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