I'm thinking ...19??

Let's talk scales, people.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad do you think it is for a mother to spend the majority of her day hiding from her kids, particularly her 18 month old son? And any time not spent hiding out is instead spent yelling, crying, rubbing her temples, and fantasizing about hiding out?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how annoyed would you be if everytime you turned around your 18 month old was throwing something, turning something over, spilling something, dunking something or breaking something? At time of print, he has emptied the entire contents of my tupperware cupboard, pulled down 3/4 of our Haolloween decorations, turned over his bowl of oatmeal, thrown a roll of toilet paper into the toilet, dumped over 2 drinks (neither belonging to him), and broken one candle votive. Perhaps we should make that scale 1 to 20.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how irritating would it be to have to choose between letting your kids scream and yell and fight with each other OVER hearing them scream and yell about not being able to play with each other?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how depressing is it that Ryan has taken to walking outside around the corner of the house in order to talk to me through the open window, because apparently I am just that scary?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how pissed would you be to learn that just 3 days after reaching your savings goal, you found out you were going to have to pay a pest company more than half of that amount to take care of the rat problem that you paid $350 to fix 2 years ago?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how lame are my creative abilities that my 4 yr old daughter begged me to purchase her an actual Dorothy wig, rather than have to wear the one I made, stating, "the one you made is kind of funky. I don't want the kids to laugh at me" ?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how elated am I that tonight is leftover night, and how much guilt will I sooo not feel when Shawn starts pissing and moaning about having to eat re-heated food?

Ona scale of 1 to 10, how happy are you NOT to be me today??

Lord of the Dance

The most shocking of all the adventures we encountered tonight at our local Haunted Hayride was not the creepy werewolf prowling the premises, not Hunter and Jaxson running off towards the woods every 5 second, not even the staged "snatching" of a child from the hayride by a resident witch -- no, the most shocking of all had to be Ryan dancing an Irish Jig while a celtic group played on. It was as if she was possessed, legs flailing, feet kicking, and the look of concentration on her face -- I was floored, as were all the other kids who quickly cleared the way to watch and clap in awe.

When asked where she learned how to dance like that, she calmly threw the following reply over her shoulder as she walked away: "Harry Potter".

Of course he did. (I guess this means they're back "on"?)

Slice 'O Life (aka, What the Hell? Wednesday)

People all over the world are at this very moment pondering the meaning of life. Some will search for answers until they die, others will find their greater purpose and do their best to serve. Me? Well, I don't even have to try.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again and again: I was put here to make God laugh. Doesn't necessarily mean I'm a funny gal, though some think so (thanks, Mom). Doesn't mean I can tell a good joke (thanks, Dad). Nope, The Big Guy simply put me here to jerk around like the Mother of all Pinocchios, laughing His Almighty Head off at the way I handle the crazy-ass situations He provides for me. I am His sit-com. My ratings are off the charts.

Let's just take today, for instance. I knew it was going to be a doozie, because, A)It's Wednesday; B)It's holiday season; 3) It's ME.

Like all minions of Hell, I'd started out with the best of intentions. At the beginning of Ryan's school year, I put my name down to serve on a plethora of committees, one of which was the Fall Festival. In my inane way of reasoning, I'd assured myself that it would not effect negatively on my life or the lives of my family, for the festival is a one-time thing, I'd only signed up to help the day-of, and it was after the Sale, and before Halloween. I neglected to remind myself of my penchant for hand-crafting our costumes and my tendency towards procrastination.

I really thought I'd had everything under control. Ryan's costume, which is the only one that REALLY matters, was 97% done, and I was an ant's ass close to finishing it. Although the head of the festival committee had assured me that it would be fine to bring Jax along, I'd made other arrangements for him, so that I could give my undivided attention to my festival duties (maning the Fishing For Pumpkins Booth).

Then Tuesday hit. I was rippin' and roarin', getting housework done, working on costumes, prepping, prepping, prepping, and then I crashed. 2:30 rolled around I felt like someone had stuffed my head with used kleenex, and it was not a good thing, Martha. I barely -- barely-- drudged through the rest of the day, depending solely on Shawn to pick up my slack, which he did without even one complaint. I was so ready to head off to bed at 6:30 pm, until Ryan's dance teacher called, announcing that since we had missed last Wednesday, she was not able to tell us that this Wedneday would be costumeday at dance, and could Ryan please dress up? Friggenenfrearamen.

So I stayed up and finished Ryan's costume, which realy just consisted of sewing brown yarn onto a head band in an effort to creat some sort of Dorothy-like 'do. (Shawn's idea: "Just spray-paint her head brown and be done with it.")With all the mayhem involved in finishing the costume a day early, I completely forgot to confirm my plans for the next morning for Jax, so that option sadly fell by the wayside.

I woke up this morning after a night of fitful sleep, anticipating the Day of Death, no doubt, crawled out of bed and into the shower. Got the kids off to a good start, made up my mind to bring Jax along to the festival, and deciding to bow out early to get him home in time for a nap before the 7th inning strecth, which is known as "Wednesday afternoon".

Drove the kids to school in a monsoon, but left early so as not to have to rush, which was great since it took us 10 minutes to make it from the parking lot into the school seeing as how we 3 had to shuffle ever.so.slowly so as to all be able to remain under the $3.99 umbrella i got on clearance at Target. We got Ryan off to class, then made our way to the auditorium. Once I got situated at my booth and realized we had 20 minutes until the kids actually showed up, I realized things would not be going smoothly for me. The reason? Jax.

Jax, God bless him, is not like other children. I say this out of pure love, and state it as a fact, seeing as how I watched him continually behave unlike any of the other kids his age this morning, and it was quite the sobering experience, I assure you.

My booth was Fishing for Pumpkins, which also happened to be the one booth from which I could not tear Jaxson away. You'd think I should be happy about being able to keep him so close in a room full of toddler-sized games, but when the game you are supervising invloves water, fish bowl nets, and Jaxson, things cannot be good.

Sure enough, he was happy for awhile, playing frivolously in the fishing trough, until it was time for the school kids to take over and play. Silly kids.

Some of the other moms saw me struggling and tried to distract Jaxson with Velcro Ghost Darts, coloring pages, and mini golf. Silly Moms.

Jax allowed himself to be enticed by the Velcro Ghosts Darts (balls), only so as to be able to pummel the supervising mom with 2 of the velcro balls, and take off with the other one, which he promptly threw into the fishing trough. Strike One.

He gaily traipsed over to the coloring tables, where he grabbed handfuls of crayons, tore off towards the fishing trough and threw them in. Strike Two.

We finally got him focused on golf, until he figured out he could run with the plastic golf club, which he did, and then threw it in the fishing trough. Strike Three.

At this point, the moms sauntered quietly away, leaving Jax to play by my side, since that's what he was going to do anyway. That actually went okay until he started fencing a couple of 2 yr olds with his fishing net, at which point we all decided it would okay if I left early. As long as I took him with me.

At least I was able to get him home early for that nap, got Ry's dress finished, and then we were off again to do the pre-school shuffle. Back to the parking lot, sloshing through the rain, then off to our playdate where I finally finished Ryan's wig with the help of my friend Melanie. The thing is, we didn't exactly use Ryan's head (or any head, for that matter) as a model, so she ended up looking like a cross between Billy Ray Cyrus and Daniel Boone with braids. She LOVED it.

We had just enough time to hustle over to dance, where she was the only girl not dressed as Tinkerbell (I am so serious it hurts), and everyone thought she was darling, or at least that's what they said to my face.

We left the YMCA, it rained some more, they yelled, we all took a bath together, I yelled, Daddy was late, I ordered pizza, they yelled, we ate dinner, Jax yelled, I put him to bed where he yelled some more, Ry yelled that she doesn't like it when I yell because it makes her feel "grown-upish", which apparently means "having to talk and make mean faces", so I stopped yelling, Shawn came home, he yelled about having to have pizza for dinner, made fun of Ryan's wig, and I went to bed.

THE END.

So you see, I need never search for my meaning on Earth. It's all very very painstakingly clear.

Genetic Shit

That's the newest search entry leading to our humble home. And my favorite thus far. Fitting, no? I'm thinking of changing the title of the blog to that very phrase.

Love Lives

Looks like a certain 4 1/2 year old diva and a much older spectacled wizard-boy have split!

Details are blurry, it's a bit confusing (very "When Harry Met Sally", or Ryan, as it were), but apparently the break-up had something to do with the fact that Harry went to Disney World without her.

Stay tuned...

Amy & Shawn, sittin' in a tree...

We just had the best anniversary weekend. Ever. I say that every year, which I personally think is a testament to our marriage, but none-the-less, this one really really rocked.

This was our seca-fifth-aversary (second fifth), and since we didn't do anything for our Aug. date, we knew we needed to kick it up. (You can read my post from our 1st 5th here.)

The actual date was Friday, and we started our morning out perfectly: snuggled with the kiddos in bed, chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, and on to the Y for a workout.

Ginger came over and relieved us from our parenting duties, we took off and had such a nice lunch at Hula Hut, zipped over to pay a visit to our buddy Jeremiah (he was a groomsman), then took off to Buda to wait for Jenny, Lalo and Jeff.

Buda? Buda? Yes, my friends. Buda. Host to the Texas Fire Fest, their annual firefighters fundraiser, headlined by the one and only Cross Canadian Ragweed. We were so there.

All was lovely until we got to the motel and found out our reservations were actually for the site in Austin. Much arguing ensued, fueling a Mom-moment between myself and the front desk clerk, a moment which Shawn quickly deflected, paying for a new room, and ultimately feeding me a few drinks to calm me back down.

The rest of our posse arrived, and we quickly huddled into the car, heading to dinner and then on to the show.

Jenny had connections and got us backstage, where I quickly pounced on Cody Canada, embracing him in a bear hug and exclaiming, "It's my 5th Anniversary!!", to which he laughed, smiled, nodded, and walked away. He totally had the hots for me, until I crushed him with the anniversary bit, poor guy.

The show was amazing as always, Shawn and I got sufficiently hammered; Jenny, Lalo and Jeff made sufficient fun of us, and we all crashed at the motel.

We got some face time with the kids the nect day, until Ninny whisked them away to the lake so that we could have a quiet dinner out, thanks to the gift certs she provided. Great food, good wine, and then Shawn sends me this with the following caption:

"thought you'd like to see the pumpkin I carved your visage into."

I think it might be love.

Four going on Forty

Shawn and Jennifer were goofing off at the dinner table tonight and he made some sort of mean/mad face. Ryan asked what was wrong with him, and Ninny replied:

"Ryan, we've been asking ourselves that about him for years. There's nothing we can do about his face."

Ryan: "Ninny, sometimes you just have to learn to let it go."

And then we spewed our food all over the table.

What-the-Hell Wednesday

I was having such a bad today. PMS, and all that stuff. I kept plowing through, though, which is a side effect of having kiddos -- I can no longer just succumb to the depression, anxiety and weight-obsession and crawl back into bed (still undecided as to whether or not this is a positive side effect or negative).

I just kept going, and it just kept getting worse. Nothing to wear? Fine. I'll apply all the makeup I own in an attempt to look good in sweats.

What's that? The 90 degree weather melted half of it before I got Ry to preschool? Whatever. I'll just go to the outlet to get that discount moisturizer I've been needing, some new shades, and a pair of shoes for Jax. That should do the trick.

Hang on -- did I just miss the exit? Have to drive 3 miles before a turn around? Hmmph. Well, I guess I better call Angie and tell her we'll be late meeting her and the boys at the library.

Shit. I left the phone at home. ugghh. Fine, I'll just rush and skip getting shoes for Jax, 'cause he doesn't really care, and then maybe I'll be a little late for the library, but no big deal.

Crap. Half an hour late for the library, Jax is hungry and crying (again), we just passed McDonalds and my stomach actually spoke to me (even as it was pouring itself over the top of my pants), and traffic is a bitch. No prob -- I'm sure storytime just ended -- maybe we can just go to Mickey D's for lunch and play there.

Except that I've really gained a lot of weight lately. And I did stop my tanning membership, so now I'm flabby and pasty. So maybe Mc Donald's isn't the best idea...I'll just search the library for them and we can talk about it -- looks like they must have left already. Hohum. I suppose I could always just go thru the drive-thru (Jax is hungry, after all).

Oookkkkaaayyy, maybe not. Just passed a woman pulling out of the donut shop drive-thru, greasy hair all tangled around her face, studiously examining her purchase. I cannot become this woman. She's in here somewhere, and she must not get out. I'll just fix tuna for lunch, put Jax down for a nap, then take the food with us to our playdate and feed him there before we go to dance.

God love it, I forgot to wrap the presents I'm bringing to the playdate (overdue new-baby gifts). Fuck it, I'll just throw the wrapping stuff in the car and do it on the way to get Ry.

Motherfucker, cut my damn thumb with the scissors.

Finally get to Ryan, teacher tells me she pinched a little girl today. IN CHAPEL. I'm not sure what my face looked like, but it must have been bad, because immediately the teacher insisted that Ryan really is a sweet, loving child and it was an impulse thing, and she apologized and it's all okay. ("Don't hurt the puppy! Please don't hurt the puppy!") Regardless, I sit down with Ryan in the teen-einy little hallway and discussed the situation. Then Jax throws himself against the wall, trips a mom coming out of a classroom, tears off running into an open storage room full of toys, and goes to town. Breathe, Amy. Breathe. Just get thru the playdate, get Ry to dance, and go work out -- things will feel better after you sweat off some frustration. (And the beer from last night. And the Chunky Monkey.)

For the love of God -- I left her dance gear at home. Alrighty, then. There will be no stress relief, I will die one big ball of tension, but not before we go to this playdate that has been rescheduled a zillion times, so no matter how badly I really want to just go home and sleep, I can't -- plus, I'd hate to think I'd slashed my thumb in vain.

Oh My. Sweet. Baby. Cade. 6 week old new baby hair! 6-week-old new baby ears! And fingers!! And toes! And smell!!!!!! This. This is my stress relief. This was exactly what I was needing. This is wonderful! I think I feel my uterus knocking -- and then...

Then?

Well, folks, then Jaxson mounts their dog and begins dry-humping him.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker

It's not bad enough that Ry has already kissed a boy, starting a snowball of dating, sexual aggression, and marriage.

Now she's moved on to her brother. Witness our conversation over breakfast this morning:

"Hey Mommy? Do you think that when Emma and Addie grow up they will fall in love with Jaxson and marry him?"

"Oh God, Ry. Let's not think about stuff like that now."

"I bet I could make them."

Disease of the Week, pt. II

So Jax had his 18 month check up today. Average height, average weight (huh??), average, average, average.

Except for that whole pesky Neurofibromitosis bit. Yep. Turns out, those cute little "shadow" birthmarks he has all over his body (which pretty much match the ones all over Shawn's body) have us making appointments with a geneticist. Sweet.

I thought we'd run the gammut with crazy genetic shit when we found out Ry carries the Sickle cell trait. Just goes to show if you are related to me, you can never really be saved from some sort of genetic mutation.

One highlight? When she asked Jax to show her his nose, he stuck his average chubby little finger straight up his average runny noe, and produced the most un-average green snot rocket.

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, doc.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that I am not the greatest mom ever

Ryan ran a fever off and on most of the weekend. Took her to the pumpkin patch anyway.

Jax is still -STILL- without shoes for his freakishly wide feet. Let him run barefoot all over that damn farm. 'CAUSE HE'S A BOY!!! When a couple of moms admonished me due to the fact that there were several antbeds lying around, all I could say was 1) I'm walking right behind him, lady -- he'll be okay and 2) (more mumbled than spoken out loud)..how's he supposed to know not to step in antbeds if he never gets bitten? Sheesh.

All in all, the day was pretty good until Ryan's fever spiked and Jax threw one of his doozies because we would not let him crawl into the pen with the goats.

You give an inch, they take a foot...

Superstition-Pooperstition

We have this ladder. This 8ft-tall rickety old wooden ladder.

This is the ladder I was standing on today when Ryan decided to walk straight underneath it.

"Ryan! Stop! What are you doing???"

"What?!? I just walked underneath the ladder."

"That's bad luck, Ry!"

"Whatever, mom. Nothing bad happened to me."

"Yes, but I'm the one teetering 8ft. in the air on this wobbly wooden death-trap."

"Well I wouldn't walk under any ladders if I was you."

When the voices in my head start screaming out loud

I am THIS CLOSE to throwing Jaxson out the window, onto the bed of a passing truck, and flashing the deuce that I should not even be sitting here writing this to you; I should be delivering him to a neighbor or family member for safe keeping. (For those CPS spies out there -- yes, I am joking. Kind of.)

Bless his whiny little heart, I know his teeth are hurting, I know he's dealing with communications issues, but how does screaming, slapping, kicking, and bursting into flames solve anything? Where oh where could he have developed these non-sensical methods of blowing off steam?

*crickets*

Big surprise. I'm sure I'm to blame, I'm sure I'm getting my due justice and all that jazz, but when is it Shawn's turn to be at fault? When does he get to reap the benefits of the seeds he's sewn? That's all I'm askin', just a little equal division of punishment, kids; a little something to take the edge off of this mind-numbing, red-hot poker they have collectively shoved into my brain.

Another thing -- if Jax hates being around me, which clearly he must (how many gestures of love include hair-pulling, boobie-squeezing and body biting? Wait -- don't answer that, I don't want to know), why does he insist on following me everywhere I go? HOW CAN I ESCAPE????

I keep hoping that one day soon his grunts and screams will turn into words and we can both sit down and have a level-headed conversation about appropriate behavior, boundaries, etc. I feel certain that once he sees things from my point of view, he'll understand my requests and happily oblige.

And then we will hug and dance with the fairies at dusk.

What happened to the figurative "magic hour" in a male's life -- when he begins as a boy, craving his mother's arms, expressing his love with kisses and hugs. How have we gone straight from the birth canal to an angry, raging man in 18 mo old clothes? I'd be pissed, too! What is up with the roughness? And the impatience? And the resistance to any type of PDA? Where is my little boy? Who is this man-child, and shouldn't Shawn be in charge of this one? I handled the girl, that's my area. I've never wielded the Y chromosome, I don't ride waves of testoterone -- why give this crazy puzzle to the one with the least clues? WHY???

God, I need a beer.

You know you're ready for a nap when...

you beg your 18 mo. old to play with your bottle of prozac so as to keep him from falling asleep too soon while in the car to pick up your 4 yr old. A girl's gotta do...

My Mistake

I have been informed that I will never again receive any help from my sister with the kiddos, merely because of the comment I made regarding the messy house I am facing today. According to Ninny, she did the dishes and made dinner, bathed the kids, while Shawn swept the kitchen floor and wiped down the counters. I hereby retract my statement to the contrary in my previous post, and declare October National Ninny Month. If there is anything else I can do to recover from my fatal mistake, please let me know.

(We have a Cross Canadian Ragweed concert coming up soon, and will be needing sufficient babysitting).

Over and out

Mommy and Me is over, and now I can get back to living the rest of my life for a couple of months until we start again for Spring!! This one was huge (which we knew it would be), we drew about 20,000 items and hundreds of shoppers.

That was great and all, except that when you cast a wide net, you tend to scoop up some bottom-feeders as well. You can always spot them, coming AND going. The majority of the consignors are moms like most of us, just looking to sell off their expensive stuff and save money on more expensive stuff (Santa picked up a very cute power wheels Jeep for Jax for $50). Then there are the garage sale moms who will buy anything for a dollar, but when it comes time to selling, they can't get rid of half of it, so they attempt to shrug it off on us. When we reject it, these ladies like to throw hissy fits, unable to understand exactly why we won't take on their mildewed high chair, even as it is leaking rust all over them as they carry it away.

We get them shopping, too, which is good -- we want to be able to give moms a great deal, but there are times when you want to draw the line, like on the group of 5 women, all missing 12 teeth each, all sending a strange stench wafting, and none of them speaking with any type of grammar structure whatsoever. You know what I mean, you can usually hear them arguing over who brought the plastic velcroed money wallet, joking about selling the newborn baby they are toting for 25 cents. Ahh, yes. These are the gems I look forward to every time. I'm sure that makes me a snob, but we all have our cross to bear.

Shawn did a great job ( largely with Ninny's help) with the kids, and apparently he even rocked the Sunday School class like nobody's business (if you consider standing around and glaring at the kids "rocking") Big props to Elisa, Angie, and Ginger for pulling weight as well -- you guys are our VILLAGE!! If not for all of you, I never would have been able to unwind with the rest of the mommies, getting wasted at Chuy's Saturday night, only to come home to a screaming (MOLARS) Jax, who had me up and going at 5 am.

Menana, BigDaddy and Lea spent the weekend at the home of one of the Charger's coaches, treated to the kind of VIP treatment that had mom calling us, exuberant over being able to park "right at the front of the parking lot!" But the highlight was not Dad on the sidelines, or even the Front Row Joe parking space, no no my friends. The highlight was the fact that sitting right behind them was Carlos from Desperate Housewives, who was apparently very nice, very talkative, and very eager to pass his email address on to my cancer-ridden mother -- oh yes, the cancer card was sooo played.

So anyway, the real world beckons, playdates are waiting, and a weekend's worth of no one cleaning is requesting my presence. See ya on the other side.

Walk and talk, walk and talk

Can't talk now. Working Mommy and Me. Lots of stuff, get your butts to the Dell Diamond if at all possible.

**Note to kids in my Sunday School class: Please don't be afraid of the grumpy man who bill be taking my place this weekend. His name is Mr. Shawn. He is not as scary as he looks. Well, maybe he is, but you just let me know if he gives you any problems, and I'll take care of it.

For the rest of you: Ryan kissed a boy in her class this week. To be fair, she did warn us she was going to do it. And then she did. Her teachers says that her only real problem in class is not minding other people's spaces, i.e: she touchs, feels, and rubs up on everyone whether they like it or not.

Kinda like this blog.

Little Black Penny Loafers

Little black penny-loafers, why do I love you so?
Little black penny-loafers, I simply cannot let you go.

Little black penny-laofers, you were his when just a babe.
Little black penny-loafers, imagine the money we could have made.

Little black penny-loafers, only worn but one brief time.
Little black penny loafers, I'm having a hard time trying to rhyme.

Little black penny-loafers, upon the shelf you will go.
Little black penny-loafers, reminding me of the baby boy I used to know.

Little black penny-loafers, when did I become such a sap?
Little black penny-loafers, I think I need to take a nap.

Little black penny-loafers, I don't know what else to say.
Little black penny-loafers, I'll never make back the investment on the money I paid.

I hope you're happy.

Update on "You Heard it here..."

I've been meaning to post the update to my post about Eva and Tony. We found out the week after I posted it that it was Michael Finley (of the Spurs) who got married, not the golden couple. (Thanks, Ang for rubbing my nose in it!!;))

Now kids, I hope this has taught you all a valuable lesson about gossip: NEVER post gossip on your blog unless you are absolutely positively sure it's true!!!