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?"

I think they grow overnight

As the husband mentioned so eloquently in his last post, my mom kept the kids overnight for us on Friday. We haven't spent a night alone together since Thanksgiving, when we begged my mom to keep them so we could head out at four in the morning to shop on Black Friday. Let this be a lesson for those who want multiple children: it makes finding free childcare difficult.

We had more fun than two parents of three in their 30's and almost 30 should have. There was eating a restaurant that little people aren't even allowed into. There was Velveeta cheese dip with tuna (I gagged while typing that) and lots of laughing until someone (okay, me) almost peed her pants. And when we finally were done, spent, so tired we could barely walk, we dragged ourselves home and into bed and fell asleep. There was no staticky baby monitor in the background, no tip-toeing, just crawling into bed and crashing. It was lovely.

We slept in. With no one to feed breakfast to, no diapers, just sleep. Until 9:30. Yeah. It was all the sleeping in we could muster. We're so used to getting up early, that even being up until 3:00 AM the night before couldn't make us sleep until noon. Who needs more than six hours of sleep? THE WEAK, THAT'S WHO.

After we ate a leisurely breakfast together, we went to fetch our babies. They were glowing happiness, having been spoiled rotten by grandma and grandpa. We listened as my mom told us how sweet and behaved they were and how much fun she had had with them in the eighteen hours we were gone.

I watched them playing in the front yard, chasing and laughing, still on a grandparent's house high, feeling refreshed and calmer than I had in a long time. So when Big D ran up to me, pink-cheeked and grinning, and asked, "Did you miss us? Did you?" I could honestly say that yes, I had.

Customer of the Day

It's been a SUPER FUN week at work, what with all the dumb dumbs having trouble navigating the drive-through and such. And last night was no exception! Rudeness and stupidity abounds!

See, most public places open at a certain time, and then in turn, close at a certain time. Oh, I know there are plenty of place that never close, but I don't work for one of those places. The place I work for closes every night. At the same time. For those who don't know what time that is, it's posted on the door. The door you open to come in.

Last night, nearly ten minutes after our scheduled close time (because people love coming to an establishment three minutes before close, therefore delaying close), I was walking to the door, keys in hand, to lock it. At the same time, a younger couple was walking up. I met them at the door, apologetic, but READY TO GO HOME. I told them, sorry, we closed at 11, and smiled to hide my annoyance.

*BIG SIGH* I can't even get a tea?

Oh, sorry, we already dumped the tea for the day.

As she turned to walk away, I told her we had another location a few minutes away that was open 24 hours. She sneered back that she didn't want to drive all the way there for a stupid tea.

Well then, I guess she didn't want that tea very damn bad after all. But my biggest question is, who the hell did she think she was? Why should I keep a store open just for her? We're a coffee shop. We sell a luxury, not a necessity. (Oh SHUSH now. I don't care what anyone says, you won't die without coffee.) It's not like we sell live-sustaining medication or toilet paper even. Just frou-frou luxury beverages. GET OVER IT. You can get a tea tomorrow. Like, when we're actually open.

That saying? The one that goes "you get more flies with honey than vinegar"? It's SO TRUE. If she hadn't been such an entitled snot, I may have relented. But with the *BIG SIGH* and the sneer at the end, I wouldn't have doused her with tea had she been on fire.

Lesson of the day? Other than the cliche saying? People mostly suck. Thanks, drive on through please.