Tis the Season

I had warned you, I was about to get busy...birthday party--check. It was actually pretty awesome. I had several real pals who brought booze--or brought their kids and then drank the booze with me. Or both...

Thanksgiving...check.

No Black Friday shopping by the queen. However, I did have the King go out to purchase the Christmas Tree. I can sum up his experience with a direct quote of his text, "At Menards. I hate you."

Holiday decorations...check.

The girls are on top of the real meaning of Christmas. They have been playing "Mary and Jesus" for three days now. Nonstop. In fact, when Ryley calls out "MOM!" I no longer respond..."Mary" does. I'm Jesus's Nana. I learned of the game after Delaney shouts, "Oh Jesus, what are you doing now?"

I darted into her room to see what was going on and more importantly, find out who had taught my little girl to curse (different than cuss, thanks, Daddy). She looked up at me, smiled, and said, "Well hello there--have you met my baby, Jesus? He was born in a stable because there was no room in the inn."

Tonight, I saw perhaps a new side of Mary. Because Jesus was born a baby, I'm sure he wasn't perfect ALL the time, but I still questioned tonight's reenactment. Mary, thru gritted teeth, "JESUS--Get back in this manger RIGHT NOW!" Jesus started to run. "RIGHT NOW, Jesus, I'm soooo not even joking with you." I am proud because they not only realize the real meaning of Christmas, but also because they choose to play Mary and Jesus instead of...say...princesses or Dora and Diego. They get it!

So begins the big rev-up to Christmas Day. So also begins the first of many "discussions" between the King and I. First on the agenda...the Christmas Card.

I have an AWESOME idea for our card. Which is good, because time has gotten away from me and I never arranged for the family picture to be taken. It's all good, because Santa brought me a fancy camera a couple of years back. It's all good because I LOVE taking pictures and playing with them. It's all good because I have a heck of an imagination when it comes to quirky or cute things the girls do. And this year is no exception.

Last night, it was a Norman Rockwell evening at our house. Fire in the fireplace, the girls decided to sit in front of it to "warm their bones" after their early bath. It was really cute and I said to myself, "Self--this could be a really cute picture, and you won't be able to send naked pictures without being investigated much longer." So I got busy.

It could be the perfect card...the caption would say "May you find warmth and joy from top to bottom this holiday season."

The King freaked out. He said there was no way we were sending out a Christmas card with this picture on it. He says nobody wants a card where you can't see their faces, and this picture is...wait for it...highly inappropriate. If you follow me, you know why I laughed out loud in his face.


I'm not sure if I'll win this one. I've learned some battles are worth it, some are not. The jury is still out on this one. Maybe I'll have another wave of inspiration between now and the end of the week. Otherwise, Christmas Cards may be have to be New Year Cards...argh!


Until a compromise is reached within my royal kingdom, please know I truly hope you will find warmth and joy this holiday season...and that the more feedback I get, the more fuel I have for my creative defense!

Sticker Shock

It's hard to imagine that three years ago tonight, I was timing contractions, assuming they were Braxton-Hicks, wishing they would stop so I could sleep. After all, I was scheduled for a c-section in just over a week and the baby would be 2 weeks "early" at that. I was never supposed to feel contractions again. Doctors lie. Babies have minds of their own. And my water broke in my bed for the second time.

Tonight, I braved shopping for the big birthdays that start tomorrow with Thing 2 turning 3. I had a plan, had things pre-picked. But the girls are snoops (they come by it honestly) and I don't trust them. And I've been busy, so I waited until the last minute to break down and fork out the cash.

I hit up Toys R Us, since it is late and I know they have everything on my list, which isn't as big as in years past. We spent 4 years buying to our hearts' content for our little princesses, and then they get so much from family and friends that it's just ridiculous. So we finally wised up.

On my list for Thing 1's big day on Friday was one of the new "Princess and Me" dolls. Think American Girl, but they are Disney Princess characters.

And overpriced.

Not as bad as the American Girl dolls, which D had decided she wanted until she saw these, but still overpriced. I bit the big one, got the doll and two outfits, but only because that allowed me to get the wardrobe for free (promo).

Her party on Saturday is going to have a fashion show and, in my giving way, I decided we should really get her a matching dress for the event. It was right beside the dolls, and was really pretty. I picked it up, admired it, and then passed out.

Toys R Us and Disney expect us to pay $50 for a PLAY DRESS. Are you kidding me? And behind the "golden Bell" dress I found the pink Bell dress with the velvet cape/hood. Delaney could match her doll for the low price of $69. I won't pay $50-$70 for a Christmas dress, let alone something she is going to have a foot stuck thru within a week...

Seriously, what the hell?

So Thing 1 is getting a doll made of gold. Thing 2 is getting a Baby Alive. One of my gf's at work today said, "Really, what the HELL are you thinking?" She may be right. My husband said the same thing. But Ryley LOVES babies and she's all about their bodily functions. She will love it. All y'all remind me of that when I'm blogging about cleaning up fake poop. I did buy an extra pack of fake diapers so I could get the mondo-sized food/diaper refill for free--promo.

Ryley is also getting her ears pierced, which has been no small feat. The hub says pierced ears on young children are white trashy. I disagree, I think she is old enough and it will help strangers talking about how "cute our little guy" is. I've always said the girls can get their ears pierced "when they are old enough to ask." I had no idea Thing 2 would start begging at 2 1/2 years old, but she did. I've tried to tell her horror stories about how bad it will hurt and we even watched a little girl get hers done at the mall. But she asks every time we go to the mall, and tells me she won't cry and she will be brave. We'll see how that goes. Stay tuned.

So following Toys R Us I hit up Wal Mart for wrapping paper and a few odds and ends for the household. A pillow pet and $60 of junk later, I'm ready to go home.

I hit the door to find the king wired up to his football game. As I'm struggling in and out the door with my arms full, muttering, "No, I'll get it, don't get up," he ends his game and comes to help.

"Guess what? I just beat the 13th ranked guy of the WHOLE GAME, all [54million] players!" That's great, I just spent $200 at Toys R Us. He flipped out until I reminded him it's really not bad, considering it is for TWO birthdays. Heck, I felt like a bargain shopper--I got two FREE items, saving almost $50!

I get it all in, get it sorted, and start to plot my wrapping strategy. You know what I mean, what color designates which child, which gift is awesome enough to get the "character" paper vs. the single-color cheap stuff. It's all going to be ripped apart and pitched, it honestly pisses me off to wrap anything.

CRAP--I can't find the tape.

10 minutes later, the king has just started another football game. I mumble a lot and say three times, "Hmm...guess I'll have to go back out for tape," but keep looking, waiting for a volunteer. It never happens--I'm on my own. So after an evening shopping, it's off to Gerbes for tape.

Shopping in a grocery store late at night is a BAD thing. I think they pipe in some special gas or something to make you consider buying things you would NEVER EVER look at unless its late and you don't need anything--except tape.

I checked out the hair accessories for the girls, because we can never have too many falling off the ledge above the toilet and thus falling into the toilet. I spent 10 minutes--no kidding--looking at razors. I don't need a new razor, but you never know what you will find at Gerbes at 10 pm. I also never realized there is such a wide variety of "personal lubricants" on the market. Interesting. Maybe I'm missing something. Or missing OUT on something?

At one point, I decided I should have gotten cards for the Things. I spent 10 minutes shopping cards. After all, you have to read them all. I didn't find any I loved, and then I remembered--they can't read, and we're giving them their gifts on their birthdays so they don't blend in with the party day. I put the cards back.

I start looking at a new line of cards that are awesome. They are for all the "bad" situations in life. Breakups, divorce, cancer, stupid teenage kids, etc. They are hilarious. I read all of them--seriously. At one point, I decided to buy a card about chemo because it was so funny. Luckily, I don't know anyone going thru that right now and karma is a bitch. I put it back.

Since I'm wasting time with cards and I'm so close, I hit the wine department. After all, I'm off the next couple of days and I drank all the wine from last week.

I found the PERFECT wine. It's called MAD HOUSEWIFE. The label, where it usually describes all the flavors that I can never taste? This one says: Somewhere in the cool shadows of the laundry room. Past the litter box and between the plastic yard toys. This is your time. Time to enjoy a moment to yourself, a moment without the madness. The dishes can wait. Dinner be damned."

30 minutes later, I come home with a 3-pack of tape and my wine.

I start wrapping, sigh loudly several times, and the king finally says, "Can I help you with anything?" Oh--like going to get the @#$% tape at Gerbes since I spent the evening shopping for our love children?

"Nah, I got it. You relax. After all, I don't have to work tomorrow."

Right--I'll be eating bon bons and watching soaps all day.

And wishing I'd taken out stock in Disney.

Hell Week

I'd like to start tonight by reminding you how much I sincerely love my little princesses. They are truly the light of my life, and I don't know how I ever enjoyed life before them.

This week is a big one for our family. On Thursday, Ryley will turn 3 and on Friday, Delaney will turn 5. I know what you are thinking, and NO, we did not intend to have birthdays so close together. In fact, I hate it--kind of for the girls (read on), but mostly for me.

It's Hell.

Flashback to the moment I realized I was expecting a second child and did the little mental math we all do to realize the birthdays would fall within the same month. Somehow, from that moment on, I KNEW we would one day be screwed in the birthday department.

Thing 2 was born in the wee hours of the morning before Thing 1's second birthday. I bawled all the way to the hospital after my water broke, crying because I know how girls are--and I knew that one day, there would be mean, catty fights over birthday sleepover weekends and the likes.

I never expected it to happen at ages 3 and 5.

Delaney decided this year that she does NOT want to share her party with her sister. In her little sassy voice, she informs me that it is "not fair to have to share a party with Ryley just because she came the day before (her) birthday."

GRRR....No one warned me the smart-assness would start so soon. But I'm up to my ears in it and she is not even 5--yet. Small cry for help.

Not only has she decided she doesn't want to share her birthday, she has decided she wants her party to be girls ONLY.

Normally, not that big of a deal. But it has apparently turned in to a bigger deal than I realized. Family politics, we all have it, so please stop laughing at me now.

Here is the rest of my week:
Tuesday--work
Wednesday--work, shop for remaining birthday gifts
Thursday--Thing 2 turns 3. Take kids to preschool with cupcakes for both classes, get nails done and eyebrows waxed so I don't scare kids on Saturday, pick up small birthday cake that is wickedly overpriced, meet my mommy for lunch, pick up kids, spend the afternoon reminiscing about searing pain and colicky baby that was born 3 years ago today.
Friday--Thing 1 turns 5. Regular morning chores, take girls to buy party favors, plates, cups, etc. for Saturday,take Delaney to see Butch the donkey (what an ass) as a surprise, pick up small birthday cake that is wickedly overpriced, spend the afternoon reminiscing about searing pain and my angel baby that was born 5 years ago today and has now turned into a little b#tch 60% of the time, looking forward to the teenage years.
Saturday--back-to-back birthday parties. You don't want details. I don't want details. It's going to be Hell. If any of my true friends read this, they will bring booze.

Not only is this Hell week for us, here is my real rant: Why do the kids get the celebration? Shouldn't it be us mothers? Shouldn't WE be the ones to get a cake and a party to remember what we went thru to birth a baby?

Morning sickness. Indigestion. Exhaustion. Backaches. Swollen feet. Stretch marks. Jimmy legs. Tender boobs. Swollen boobs. Leaky boobs. Growing an extra boob. Bloodwork. More bloodwork. Sticking things where I've never been stuck before. Braxton Hicks contractions. Real contractions. C-section. Catheter. Detached stomach muscles. Rabid wolverine chewing on my nipples. How does something with no teeth chew on my nipples? Do I need to keep going? I'm not even 24 hours past the first birth yet...I've not even gotten to the colicky one.

Being a mama is tough stuff. I've said it over and over, I'll say it again. I have the toughest bosses ever. They are the most gorgeous bosses ever, and they are a lot of fun, but one day they will have hormones and hate me. I'll probably have plenty of times I won't like them, either.

Several years ago, I started sending my mommy flowers on my birthday every year to say "thank you." Two years ago, I even sent flowers to the king's mommy to say "thank you."

Forget the flowers--I want a nanny, a party planner and a winning lottery ticket.

This week is going to be a lot of fun for Thing 1 and Thing 2. It will make me happy to see them having so much fun.

For me, though, the week will be Hell. See you there!

It SUCKS to grow up.

Almost one year ago, my mother broke my heart. It was just after the annual carving of the pumpkins with Thing 1 and Thing 2 and I made a comment about it not being as much fun as it used to be when I was young.

"I HATED carving pumpkins with you kids," she told me. "The only thing that was worse was making those damn Valentine's Day boxes for school."

WHAT? BLASPHEMY! The two things I looked forward to, every year, that in a lot of ways were even more special than Christmas and 4th of July because they were not things that were overdone, over-celebrated. Also because it was a GREAT time to hang with my mommy and my big brother, working together, laughing at the kitchen table (insert Norman Rockwell photo here).

And she was pretending to like it the entire time.

I was really hurt for a long time. In fact, I think it's a little fair to say I was traumatized for a while. If my mom could pretend (aka LIE) so well about these things, what ELSE about my childhood was a lie???

And then I grew up.

I'm not sure how it happened, or when the lightbulb flicked on, or why it took 4 years after the delivery of my firstborn, but suddenly within this past year I GET it.

Growing up sucks for a lot of reasons. Accountability, responsibility, blah blah blah, bills, etc. But the hardest thing for me to accept--all the little things I looked forward to as a child? After the initial excitement that is left over from childhood wears off, I realize they suck as an adult.

Tonight, we carved pumpkins. We've done it every year since Delaney was "here" and they do love to watch us turn a pumpkin into the "creature" of their choosing. But it is messy, I'm tired, it's stinky, and Thing 1 and Thing 2 had little/no naps today so they are crab-asses. And still we carve on, pretending to love the task because the girls love it so much.

In reality, I'm a perfectionist and have a mean competative streak--so I carve meticulously, but because I want the pumpkin I carve to look perfect--and better than the neighbor's.

And they do.

HIGHLY Unappropriate

Before I even start, some readers may find this entire post highly inappropriate. If you have been offended in any shape or form at any of my other posts, please move on to something else. But what I am about to recant is not really inappropriate--it's my life. And I'm sorry, but it's funny. It's funny to me and I'm pretty sure it will be funny to you, too. So if you would like to find out what I'm talking about, please read on.

Now that the housekeeping is out of the way, this post is going to be highly inappropriate. At least that is what Thing 1 would tell you.

They say kids say "the darndest things" but "they" have never met my kids. They are hysterical. At first, I thought it was just me being a biased mommy. But as I slip in a "my kid said" story here and there (and there and here--I'm obsessed with my girls, I'll admit it) I realize that they are just funny little creatures. I will say, I think all kids say some pretty funny stuff from time to time. Obviously I'm around MY kids more so I hear more and it just clouds my mind with all their little cute and funny things...well, you get it. I'm a mom, I think mine are the greatest--who doesn't think theirs are the best?

This morning, in my rush of "School Day" (see previous post), I am SURPRISE running late. Which should really not be happening, because I didn't have to pack lunch for "the adults" today. The "extra time" was negated by the girls deciding they needed to lift Mommy's weights (dumbells found in the closet) and Thing 2 dropping one on Thing 1's foot. In fact, the whole morning that was today's could be it's own post.

But anyway...so I was in a rush, the girls were ready and only Mommy was left. Allow me to say I REALLY need to put away laundry. The King is a laundry Nazi, he HATES to have laundry around--but once washed (not sorted first, no removal of delicates, no treating of stains--but hey, I'm not doing it so I'm grateful!) it often sits in baskets on our bedroom floor until the weekend when I make time to put it away.

So I am in a hurry and in a rush, and the last one to get dressed. I open the dresser and grab the first things my hands light on...like any rushed mama would do. And since "we're all girls" the little ladies are in the room with me.

As I have my back turned and start to get dressed, Thing 1 gasps very loudly..."MOM!" Holy geeze, I'm just getting dressed...WHAT????

"MOM--I can see your bottom thru your panties--those are HIGHLY unappropriate for work."

Wow, called out by a (soon to be) 5 year old. First, they are not totally whorish panties. They are sheer, but that's it. And that's way too much information, I realize. But if the beginning of this blog didn't scare you away, it's ok because I know you have a pair of "sexy but not whorish" panties, too, even if you don't admit it to the general public like I just did.

While this is mostly the end of the anecdote, my children--especially Thing 1--rarely let well enough alone. Being a school day, I'm pretty sure she would go to school and tell her teacher or at least her friends her mommy wears inappropriate panties. So, like an idiot, I go to school and drop the "just to warn you, Delaney may tell you..." on her teacher. NOT telling the story was making me feel worse than just telling her, so I did. Of course, she is awesome and laughed and told me an even worse story about her son, so I felt better. Still, I wasn't really surprised when another mother asked me about wardrobe choices this evening...ugh...THANKS, KIDDO!

Oh...and when I put on the matching bra, Thing 1 just shook her head, headed out of the room and mumbled, "Well, at least you match."

Highly unappropriate.

Bacon

So I kind of suck with the blogging thing. Why? Because this is the first one I've posted since August. Multiple reasons, long story, let's just chalk it up to "life happens". Seriously, when do people find time to post regularly? I'm sorry--but I promise to try harder to post at least twice a week--hold me to it!

On to the fun that was my evening. It was PERFECT. If you don't know me, that's dripping with sarcasm.

Tonight starts the King's 4-day vacation. He's between classes and honestly NEVER takes all his days--so he decided to take a week. It's going to be awesome. He thinks I'm crazy for always being late for work, always leaving something (luckily not someone) behind, etc.

The joke will be on him come Friday. It's HARD WORK! He leaves before 7 in the morning. That leaves me to:

1. Get myself ready for work.

2. Get the girls dressed and presentable for the day.

3. Make breakfast.

4. Enforce breakfast.

5. Break up fights.

6. Make the adult lunches.

7. Make the kids lunches.

8. Feed the cats.

9. Give the diabetic cats their shots.

10. Shoes and socks on.

11. Fix princesses hair.

12. Gather EVERYTHING.

13. Where is Thing 1 and why is she hiding? Does she hate me?

14. Found her--she's in the bathroom going #2.

15. We're late.

16. Bottoms clean, now Thing 2 has to go #1.

17. Pile into the car.

18. Arrive at school, 20 minutes late. Forgot the adult lunches. Great start to the day.

He has no idea. So I can't wait to see how he handles a full week. I hope it goes ok, but I kinda hope it's hellish. I'm leaving for work early every day, and I plan to intentionally NOT DO ANYTHING. We'll see how that goes, since he will read this...LOL!

Alas, it's started to be a good night. My odd children, who don't like peanut butter and jelly or turkey sandwiches, have decided they LOVE fish. No complaints, but seriously--no pb and j but begging for halibut? With brown rice? But they ate like teenagers, two servings each--it's going to be a good night.

I'm even incentivized by the girls. I'll admit, I've been a gym slacker lately. The girls were sick, I got sick, so I didn't hit it for almost a week. Then I decided to reward myself after the Komen run by not hitting the gym. But tonight is the first night of the "new" Wilson's North location, and my daughters have decided they like to eat heatly, so I'm inspired to get back on the bandwagon. Off to bed, little ones, Mommy's gotta get fit.

And that's where good intentions went bad.

I eagerly change for the "new and improved" gym. Is that pep in my step?

Shoes and socks, check. What is this? I have one of MY socks folded together with one of Thing 2's socks. Really? A size 7 woman's and a size 9 preschooler's feet look similar? I LOVE that my hubby is a laundry nazi, but please--do it right so I don't have to re-do it. Or end up at the gym with a sock that won't go on my foot. I show them to him, he says, "Look at them--they are close in size!" Sure--if you are in prison.

Strike 1 for me. I'm not phased.

So Wilson's North has moved. I come up with the idea to take a shortcut. It is shorter, no stoplights. But the route is one I've never taken. And it's dark. This is what we call foreshadowing.

I'm tooling down Blue Ridge Road and I see a sign, warning me of an upcoming stop sign. I slow down. And I never see the stop sign. As I creep along, I notice a super cute house, and as we ladies do, I'm drooling over it's cuteness, thinking how I will grow up one day and upgrade to a house just like this one.

And then I see it.

The cop car, lights ablazing behind me. CRAP. I have NO IDEA what the speed limit is, so I have no idea how far over it I am. Although, I do think to my self, "Self, you were creeping along looking at this house, it can't be that bad."

Officer Tackleberry is kind enough to turn the spotlight on me. I guess I might run or toss my weed out the window?

He approaches, I make him knock on the window. I get the introduction, he says, "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

I never know how to answer this. I'm always tempted to say something smartassed, but I come from an interesting mix of parents. My mom can talk her way out of any kind of a ticket, period. She has a gift. My dad, not so much. He was all about telling the officer where to stick the ticket so generally got more than he started with. I fall in the middle--I'm a wimp when it comes to the po-po. I'm like Diane Keaton on "First Wives Club", I see the badge and start shreiking, "I'm clean--I'm clean!"

"No, sir, I'm not aware of any speeding violation. Could you tell me why you pulled me over?"

"You ran the stop sign back there. I saw you slow down, but you didn't stop. Why is that?"

Do I smell bacon?

"Oh, I'm so sorry. You see, I'm on my way to the new Wilson's gym and I've never been this way before. I knew better than to try a new way in the dark, but I'm a glutton for punishment, what can I say? I saw the sign that warned of an upcoming stop sign, but I did not ever see the stop sign. I'm so sorry."

I know, I'm pathetic. But in my defense, I was being 100% honest. I didn't see the #$%@ sign!

"I see, I see. Well, let me take a peek at your license and insurance."

License is no biggie. Insurance...it was like a pick-a-card game. I had every single insurance card dating back to 2006, when we bought the car. But not the one that is good starting August of 2010. I give the hub ONE THING to do with this car...grrr.......

Tackleberry: "OK, well, let me take this one here and I'll be right back. If you find the current one, just wave it out the window."

A kind policeman. I'm being honest. This is going to end well. And I got to clean out the glove compartment looking for that #$%^ card while he was writing my warning.

Back he comes, I think between my headband and lack of alcohol breath he has decided I'm not a threat and has shut off the spotlight. It always pays to be honest.

"Here is the deal. It's a state law to have a current insurance card in the car at all times. But I'm going to let it slide. And I believe that you didn't see the stop sign, you seem very honest. But because you dont' have current insurance on you, I can't let both offenses slide so I'm going to have to ticket you for the stop sign. I'm doing you a favor here, it's the less of the two evils." Chuckle. What a nice guy.

PRICK!

Blah blah blah, sign here, etc. "Do you have any questions?" No. "Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?"

And then it happend. My father spoke from the grave. "Yes, in fact. You can go back to that house and ask those people to cut their damn bushes so you don't have an excuse to write a bullshit ticket for no reason other than to create revenue for a city to which I already pay at least 7.55% taxes to on every purchase I make. That would be great!"

I know, I'm a little proud and a little appauled at the same time. I hear my daddy laughing right now.

I had been such the perfect pull-over, so it really took Sgt. Tackleberry by surprise. He said, "I appreciate the feedback. I hope your evening gets better," and left me to curse him.

Strike 2.

I get to the gym, and all things considered, have one heck of a workout. I even added the weights in after the run. It was a workout to be proud of. And the new Wilson's? It's nice. It's not hot and doesn't smell mildewey like the old facility. Seems smaller, but who cares. The kids area is huge and it's clean. And the first workout was a good one.

So now I'm home, obviously, clean and trying to get past my hatred by recanting the evening. Hub tells me to let it go, but is kind enough to keep dropping comments about "people who run stop signs." I tell him that karma is a bitch.

Strike 3, you ask? That's now--it's 11:21 and with the evening's events, I can't sleep. I'm not tired. The King is playing his video games, the princesses are sleeping, and Tuesday will start in a few short hours when the alarm goes off at 5:45.

Thank you, Columbia Police Department, for keeping our streets safe.

Do I smell bacon?

THE BEST DIET EVER

That's going to be the name of my new book...inspired by the princesses. It is a very simple stragegy that allows you to eat as MUCH as you want, and you still stay thin...

I call it...the Condiment Diet.

Pickles, mustard, ketchup, black olives, green olives--as much as you want, to ensure you fill up your tummy and don't have room for foods such as meat, fruit or veggies. Chase it down by "jug sucking" large amounts of milk and you are guaranteed to maintain your girlish figures.

Delaney started this diet when she was about 2...and she has never given it up. It's insane, the child will eat more olives than anyone could even imagine...At least one jar--the big jar--a week. I guess olives do have "good fat" but she takes it to a new high...

Ryley's condiment of choice is a tie between black olives and pickles. If in a black olive mood, they apparently taste better when you put one on each finger and chase your sister around first. If in a pickle mood, you must be sure you eat enough dill pickles that you reak of dill juice for at least 2 hours.

I am convinced my children have the strangest diet of any kid on the planet. Yes, I know I've allowed them the liberty of this strange diet. It's one of those "I'll never let my kids..." moments for me.

Face it--if they have something in their tummies, they sleep. If they sleep, we sleep. Therefore, LET THEM EAT OLIVES AND KETCHUP FOR DINNER.

Right?

Alas, I encourage you to try your family on this latest diet craze...or it will be, when I write the book, publish it and appear on the Today Show. Don't worry, I won't forget the little people when I'm famous...I'll even sign your book for free.

Only in Columbia...

I love Columbia. It's a pretty perfect mix the small town from which I came and the big city that holds my heart, Washington DC . Keep reading for explanation.

The town from which I come is small...the sign says 1900ish people, but I'm not sure how accurate that is because of all the...immigrant workers that moved there my senior year. It was a great place growing up. We never locked the house, never locked the car--and in fact, kept the windows down all day so it wasn't 3000 degrees upon re-entry. A mama could take a baby to the Friday night football game, someone would ask to hold the baby. He would likely pass thru at least 100 pairs of hands that night, but he would always wind up back with his mama. Our school didn't offer the best range of courses, but it was more than "ok" and we had AWESOME teachers who loved us and wanted us to succeed.

Other parts, well, I just didn't know better. There was no fast food--unless you count Casey's pizza. But on Friday nights, the Pizza Hut wagon would pull a trailer into the gas station parking lot. Not just any trailer, this one was full of pizza ovens so your pizza was hot, fresh and made to order. How did we order? Duh--we called the "phone from car" payphone, where the little man from Pizza Hut sat, waiting to take our order. I didn't realize the humor in this until the King started going home with me...it was a real treat to call the little man and then go pick up the pizza. I still don't see as much humor in the wagon as does he, because it was AWESOME! Pizza and football? What could be better???

No fast food, only two restaurants. One secret of the town...the "other" gas station made the BEST hamburgers you will ever have in your life. No kidding, Booches has NOTHING on Kozy Korner. Don't even get me started about the tenderloins at Gimpy's...or the vast array of snacks at the liquor store that included both pickled pigs feet and pickled eggs (yes, kids were allowed in to buy "pop" after ball practice--it was across the road, after all).

We still visit home several times a year, back to the family farm. I love it there. It's relaxing in a way I never thought possible. Thing 1 and Thing 2 love it there, Thing 2 would be perfectly happy to live on the farm. Not so much the Queen.

Fast forward to Washington DC, which probably ranks as my favorite place ever because it's the one city in which I've spent the most time and garnered the best memories. I love the REC, their Youth Tour to Washington DC program was a huge part of me and it is very close at heart. I spent 5 stints in DC, 2 weeks at a pop.

I love the metro, fell in love with theatre, fell in lust with Long Island Iced Tea, could give you a tour of all the sites, and take you to the best little hole in the wall cafe, Bob and Edith's. I actually craved their open faced turkey sandwiches while pregnant, but I couldn't talk the king into making that run...in fact, he thinks I'm crazy for loving DC so much. He thinks its full of crime and politicians. Yes, it is, but it's just buzzing with excitement. It's beautiful. Many of the people nearest to my heart were there with me--and I still love them all today. I can't wait for Thing 1 and Thing 2 to get old enough to appreciate the wonders of DC. By then, I am hopeful the King will be ready to see DC thru the eyes of me--and he will love it, too.

And then there is Columbia. It's a good melding. Not too big, not too small. I came here for school, met a boy and turned him into a man when he married me. So here I am, calling Columbia home. And there is always SOMETHING to be seen that you would see only in Columbia. In fact, in my ploy to enjoy life, I have decided that I am going to find something each and every day that I know I would find only in Columbia.

Probably the most memorable "only in Columbia" moment came at Gerbes on Valentine's. While shopping for groceries, the boy checking out in front of me had found the PERFECT gift for his lady friend...because nothing says "I love you" like roses, chocolate, and a box of condoms. LOVE IT!

Tonight's journey to the gym did not disappoint me. I did indeed see the perfect "Columbia" site for today. It was a beautiful shiny black new Mercedes, with the temporary "just purchased" paper plates in the back. This gorgeous car was tucked away neatly for the evening underneath the carport at it's new home in a trailer park.

Only in Columbia...why would anyone ever want to leave??

Reproduction

Let me get this out of the way first: while looking for a picture of sperm on the web, I learned that porn boosts sperm production. That made me laugh out loud. Who researches these things? And how? So many things to be said, so little time...sigh...

We have a lot of friends and family who have kids the exact ages as Thing 1 and Thing 2. It was fun to be pregnant together (twice), to swap our birthing war stories (twice), to be experiencing the woes of early breastfeeding (twice), teething, rolling, sitting...and the list goes on and on.

However, this castle is just about the last of "the group" who have not decided on the "third time is a charm" thing. Before kids, I always said I wanted 3. Matt always wanted 2--one for each of us. The day we could not locate Ryley's penis at the ultrasound, Matt suddenly changed his mind--maybe three wouldn't be so bad after all.

And then Rosemary's baby was born.

I will be the first to admit, Delaney was an incredibly easy baby. She literally came out with a smile on her face, slept thru the night at 2 weeks, started talking at 8 months, just super easy going. And having been around babies a lot, I knew this was abnormal in a good way and lightning would likely not strike a second time.

Ryley came out screaming at the top of her lungs, and didn't really stop until 6 months old. She had the 24/7 colic I had only read about in books--you know, the ones you read and feel sorry for the people but feel confident that will never be YOUR baby. The only time she slept was while in the baby bjorn, walking back and forth across the living room. Matt still calls it the man bra. We loath the thing. And since Matt was working while I was on maternity leave, I was commissioned to be the "packer" overnight. On a good night, she would sleep until about 10 before she woke and cried until 3's Company was on--3:30 am. God bless John Ritter.

Take her for a ride in the car you say? Not this one. She hated the car. Cried every time. The whole time. Our first "road trip" to KC when she was a month old had me reassuring Matt at Boonville that she would eventually cry herself to sleep. Nope, she cried the whole entire trip. In freezing rain, so it took 3 hours instead of 2. And Delaney got carsick and puked. And we actually ended up getting snowed in, with nothing on hand. It was a great family getaway.

Needless to say, we have not been so eager to consider a third child. Had Ryley had a penis, we easily would have been done. Or as I like to say, if she had a butt and some coconuts...ha ha! Inside joke...basketball coach from high school? Never mind.

Chances are, since we went from one extreme to another, a third baby would be "normal". And all our friends tell us the transition from 2-3 is WAY easier than 1-2. Which would be good, because I now feel ok saying--I did not handle that well at all. I'm sure it had everything to do with the colic, but SHIT...it was rough. I was pretty bitter toward the baby for a long time. I know that's awful, but I'm guessing if you are reading this, you understand what I am saying. Allow me to say, I would NEVER shake a baby. But after Ryley, I can see how it happens.

So IF we have a baby #3, it should be normal. But that's a pretty big bargain. Matt is not there yet. To be honest, I'm not either--but I'm getting close.

Of all our friends who have babies, they are all perfect little angels. This does not help this baby bug by which I have been bitten. I finally got Matt to admit he has a little touch, too. Combined with the fact that we would LOVE to have a boy, that makes the case even stronger.

Other reasons for #3 include the renovations at Boone L and D and postpartum, the new sleep sacks they give the babies to sleep in, and the fact that the girls are REALLY bugging us for a brother. In that order. And I really do love babies--the snuggles, the smells (yep, all of them), the smiles, the 8 weeks off...

Childbirth and newborns are HARD WORK, but the most rewarding work ever. I secretly love the middle-of-the-night feedings when it was just me and one of the girls. Even Ryley--I still remember how she would hold my pinky finger from day 1 every time she nursed. Sure, as moms, we never talk about those sacred moments--because it's more fun to scare the shit out of everyone by talking about the colic (it sucked ASS), the breast milk-shit that shoots out of the top and both legs of a diaper, how much those diapers and everything else to do with babies cost and the extreme sleeplessness.

And yet, despite all the UGH that goes with a baby--even the colicky ones like Ryley, you have the lifetime love of a perfect little part of yourself. My babies already do things that are NOT perfect and I know it will only get worse, but if you have ever asked me about them, you know I am unable to talk about my girls without smiling. Having a baby is a blessing beyond belief.

Tear.

So this is my mind lately. Last night, I came one step closer to convincing the king we need a prince--over this yet-to-be-conceived child with a penis's name. I went to bed feeling smug. And then God gave me a gentle reminder.

Ryley loves doll babies. As luck--or fate--has it, one of the loud obnoxious ones was left by the side of the bed. In the middle of the night, the damn thing goes off. First it cries, then it's "sucking" and then saying "Ma ma ma ma...gooooooo." I snapped to very quickly, was on my feet saying, "What? Where is it? What time is it?" I am confident Matty headidn't hear any of this. And hell, maybe it was part of my dream.

But in the light of day, it is very clear that it was a message from God.

Thank you, Jesus, for my Mirena implant.

Operation Xyley--Search and Recovery.

This afternoon, the girls and I went to Wilson's Beach Club for Delaney's BFF Kayla's 5th birthday party. Holy geesh...the Von Talge's know how to throw a birthday party! Not only is there the excitement of the pool and the big water slide and all the regular "birthday stuff", but there was a very special guest in attendance...Cinderella! And not just ANY Cinderella, this one did magic and painted faces AND could do balloon animals. It was great--even the boys loved it! So that was AWESOME and the girls LOVED it. Of course, now they both think THEY need princesses at their parties in November, but I'm secretly hoping they will forget. It was great! As we say in my homeland, a good time was had by all, as you can see!
Delaney and Kayla

Delaney really wanted to curtsy with a "real" princess for a picture, but she just looks as if she has to pee.

This is a very meaningful picture of Delaney and her current favorite thing in the world, Xyley. Xyley is a Barbie Mermaid from "Barbie and the Mermaid Tale". She goes everywhere with Delaney. In fact, you likely noticed her in...ALL the pictures above. It's close to an unhealthy relationship, in all honesty. This picture is what we shall call Exhibit A.

Allow me to digress a moment and say I had no intention of swimming today. First of all, I was without a partner--and I was clever enough to go off without the life jackets. And I'm a worrywart around water because the extent of my abilities is the doggy paddle. Secondly, I went to this same pool last Sunday and got the mother of all sunburns. Seriously, my back looks like Freddy Krueger's face. So I really didn't want to take off my shirt in front of a lot of people I don't know--the other parent/party-goers. Finally, I had put a little makeup on the cheeks to cover the acne that will never go away, but I skipped the eyes--after all, I was to have sunglasses on all afternoon. This is what we call foreshadowing.

Back to the pool. Kayla is an incredible swimmer. She was cool with going down the big slide alone. Delaney wanted to go, too. No biggie. But Xyley can't go. So she sits Xyley down to watch--after all, we are at Wilson's Beach Club. Not just any riff-raff can come here.

And that's when shit went down.

Five minutes later, we've been down the slide, slapped high fives and are headed back to Xyley. Mommy realizes before Delaney that Xyley is not where we left her. No big deal, a couple of other little girls had asked to play with her a few minutes and were very nice and all was good. But I REALLY couldn't find her. Anywhere. And then Delaney noticed she was not where she was supposed to be and started to get upset. She was pacing back and forth saying, "I know she must be right around here" and trying to keep it together. And then I heard a terrified Delaney: "OH NO--those boys are throwing Xyley's head!"

Yep, so little assclown had violated Xyely and were--no kidding--playing keep away with her little barbie head. Delaney FREAKED. I was pissed beyond belief. Seriously? Are we at Albert-Oakland pool?

The mama bear instinct kicked in.

"Hey--you little jerks. Where is the body that goes with that doll's head?" Of course, they just "found" the head and had no idea where her body was. "Give me that head RIGHT NOW." Only as I am writing this now does the true humor of this statement present itself... So they throw it and quickly swim away...and in true Hollywood fashion, Barbie's head rolls to a stop looking right at Delaney.

In all honesty, I think the little assclowns felt bad because Delaney was hysterical by this time, screaming "Where is her body? Where is her body?" And then she broke my heart, "This is the worst, most saddest day of my life," as she crumpled to the concrete in defeat, clutching the barbie head to her heart.

At this point, I realize I have to find the body if I want to keep Delaney from permanent damage. Operation Xyley, search and recovery must be launched.

I calm Delaney down enough to convince her she needs to go tell Kayla about the jerks and suggest she prays that God will help keep Xyley's body safe. It buys me 5-10 minutes, tops. I have to work fast.

Once she is safe in shallow water, I realize I've been dragging Ryley back and forth through the water this whole time and I can't leave her alone in the shallow water--she is too much of a water daredevil and I just don't trust her. So she and I start to walk laps around the pool thinking the little assclowns severed her head and left her body on a chair, on the concrete, hid it behind some bags, anything.

Five minutes later, still no body. I notice Delaney and Kayla have launched their own search mission. As a mother, I'm pretty panicked. This is that "one thing" of Delaney's right now. My child is hurting, and of course I want to make it stop. Sure, we can always buy another one, but

I'm known for going great lengths to retrieve what is rightfully mine (aka stolen purse).

As I'm contemplating slapping the shit out of these boys and their parents, I see a glimmer. Could it be? Has God heard Delaney's prayers? And then relief hits me...it's the body of Xyley, the blue mermaid. In one piece (minus her head, of course).

And it is in the deep end of the Wilson's Beach Club pool.

In retrospect, I realize I could have asked one of the lifeguards to retrieve Xyley. But at that moment, the adrenaline was coursing thru my veins and I was not really thinking at all. In addition, I realized how big of a hero I would be to Delaney for a very long time. And I realized that I would be happy to do something as minor as diving into the deep end of the pool to make her heart stop hurting--because one day soon, it will not be possible for me to do much at all to heal her heartache.

I plant Ryley in a chair with very harsh implications for her moving. And I take off the sunglasses and show myself to the world. I think I even heard Olympic music playing in the background during my seemingly slow-motion walk to the side of the pool.

I went in. I dove down.

Mind you, I wear contacts, so I couldn't open my eyes. And while I'm very proud of my first week at the gym, I'm wickedly out of shape. And I hate deep water.

I came up with nothing. Ryley says, "Did you get her?" I ignore her.

I go back down. This time, I would not surface empty-handed.

Operation Xyley, Search and Recovery was successful.

As I swim to the side with the headless body of Xyley, the group of assclowns resurfaced. "Hey--that's the body of that doll's head! I mean, it must be! You found it!" Ironically, it was due north of where they had been playing catch with her head. Imagine that! I considered dunking the kid, but opted for the high road.

Instead, as I dripped around the pool, Ryley in tow, Delaney's face could have lit Columbia with the shine of her smile as she realized what I had recovered. She came running up, head in hand, screaming, "Oh mommy--you FOUND her body!" Luckily for Delaney, I was THE brain surgeon of Barbie back in Milan, not limited to but including the reattachment of heads.

Xyley is now in one piece again, safe and sound. Delaney realized she was missing her necklace, but I told her the necklace was beyond recovery and not mission critical. She's cool with that. More than cool. In fact, on the way home, as she was cradling Xyley, she said, "Mommy, you are a really great Mom. Thank you." Tear.

I guess boys will be boys (aka assclowns and/or jerks by definition), and my daughter thinks I'm a great mom, so all is well.

Maybe I'll train to be a Navy Seal.

What the hell happened to Saturday mornings?

Saturday is my one day of the week to sleep in. And sleep in is only until 7 am these days. And yet Saturday seems to be the one day of the week my darling children wake earlier than any other day.

This morning, it was Thing 2, presenting at 5am asking for Spaghetti O's. Breakfast is an odd time for us. My children are not good breakfast eaters. Not only do they not eat much at all, but they don't like "traditional" breakfast foods. So I'm ok with the spaghetti o's for breakfast--seriously, it's likely better for them than a sugared donut or something like my parents fed me.

But the 5 am thing was brutal. I usually embrace the 5-6 am waking time, but last night I was stupid and stayed awake 3 hours past my regular "bedtime" chatting with a gal pal who is very quickly becoming a favorite. I needed some girl time and she's very funny and very witty. While that should make me feel better about staying up late, I'm freakin' tired. Not enough coffee consumed yet? Perhaps.

I'm feeling a little bitter toward Thing 2. And she didn't even eat the damn spaghetti o's because they didn't have meatballs in them.

Headed to pool birthday party for Thing 1's "bestie" this afternoon. But the queen's rule--we all take naps first. Or nobody goes. Yep, I'm a bitch.

To blog or not to blog...that is the question

So I love reading blogs. And I don't totally understand them. I'm amused by them and can spend hours reading and laughing about people I don't even know. And I often say to my self, "Self, why did you just waste so long reading this stuff? Go to bed, do laundry, for God's sake--EXERCISE." And yet I keep reading, all the time wondering, WHY? WHY would anyone do this? I don't know. But this I DO know...I have fun writing about my life because it's too good to make up. And if someone else can laugh at my expense, it makes me feel better for laughing at someone else's expense.

And so, while my husband of 6 years escapes into the world of his X-box (I think the X-box is a demon and also our generation's golf course for wasting precious family time but I'm confident we will hear about that a lot in the upcoming posts) and my darling daughters, ages 2 and 4 sleep away, I might as well do something I enjoy. No, not eating--that's not worked out well for me lately as I gained pregnancy weight instead of losing it (a concept I may explain in the future). And that made no sense. But if you are still reading at this point, I'm guessing you understand. ANYWAY, I figure I'll pass the evening time writing. I love it, one day I'm going to write a novel. But until then, the vast world of the World Wide Web can hear all about my life.

Please note, what you are about to witness is real...