Bouncertown

We took the kids to a friend's son's birthday party last night. It's an indoor place with tons of those inflatable bouncy type germ infestations. No one came home with a concussion, just a sugar high and bad hair. The germ manifestations are yet to be seen.

My baby girl went down the tallest slide by herself. I was scared she'd get up there and chicken out and I'd have to send Big D up to rescue her, but she did it! And then promptly announced "AGAIN!"

Here she is driving. I love that you don't even have to put a token in for her to be amused.

Birthday Crew.

We actually had to take the Birthday Crew to a nearby Burger King because Bouncertown doesn't allow you to bring in a birthday cake unless you fork out tons of cash for one of their Uberspecialwayoverpricedcraptastic Party Packages. To all of the patrons and employees at BK last night, we apologize for the screaming (sorry, it was late and hello! we gave them CAKE), whistle blowing (gotta love goodie bags), cake smearing (Spiderman), and bubble blowing (goodie bags are FUN).

Customer of the Day

"I need a windy mocha frappuccino."

"A..uh...what? A tall?"

"A windy. Frappuccino."

"Um. A small?"

"The largest. Biggest. Windy."

"Oooooh. A Venti. Yes, sure, coming right up."

Eater Buddy

We're not religious at all, in fact I think I could be labeled as a heathen, but still, chocolate bunnies and marshmallow eggs are fun. Smella and Big D had a lovely time coloring eggs, and Saturday night when I reminded Smella that the Easter Bunny would be coming that night and dropping off some baskets, she nearly crapped her pants at the thought. "The Eater Buddy? To my house? Eater basket?!?!" It was almost better than Santa, though I have no idea why. Maybe because bunnies are way less threatening than some strange, fat, hairy guy in a horribly red suit? (Because the mention of "would you like to go see Santa?" makes Smella emit ear-piercing shrieks of protest.) Either way, Eater was nice, and the best bunny present was the $1 package of bubbles. My floors are a little sticky, but Smella has finally learned how to blow her own bubbles.

I hope they like me!

I actually applied for community college the other day. Now I'm waiting to hear if I'm accepted. *snort* Since the hardest question was "Fill in your address" I think I have a pretty good shot! I'm really excited and kind of wished I'd done this years ago. But I look back at myself graduating high school, and wild horses couldn't have dragged me back to a school. I was so tired of it. I told myself I'd take a bit off and then go, but stuff happened, and then kids, and then a car payment or two, and a mortgage... I'm still not sure going back now is the best time either, but I'm afraid no time will be. And I really see myself as a L&D nurse. I know I'd be excellent at it. I couldn't say that when I was 18.

And I bet I get to buy school supplies. For myself. Pens and paper and notebooks and erasers and three-ring binders! *squeeee!*

Customer of the Day

There's a lady that comes in pretty much every night. I think she's on her way to or from work because she's usually dressed in scrubs. I don't think she's much older than I am, and she may actually be younger, but she always calls me "dear." It cracks me up. If I see her drive up, I say hey, want your medium non-fat, no-whip, stirred white mocha? We do this the other night, and when she gets around to the window, she's giggling and says, "My four year old is impressed! He said, 'She's so smart! You didn't even have to tell her what you wanted!'"

See? I'm impressive to four year olds at least!

Customer of the Day

We have this lady who regularly comes in. And when I say regularly, I mean like six times a day. During the winter, she orders a large, six-pump sugar-free vanilla, 2% milk, six Splenda, extra hot, no foam latte. Summer is a large sugar-free caramel coffee light blended drink with extra caramel drizzle on top.

So other than her drinks being absolutely stupid, she also orders them as "Bitchface* latte" or "Bitchface Frappuccino" and expects whoever is in drive-thru to know what the hell she's talking about, and lordamercy if you happen to not know what that means. She spends $30 a day at this joint, you had better know what she's talking about! Or she'll be all pissy and NOT leave that $1 tip!

I've worked at this same location for a year and a half, and even though I totally know the sound of her voice, and I'm sure she knows mine, I make sure I don't know what a Bitchface latte is, just so she has to tell me exactly how many Splendas she wants. I know she hates me for it, but I can't help it. Sometimes that little power trip is the only thing that helps me make it through the day.

*Bitchface isn't really her name. Just what I call her. In my head.

The First "Customer of the Day"

Nice looking middle-aged guy walks up and orders a tall, decaf, non-fat, sugar-free caramel latte. I take his money and slide over to the espresso machine and finish his drink. When I hand him his cup, I repeat the name of the drink.

"Wow. Now that you say it, it's probably not going to be very good at all."

"Well, between you and me, we do call those no-fun lattes."

I'm back. Ish.

I knew I wouldn't post regularly, but I haven't given up completely. I wound up having that third baby. We named him Boobers, and I really can't describe how grateful I am that we had that little rendezvous sometime in August '06. He's the sweetest baby and totally worth everything. I now know why the babies of families are incredibly screwed up. If he would let me, I would swaddle his butt and nuzzle his fuzzy baby head all day long. But at ten months old, he balks at that. Pfft.

So while I throughly enjoy my job as a coffee slinger, actually Coffee Slinger with Keys as I was promoted to a shift manager late last year, I'm thinking of heading back to school this fall to become a labor/delivery nurse. I'm only going to be taking a couple of classes a semester, so an associates degree is only sixteen years away. I'm just hoping to be done by the time my oldest is ready for college.

I'm going to post more, dammit. I'm going to try to post a "Customer of the Day" post. Which might be hard considering I don't work daily, but it's something. But I read several blogs on a daily basis and think, um, I could do that. I could totally be a household name of at least two people or so. So wish me luck. Onward!

And so it begins

I feel like barfing most of the time. I have to pee constantly. I have super hound dog smell. And I'm all bloated. I think I could be pregnant!

I guess I should hush; the only time I didn't have these symptoms, I miscarried. And as much as this baby wasn't planned, we want it. It just sucks knowing the exact moment the cat peed in the litterbox five rooms away, that's all.

Nubbins!

Last Tuesday, I got up, got the kids breakfast and one off to school, and came back home to start to clean up for the day. I got to the the kitchen, and while stooped over to grab some toy, I noticed streaks of blood on the linoleum. I knew that if it had been from either one of the kids, I would've been notified immediately. My heart sank as I realized it was probably one of my cats, Scout or Boo. Boo's an indestructible shit, but my mild and meek Scouters is eight years old. Since she still doesn't know her name is Scout, I kissed for her, and she came out from under the couch.

I tried not to cry. She's snow white, and I could see the blood on her tail as soon as she popped out. When I got ahold of her, I saw her tail looked like someone had tried to pull her skin and hair off her tail like a sock. The skin was just hanging there in a bloody mess.

So, to cut to the chase, we humans are out $295 and Scout's out about three inches of tail. The vet said they could try to just stitch the skin, but that she'd worry it'd die and/or get infected. We have no earthly idea how it happened. The vet said she didn't think it looked like another cat, so Boo's cleared. I've questioned and questioned the boychild, and I really believe he has no earthly idea either. I did a thorough search of the house for clumps of hair and gore, and nothing. I'm just hoping it was a fluke and doesn't happen again.

For viewing pleasure, here's our cat despising all humans:

We tried leaving the e-collar off, but she promptly tried to chew on her tail and then cry out in pain. We take it off once a day for a break and for her to furiously bathe.

And finally, here's her poor ratty, nubbin tail. I try not to shudder if it brushes against me:

Tips on how not to be an asshole

Really. No one thinks you're cool when you order your tall latte nonfat, with 13.5 pumps of vanilla syrup, 180°, no foam, extra whipped cream in a grande cup. People think you're a pain-in-the-neck asshole. And just how many lattes did you have to drink to come up with that perfect combo to annoy people with? Does your world end if you get only 12 pumps? I'll give you a couple of changes per drink. Like two. Like nonfat and extra hot. But get over yourself on the other stuff.

And for the love of all things holy, do not complain that we fill the cups too full. Because I know you'd be the same jerk to complain that we didn't fill the cups enough. We try to give you the best deal for your dollar. It's not our fault that you're not smart enough to drink a hot beverage without spilling it all over yourself.

When ordering at the drive-through, never mumble. Ever. Speak slowly and clearly, and face the freaking speaker. Don't order while staring at the glovebox, because we'll have you repeat your order nine times until we understand that it's exactly 13.5 pumps of vanilla syrup you want.

I'd never call it an "accident."

Have you ever been very asleep with your spouse and then sometime in the middle of the night, someone molests the other and that turns into crazy, unconscious sex? The kind of sex you don't really wake up for until it's over? That happened to us approximately three weeks ago. And that crazy, unconscious, but still really fun romp turned into three very positive home pregnancy tests. Surprise! And that's what I'll call it from now on: Surprise! It sounds so much better than Accident!

I think that this being the third and all, we're stepping into minivan territory. I really can't describe how bad I hate minivans. They scream Soccer Mom! Bad hair! Really large ass! And while two of those definitely describe me, I don't wanna announce to just everyone. My dad insists that minivan is the way to go, especially with three kids, and hey, don't you know what causes that? but he doesn't know everything.

The perks are few and far between

One of the best parts of having children is that they're convinced that the sun rises and sets out of your ass. Case in point: My five-year-old runs up to me and says, "What's two plus three?" today. I tell him the answer, and he immediately checks on his calculator.

"Wow, Mom! You're right! It is five!"

I try not to be offended that he double checks me, but I figure this gets worse as they age. I bet he doesn't think I'm nearly as cool when he's fifteen with pimples trying to hook-up with the girl down the street. I'm still going to try to shock and awe him for as long as possible.

And the seven-month-old girlchild? All I really have to do now is walk into the room, man. Her face lights up like I'm the best thing she's ever seen in her life. It's almost too easy. I'm pretty sure she thinks we're best friends, but once again, I bet she doesn't think that at say, twelve, right on the cusp of puberty.

But for now, I'm going to enjoy this sunshine out of the butt thing. Sometimes it's the only thing parenting has going for it.

About

Howdy. I'm Kelly.

I've been married to the husband for freakin' ever eleven years. We live in Indiana with our three offspring: nine-year-old Big D, four-year-old Smella, and two-year-old Boobers. We have a little terrier named Ferdinand, and I occasionally run into a cat that stalks this house. If I remember correctly, we named her Scout.

I stay at home with the offspring during the day, but at night I schlep myself into work at a coffee shop where I make frou-frou espresso drinks for people. Oh, and since I'm supervisor, I try to keep the two or three other co-workers in line. Like at home, I'm mostly listened to.

However lovely it is burning my hands daily with steaming hot coffee, I'm back in school to become a labor and delivery nurse. I think birthing goo will be a nice change of pace. The thought terrifies me, and sometimes I just know I will bomb, but I'm still giving it a go. What's a little more student loan debt?

I love Ben Folds, Diet Coke, freshly shampooed baby head, and my tubal ligation. I hate hypocrisy, eating spaghetti in public, and snow.

You can contact me at notinsaneperse at gmail dot com. I do adore email.

Welcome to my website.