We Are The Yorks

Look at this family:

Cute, right? Sweet, fun-loving, good people. Or so we would have you believe...

We are not vanilla. We are Bubble-Gum Explosion mixed with Rocky Road and Sour Grapes wrapped in Vanilla, and as yummy as we may look on the outside, after you take that first bite, you're not so sure.

This is why I hate meeting new people. We take time. Like a fungus, we need to grow on people. Sure, Shawn and Jax are fine (for now), but Ryan and I take some...understanding. I'm not saying we're losers, cause you know I personally think we rock, but others don't always see it that way right off the bat. Still don't grasp my meaning? Let me walk you through my day thus far, step by step:

Up at 6 (but you knew that already), worked in the yard, off to the Y.

Leave the Y and head to swim lessons (grrr), where Jax proceeds to spend his time chasing birds, until they finally find a meeting ground, which would happen to be on the ground, amidst a scattering of spilled goldfish. Boy and bird eat, as I try to recall symptoms of bird flu. Quickly grasp him away from infectious-disease-carrier, and coerce him to stay by me by handing over my water bottle. He drinks from it, then pours the remainder out, and begins splashing away in the puddle. Not such a big deal, I let it pass. UNTIL, he gets on all fours and starts licking it up with his tongue, at which point the other mother sitting near us (you know, the pregnant one smoking the cigarette), starts laughing at him. Ha ha. Aren't we cute, let's all laugh at the weirdos. Fine. Whatever.

Swim lessons end, we trek back out to the car and head on to our next destination: the neighborhood pool to join up with some new friends we have met exactly one time. That one time, might I add, was the other night when the family stopped by on a walk to ask if we were the Yorks who had a little girl name Ryan going to Catholic preschool this fall, because if so, they were also enrolled in the same class, or so they were told by their grandmother, the director of the preschool. That's right, the other night when Shawn was in Houston, I had just bathed and bedded Jax, and Ninny had arrived minutes before bearing Harry Potter gifts for Ryan. The play room was trashed, which wouldn't be such a bad thing were it not the first room you see when you enter, and I had yet to clean up from dinner. Needless to say, I was not giving off the first impression one hopes for. To top it off, Ryan comes running in wearing her wizard hat and wielding her wand, declaring that she is Harry Potter. I have no prob with the magic bit, but not all people of faith are with me on that subject, so yes, I did cringe, smile, and shrug when the mother looked at Ryan queerly, then raised her eyebrows in my general direction. Apparently, I was trying to come off as the happy-go-lucky mom whose children rule the roost, which would be about right, considering the way today's playdate went down.

We arrive at out neighborhood pool, and warily join the playdate already in progress (we were totally crashing their party). Introductions were made all around, and Ryan jumped in with glee, covering my new mom-friend with water. Sweet.

We eventually made our way to the kiddie pool, all 12 of us, where Ry proceeded to jump, splash and kick in each mom's general direction, refusing to obey my whiny plead to "please stop it, Ry". I'm at such a loss in these situations. I want my kids to be respectful, but I also want them to have fun. I want them to obey, but I don't want to be a dictator. This conundrum usually leaves me looking like a sissy mom, one who makes a couple of pleading directives, then when the kids keep going about their merry way, just shuts up and lets them do their thing. Fortunately, the other moms were in a bit of the same boat, so I felt okay.

Then Ryan started begging to go back in the big pool, and since I was kinda bored with the 8 kids in the 7' by 5' octagon-shaped puddle of water, I acquisced. This, apparently, was where I took a wrong turn. The other moms had been there a while, and I think they were tired and wanting the rest that comes with letting your kids splash in a glorified bathtub while wearing floaties, and were not so keen on moving everyone back to the big pool. Unfortunately, their kids were. And they were egged on by Miss Thang, inviting everyone to "come on and let's race!" This is about the time I start turning various shades of pink.

So we all move over to the big pool, and as I struggle to get Jax in his floatation device, one of the other moms comments on how cute he is, yada yada yada. Ryan picks this moment to announce that she needs to potty, so I ask the complimentary mom if she would mind watching Jax while I take Ry. "Not at all! He's adorable!!" At least, until I hand him over to her and he begins one of his legendary fits. So, I grab him up and shuffle both of them to the potty. When we get back, I again attempt to get Jax in the water, but now he is having none of it and continues the previous fit, at which point every head turns to point and stare at the mean mean mommy forcing her little baby to get in the pool when he just doesn't want to. *HUGE EYEROLL WITH SIGH*

I'm packing him up, smiling apologetically as he screams, simultaneously asking Ryan to get out of the pool again and again and again until each of the other 3 moms in their own special little ways tell Ryan that her mom is talking to her and she needs to listen. 3 seperate times. I am now mortified, but would still rather be the pushover mommy as opposed to the loud yelling mommy I will become once we get in the car. Appearances, you know.

When I finally get everything together, we take the long walk of shame around the pool, Jax still screaming, Ryan still playing, Mommy juggling. Then we get to the gate. Picture me on one leg, hopping while trying to hold a thrashing baby up right, swinging my head around and around to double check location of daughter, all while holding huge floatation device in teeth while digging through bag for gate key. Do I even need to mention the tirade I went on when we got in the car?

And now? Well, now I can't find the damn binky, so Jax is in bed screaming; Ryan is crying in her room where she has been sequestered until further notice and I am taking it out on all of you.

So you see what I mean? Bubble-gum Explosion, Rocky Road and Sour Grapes, baby.

But at least the Vanilla coating looks nice.

I'm sleepwalking through this post, sorry if I ramble...

What is up with the non-sleeping chip built into my kids? And why do I still go to bed at midnight when I know that I will:

a)be up at least 3 times before morning
b)be up at 6am, whether I want to or not
c)be a grouchy grumpy mess who scares her kids, but not enough so to make them change any of their annoying habits

I remember as a kid being the only one at slumber parties up at 6am. It sucked then, and I wished more than anything that I could sleep till noon like my other friends.

Then when I got to college, I had no problem sleeping late, as long as said morning snooze was accompanied by hangover.

Now that I'm old and decrepit and could sleep all day, I've been sucker-punched by what I can only imagine was my mother's curse on me to have children "just like me".

Once again, I've been kicked in the ass by my own foot.

So, since getting up later is not an option, and neither is going to bed earlier, unless I only want to be able to see DH in family pictures, how about suggestions on how to get Ry to STAY IN HER FREAKIN' BED?????

We've accomplished the first step of getting her to return to her bed, only now she wants us to lay with her for half an hour. I'm breaking her of that habit this week, but if I don't find a way to help her sleep through the night and stay in the bed, I'm going to have to bust a cap in her ass.

I haven't been making her nap this week, which I suspect would help, if she wasn't so tired that she falls asleep whilst playing (watching TV, whatever) around 3 pm every day. Other than trying to keep her busy while injecting her with Ambien, what should I do?

Help, please.

Stop me. Stop me NOW.

Great. I'm becoming one of those parents.

Shawn took Ry to swimming today, and when they returned they told me she had been moved to a different group, because her teacher didn't think she was ready to be in the class for which she was registered.

I was IRATE. "Not ready? NOT READY???" She spent all last week in that class, and they never said a word to me! She was doing everything the other kid was doing. What the HELL? Forget it. We're not going anymore."

Shawn quickly jumped in at the idea of good money paid for nothing. "That's stupid Amy. She's still gonna learn stuff."

"Yeah, but in this other class they were doing so much more, there were only 2 kids, and her level of improvement was huge after just one week."

It was in the middle of this tirade, as I was cleaning the windows, that I saw the reflection of my large vein just a-poppin', took a deep breath, and in that moment, realized that while I was throwing a tantrum about the new swim class, Ryan was jumping up and down, trying to tell me all about her new friends and what they did and how much fun they had. And that's when I realized:

I'm one of THOSE parents. Someone save my children (and their teachers, friends, employers...).

Higher Education

Jax's new word for the week?

SPONGEBOB

Thanks, Ry.

Family Fun Day

According to the guru, today is the day I should be setting aside for family fun time. I guess that makes sense for most people, whose weekends are actually weekends, but for the family of a restaurant manager, Saturday might as well be Tuesday. Unfortunately, we are the odd men out, so we usually end up doing our family fun stuff on the weekends anyway, with or without Shawn. So what have we been doing today?

6 am: Wake up from sound of thundercrash, daughter running into room. Cross fingers that son doesn't wake up.

7 am: Son and sun still not up, but daughter is, and begging for food. Gawd. Continue putting off going downstairs to make breakfast until son wakes up or daughter starts hyperventillating, whichever comes first.

8 am: Son up, full of shit. Change poo, fix food, make coffee.

9am: clean up downstairs, shuffle kids upstairs to get ready for the gym.

9:10am: Daughter flings self on ground, refusing to go to YMCA, making it that much easier for me to stay in my pj's.

9:15 am: Log onto computer while kids' brain cells melt away in front of TV.

9:40 am: Run into bathroom to scoop son out of toilet. He was actually only halfway in, but considering previous night's dream of him drowning in pool, thought I'd be proactive.

9:45 am: After washing off son, scoop up wet toiletpaper off bathroom floor, wipe up water with hubby's towel, put back on hook.

10 am: Finish computer stuff, log off. Seperate children, scold both for attempted murder.

10:05 am: brush teeth and wash face, drying with hubby's towel.

10:07 am: Remember previous use of towel, brush teeth and wash face again (while gagging). Start load of laundry.

10:15 am: Gather kids up to go to grocery store to return wrong items, purchase correct ones, and rent dvd for "Movie Day" , due to rainstorm.

10:45 am: Finish running back in and out of house for all necessary materials, determined not to take this "short outing" for granted, seeing as last time "short outing" resulted in diarrhea diaper with no diaper bag. Leave house.

10:50-11:30 am: Wait in line to return items, fight with daughter over renting $1 dvd rather than huge movie-rental-store dvd. Lose battle. Pull a Britney Spears 3 times in grocery store while lugging way-too-big-to-be-carried baby. Fight with daughter over keeping rainboots on, even though they really really really hurt. Lose battle. Carry son, daughter, rainboots, and grocery items to front of store to purchase. Almost lose it when checker suggests using a basket next time.

11:30 am-12pm: Drive across the street to huge movie-rental-store, unload clunky stroller, load both kids into single seat, amidst screaming cries from son and hysterical shrieks from daughter. Drag daughter up and down kid aisle until she decides to rent the same movie we rented last week. And the week before that. And the week before that. Fight with daughter over staying in the stroller as is still not wearing shoes. Lose battle. Spot 3/$15 DVD sale, and while perusing tutles, look down to see son has vanished from stroller. Want to cry at possibly losing son. Want to cry again after realizing have been pushing empty stroller for 10 minutes. Frantically search store for son, while vividly replaying scenes in head from Ya -Ya follow -up book where the kid is kidknapped from video store. Wonder who would play me in movie. Find son, put back in stroller, run after him 2 minutes later as he has apparently learned to climb out of restraints, no doubt learned by watching daughter. Pay for movies and the get the hell outta there.

12:03 pm: Swing next door to drycleaning place, wait 20 minutes for them to look for pants that may/may not be there (pretty sure it's been a few months), amidst kids screaming in back. Hope screaming will quicken the search. It does not. Encourage daughter to continue screaming, "cause that makes it better", then spend rest of time explaining sarcasm.

12:30: Arrive home, make lunch, put son down for nap.

12:50: Commence making blueberry muffins with daughter. Why? WHY?

1:30: Finish muffins, clean up mess, pop some corn and head upstairs to lay down with daughter for movie.

1:33 pm: Hubby calls to say he will be 2 hours late getting home. Fight with hubby, arguing that he will be working tomorrow, gone all day Monday, so he better find someone else to run that delivery at 4. Lose battle.

1:35 pm: Son wakes up.

And the day's only half over...How much more fun can we stand, I ask you???

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

We've been bribing Ryan with money to get her to sleep in her bed. So far it's working pretty well, mostly because there's a doll she wants that she's "saving" for, and since I earmark $$ every paycheck for stuff for the kids, I figure I might as well get my money's worth out of it.

So anyway, I may or may not have mentioned this before, but...Ryan is loud. Both the kids are, but 9 times out of 10, he's just copying her. Lately it's gotten ridiculous -- she'll just let out an ear-piercing wail for no reason; in the car, the house, sometimes I can even hear her in the Kid's Gym while I'm working out. I always laugh at that last one, but the car and house thing? Just pisses me off, plus I wasn't awarded WORST DRIVER in High School for nothin' -- I need as little distractions as possible.

So far nothing has worked with the screaming bit, so when she let one loose in the car yesterday, instead of reaching back and spanking her, which was what I wanted to do, I just took away one of her dollars earned this week. Then, when she did it again at the library, she lost another dollar.

The losing money thing definitely caught her attention, however, by now the behavior is ingrained, so when she ended up screaming again during her swim lesson, she immediately froze, then turned slowly in my direction, pleading, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry Mommy! Please! I'm so sorry!!!"

At which point every head at the pool simultaneously turned toward me, standing at the farthest edge in my baggy black shift, hair pulled back tight, skin all pale (although accessorized by the faint orange-tinting of my Mystic), sporting my black Jackie O's, staring disapprovingly at my daughter.

Cue theme from "The Godfather".

Hello, Friend

This is how Ryan addresses every child she comes in contact with. Even the ones whose names she knows. Even the ones who she has literally just laid eyes on.

It's always, "Friend, do you want to play?" or,"Bye Friend! See you later!!"

And while this used to irritate me, I have since unclenched and come to realize just how sweet this term of endearment truly is. Whether the children share Ryan's embrace or run in terror from her kisses, the fact that she always addresses them as "friend" must make them feel pretty special.

Except for that one chick who stared back at Ryan, rolled her eyes, and declared, "You're weird." I'm reserving a special seat right next to me for that one -- in HELL.

Apparently...

Baby boys throw wall-eyed shit fits. Apparently, Baby boys are known for this. Apparently, Jax has them all beat.

What do you do when the baby JUST WON'T STOP SCREAMING???? And when I say screaming, I mean open mouth, throw head back, making no sound because he has screamed himself silent, yet I can still see the little throat hangy-thingy (uvula?heehee) quivering with each burst of air.

It doesn't stop with the vocals, either. His head goes back with such force that I am uncertain as to why he has not yet suffered whiplash, though most likely it must be because the rest of his body is writhing with the same amount of force that it all evens itself out. I'm no doctor, though. Apparently.

Oh, did I mention his body? How he has yet to actually fling himself out of my arms is truly a miracle. How I have managed not to slap him silly just to knock some sense into him is also a miracle. Apparently we are both heading toward sainthood.

Apparently, when he gets going NOTHING WILL STOP HIM. Not a binky, not a sippy, not food, not Mommy, nothing. And don't you dare try to help him, or he will beat you down. The kid ain't nobody's bitch, y'all. I tried to give him a bite of yogurt (his fave snack), and he threw the spoon in my face, while simultaneously flinging the yogurt cup across the room, over the coffee table and onto the couch. I will be sending him the cleaning bill, of this you can be sure.

Apparently, if he wants you to sit right THERE and listen to him wail, he will let you know. After the yogurt debacle, I took him into the carpeted playroom, and set him on floor (set, flung-- whatever) so when he went on his rampage he would at least be padded (hmmm...padding...). I then turned and headed into the living room to wipe up the yogurt, only to be stopped short by an Alphabet magnet to the head.

Apparently he wanted war. So I ate his yogurt. In front of him. As he screamed. And then he stopped.

Apparently, I rock, and you should all bow down to the one and only MOTY.

Disposable Mommy

During one of Ry's daily tirades, I bemoaned, "You are being so mean to Mom, Ry. What would you do if I wasn't here?"

"Duh, Mom. That's what they make Daddy's for."

Good to know.

Look What We Got!!!

Lea Ann recently went to Hawaii, and in her ever-present state of generosity *snicker,snicker*, she brought back some gifts. The best? This outfit for Jax, in which he channels Rodney Dangerfield.




















Then Mom and Dad went to visit the Great Giving Wonder, and while they were there Mom and Lea picked up this little number for Ry. (Which, by the way, is fancier than ANYTHING I've got in my closet!) The picture does not do the dress justice (neither does the pose, but I digress ) The tulle and lace skirt could just as easily been made of confectioner's sugar, the satin hand-beaded belt is sick, and that fact that it came via airmail from Neiman Marcus, on the hanger, covered in plastic and wrapped in tissue guarantees she will never ever be allowed to eat, drink, walk, breathe, or get anywhere near her brother while wearing it.

Needless to say, she imagines herself Glenda (please, you don't think Glenda ever camped it up?), which led to a viewing of the Wizard of Oz, in which I was made to say everyone else's part while she pranced around in beaded shoes and a half angel halo/half devil horns number. (cause Glenda did have a bit'o the Wicked in her, no?)

Speaking of which, the kid has almost every line of that movie completely ingrained -- she's got the soundtrack, and listens to it every night. Every. Night. Sometimes more than once. In fact, in the Great Quest to Sleep Alone, I am often called in during the dead of night to cuddle and, yes, restart the Wizard of Oz.

And she's not the only one -- she can put Jax out like a light with her sweet rendition of Somewhere Over The Rainbow at bedtime. Let's just keep that from Shawn, shall we?

Let Me Clear My Throat

Who is the person that told the woman in my kickboxing class this morning that it is okay to wear a black thong with thin white cotton shorts? Who? WHO?


Holy Moses Milkin' a Cow. This is the YMCA, people. I realize there's a history there with the Village People and all, but a little modesty before noon, please.

And if that weren't bad enough, the most villainous case of epilleptic-aerobics- instructor-on-crack known to man posted herself right in front of me in class, fake boobs and all. And yes, they were definitely of the non-human tissue variety. No natural ta-ta's could have stayed so still with all the spazzing this Betty was doing. Not to be rude (heh), but, like, um jazzercise went out like, um 20 years ago, dude. Seriously. Remember that one Friends episode where Phoebe and Rachel go running and Phoebe gets all spastic? This was THE EXACT SAME THING, but instead of being able to run, run away, I was forced to endure the entire class directly behind her. And she's not even the instructor.

Even with all the flinging-limb-dodging, I was able to find the good. (Yes, I have gone Pollyanna) Her head was the perfect aim for my jabs. Never had such a good shoulder workout in my life.


Ryan and Shawn are at the Round Rock game with Paw-Paw and Cameron, huddled amongst all the thousands of fans stalking Roger Clemens, so Jax and I had date night, which meant we "shared" dinner -- he actually ate everything on his plate and mine-- then he did a dump and went to bed while I sat watching a movie.alone.in the dark.

It's good to know that not everything changes from generation to generation. I'm pretty sure Shawn and I have been on some dates just like that...

"When it rains it typhoons", OR, "Is it just me or is my head about to explode?"

Wondering where I've been, have ya? I've been cleaning! And for once, I actually have something to show for it!! Granted, it's only day 6 of this new program, but my house is still neat and orderly, and by now it would be as much a wreck as my mind and nerves are.

FLY orders me to wake early (earlier than the kids -- which is REALLY early), except Jax keeps waking up earlier and earlier cause he's got the runs, so no matter how early I set the alarm, it's never early enough. Yesterday I was feeding them breakfast at 5 am. I mean, c'mon!

We're trying to get Ry into the routine of sleeping in her own bed, which means we're bribing her, but she gets up 2 times a night, so we walk her back, lay with her a while, then do it all over again a few hours later.Jax intermittenly crys out throught the night, moost likely becasue he's not eating his dinner, which is not so hard to deal with at Ryan's age, but you just try prying that little boy's mouth open and shoveling in the food -- not as easy as I make it look. The other morning (you know, the 5 am breakfast call), he was so hungry he threw a fit that would have scared the shit out of Linda Blair and her spinning head.

Long short, week's been hectic, but not as bad as it could be. Speaking of which, gotta go unload the dishwasher and shine that shink!!! (FUCKWAH????)

More tonight...

Who Rocks the House???

I suppose it could be said that there are times I dread my daughter's excitability, hyper-activity, and overall constant combustion. This is not one of those times.

At her swim lessons today, as the class competed in one-on-one "swimming" races, she was the only one to cheer for every. single.classmate. Even as she herself was racing, she was cheering on her competitor, causing him to laugh, swallow water, and ultimately lose the race (he survived, btw).

I think she may have something there...

Shoo Fly, Don't Bother Me.

Except, please do. Bother me, I mean. Everyday. Multiple times.

huh?

A friend of mine told me about this website that is supposed to be a godsend for women everywhere who feel like they are being swallowed alive by their homes and the messes within.

Normally I laugh at people like this. I look down on them, asserting my feminist side, assuring myself that I don't need to have a super-clean house in order to feel, be, or give love. I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone (except for my oldest friends, who for some reason illicit cleaning frenzies in me that are undescribable -- yes, that's YOU Shah & Chaika), nor do I have any desire to try to be Martha Stewart. Ever.

So why I am spending all this time rambling in honor of this housekeeping homepage? Because my house is beyond messy. It has a life of its own, and is not-so-slowly sucking my brains out. I get bummed every morning when I come down the stairs to a messy kitchen. I get pissed when the kids (you know, the 4 and 1 yr old), spill shit on the floor. I can't concentrate, and all I want to do is sit. All day. Every day. Gilbert Grape's mother would have nothing on me if I could have my way.

Along from the fact that I do not want to be this kind of Mommy, I do not want my daughter to grow up to be this kind of woman, and I certainly wouldn't approve if my son chose the same sort as his wife. So in an effort to kill 2 birds, I'm tying the stone to my feet and jumping in head-first.

The site is flylady, one I'm sure many of you have seen or heard of before (and if it didn't work for you, please don't tell me). I love a new challenge, especially at the beginning, so I'm on a roll for now. Allow me to gather my rosebuds. My sink is shining, my shoes are on, and I'm getting along with Shawn.

So far, I give this FLY thing 4-stars.

Why do I always post on days when no one's reading??

Got some tidbits for ya, nothing above-the-fold worthy, but they're mine, and I'm sharing.

We had what very well may be the shittiest of all our shitty moments this morning, after my parents fed Jax coleslaw last night. 3 words: CHUNKS, FLOOR, BINKY. That's all I'm sayin'...

Ryan and I had a fun little converse earlier as I was making Peanut Butter and Jam Tarts (and yes, they're as good as they sound). I had asked her to take a dishwasher detergent tab over to the neighbors as a thank you for letting me borrow some earlier in the week. Ryan was going to see if the girls could play, and since I knew that was all she was really focused on, I asked her to repeat the phrase I had instructed her to say: "My Mommy says thanks for the detergent." Only problem was, I was stuffing my face at the time, so it actully came out more like "dahfurrshant", which she parrotted back to me perfectly. I swallowed, and said, "Okay, say it with me: De-ter-gent." She did and was sent merrily on her way.

When she returned about 10 minutes later, I asked her why the girls couldn't play, and she mumbled something vague, so I asked again. And again. Still not understanding, I asked one more time, to which she replied, "Say it with me, Mom: They're having B-U-S-Y T-I-M-E. Gaw." Oh, so we're there already huh?


Last but not least, Shawn informed me yesterday that he doesn't want me telling Ryan the name of the medicine I take (say it with me, P-R-O-Z-A-C). I told him I wasn't ashamed of it, it helps me not recreate Faye Dunaway's most famous role (in my book), and besides, everyone else is doing it.

"Are you embarrassed?", I asked.

"No. I just don't want her running off telling other kids that her Mommy takes Prozac."

"Why?"

"Because they might tell their parents." *stupid, stupid man*

"Hi. My name is Amy. Have you read my blog? No? It's that little thing where I tell the world all about our problems and stuff. I regularly mention the Happy Pills, and I'm pretty sure all of Ry's friends mom's read it."

He responded by rolling his eyes. I responded by saying, "Now see, without the 'zac, I'd have your balls in a vise right now, but since I'm sittin' pretty, I'm just going to laugh, breathe deep, and make fun of you later on that blog you don't read."

Guilty Something or Other

Okay, focus. What I am about to say may disturb you, it may even shock the hell out of you, but it is true, nevertheless (no, Mom, I'm NOT pregnant):

For a while now, Shawn and I have been eyeing some really big beautiful orange-red flower things that grow in a ditch behind our neighborhood. There's just one little patch of them, and figuring they don't belong to anyone since they're, you know, in a ditch, we've been volleying the idea of, well, snatching them.

Calm down. Chunkyrhino has not turned to crime, we've only thought about it...for over a year now. We've whispered our plan inhushed tones as we've strolled through the neighborhood, crossing the area at different angles to find the best vantage point, etc... Normally we would just suck it up and go buy some ourselves (or at least ask the MIL to bring us some), except they look pretty expensive, and I'm not sure they'd know what we were talking about anyway. I'm fairly certain "big beautiful orange-red flower things" is not their scientific name.

Like I said, it's only been crime of the meditative type so far, and who knows, we very well may have ended up going through with it had I not just read this.

Now, I don't live anywhere near Big Yellow House, but I'm pretty sure there are more out there just like her, and most likely, one of them graciously planted those suckers in the ditch intentionally for some crazy goodwill purpose, of which we would be completely ruining, thus making us the bad apples that ruined the bunch, and in the end, who wants to be the bad apple that gets stoned to death by big beautiful orange-red flower things?

Not me, lady.

Mother Envy

The kids started the fighting bright and early this morning, prompting me to declare:

"I'm gonna sell you guys."

To which Ryan replied, "No !-- wait. Okay, but you have to sell us to Miss Elisa."

Before & After

Here's the Before. Here's the After. Hair shorning compliments of Daddy Shawn.

Slip O' The Tongue

We've been spending our weekends at the lake these past 2 weeks, but some people just have to suck it up for the sake of others. We do what we can. While we've been "vacationing", Ryan has been trying her hand at the alter-ego business.

While making friends in the pool, she informed the little girl that her name was Brandy, she was 5 years old, and she had 3 brothers. When hearing my mom say, "Ryan...Menana is listening", Ryan quickly ammended her intro: "Okay. I only have 2 brothers."

Yesterday we were at another pool (yes, we are those people who go to the lake to hang out at the pool), where Ryan again began making new friends. At one point, one of the new little girls must have pulled out a sixth toe or something, because we were suddenly regaled with Ryan's declaration, "WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT!?!?" I personally laughed my ass off, but was a bit peeved at having to lift said ass off the lounge chair to approach Ryan to correct her choice of language. Gawd.

Then today when we were actually at the lake (gasp!), Ryan made a point of letting Shawn know that his assistance was not needed. In fact, I believe her actual choice of words were, "No, Shawn, not now. I'll let you know when I need you."

I'm beginning to like this Brandy chick.

Nothing New To Report

Except that Jax took a tumble today, and all I can say is, "Whoa." Head bruised, upper lip swollen, knot on chin...and it was only a 3 stair fall. Can you imagine if he'd made it the whole way up? I shudder.

And don't lecture me on the whole baby gate thing. Kid rips them down. Literally out of the wall, as a matter of fact. Multiple times. I've got the holes to prove it.

Boys.are.hard. This one is anyway. Everything he does is HARD. He falls, it's HARD. He hits, it's HARD. He screams, it's HARD. He laughs, it's HARD. You get the idea.

I've been mystified over this the past few weeks, and when discussing with my friend she reminded me that males are born slightly brain-damaged, so I guess that explains it all.

Except that we females are the ones who love on them, nurture them, and eventually end up married to them, so what does that say about us?

Never mind, don't answer that.

Our Own Private Idahoan Fantasy Vacation

Eh? What's that you say? Fantasy Vacay... in Idaho?? Believe it, Baby. In our wildest summer dreams, this is what we would be doing the second week in August. And yes, we would be bringing the miniature Yorkies.

Why? Oh, I suppose I would be remiss not to acknowledge that we thrive on masochism, but by now I'm sure that goes without saying. More to the point, we fantasize a road trip of National Lampoon's notoriety, and who are we to pass up such a fitting opportunity?

Basically, the most rockin' band in the world will be playing there, and although collectively we've seen them several times, and although they're based in New Braunfels and play around here all the time, we've never seen them in Idaho, so there you go. (Right about now you're wishing you lived in my head, aren't you? Really, it's such a fun place to be.)

But that's just the end for which we are justifying the means, when in fact, it really should be the other way around. I planned our fantasy vacay last night, and here are some of the stops I thought we'd make:

The Wizard of Oz Complex in Liberal, KS; The North Pole ("Where everyday is Christmas!") in Cascade, CO; and, naturally, Yellowstone Park.

You tell me that little girl of ours wouldn't absolutely LOVE that trip. I mean, aside from the over 24 hours in a car bit, wouldn't it rock????

Alas, the Gas Overlords have rendered our Fantasy Vacay just that: a fantasy.

I hope they're happy.