Survival of the fittest. Problem is, I'm not that fit.

I've been a bit absent here.  I don't know about everyone else but this summer's been a bit rough for us.  I've been trying to get the kids on some kind of schedule and I think I'm failing miserably.  The kids are hot, cranky, sick of each other and I'm right there with them.

By the time I'm able to sit down for a few minutes I've already got one of the kids telling me something about the other one.  They're ratting each other out like its an Olympic sport.  

"Mom, he's touching me!  Stoooop!  Quit touching me!"

"Well, I'm not exactly touching you.  I have my hand approximately one inch from your abdomen and tehcnically that's not touching you."

"Moooooom, that's so not fair!  Make him stop!"

"Ouch!  Mom, she hit me!"

The dreaded words, "I'm bored," have been uttered in this house about 189,493 times, in one day.  By one child.  I have three.  See my problem???

These kids act like I'm killing them every time I suggest an activity and they go out of their way to act like they're dying, truly dying, of boredom.  If my daughter doesn't major in Theatrics in College then you can collect your twenty bucks.  I swear, she's as dramatic as they come and I'm so screwed when she hits the pre-teen years.

Anyway, I've resorted to forcing them to do things, like go to the pool (oh the horrors) and they have fun once they get there but Good God All Mighty the effort involved just getting them stuffed out the door is mind-numbing.

Mind-numbing.

And I've come up with some responces for the kids hounding me 24/7 about how bored they are.  While I want to be involved in what the kids do, I believe they need to sort out some of their own issues.  So I've been saying this on a regular basis:

"Is there blood?"

"Are you dying?"

"Are you even close to dying?"

"No???  Then please work it out and leave me pee.  ALONE."

And it's been like that in our house for the last few weeks.  I'm a glorified referee, the kids are slowly driving me insane and I'm exhausted.  Add to it, the heat, Oh My God the heat, and I think someone may discover our dead bodies after the fact.

Cool down on Monday!!!

So I've been silent, not visiting my friends, not blogging as much and generally been absent because at this point I'm just trying to survive.

And sometimes I think surviving is enough.

I'm a danger to myself...but I can guest post with the best of them. I think.

I'm over at SPD Blogger Network today talking about summertime activities.  Please pop on over and show some love.

Before I sign off, I'll tell you something that happened this past week.....I was putting away our sunscreen other day.  Well, let me rephrase that, I shoved it in a basket, in the garage, to sort out later.  So when later happened, namely around noon the next day, I reached in the basket to get the sunscreen and I got the shit zapped out of my hand.

"OUCH.  GAWD.  FUCK.  What in the hell was that?"  I ripped my hand out of the basket and smashed the shit out of it on the underside of the shelf the basket was sitting on.

"OUCH.  GAWD.  FUCK.  You have got to be kidding me!  What the fuckety-fuck else is going to happen?"  I mumbled as I cradled my limp paw in my other arm.  I was still trying to figure out if I had peed a little bit from whatever tazed me, it shocked me that bad.  My fingers were both on fire and numb at the same time.  Not peasant.

And now the back of my hand hurt.  

Great, just great.

I looked in the basket to find this tennis racket.  Only it wasn't a tennis racket, it was some bug zapper thingie my husband bought and put in the basket of crap.  And it was still turned on.

I got tazed by a fucking bug zapper.

And the back of my hand was really hurting.  My fingertips were getting less numb and tingly but gaw fuck, my hand really hurt.

That is an awesome bit of information right there.  

I looked down and the back of my hand was swelling up.  I smacked my hand so hard on the garage shelf it burst a vessel.  Thanks to my back hurting, I've been on non-steroidals and a glorious side affect?  It thins the blood.  So when I smacked my hand and broke a vessel, it swelled up like a tick.  All this blood was sloshing around on the top of my hand.

I almost threw up.

And that was the point in which I gave up.  I went inside and sat down.  I called my husband, started crying and put ice on my hand.  I managed to elevate it and found an ace bandage and covered it up so I didn't have to look at it.

I guess getting tazed is what it takes to get me to slow down.  

So I'm slowing down.

I should be back on Monday but I make no promises.  I'm going in for some work on my back later today since its not healed up quite as nicely as we would have liked.  

Never in a million years did I think I'd have back pain.  I'm pretty fit, not too fat and don't generally do stupid things.  Wait that last part is a total lie.  I invent stupid things.  And I do them on a regular basis.

Anyway, go and show Pam some love at i Love Shelling if you want to see some pretty shells and me standing upright without a tazed hand and make your way to SPD Blogger Network to see what I have to say about being outside.

Thanks you guys.  Please know I'm doing what I can to survive summer and my kids....and you are a big part of that.

Thank you.

There should be a rehab program for people like me...

Time for me to dish about what we did on vacation.  Early on, Alex found a Monopoly game.  We played Monopoly for two weeks.  The end.

No really, that was about it.  From there on out, it was Monopoly all day, all night.  Sure we did other things, which no doubt I'll spill, but for us it was beach vacation spent mostly indoors playing Monopoly.  

Alex kicked my ass every time we played.  Every Single Time.  

Apparently I have a little money launderer on my hands.  At best, I've got a kid working out the finer details of a Ponzi scheme.  

He'd set up houses on Boardwalk and Park Place and bleed me dry with all his damn rent money.  I wound up mortgaging my measly homes on Vermont and Oriental.  And that was when I wasn't in jail.  

And do you want to know a secret???

I hate Monopoly.  

I can't stand having to calculate how much money I get from bank after every transaction and how much money I owe in taxes.  Those Chance cards are a bunch of ass-hats and that damn luxury tax can go straight to hell.  Don't even get me started on that horrible douche called Community Chest.  And fast play?  What in the hell is that??? 

More to the truth, I hate that little cackle my son gets every time he sticks his hand out and waggles it around demanding his dang rent money.  

When we were able to drag him out to the beach, all we were talking about was Monopoly, "Do you know it's my turn next, mom?  And do you think we can make a Monopoly game in the sand?  Do you know you've almost lost?  You're pretty close to losing, just so you know."   

When we were biking, "Do you think the Monopoly game will be all right by itself?  And do you know, you only have $20 left?  Those odds are definitely in my favor."  

"Bloody Hell, Wait For Me!
Wait for your fricking mother!!!"

Before bed, "It's too bad I beat you mom, maybe I should play with Dad next time."  

Yeah kid, go play with your father.  

And he did.  And for the rest of the trip he was happy.  He had some real competition and I had the Monopoly monkey off my back.    

Everything was fine, till we had to go.  We had to leave the blessed game behind.  With promises of a brand new game, we headed back to Kansas.  

As soon as we got off the plane and we got the kids settled at home, I went out and bought a Monopoly game.  Normally I don't go out just handing out toys and games for the kids, they have to earn it or something.  But you know, there are times when I value my sanity and a little peace and quiet and this was one of those times.  Right as the wheels hit pavement, he was asking for it and that's no way to live.  I bought that damn game in record time.

And you should have seen him.  His eyes lit up like a thousand stars when he saw it and he fondled that box in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable.  

And now we have a new Monopoly game taking up space in the dining room.  He's still kicking my ass, demanding his rent money and cackling his way to victory.  

Somehow I'm right back to where I started, minus the beach and shells.  I feel cheated, robbed even...and by my own kid.

I don't even know how these things happen....I mean, I get it in theory but really?  Really??  I'm over being beaten by my own kid.  He's enjoying this way too much.

Gaw, I hate Monopoly.  

     

Whoever said getting there is half the fun clearly didn't travel with us.

We're back from vacation.  Insert your favorite cuss words here....

When we left to go to Sanibel, I was on pain medication for pulling my back out.  I was trying to trimming the hedges, trying to miss a birds nest with eggs in it, with the trimmers over my head and I swerved.  My back said, "Fuck you," for making that nasty little move and bango, I was out of commission.

As an added bonus, I was such a bitch with my back out, my husband decreed that I am no longer allowed to pick up the trimmers.  Normally being told I'm not allowed to do something is code for "bring it, we're sooo gonna fight about this," but this time I didn't jump right away and thought things through.  Not allowed to trim those bushes?  AMEN.  In a way, it totally worked in my favor.

Screw you, you stupid little robins.  

So before I tell you about how much fun we had and I bore you with all my pretty shells and tell you how Alex got fixated on Monopoly and didn't want to see the ocean or play in the sand because, "We already did that and it looks the same," I'll first tell you about how we got to the airport.

My first mistake was in deciding to come off all my happy pills for the trip as I wanted to be lucid for the plane rides.  Big, big mistake.

So we pile everyone in the car and not twenty miles into the forty mile trip to the airport, the little pop-up light goes on that the tire pressure is low.  My husband starts getting on me about not taking care of the car which is entirely true but not the point here.  So when I started to smell burning rubber, I felt somewhat, no, I felt totally vindicated.

"Hey hon, I think we have a flat tire."  I say to which he responds, "We need to pull over."  To which I say, "No!   We can't pull over.  We have to get to the airport, I need this vacation."  To which he looks at me like I've already done lost my mind, but again that's not the point here.

So we pull over.  Second mistake.  See, we have a minivan with those Dunlop no-flat tires.  The ones that say, if you read the fine print, which we totally didn't, you should NOT pull over and stop because the stuff that keeps the tire inflated will harden and then the tire won't rotate anymore.  So our roadside conversation went a little like this:

"Oh Christ, it IS flat.  Wait, go get the owners manual and lets see what it says.....Oh fuck, it says we should have kept driving.  Gawd.  Fuck.  I TOLD YOU SO.  Quick, get back in the car and lets see what happens.  Gawd, hurry the fuck up and get back in!  That shit in the tire is supposed to harden if it sits too long!"

And it sat too long.

So every time the front passenger tire rotated it hit that spot where it sat too long and went BUMP.  Every rotation.  BUMP.

I hissed at my husband, "How are we going to get to the airport?  This is sooooo not good.  Jesus H, I am so over this vacation and it hasn't even started."

Then Gracie started up, "Owie!  Car has owie!"  With every rotation, "OWIE!"

Then Alex started up, "Are we going to die?  Can someone give me my i-Touch?  I want to die holding my i-Touch."

Then Lizzy started up, "What do you mean we're all going to die???  That's so not fair!  I'm not done watching Barbie, that's not fair!"

So our way to the airport was a blast.  Taking all the back roads, going 25 MPH, with hazards blinking and kids screaming, "OWIE!  We're all gonna die!  I want my i-Touch!  It's not fair I don't get to finish Barbie!"  BUMP, BUMP, BUMP.

Screw you Dunlop.  

We made it as far as the Airport Marriott.  We left the carcass of our car in their fifteen minute parking.  I think they took pity on us and wanted our mess out of their lobby so bad they let us hitch a ride on their airport shuttle.

After having cleared security and having to prove that soy milk really is soy milk and we were not hiding plastics to build a pipe bomb, the douche-canoe next to us on the plane wouldn't give up his seat.  Even after I begged him, I begged him, to let us all sit together.  I took that as a signal to lax-up my parenting skills for the next hour and forty five minutes and let Gracie climb all over him like a jungle gym to look out the window.

"This place rocks, mom.  They have a map!"

And then on our next flight, when another guy wouldn't give up his seat so we could sit together I almost started crying.  When Gracie puked all over the window/aisle/my leg/seat/whole back section of the plane and he started yelling at me to, "Do something, you're her mother!"  like I'd missed that memo, I just hit that little call light above me and asked for another puke bag.  And then I told him to shut the fuck up and mind his own business.

When Alex joined in puking, I know, I just know, I lost a little piece of my soul right then, on that plane.  

And that is how we started our first twenty four hours of vacation....

Now I'm back home and ready to cry and I have to buy a game of Monopoly before Alex goes ape.

And remember how I was on those pain meds before I left?

When we came back, I came back to a house that was utterly and completely destroyed because I was happy and medicated and I didn't care.

And do you know what I did?  I took those same pain meds that made me feel so damn good in the first place and went right to bed.  I'll take care of the house tomorrow.



Note: My back still hurts for whatever reason and I'm still cleaning the house....but we're home.  Please give me a week or so to get caught up.  In the mean time if you want to see some pretty shells (and me in a swimsuit) follow this link to Pam's page, i Love Shelling.  

I'll take a stint in the Sanibel slammer.

Today's Friday.  I know I'm stating the obvious but there it is.  This is the day we play around with Ryan Gosling like we're married to him and it's all good.  Not at all like that nutter Cody and his four wives over on TLC.  That dude and his family make me look like a model citizen.

Seriously Cody? Get a haircut.  I don't know how they all willingly bang you but they do.

Anyway, please go over and see Sunday at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood and visit the other blogs joining in today and don't forget to wear your Poise.  I promise you will piss your pants.

So what you don't know is that we will be working our way towards Sanibel tomorrow.  I may or may not go silent for a good two weeks.  It really depends on the Internet connection, whether or not my kids will let me have a few minutes of alone time (on the toilet) with the i-Pad and if anything blog-worthy happens.

If it's like the last few times we've been to Sanibel, then I suspect we'll be harassing the TSA agents in no time flat.  If you don't think we have a good time go here and click on all the "here" links within that post.  You will soon realize how lucky you are not to be me while on vacation.

That and because I saved a robin's nest while trimming the shrubs, my back is still hurting like a mother and I'm on a number of high quality pain killers.  The upside is, I don't give a shit what happens,what we pack or if I wind up sitting in a jail cell for taunting the TSA.

I call it better living through Chemistry.  My husband calls it the quietest the house has been in months.

Whatever.

Oh the joys of travel, back pain, and three kids...

Here's the catch though, I'll be relying on you guys.  See, if I don't check-in on Facebook or make myself know in some fashion, I'd like bail money sent to my PayPal account by Tuesday.

Oh fuck it, who am I kidding?  If I'm in jail it may be the first time in ten years I get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, I get to lay flat on my back without having sex and I generally can sit motionless for vast stretches of time excluding the cavity search which I may, just may, enjoy.

I take it all back.  A short stint in the slammer may be just what I need....


Note:  I do not have a PayPal account, I just made that up.  And yes, I'm totally drugged right now.  Can you tell?  


Like I've done on past trips, feel free to go wild in the comments or on Facebook: Four Sea Stars.  Let everyone know I have herpes and went to seek help or something like that.  I know you'll come up with something good, I have faith.