Nothing to see here, please keep moving...

Did you have a good Easter?  I bet yours was better than ours.  Matter of fact, I would place a sizable amount of money you had a better Easter than we did.

It all started after the kids went to bed and I had to grab the Easter baskets and candy.  The baskets were no problem.  I had them up in my closet so I didn't have to have what happened last year---which was not find a basket, throw a fit and run to Target at frigging midnight, only to find the offending basket full of Barbies in Lizzy's room the very next morning while we were looking for the new Easter basket.  Ironic, no???

This year I thought I had everything where it was supposed to be and it was going to be easy.  Throw the candy in the baskets, hide the baskets and chuck a few plastic eggs around the house and I'd be in bed by 11:00, tops.

Yeah, no.

I couldn't find the candy.  I hid the candy too well and I couldn't find it.  I hid the candy from myself.

You should have heard the language.  I vowed I wasn't going to run up to Target again this year.  I VOWED.  I searched from one end of the house to the other.  Cussing the whole time, "Where in the fuck did I put that candy?  God damn it, how can I be so fucking stupid to hide the candy from myself?  I am a full- fledged, card carrying member of the Idiot Society.  I hid the candy from myself.  HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?!?"

I was not going to Target.  I was not.  I looked in cabinets, the pantry, the car, my closet, the bathroom, the laundry room and even in the laundry bins.  Nothing, no candy.

I gave up, I used Valentine's Day candy instead.

By the time I had stopped sobbing, cursing and the getting baskets together, I threw plastic eggs out around the house and I went to bed.  Not before I called my husband and told him, "FIX THIS."

It was 1:45 AM.  

The kids were up at 5:45 AM.

They hunted for their baskets, found eggs and life was good.  And then I heard Lizzy scream, "Mom!!!!  The Easter Bunny gave me Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, I hate Reese's Peanut Butter Cups!!!"  Then the crying started and didn't stop.

And from another corner of the house I heard Alex wail, "Mom, the Easter Bunny gave me chocolate lambs!!!  I hate chocolate lambs!!!"  The basket got chucked in a corner and he went running and sobbing in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile, Gracie was sitting at the kitchen table eating everything in her basket, happy as a clam.  The other two were freaking out.

The Easter Bunny, in her sleep deprived state, mixed up the baskets so my husband, after he went to Target, put the wrong candy in the wrong basket.

I screamed at them, "You guys, just switch baskets.  You can do that, right?"  Neither one of them heard me over their own wails.  All I kept thinking was, "Sue me, I got your baskets wrong.  There are starving kids in China who would LOVE to have your chocolate!"  Deep down, I felt horrible.

I gave up, went to the kitchen and thought I'd get an early start on the dinner.

And I promptly dropped the ham on my foot.  The brown sugar glaze packet broke the impact and in the process exploded all over the refrigerator, floor and my foot.  I cursed the ham to hell and decided to work on the deviled eggs.  And I couldn't get that thin layer, you know that membrane thing?  I couldn't get it off the egg.  I broke two eggs right off the bat and on the third one, I melted down, smashed them all in the sink, turned the disposer on and sent them on their merry way.

(And, yes, I soaked those damn eggs in cold water.  I even did a trial run so this wouldn't happen and it still happened so don't tell me to soak them in cold water, I got that memo.  God, that still pisses me off.)

At that point I gave up.

I took the kids to Wendy's and we had chicken nuggets and french fries for Easter.  I put all the candy into one big basket and let them play Minecraft till their hearts content.  I collapsed on the sofa and flipped back and forth between HGTV and DIY and after that we decapitated the lamb and ate it.

And that was our Easter.  I was sad, angry and upset that I couldn't pull it off.

I was getting ready to call the kids up for bed and I heard Alex say, "This was the best Easter ever!"

And just like that, all was right with my world....but I'm still pissed at those damn eggs.

What? You're not Irish?

I am Irish.  I'll wait till the severity of that sinks in.  

My dad came from Ireland and for my whole life, I've grown up around hot tea, wool sweaters and mashed potatoes with every single meal.  I've heard enough hornpipe and bagpipes to last a lifetime and I also know how to do a jig and a reel in my sleep.  If push comes to shove, I can slug out a steady stream of cuss words in full accent, always starting off with, "Bloody Hell..."  I do it much better, however, when I'm piss wasted, just saying. 

    

Anyway, my mom gears up for the Holy Day like no other.  Lizzy does Irish dance and she's been prostituted out like a French whore to every old folks home in Kansas City for the past two weeks.  She danced for miles and miles in parades and snow and she just keeps on going.     

I have danced my ass off.  

But what tops our St. Patrick's Day festivities is the clothes. Aside from walking around in green for the last two weeks, my mom tries to get anyone she can to dress in green with her.  Since the three year old is still young and vulnerable, and she doesn't run fast enough, she gets stuck wearing what Grandma puts her in.  And Grandam bought Gracie this cute little green shirt.  See that thing down there?  My mom kept telling me about the, "Adorable little shirt," she bought for her.  She failed to realize that all the white shamrocks, when put together, made a shape.  

A SKULL.  

My mom bought the girls skin-head tee shirts for St. Patrick's Day.

I have no earthly clue what she is doing.
Practicing to lead jets down the jetway, I guess.  

All they needed were a few tube socks full of rocks and they could go out and raise hell, in true Irish fashion, with their brother.

Only fitting I put Creeper heads on the girls.  Bonus points because they are green.  

And then I made this:

Anyone sends this to Cake Wrecks and
I'll find you and gut you.  Fair warning.  

An Irish Lamb Cake.

Normally in our house the Sacrificial Lamb Cake is reserved for Easter but I wanted to get an early start.  Nothing says, "Happy St. Patrick's Day!" like cutting into the green guts of a lamb.

And go read this right here, if you want to hear about our past Easter fun but I suggest you stop drinking your soda because we don't do holidays in the normal fashion around here.  You've been warned.

I already know, I totally fucked up the icing.  It got all droopy and was a bloody mess.  The kids thought it was hysterical, renamed it George, and instead of a lamb it was now a sheepdog.

Whatever.

And what did Alex do for St. Patrick's Day?  He played Minecraft, watched YouTube videos about Minecraft, downloaded mods for Minecraft, made Minecraft skin, new Minecraft worlds, found emeralds and redstone and generally talked my ear off about?  Minecraft.

I went with it.

The wedding that was.....

So we made it back from the wedding up in North Dakota relatively unscathed.  And by that I mean we're all alive.  We made it back home and I was never so glad to be back in our house.  Not to say we didn't have fun, we did.  There is just a unique sort of hell that goes along with being trapped in your own car upwards of eleven hours, two times, that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin.

Things that may, or may not, have happened:

• We had a flat tire smack in the middle of Iowa.  I take that back, I really don't know where we were.  All I know is, we had to drive back to get to a Toyota dealership to replace our Dunlop no-flat tire.  The irony didn't get past me on that one.

"MOM!  They have rules at the rest area!"

• We may have trashed the waiting room of a certain Toyota Dealership.  I tried to clean up as best as I could but they had a popcorn machine.  It was a no-win situation. 
• The kids may have felt-up all the taxidermy bears, deer, turkey and ducks at my friends house.  Her husband may have started a new nervous twitch when he saw Lizzy stroking a fur backwards and named a duck Sparkle.
• I may have had a drink too many after we lost the baby at the rehearsal party and it may have happened about the same time Alex was puking off the side of the pool and it may have happened the exact same time Lizzy got her toe stuck in the base of a table. 
• I may, or may not, have said, "Lizzy stay here while I go find your sister.  Wait, you can't move, your toe's stuck.  Well, small blessings."  
• Lizzy may or may not have screamed so loud you could hear her in Canada.
• When we found the baby she was out in front, with the smokers, trying to borrow a lighter.  Alex may, or may not have, proceeded to question them about their choice to smoke and he may, or may not have, pulled up an image of a  "smokers lung" from his i -Touch...
• Lizzy may have sat through part of the wedding sobbing because her, "vagina hurt."  Turns out it was not her vagina, it was her underpants crimping her style.  

These make me giggle every time we pass one
and if you don't get it, I'm not telling

• Alex may have read off every single exit on the map and we may have stopped at every rest area so he could get a new map and not miss a thing.  I may have stopped listening somewhere outside of Kansas City.   
• We may have had approximately fourteen fast food meals in a little under four days.  The teenagers at Long John Silver's may have wanted to kill our kids for ringing their bell over 3,000 times.  
• And we may, or may not, have had Juano's Mexican food over three times while in Fargo because it's Alex's favorite.  I may, or may not have, spent more time than I would care to admit on the toilet. 
• We may, or may not, have had a great time seeing old friends and thinking about old times.

Kids saying goodbye. 

Don't get me wrong, we had a blast.  The kids had fun, we were exhausted and I swear I think I aged several years when the baby went missing.  So that was our weekend that was, up in North Dakota.

While it's good to be home, I miss my old friends.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day, 2012

My thanks to those who have served and lost.  

My thanks to those who are serving.  

My thanks to all of the families.  

You are what makes this country great. 

Thank you.  

And you thought I wasn't going to post about Winter Break....

Winter Break, Day One:
Kids get up at 7:01 AM and proceed to complete everything, and I mean everything, I had planned for the entire week in less than three hours.  Like Chinese water torture, this is the beginning of a very long two weeks.

I am scared.

Winter Break, Day Four.  Christmas Eve.
I throw caution to the wind and decide to give haircuts and shower all the kids.

And then make sugar cookies.

Don't those look familiar?  They all found a home.
On my ass.   

And bake a cake.

And with a final loss of all reason, I decide to destroy the remaining parts of my kitchen by making gingerbread houses (yes, that was plural) with all three kids.

And then we went to Sam's Club.

And right about then is when I lost my fucking mind.

Winter Break, Day Five.  Christmas.
Alex gets up at 5:07 AM and pukes three times from excitement, nerves and all the pent up anxiety associated with the Holy Day.  This continues through the noon hour.

I give up on cooking any fancy dinner and order Chinese for the family.

Alex finds his App gift card and is done with presents.  And I do mean done.  He opens all other presents under protest.  He did, however, smile at the Lego sets.

By two PM, Alex insists Christmas is officially "closed for the season" and starts to take ornaments off the tree.  I decide to help him.

Winter Break, Day Six.  The day after Christmas.
I realize I have stopped fixing my hair or caring about it since break started.  I made the mistake of looking in the mirror in broad daylight and realize I needed to tweeze my chin and eyebrows.

Do the chin, skip the eyebrows.  

Kids have exhausted all fun from any, and all, Christmas presents and are begging to watch recorded How it's Made programs and Barbie princess DVD's.  I find the remote faster than I ever have in my whole entire life.

The TV remains on all day.

Winter Break, Day Nine.  I think, I don't know.
I have stopped shaving my legs.

Kids have resorted to playing "How to kill the baby without mom seeing," but the game inevitably falls apart when they turn on each other.

Kids decide to mix in used Gracie diapers with the laundry to see if they can recreate a diaper explosion in the washing machine.   I find the diapers.  They fail.

At some point during break I realize the kids are taking their nightly shower and listening to my running music.  This includes selections by LMFAO, David Guetta, The Crystal Method and Deadmau5 to name a few.  Not a single one of these songs is appropriate for kids.  They are now asking what, "Passion in your pants" means,  "Where the neighborhood whore lives" and last but not least, "Why would someone flick your switch?"

I tell them to go ask their father.

As an added bonus Alex is now perseverating on The Elevator Song by Junior Sanchez.  And yes, "Just like an elevator," is the ONLY thing they say in the whole frigging song.  And the beat never really drops.  Screw you Junior, screw you.

Winter Break, Day Eleven.  New Year's Eve.
Eat a whole other batch of cookies and four doughnuts for breakfast.

Still not shaving legs.  Have not gotten to eyebrows.

Counting down till school starts.

Start my period.  That explain a lot.  Start chewing this like candy.

Send the kids to bed at their regularly scheduled time and decide to explain the concept of New Years in the morning.

Threaten to gut anyone like a fish who wakes me up or thinks its funny to call the old married people at midnight.  No one calls.  

Winter Break, Day I don't know.
Start to rely heavily on what's in this box:

Thinking of placing an ad on Craig's List or E-bay:  Slightly used uterus for sale.  Dependable, regular and sheds monthly.  I still have to work on removal and shipping but you get the idea.

Realize I know almost all the words to Barbie, Princess Charm School.  As an added bonus I know how a fake eyeball is made, how pizzas are mass produced and how aluminum ladders are made, among other things.

The countdown to school is almost over and I'm beginning to miss all our time together.

How's that for irony?

Winter Break in Cookies...

I have a bunch of nothing today.  Instead, I give you this.  

These are all the cookies I made and then ate for the cause of that Fat Bastard called Santa.  

I ate every single one of them including those birds, chickens or whatever they are.    

No, I do not have any self control.  I also ate some for that other douche, the New Year's Baby.

I'll be back on Friday with something more substantial.  I think.  Who knows, I may be making more cookies and growing my ass.

This is one hell of a bender.

Ho, Ho, Ho.

Happy Holidays!!!

See why I cuss it out every year?  Go here and read about it.

Yes, our windows are still going in and that's just what things look like this year.  Please ignore it.  

I have one good day to wrap presents and I have to go and beat some sense into a child who's not listening because "Santa's watching" has totally lost its luster.  

The kids, they're all just like, "Fine, whatever.  I don't care if he is watching.  She started it."  

"Its MINE.  Give it back.  Mom.  Moooom!!!  Tell him to give it back."  

"OUCH.  Mom, she slapped me!  She full body listened with her hand.  That's not fair!!!" 

"But he took my wand.  I want my wand!"

"OUCH!!!"

"She full body listened with her hand again.  M-O-M!!!"

"WTF, a wand???  Really kids, all this over a wand???"  Note: I didn't really say WTF.  

"YES!"

They just don't care anymore.  It's cold outside.  We're inside.  There is no routine and we've done everything I had planned for them by 10:00 AM on day one.  Day one.  

I feel like I'm a caged animal at the zoo.  It's label reads, "American Family. We Aim Low."

Someone tell me again, why am I giving these kids presents???

In all seriousness, I hope you all have a wonderful holiday and a Happy New Year.  

I'll be back after the New Year.  

And don't forget to go to Cheesy Bloggers and read about my Damn Tree.

Behold the power of the Bar Code.

We have a new thing in our house as of last week.  It's called:  Scan a bar code with your I-touch and see how much it costs anywhere on earth and where we can find it cheaper.  Literally.  I can search the whole world and see the store that has the cheapest price.

Thank you Alex and the App Store.

See, this all started two weeks ago when Alex had a good OT session.  When he has a good session we have agreed that he can download one free App to his I-touch.  Yes, I bribe my kids.  It's horrible I know.  It works for us so I'm not stopping.  There I said it.

Anyway, it was great fun for the first twenty minutes but now everything in the house is being scanned including, but not limited to: tampons, toilet paper, a can of refried beans, a mechanical pencil, calculator, a game of scrabble and hand soap.  Anything with a bar code.

See, here's the game of Scrabble.  

Our Scrabble bar code.

And here's where we can buy it cheaper.

You got screwed if you bought it at Micro Center.

So on Sunday, stupid, stupid me, I decided we need some of the basic elements of survival including milk, eggs and bread.  I hauled the kids to Costo, two Sunday's before the Holiest of Holy Days on Earth.  Somewhere in the back recesses of my mind I thought that was a good idea.

Next time I come up with a gem like that someone, anyone, can you find a baseball bat and just smack me around a bit?

Stupid, stupid me.

Anyway, Alex was twitching before we even got to the car having a heenie since, "Costco DOES NOT have free wireless, Sam's has free wireless.  We should be going to Sam's Club NOT Costco.  Did I mention that Costco does not have free wireless?  Is anyone using their ears?  ACCCKK!"

"Yeah babe, I'm using my ears and I hear you but we need to get Gracie's milk at Costco and Sam's doesn't have it."

"Uggggh, but Costco doesn't have free wireless!!!"

"Uggggh, should we just let your sister starve then?  All because you want free wireless???"

"YES."

Mental Note:  Never ask a Spectrum kid a question you don't really want an answer to and a personal thank you to Sam's Club for stocking everything I need except Soy non-refrigerated milk that my daughter chugs by the gallon.  And yes she really does have a milk allergy.  I'm looking at you extended family.    

So anyway, we get to Costco and wouldn't you know they DO have free wireless.  Falls under the category of things that would have been nice to know yesterday, or forty-five minutes earlier, but I digress.

As we were walking in to Costco debating the finer points of free wireless Alex had an epiphany.  He saw Costco in a whole new light.  He made a connection.  It was like the pearly gates opened up and God smiled down upon us.

All the things in the store have bar codes.  Every last item had scanning potential.  And we were in a warehouse of scanning potential.  A warehouse.

Everything that usually hurt his eyes became something entirely different.  They became: The Ultimate Scanning Opportunity.

At that moment Costco was my boys version of Heaven.  He almost lost his I-touch he was flapping his arms so dang hard.

And for the next two hours we stayed in Costco scanning every frigging item he could get his grubby little hands on.  DVD's, games for Play Station, Wii, socks, books, meats, produce, Christmas garland, nativity scenes, jewelry, cheese, cutlery, soda.

You name it, we scanned it.

And because he was extra excited he was talking in his outdoor voice inside Costco the whole time.

He made friends all over the place.

In the DVD section loudly exclaiming, "WOW WALMART SELLS THIS MOVIE FOR NINE DOLLARS LESS.  WOW!!!  TARGET, WOMP, WOMP, WOMP, SIX DOLLARS MORE!!!"

In the toy section, "WOW, YOU CAN ONLY PURCHASE THIS ON-LINE.  AND THEY CHARGE FOR SHIPPING.  WOMP, WOPM WOMP...RIP-OFF!"

In the produce section, "A WHOLE CHICKEN IS WAY MORE EXPENSIVE AT PRICE CHOPPER.  WHO'D SHOP THERE???"

It's the season of giving all right and let me tell you, my son's a giver.  He was giving price advice all over the place.  And the thing was, for the most part people loved it.  Impressed that an eight year old was able to tell them the best deal from his I-touch.  They loved how he was sharing and giving unsolicited advice.  Because when it came to money, people listened.

And that my friends is the true story of how our weekly visit to the inner circle of hell turned into a two hour adventure on Sunday.  For the first time ever, we had fun at Costco and our meltdowns were at the beginning of the trip and not at the end.


Note: Alex uses the App called RedLaser.  If anyone's interested just click on the link.  I think you can also get it at the App Store as well, I don't know I'd have to ask Alex.  Anyway, enjoy your shopping and now you too can start scanning every frigging item Costco sells.  Have fun with that.  

One day down, two to go...

I've never been a big fan of the Venn Diagram.  I could never understand them.  But then I had an epiphany.  I finally figured it out.  It helped that we lived in the grey area most of the time.  I take that back.  Alex wasn't in the grey area the whole time.  I was.  

I've been on pins and needles trying to get the kids through this visit.  See, all of my husbands family traveled here and that makes the time spent together more intense.  I've been trying to give the kids breaks, walks and private time just so they can be better able to handle things.  

Alex finally lost it at diner time when it was time to come inside and eat.  He stomped and flapped the whole way in and I could just tell by looking at him he was imploding.  I hurried him to the laundry room, turned on the dryer and held him.  Scratch that.  I didn't hold him.  He wouldn't let me.  He quickly worked his way to a corner and started rocking back and forth.  Trying to calm himself.  Trying to block things out.    

Every fiber in my body wanted to reach out to him.  To hug him.  To hold him.  But I couldn't.  Touching him at that moment would have been like trying to hug a cornered panther.  He would have attacked.     

For as much as I wanted to hold him and tell him things were going to be all right, I didn't, I couldn't.  It would have helped me but not him.  

So instead I told him how well he was doing, how loud it was and how hard it was to just be in the same house with all the noise, smells and other kids.  That it hurt my brain too.  He just started crying.  Hot tears went streaming down his cheeks and he was still rocking and holding his knees, working himself into a tight little ball.  I slipped his headsets over his ears and we sat in silence listening to the hum of the dryer.    

And I think that was the worst part of the day.  Sitting in the laundry room, silently cursing the Gods.  Wanting to take it all away but knowing I couldn't.  

Normally there is all sorts of pomp and circumstance about who gets to go first with the food and all sorts of other BS and by the time they're all through patting themselves on the back, the foods all cold.  Not this year.  As we came out of the laundry room, I gave everyone a big fuck you, got my kid a plate of turkey, ripped open a baguette to get to the soft inner bread he likes and, with me as a human shield, we sat down at the table and he ate. 

With a wave of my hand I told them all to help themselves and to stop staring.  And with a look in my eyes, I dared them to say anything.  Anything.  I got him the remote and we watched re-runs of How It's Made.  And I dared them to turn it off.  

They didn't.

And it was at that exact moment I knew we were going to survive this.  

Note: We still have family here and its been it harder and harder to get a few moments to myself.  I am finding I simply cannot do everything so I'm going to take this next week off and get the kids sorted and take care of  them.  I will be back next Friday.  

Wiggle, wiggle wiggle, yeah.

I have so much to say and well, sometimes, life and rules about what I can and can't say just get in the way.  I'm not going to talk about Autism today.  I will give you what has been giving me a giggle when I need a break.

So I give you this.  A video from LMFAO.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyx6JDQCslE

Now this is not for the kids or the faint of heart.  Click that Next Blog button up there and come back later.  But for the rest of you, I'll just say Speedo's, pelvic thrusts and wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah.

Your welcome.

And thank you LMFAO for helping me survive the Holiday.

No go and crucify me in the comments for my music selection.
  

What do windows and Thanksgiving have in common? Well let me tell you...

We're well underway with Window Fest 2011.   Want to get caught up?  Go here and come back. 

It rained the first few days like a mother rendering me useless and screaming something to the effect of, "Now it decides to rain?!?  You have got to be kidding me.  It hasn't rained in a two Goddammed months and NOW we have thunderstorms?"  Fuck you universe."   All the while doing nothing and praying water didn't dare enter the house.  

It did.  

Then weather then decided to turn cold and now I'm freezing my ass off in my own home.  We've been relegated to wearing coats inside and Gracie's looked at me on more than one occasion like, "WTF?"

Bringing the outdoors in.

It doesn't get any better than that. 

I have all but given up trying to clean the house and I have grown accustomed to banging, ladders and man crack on a multiple of offenders and I am loving the sound of cursing from someone other than myself.  I have resorted to hiding in the office or pantry depending which is warmer.

And I was just given notice there is no way in hell the house will be finished by Thanksgiving.  I kind of sort of knew that was coming but like death, it's still a shock to have to come face to face with it no matter how much you knew it was coming.

But did I mention that every last person in my husbands family (all twenty of them and counting) will be coming in town for Thanksgiving and I kinda sorta wanted the house to be all pretty and perfect???  No, I didn't mention that??  My bad.

And I just got wind the scaffolding to work on the upper windows is coming on Monday and two of the doors and all the trim is back ordered.  

That pretty much guarantees they won't be done by Thanksgiving.  Not by a long shot.  

Guess who's going to be a drunk lush in a dirty house full to the brim with Asians in-laws while passing round the turkey dressing?

Yeah, you guessed it.  

Well at least we'll have scaffolding to climb on for sensory breaks and an extra toilet on the drive.  Who knows, we may even work in a game of dumpster dive if we get a free minute or two.  Not that we'll have to go all that far....

   

Hi my name is Lizbeth and I'm a candy whore.

Halloween you suck.  No, not because my kid went out and under ten minutes decided his legs hurt but because for the short time the kids were out they hauled ass.  They banked more candy than I've ever seen.

People were dumping handfuls, handfuls of candy into their bags.

You would never know we were in the middle of a double dip recession in this neighborhood.  Never in a million years.

I even brought extra bags because last year we had frigging meltdown after meltdown when the bag was too heavy and all I heard was, "I can't carry it anymore...this is too much like work...I don't even like Starburst."  You could have followed our candy trail all the way back home from all the shit Alex unloaded just to get back to the house.

Being the smart girl that I am I actually remembered last year (pausing for a momentary shudder) and thought to myself, "hummmm maybe I should bring an extra bag or two."

It was a good thing I did as I was the one lugging the heavy bags home.

And here's what I don't get, I'll never understand.  The kids can have two or three pieces of candy and then walk away.  THEY WALK AWAY.  How do they do that?

I don't have the desire or, and this is the important part, the ability to walk away.

I have single handedly reduced their candy supply by one-third and I'm no where near close to being finished.  I have not seen a Twix or Baby Ruth since last year and let me tell you, it's been a long time coming.  A long time coming.

They used to have two more bags but yours truly ate that too.

And here's the thing, I don't do this late at night after everyones sleeping or when they're at school.  I'm working on this stuff all day.  Do you know how good Milk Duds taste with coffee?  Or how good a handful of Snickers are before dinner??

I made the mistake of counting how many wrappers were in the trash by my own hand and I counted nineteen excluding the one that I was currently working on.

NINETEEN.

And that was before I even went to pick the kids up from school.

The only thing that I keep thinking of is, "thank God I'm not diabetic."

And I'm too weak to upend the candy buckets into the trash.  The kids could care less at this point but I don't have the ability to pitch it.  I can't do it.  There are starving kids in China for Christ's sake.  Such a waste to throw it out.  But more than that, I want to eat it.  All of it.  Even those shitty lemon Starburst.

I'm loathe to admit it but candy is my crack.  And Mama wants her crack.  Mama needs her crack.  My God, I'm a slave to my kids Halloween candy.  I actually dumped a whole bucket out on the counter to ferret out the last Twix and then told the kids to back away, nice and slow.  I need my fix.

What the hell is wrong with me???

Wait.  Nobody answer that.

Vacation one, Lizbeth zero.

This is the fish tank where I got yelled at for pulling a sea star out of the holding tank for less than 0.0034 seconds and where everyone within earshot was told by Alex, "This was not my activity of choice.  I have no interest in sea life and I would be much happier with my I-touch but ohhhh nooooo, mom says it has to say at the condo."

This is the boat we went on where I lost Lizzy, Gracie threw her bottle out and screamed her head off for the duration and where Alex got a brain contusion from hitting the boat decking as the captain ran into the pier.  Read all about it here.

OK, there would be a picture of a boat here but this piece of shit computer I'm working on is a little mother and won't let me add a picture without first rotating it and then adding it sideways.

That and it's so God dammed slow I can't even get to a single one of your blogs without crashing the whole system.  I think I take out power to half this island when I try to comment.

And I have an I pad but that's not really an accurate statement.  I can see our I pad but can't use it.  I may be able to wrestle it out of my son's hands for twenty seconds only to have to barter later usage. 

Scratch that.  I figured things out.

Anyway, more pictures...

This is one of the sand castles Alex made and has announced to the free world and anyone who has the misfortune to walk by that, "This is my sandcastle and I would appreciate it if you would walk around.  Thank you.  Oh yeah, I'm not enjoying this activity at all.  I would like to be playing with my I-touch but my mom says it has to stay in the condo."

Since we're outside he's saying all of this in his Loudest Outside Voice Ever.  Technically I can not correct him since we are indeed outside. He has reminded me of this fact.

Repeatedly.

And this is a picture of our walk to the beach.  All you have to do is add three children, all screaming different things, getting chased by wasps and all sorts of big flying bugs, pushing and shoving to get to the water then the picture is complete.  Thank you condo association for putting flowering plants along every walkway.  By the end of the boardwalk I've been given all the beach toys, towels, sunscreen and drinks so I look like a camel on a desert trek.  

I've taken to stashing a bottle of alcohol in a beach towel.  It is my goal to have one bottle finished per day by the end of our trip.

Yes, you may judge me.  

And that is all I have for today.

Note: I have been desperately trying to get to your blogs but this system here is nothing but smoke and  mirrors with the ability to crash at a moments notice.   I may resort to posting some old crappy posts I've had hibernating till we get back as I've spent more time trying to keep this system running and my kids from getting electrocuted from the mess of wires under the writing desk....  

Vacations go better with alcohol.

It has come to my attention that I'm not very good at this vacation thing.  Thank you dear husband.  I love you, I really do.  Apparently I like to get up and do things and the rest of my family does not.  I've been told to, "relax, calm down, enjoy things and take it easy." Usually these comments are being said to me while an alcoholic beverage is being slid across the table.  If the drink does not get close enough to me it gets shoved over with a fork, plate or anything to move it within my reach.

And all of these comments have generally pissed me off.

I can't seem to sit down and do nothing.  The rest of my clan is perfectly happy slumming it out on the beach.  Don't get me wrong, I can do that.  I'm just having a hard time doing it all day long.  I'm pasty white with no skin pigment so I last about twenty minutes before I go from white to pink to magenta.

I went out for a run in the afternoon and damn near died.  I was hallucinating and thinking about a Star Trek episode where Jean Luke and Wesley were stuck on some desert planet and were dying themselves.  They were chewing on rocks to keep spit in their mouths.  All I kept thinking of was, "where'd they get those rocks?  That planet's a desert."  And then "where can I get me some of those rocks round here?  I think I'm dying myself.  I don't have any spit in my mouth.  Oh my God, I think my blood's congealing."  And I actually started to look down at the ground for rocks to stick in my mouth.  How fucked up is that?!?


While out on my run, I think I told a group of Japanese tourists to go off the island instead of going to Captivia which was their original destination.  In fairness, I don't know why they stopped and asked me.  Anyone who lives around here knows only stupid tourists are out in the heat of the day going for a run.  Even other tourists were looking at me like I was nuts.  In fairness, they're all right.

Anyway, I'm trying to give this a good shake.  I'm trying to relax.  I've started to drink heavily and it does seem to take the edge off.

So what if the kids get a little too loud at the beach?  We're never going to see these people again.

So what if Gracie pees on the carpet?  Twice.  It's not our house, my carpet.  That's what a security deposit's for, right?  Right??

So what if this creature crawled out from under the sofa?  It's not my bug.  Again, not my house.

Had I not had a glass or two or six under my belt, that would have had me pissing my own pants. Not to mention all the crap that would have been spewing out of my mouth.  But having had enough alcohol in my system to deaden all my nerve endings I just got a good giggle out of it.  

I actually put it in a glass on the ground and let the kids name it and keep it as a pet for a while.

See what happens when I relax?

I let my kids play with roaches.  

I think my husband is seriously concerned with this turn of events but hey, I'm starting to relax.

The forgotten week.

In my haste to get Alex out of school and down to Sanibel to start our vacation,  I completely forgot this teensy weensy little detail.  We have one full week before we go on vacation.  I was so busy trying to get him through the last few weeks, and then days, of school that I completely forgot we had a gap week.

One full week of nothing to do.

Shit.

Now I'm sitting here with three kids looking at me like I'm the food that just got tossed into the lion's den.  And these particular lions, well they're pissed off and really hungry.  Since I've not trained my lion cubs that it's not OK to gnaw on mommy's leg for sport, I'm afraid for my own survival.

On top of it, it got frigging hot here and I'm dying a thousand deaths trying to get used to the heat.  Add the humidity and my normally straight as a board hair has gone pa-ching and I don't know what to do with it.  My sweat glands are working overtime and I think I've died and the devil is having some fun with me.  My insides are boiling and I may spontaneously combust.

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My poor kids haven't really known "hot" and lets just say they're pissed that their summer's not chalked full of cool waters and summer time jackets.  See, we used to live in North Dakota.  My Cherubs don't know hot.  I mean, look at that picture down there.  I took that in late June, 2008.  Look at what she's wearing...mittens.  People, she's wearing MITTENS.  IN JUNE.  Along with fleece pants, a jacket, a shirt and some weird almost but not really a skirt thing.  IN LATE JUNE.  I'm surprised there is not ice on that puddle.

To top it all off, they want to go to the pool but I can't take all three of them and be guaranteed I'd come back with all of them still breathing.  We've spent an ass load of money on swim lessons but they're still not swim worthy due to our complete and utter lack of gross motor skills.  I don't trust them alone in the water and with an 18 month old I can't watch all three.  It's unsafe and a recipe for disaster.

So I've lowered my standards and turned on the TV.  We're going to be watching plenty of How its Made, those horrible little douche bags Phinneas and Ferb and that rodent Max and his sister Ruby. Where the hell is their mother???

Anyway, all I have to do is get through till Saturday and then we're off.  To the airport. On a plane.  To land in another airport.  To board another plane.  To land in Florida.

What could possible go wrong with that???


Don't worry, I'll be telling you all about it when we land.  You know, if I'm not detained in airport security when Alex has decided to have an in depth discussion with the TSA official about the "why's" and "how to's" concerning bombs and bringing them in to the airport and through security.... 

I feel like that stretchy mom in the Incredibles...

I'm old, I'll admit it.  My ovaries are starting to shrivel, I'm getting grey hair, my boobs aren't where they used to be and my knees hurt with the weather.  I feel like an old antiquated relic left behind from some bygone era. 

Here's the deal, I'm trying to make a button and do the Twitter thing.  And I've never cussed so much in my entire life.  Well, aside from when the bird sacrificed itself on my windshield, when I almost forgot Alex in the car, when I dropped the shelf on my foot.  Shit, I have cussed this much before.

But that's not the point.

I can't figure it out.

And I'm all pissy, pissed off.

Sure, I could ask Alex, but that would defeat the point of my trying to do it on my own.  See, I want everything to be all matchy-matchy (yes my pillows coordinate with my armchairs and draperies) and perfect before I put it out there and it's not working. 

The picture size is too big and the image won't upload.  I can't find the right background and my sea star isn't the way I like it.   And now have to add that bird thing to my sidebar.  And I have no fucking idea what even goes on at Twitter.  It scares me.

What happens if I do go on Twitter and I only have like 9 friends and I'm following 15,904 people???  I'll feel like a total loser, thank you Brian for the heads up, not the loser part!  I mean, I'll be more of a loser than I already am.  I can't handle that right now.

I'm over committed.

I still have three very young kids to raise, a house to clean and three different meals to make, three times a day, every day.  All the therapies to run to, Speech homework and regular homework for the oldest two.  And now I'm meeting with insurance adjustors, roofers, gutter, deck and painter people.  I totally forgot Easter was this Sunday and now I have to get lamb cakes made, go to the cesspool WalMart to get candy, and do all the baskets and plastic egg stuff.


See, these things are a pain in the ass to make.

So here's what I propose to do:

1. Do blog posting on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Anything else is a special gift from me to you. 
2. Run around and visit all my bloggy friends when I can because seriously, I love you guys.
3. Do the Twitter thing, but you have to help me and not make fun of me.  Promise???
4. Try and make a Godammed Button.
5. Stop cussing. 
6. Erase number five.  Well, at least until one through four are completed. 

Deal???


I hope everyone has a decent Easter.  One with no meltdowns.  One with rainbows and kittens and cotton candy.  With lots of ham, deviled eggs and lamb cake.  And a different meal for the kid who won't touch the ham.  A different one for the kid who doesn't want their food groups touching each other.  And one for the kid who only wants to eat Oscar Meyer turkey hot dogs, 98% fat free, and only cooked on the stove boiled in hot water for exactly 7 minutes with the red stuff on the side, never on the bun.

 And three different lamb cakes.  Can't forget the blessed little lambs.  I need a chocolate lamb, a white lamb and Goddammed tradition states the white lamb has to have coconut and Heaven forbid we have a chocolate coconut lamb or white coconut lamb because the kids don't like coconut.  Tradition states the fucking lamb has to have a coat so I have to make a white coconut lamb, so yay me, I get to make another frigging lamb.  By Sunday morning I'll have a whole flock of little lambs just staring at me as I go around the kitchen, waiting for the kids to chop off their pretty little heads and eat their asses.

Wait, that's my Easter!  Have a good one everybody!!!

Spring Break, day one.

On Friday we went to this place called Leapin Lizards.  It looks like this:

I wanted to get the kids out of the house since Alex ran into my room at 6:43am, fully clothed and ready to start the day.  I sent him back to his room as our rule is we don't bother other people until 7:00am. At precisely 6:59 he came back in (he wanted me to see the clock flip) and proclaimed the day had started.  I told him he could play with his I-touch till breakfast thinking I could gain a few extra minutes.  No luck.  "Mom, we are not allowed to play electronics or watch TV till after breakfast and our teeth are brushed."  Damn it.

He huffed and puffed and by 7:03 and proclaimed in his loudest inside voice "I'M BORED."

By 9:00 I was ready to jump out an upper window.  I've actually given this considerable thought in the past and I've come to the conclusion that even thought it's three stories high I would most likely only suffer minor injuries and have to pick my ass up and go back inside.  And then I'd be stuck doing everything I'm already doing with the added bonus of having plucked myself out of the shrubs.

That's how I got the hairbrained idea to go to Leapin Lizards.  I took the oldest two and off we went.   We lasted twenty minutes. 

There were kids everywhere and there was a constant background hum, not unlike what I imagine it must be like on the Enterprise with my husband Jean Luke.  It was all the fan motors running the inflatables.  He heard it right away.

He started getting his tics-the cough, blinks, grimaces.  All the kids bouncing and running into him.  Way too much stimulation.  The place is a spinal cord injury waiting to happen. 

There was one bouncy hut that he went into and when nobody was in there he had the time of his life.  He bounced around without fear of knocking into any other kids.  I actually found myself blocking the door and not letting kids in.  Horribly wrong, I know, but he was so happy.

He spent the majority of his time reading the rules and regulations on each inflatable.  I took pictures of the rules on every single inflatable, there are thirteen of them by the way.  And he was happy.

 

After twenty minutes we left.  We went to Burger King and this particular one had an indoor fountain which made his day.  He saw the manager cleaning and he started talking. "Hey, your badge says manager.  Well, I want you to know I'm a big fan of fountains!  Did you know the water is circulated via motor pump and uses hydrostatic pressure?  Did you know if a fountain is large enough it may need a small compressor?  Did you know..."

The guy looked at me like we were total nuts.  I looked at Alex and he was beaming.  I figure there are worse things in life than being crazy nuts about fountains.  I sushed the manager away, looked at Alex and asked, "Hey hon, could you tell me more about that fountain?"

The price of love...

I love Valentine's Day soooo much I thought I'd write about it some more. 

It has to be a medical mystery that I ever got married.  Just has to be.  Cause after you read this you're going to wonder as well.  For those of you with weak stomachs feel free to hit that little 'next blog' button up top if it gets too squirly. 

Aside from our obvious festivities I talked about here, I have to thank my kids for getting me two, yes two, boxes of Crispy Cream's for me while they were with their father shopping at Sam's.  They got donuts for me (read: them) to celebrate.  Doesn't everyone celebrate Valentine's day with two boxes of donuts?

Now you can go here and get an idea of what I look like.  Yes, I'm skinny.  Don't hate me.  I sent you off to show you what I look like to tell you how I get that way.  You'll hate me less, I promise.  Read on...

So I had to honor the holiday and the fact my kids got me (read: them) donuts and I ate one (read: four).  Which landed my ass on the can for the whole day because, remember that picture of me?  My body does not like anything filled with that much goodness and I had an IBA--irritable bowel attack.  All day.  All fricking day.

Between kids parties, meltdowns and listening to Martin sing Hello (I'm taking a leap here but I feel we're on a first name basis, what with him serenading me and all) I found myself breaking out in cold-sweats, dodging into bathrooms and damn near passing out whilst busting a gut.  Yes, I'm fully aware that my kids may have lost a few friends over this...sorry guys.

All for the sake of donut love. 

So there I was, on the can the better part of the day cussing out Cupid, the kids, and mostly my husband for bringing two Goddammed boxes of donuts into the house in the first place. 

 I love you dear, it was the best Valentine's ever.

Seriously, I do have the best husband. 

V-day, the aftermath...

Dear Cupid,
My kids have been all cracked out waiting for your special day and like a three day old balloon their expectations are going to pop.  While you go back to where ever it is you go, I'm going to be the one standing here with a broom and dustpan having to clean up your sorry mess. 

Valentine's Day, morning expectations:

• Alex has been working up to you because they have parties in the classroom.  Gasp.  And I'm freaking out.  He loves the idea of a party, he just malfunctions at the actual event. 
• Lizzy has her party this morning so I get to go and be 'normal mom' before I become the 'crazy, overprotective, oh my god my kid going to blow any second now lets see if we can sneak out the side door mom.'

Valentine's Day, what actually happened:

• I missed the first 2/3rd's Lizzy's party because I had the time wrong in my calendar.  Crap.  Did I say crap?  Crap.  We go to Wendy's to make up for my being a total dip-shit.  
• We play Farm Frenzy all afternoon to make up for my my being a total dip-shit.
• We make it (on time) to Alex's party.  Lizzy notices this fact and I can see she thinks I love him more than her.  Crap.
•  Baby Gracie's nap is smack in the middle of Alex's party.  I bring her, she wakes up.  She screams.  And screams some more.
• I have no pictures because I forgot the camera for Lizzy's party and if I bring it to Alex's party it would confirm Lizzy's worst fear--I love Alex more than her.  I don't but you try to explain it to my five year old.  Crap.
• Alex freaks out because kids were going up to the snack table and that's "not what they're supposed to do..." 
• He freaked again about snack because "it's not happening at the time it should be on the class schedule."
• We left early.  Out the side door.
• We've now listened to "Hello" by Martin Solvig like a million times since we got home and I liked that song.  Once.  A long time ago.  While jogging.  Without kids.  Alone.
• We ate leftovers for dinner.  The kids fought.  I still can't get that song out of my head.
• Red Robe came back. 
• Holiday complete.

My Valentine from Alex.



On the inside--Dear Dad.  Dad?!?  He erased over mom and wrote dad.  That's rich.



See ya next year Cupid.  You horrible naked baby with wings.

Ho Ho Ha

We've been a little busy in the house so I'll compile a few day's worth in to one post.  The kids were up way late Christmas Eve watching the NORAD radar of where Santa was located.  They finally got sufficiently freaked out when they saw him hit the East Coast and under much pressure and a few too many threats from us they made it off to bed.  They were so exhausted from staying up late we actually were stuck in our bedroom waiting for them to come in and exclaim "Santa was here!!!" 

Christmas was pretty good.  No major meltdowns from Alex.  I was worried because he was so excited for Thanksgiving he puked all over our guests feet.  Kinda dimmed the desire to eat....  Needless to say I was petrified we would have a repeat.  On carpet.  On presents.

We're a day after Christmas and each kid has been plugged into their new I-touch, compliments of grandma, since yesterday noon.  I feel like a bad parent because they've been cube eyed since they opened their gifts but I'm loving the time to clean up the mass destruction.

We missed the How It's Made marathon.  Apparently it was on Christmas day and not on Christmas Eve.  Since the I-touch has taken the number one spot in our house the How It's Made was a distant memory.

We're now two days post-Christmas and the kids are about ready to eat each other.  I've put them in either corner of the house but they always manage to migrate back to each other, its like they're magnetized or something.  Hang on...and back to the corners they go... 

As I was writing this, I was looking for pictures of the tree to post.  Alex came in and said: "You have pictures of the tree, with presents under it....at night?  How'd you do that?"

Oh Shit.