, I guess?). Back to the grindstone Sunday, but for now, I'm out.

Random Hump Day Thoughts

1. I'm going out tomorrow with girlfriends. It'll be the first time in several weeks, and I can't remember the last time I was so excited. Probably the last time I went out with girlfriends.

2. Smella is hollering right now because the doll clothes she's using as a hat won't stay perched on the top of her head. I think I might choke her until her head pops off. Then she won't have a need for a hat.

3. My job is really getting on my nerves. The boat is sinking it seems, and they are scrambling trying to find something to save it. "We'll try retraining the employees!" Yes, because I've worked there a year and a half and still can't make a mocha to save my life. "NO! New doughnuts!" Hi? Dunkin' Donuts? Your big competition? They have coffee. And um, doughnuts too. "Nonono, a new blend of COFFEE! That's the ticket!" Oh. So we can brew the same.exact.coffee every single day. Like, um, Dunkin' Donuts. I see. This all solidifies the fact that I must return to school and get a grown up job.

4. I'm back on the diet bandwagon. I have to because my freaking clothes aren't fitting so well. And since I WILL NOT buy a bigger size, I must shrink. Yay ricecakes.

5. I'm hoping something inspiring happens between now and tomorrow, because this post? Kinda lame.

Listy McListerson

1. When you order your drink nonfat, and I ask if you still want the whipped cream, I'm not doing it to make you feel guilty. I'm just checking. Although I will say, ordering your drink nonfat doesn't cancel out the calories of the whipped cream. Much like ordering a Diet Coke doesn't cancel out the calories in your Baconator.

2. I really wish it were more Springy for Spring Break.

3. I've taught Smella to say "pardon me" when she burps as opposed to "excuse me." It's hilarious. I'm going to teach her "Onward Howard!" next. Just for fun.

4. The Baconator? The Baconator has six (SIX!) slices of bacon.

5. Boobers has learned to walk at ten months old. And he's actually walking really well. When I leave for work I ask for kisses, and he'll actually toddle over and let me smooch all over his soft baby face while giggling. It's absofreakinlutely adorable. If you ask for him to give kisses, he licks your face and occasionally rubs his sharp baby teeth on your cheek. It's absofreakinlutely scary for a minute.

The one where we were almost taken down by a spider

I came in from work, said hey to the husband, did our small pleasantries, et cetera. He mentioned that there was a spider over by the couch earlier but that it had left when he came back with his paper towel to smoosh it. I really hate spiders. Like, a lot. Like screamy shrieky girly a lot. I voiced displeasure, but you know, I was still going to be able to sleep okay.

Here's where my husband loses ALL credibility. He calls, "Hey, it's back. C'mere." I walk into the living room and on the wall, I find this:

DO YOU SEE HOW BIG IT IS? I guess it's hard to tell, but we're talking larger than a half dollar. I'm going with three inches long. We're not talking about your little "ew, a spider" spider. We're talking ohmyfuckinggodRUN spider. After I died, I snapped a picture and then tap danced and screamed at the husband to killitkillitkillit. And seriously, if I'd known it was that big, I wouldn't have slept tonight. That thing could take down a small baby, WHICH I HAVE.

This however makes me feel snuggly and safe:

Oh? And the best way to murder large spiders who take down small children and pets? Squirt a shot of ant killer (because up until now, they were our biggest problems. *snort*) at it, watch it slowly lower itself to the floor by a strand of web (just like Spidey!) and then whack it multiple times with a shoe until it curls it's legs up like that in defeat. Shud.der.