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.

In Which I Show You How to Get Your Money's Worth

Ry's surgery went swimmingly this morning, from prepping her at home to gasing her to sleep, right up until it was time for her to wake up from the drug-induced coma. That, alas, took not a little kicking and screaming, but we made it out and home and all is well (for the next hour, I mean -- not wanting to jinx myself, God, okay?).

Jax's attack of Fifth's has now developed into something much more violently disgusting, hivish, and all around pissed-off looking. He's also been tugging at the old ear, which is.not.supposed.to.happen.anymore, right, Mr. ENT?, so since we're here and all, can you please just look in his ears and make sure it's not what I think it is? Thanks ever so much.

Ears all clear, now back to the rash. Did I mention how it has grown arms, legs, antennae and all? Well, it has, more or less. Did I also mention that Shawn couldn't get out of his meetings today to be there for Ry's surgery (though he did sneak out for a bit to see her in recovery), so Menana and Big Daddy drove down to lend support. Did I also mention that they are the most bestest Menana and Big Daddy EVER, and were kind enough to run Jax across the city to his pediatrician to have that rash checked out while I waited for Ry to wake up from surgery?

Not surprisingly, the DOCS have (say it with me now), "No idea what it could be", so they just plugged him with Benadryl and sent them on their way. Fine by me. He'll sleep, she'll sleep, I'll pretend to sleep, and we'll all live to see another day (again, not trying to jinx anything Big Guy, don't get your panties in a wad).

Happy Memorial-Father's Day!

In another of my excellent mothering moves, I've managed to move Father's day up a few weeks, and have totally mangled the meaning of Memorial Day for the kids.

A while back, Shawn said he wanted a new golf club for Father's Day, seeing as how he managed to lose his during one of his golfing "expeditions".

Faced with a 3-day weekend alone with the kiddos (aka: desperately searching for "fun and meaningful" activities), I thought I'd be proactive and go ahead and get Shawn's gift early. So there we are, traipsing around the sporting goods store, searching for just the right club. I was so proud -- I'd done my research, I knew just what brand he used, I'd brought my coupon -- I was NOT AT ALL INTIMIDATED.

I let Ryan pick between the 2 identical clubs, and we were off.

Here's where the MOTY part comes: I then explain to Ry that "Daddy is bummed about never being able to spend a holiday weekend with us, so we are gonna give him an early Father's Day surprise, and give him his club today, because although this weekend we celebrate Memorial Day which honors all the war veterans who have fought so hard for our freedom, we're giving him his Father's Day present, so it's not really Father's Day, it's Memorial Day, but when you give him the gift, say 'Happy Early Father's Day!' Okay???"

*vacant stare*

Cut to the delivery of the gift, and Shawn's uuber-surprised response:

Him: "What is this?"
Me: "It's a Driver! It's the one you needed, remember?" *DUH*
Him: "No. I lost my putter. I need a putter." *DUMBASS*
(pause)
Me: "Oh. Whatever."

A Perfect Day: The Recipe

1 Stay-At-Home-Mom
1 Working Daddy
1 4 yr old Goddess
1 1 yr old Fireball
1 Dozen Donuts
1 Set of Grandparents
1 pool (w/waterslide)
2 Naps


Begin by waking up SAHM 30 minutes later than normal with grandparents delivering dozen donuts for kids.
Wake up kids, eat donuts, visit with grandparents.

Send grandparents on their way, send Fireball to bed for morning nap, let sleep 2 hours.

While Fireball sleeps, set Goddess in front of TV to stew while using SAHM to mop the floors and clean children's playroom.

Take Fireball out of bed, stuff Goddess and Fireball with more donuts, dress in swim gear, set aside.

Drive to pool, soak up sun, swim, slide down water slide, cheer multiple times when Goddess does same By HERSELF. Total outdoor play will last 2 hours, during which not even your spotted mystic tan will manage to bum you out.

Pack up car, drive Goddess and Fireball home, re-stuff with donuts, set aside for 2 hour nap until Working Daddy returns to shouts of joy and peals of laughter.

Dessert??

I am now watching Bravo's 100 Funniest Movies, drinking Shiraz on the couch in my soanking-clean living room, surfing the internet in blissful, blissful SILENCE.

Mother's-Of-The-Year Unite

Am I the only person in the world who feels just a little sorry for Britney Spears?

I mean, c'mon, kids, parenting isn't the easiest gig around to begin with, but can you even imagine what it would be like to do it before millions of glaring eyes, on you like a hawk, waiting for you to make one.false.move. (like, you know, giving the baby a swig of beer or something, or putting a little of the Johnny in the bottle for a midnight tottie). What? She hasn't done that yet? heh. Just wait.

Who in their parental mind has never struggled with harnessing your kid in those goddammed baby seats, only to worry that the purple bulges of baby flesh spilling from beneath the safety belts may in fact signal too much tightness, but being too afraid to loosen them, because even as they are, you can kinda fit your pinky under the belt, and that's not supposed to happen, but we'll just cover it with a blanket and not say anything...

Who wouldn't have trouble walking straight while carrying that hideous orange baseball hat hiding a baby; worried that maybe, just maybe, your bra and panties are hanging out for all these photogs to see? Not to mention, her handlers haven't exactly helped by creating that nice little obstacle course for her to follow. PLUS, those jelly-wedge-espadrilles are a bitch to walk in even without all the rigamaroo (see, maybe barefeet wasn't such a bad idea).

And let's not forget the trials of enduring post-partum depression while pregnant and supporting a grease-monkey baby factory. Christ on a cracker, the girl should be a candidate for Sainthood.

That, or I am TOTALLY way more in the running for MOTY than I'd originally thought.

Happy Birthday Day Lea-Lea!!

Where in the World

Is my freakin' digital camera? It's old, silver, and the battery hatch cover-thingy is held on with tape. Should anyone see it, please return. I have several end-of-year celebrations to capture digitally, so as to be able to display for you fine folks, and instead I'm over there clicking away with my $4.00 disposable number. Otherwise, you would now be viewing Ryan's right butt cheek as she ceremoniously walked up to the Olympic-model grandstand to accept her medal in her red and white showgirl spangled leotard, or the before-and-after of Jax's scalping today.

It also doesn't help my ego at all that we are the ONLY parents without a Nikon/Cannon/Sony XLS Series 2647 WITH 10-pound zoom lens attachment. Not that our ghetto-fabulous digital number is all that, but at least it's not plastic.

P.S. An update on the whole health-thing: Ry's CBC was normal, just an unusual case of Fifth's. Not sure what the hard mass in my eye is, but it doesn't hurt that much anymore, although I am seeing a neurologist tomorrow for the burning/tingling/numbness in my left sback/shoulder/arm & hand. As for Shawn, we don't know when the cataract surgery will be, but we are certain it will be this year, because after Ry's $1220 out-of-pocket operation, the goddamn deductable has been met, and we're gonna milk it, baby.

Oh My-Lanta!

Holy Mary Mother of Poo, we have had one CRAPPY weekend! And yes, I am speaking literally. (For those of you new to the site, I enjoy discussing my family's trials and tribulations regarding poo, and I strongly urge the rest of you to do the same -- it's very liberating!)

Right. So, hide your disgust for the time being, sit back and enjoy my shitty stories.

Shitty Story #1: Jax crapped 2 blueberries. WHOLE. Round and juicy and perfectly plump. I.am.astounded. I can barely rinse blueberries off without practically pulverizing them, and here he is, fully digesting the little suckers and they come out perfect. That is one superior pooping machine, folks. Color me PROUD.

Shitty Story #2: Ryan is currently on Augmentin(aka: Aug-makes-her-poo), which, say it with me Moms, CREATES HORRIBLE DIARRHEA, hence the nickname. So there we are at the bookstore, when she suddenly gasps, "Mom! I have to poop!" No stranger to the effects of the evil antibiotic, I rush her to the potty immediately. She does her business, et al, and we walk out to search for more books. Not 30 seconds later, she's dashing for the bathroom again, and because I'm wielding the monster stroller, I don't catch up to her before she makes it to the potty. As I open to bathroom door to check on her, she starts shrieking and I think twice about going in. Seriously, nothing good can come of a pre-schooler shrieking in the bathroom.

Anyway, it turns out our poopy princess was not able to make it to the potty in time, and thus had shat (hee) all over EVERYTHING.The toilet, the floor, her panties, her skirt, her shoes. At this point, she is on the verge of freaking out, so while I'd love nothing better than to freak out myself, I breathe deeply (though not too deeply, you understand), and set out to clean up the mess, assuring her it will all be okay, all the while wondering what the hell I'm gonna do about getting her out of the store. We have no extra clothing, and her shirt comes nowhere close to covering her nether regions. What to do, what to do???? I know! I'll check our traveling toy box/cafeteria/trash can, and maybe there will be something in there. So (here comes the MOTY part) I lock Ry and Jax (in monster stroller, of course) in the handicap stall, and run out to the car. Now don't go freakin' out on me, y'all -- this is Half-Price Books we're talking about, not B&N. The parking lot is practically 2 feet from the bathroom door.

So I'm at the car, searching, searching, sear-- OOOH! I'll check the trunk! Woohoo!!! We have a winner folks, one large Disney Store shopping bag, just large enough to wrap around that cute Tiny Heiny. Thank you, thank you very much. The next challenge would be getting her to actuyally wear the thing, but since it had Mickey on it, there wasn't much struggle. 10 minutes later, we come hobbling vvveeerrrryyyy ssssssllllloooowwwwllllyyyy out of the bathroom, me directly behind her, uh, behind, she looking around fervently, Jax just laughing up a storm. Gives a whole new meaning to "I got your back", which of course was the mantra I was dorkily repeating to Ryan as we walked, causing her to keep turning around to ask, "What?", rendering the whole manuever pointless.

Shitty Story #3: Okay, so this one doesn't have anything to do with poo, it's just a crappy story. Shawn tore his $300 contact Saturday night, which is enough to bring our whole world to a stop, so we got him into the eye doctor Sunday afternoon, and guess what? Cataracts. 28 yrs old, and he'll be swapping surgery stories with my grandfather. Poor baby. So not only do we have Ry's surgery to look forward to next week, we've now got another planned for the summer.

That's okay, I'll just wear my bathing suit to both and get a little hospital flourescent-light tan in while I wait. Like my own personal tanning salon, with sick people!

Because after all, it is all about me, right?

Riddle Me This

Which of the following dates you more?

A.) Attending a concert, spotting a surly teenager dragging along her frumpy mother, and instead of feeling sorry for the kid, your first thought is, "What a good mom!",

OR

B) Same concert, feel a tapping on your shoulder only to turn around to a co-ed asking this:

"Weren't you my Theatre teacher in middle school?"

That one still hurts.

Let's just wrap us in a petri dish and call it a day

Ryan's rash has reached new levels of monstrosity. 4 docs and none of them are sure what the hell she's got, although they were kind enough to point out that the small red spots above her lips could signal a low platelet count. Cause apparently my eye isn't twitching quite fast enough..

That led us to have her blood drawn for a CBC, which I'm thinking was the closest I will ever come to the WWE. 3 nurses and me, and we still weren't entirely able to keep the kid down. They had to shut the door because she was scaring the other (adult) patients in the waiting room. I, of course, was not at all surprised, but you shoulda seen the nurses when we were through, slapping each other on the back, wiping the sweat from their brows...some people are just sooo sissified.

ENT appointment was yesterday, and I'm sure you will all be none too shocked to hear that Ry has an infection in her OTHER ear now, which means (drum roll, please...) NEW TUBES!!!! Mark your calendars, kids. We're having a "Good Luck With That One" party for the surgeons next weekend.

In related news, when they did Jax's follow-up hearing test, the audiologist was a tad baffled.

Her: "It seems like he's hearing better. In fact, his reactions were not only normal, they were supremely normal (I'll take OXYMORON for 1000, Alex). Most kids have huge reactions to the lights and sounds, but while he did react, it was more of a cursory nod of the head, shoulder shrug, slight grin kinda thing. Is he typically so laid back?"

Me: "Have you met his father?"

So now I'm off to check on this small solid mass that has just formed in the corner of my eye, causing me mild-to-severe discomfort, while I await Ryan's CBC results.

I can just see you all turning green with envy.

I knew it was too good to be true

Ha.Ha. Sometimes the joke is better when you let your guard down. Practical Jokester Rule #1, and here I completely forgot and have been running around with my guard around my ankles.

God pulled a quick one (he's a nasty little devil like that), and now we're thinking Ry may have Fifth Disease. Either that or Rubella, Roseola, or the Measles. But we're hoping for Fifth. Didn't know there was a Fifth, but it's sounds the least menacing, so we're going with that one.

Let's journey back about 10 days ago when the kids were at the Lake and Ry developed a rash on her upper arms and legs. No fever that I am aware of, nor any other illness-like syptoms, so dose her with Benadryl and let's get on with it. Few days later, rash is gone, all is right in the world.

Cut to yesterday when she comes back from Ninny's with a red splotch on one cheek and a few tiny red dots on the other. I'm thinking allergic reaction to Nin's pillows or detergent, something mild and pleasant like that. But then I meet the Mommy Brigade at the library and everyone is agog over her bright red, splotchy, prickly cheeks, proclaiming Fifth's Disease and casting furtive looks at one another. Which leaves me sheepishly packing up our gear and getting the hell outta that place before we cause an epidemic.

But wait -- I mentioned the locale, yes? Ye Old Library, home to everybody's favorite Wicked Librarian, who happens to have the pleasure of checking us out this fine day. Yes, this fine day in which I have $5 in overdue fines, a cranky baby, and a splotchy little girl with an attitude that's fixin' to leave her butt splotchy as well. As luck would also have it, this is the trip I choose to check out "Raising Cain", some helpful hooey on boys and their emotions, blah blah blah. It would appear to the average Joe that I am a conscientious mother, proactive in my parenting techniques, and always one step ahead of the game.

But we're not dealing with an average Joe. We're dealing with She-Whose-Name- Must- Not-Be-Spoken. In a classic throwback to what must have been her vaudeville days, she looks at the book, looks at my stomping, screaming, pouting, splotchy daughter, does a double-take, and mutters (yes, mutters), "too bad it's not 'Raising Delilah'." At this point I'm pretty sure I audibly gasped, picked Ryan up, held her over the counter and told her to "please ask the NICE LADY for a stamp -- and make sure you ask loudly so she can hear you (and throw a few coughs in for kicks)!"

Meanwhile, we have an ENT follow-up appt in an hour, and I've yet to get dressed, call the pediatrician, or any of the other things on my to-do list. And now we'll be rushed and late, and it's ALL. YOUR. FAULT.

Kisses! And Think "Fifth"!!!

FYI

Putting my children to bed 2 hours later than normal does not mean they will reciprocate in the morning. Everyone was still up at 6:30 am. Just for future reference.

Family Stew

Okay, I'll admit it. Not every day at the York house is an exciting one. Few are even all that dramatic (unless I've forgotten my Prozac). Not that we are comatose or anything, but sometimes, sometimes, God forgets to punk us for the day and we scoot safely by under the radar.

Today was just such a day, and catching myself lamenting over not having any drama to journal, I came up with the novel idea to just enjoy my offspring and their simple little just-like-every-other-kid-but-better-'cause-they're-mine ways of being.

For instance, in all the recent ho-hum surrounding illnesses and mental breakdowns, I've somehow completely missed Ryan's remarkable talent of finding things of mine that I had no idea were even lost. She comes to me this morning after using the potty in my bathroom, and sing-songingly announces, "Mooommmmyyyyy, guess what IIIIII Foooouuunnnndddd????"

Barely able to contain my excitement, I was stopped short when she then said, "Your Oprah magazzziiiiiinnnneeee!?"

You know, the one from last month that I finished reading last month and has thus been sitting in the magazine rack since last month. I didn't even know I was looking for it, so thank God I've got that kid around.

Speaking of potties, in my quest to find something humorous in an ordinary day, I took Ryan to the potty at the YMCA today. baduhmbum. Anyway, I realized she sooo has a public restroom ritual, one that cannot be altered for fear of certain death.

She of course begins by picking the correct stall, which is usually chosen through the fail-safe method of "bend and peek", and typically always ends up with us choosing the large handicap stall.

Our next move is to lock the door, and then unlock it, lock it again, and then double check that it really is locked. Once satisfied, she moves to the toilet's flushing mechanism. Should the toilet be equipped with an automatic flusher, she must- MUST- try out its sensitivity prior to doing her business, a feat performed by moving back and forth, front and back, round and round, with your right hand in and you left hand out, etc, until toilet flushes.

Once the flush check has been performed, we ALWAYS WIPE THE SEAT OFF. (okay, so that one's mine -- you try squatting when you're only 3 1/2' tall). That, or use a potty-protector, which Mommy used to carry around, but then my diaper bag *cough*suitcase*cough* broke, so we've had to do some downsizing.

Then it's all yada yada yada, wipe/check/wipe, and it's done. We shake our butt or raise the foot to flush, whichever the occasion calls for, but we never ever ever ever use our hands. (My apologies to those who do.) Then we struggle with the door lock for a few seconds before doing the whole hand-washing thing, which is really too much to write about now. Check back tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Shawn's suffering empty nest syndrome, distraught over watching Ryan leave for a slumber party at Ninny's wearing a backpack, carrying a suitcase, and holding her purse. He's all, "God, she'll be leaving so soon. She's getting so old."

Easy, Gramps. She's 4. Let's not age her (or us) prematurely. I'm begging. Begging.

And to top the day off, as Shawn was driving Ryan to Ninny's (college), I was left to manage the man-baby, whose hands are so freakishly large, I tried to post a picture of them the other day and the computer kept shutting down. Too much meat.

This one-on-one time led to an interesting (and a little bit frustrating) discovery: The kid is REMARKABLY easy to please. All this time, I've held up my martyr sign, bearing the pain of having a fickle baby, when lo and behold, all it takes to make the kid laugh is a simple nod or shake of the head. Seriously, people, diaper-time usually requires a straight jacket and chains (for him, not me), but tonight I just laughingly shook my head when he tried to squirm away, saying "Nnnooooooo", and he was gone. I'm talking can't hardly breathe, gasping laughter. Confused (and a wee bit scared), I tried the opposite, nodding my head and saying "Yeeeesssss". Knee-slapping humor for the baby-brigade. Who the hell knew -- and why haven't they freakin' said anything before??

So that's it. That's all I got. You can wake up now.

Perfection is soooo overrated

I've been experiencing the kind of meltdown only had by a Desperate Housewife or one of the fictional peeps pokin' around in James Frey's brain. After weeks of illnesses, lack of sleep, deprived bank accounts, and horrible eating/drinking/etc..., I cracked. Basically, stress has gotten the better of me, culminating in a knock-down, drag-out fisticuffs involving me, myself, and I. Lots of tears, lots of sleep, and lots of gabbing with Menana, and now I'm feeling better, especially since I received these 2 videos:









Sooo me and my kids in future years. Soooo. And I'm okay with it.

The kids appear to be well, Shawn and I are speaking this week, and we just got DVR, which according to my girls, will be a life-changing experience. Speaking of the girls, I must shout-out to them with love and thanks for a great night out, and umm, sorry for the public drunkeness and all. And for making fun of everyone around us. Loudly. Oompa-loompa, doopedy doo...
Kids had a blast with their Ginga, Nana, and Courts. Nothing like leaving your babies alone with their 82 yr old great-grandmother to give you the confidence to go out and behave like a 21 yr old. Thanks, guys!

"When I Grow Up..." by Ryan York

"When I grow up, I'm gonna be big enough to climb a tree and then I'll be able to see all the way to Disney World! It's true. Santa told me."

"His legs flail about as if independent from his body!"

Jax's surgery was successful this morning (according to THE SURGEON -- if that is his real name). He had promised us that once the tubes were inserted in Jaxson's ears, he would be like a whole new baby -- babbling away, mobile to the nth degree, etc. -- all because before the tubes, he had only 10% hearing.

So we're all, "Well, he already babbles with the best of 'em -- much more than any of the average babbling babies, and he's totally got the walking thing down (even if it is uncannily similar to the Cosby Walk), so DAMN, can you imagine what this big new change is going to do? He'll be INVINCIBLE!!! Oh, and there will be that whole thing about no more ear infections and all, but MAN he's gonna be like the superest baby ever!!!"

Which is why I was on pins and needles this morning after he awoke from his post-surgery snooze, awaiting all the greatness of a clear-eared baby. (Gen Xer here -- we are nothing if not impatient)

Waiting, waiting, waiting...

His appetite still intact, his ability to thrash his upper body around in fits of rage still strong, and yes, he's walking, but HELLO! Where is my new and improved Bionic Baby? Where are the complete sentences, full of grammatical correctness and perfect syntax? And why is he not leaping buildings in a single bound? Ho-hum.

I will say, however, that this new 100% hearing sensation-thing has yielded some frightening dance moves that can only be described as a hybrid of early Elvis and that Lord of the Dance dude. Seriously, I was afraid he was actually going to wriggle his way out of his carseat, all without flinching even one upper torso muscle.

Okay, I'll settle for greatest below-the-waist-dancing baby ever...if I have to.

*super-pouty, super-spoiled, super-sized Mom Sigh*

God Bless Runny Noses and Rashes

Hello? Anyone? Bueller? Is this thing on?

I'M BAAAACCCCKKKK!!!!!

This is our official 2nd day back from our mini-vacay, and finally, finally, I feel back to "normal".

Phoenix was wonderfully warm and DRY, and we managed to squeeze just about everything into 3 days, with the exception of a Suns game and hiking, 2 things that would have been cool, but were not really missed, so to speak.

I won't describe the fun, fabulous things we did in much detail, because how much fun can a story without pictures be? Wait? No pictures? Well, there was this one, and that one there (taken solely for Ryan's sake).

No pics of Betty the Bus-Driving River Hag, no pics of the un-freakin-believable view of the mountains as we floated the Salt River, no pics of Mill Ave. and the yummy My Big Fat Greek Restaurant. Nope. Nada.

Oh, wait. Here. Here's a pic of the girls being drunk and disorderly at The Big Bang, courtesy of Cince de Mayo. And yes, we did manage to start a fight amidst most of the crowd -- we asked the kind dueting pianists to please, oh pleaase declare that "Texas Rules". In Arizona. Then, we proceeded to scream and holler, just in case they weren't quite sure who the asshole out-of-towners were, while everyone else just kinda, you know, booed and stuff. Ahhh, memories.

But now I'm back, and OH. AM. I.BACK. Those 3 days in Phoenix were completely trouble-free, and I was LOSING MY MIND. Luckily, the minute I stepped out of the airport and was once again enveloped in the heat and humidity, the universe adjusted: my bottle of rubbing alcohol(you know, to even out the orange mystic-tan spots) exploded in my bag, I had to lug my non-wheeled, ginormous, college-student duffle bag a MILE to the truck (which we FINALLY found 20 minutes later), and then proceeded to toss it blindly into the truck's water-filled bed.

Meanwhile, Jax is still sick, Ry has developed a mysterious rash, and we have an
elective (read: payable up front) operation scheduled tomorrow morning at
7:30 am (read: arrive at 6).


There's no place like home.

Happy Cinco De Mayo

So we took the kids tonight to meet Menana and BigDaddy at our family tradition trade-off spot, Rosie's Tamale House. Ryan had never actually been inside to eat and since we had, like, grown up there, Jen and I were pointing out the decor (still going strong 20 years later, with the exact same Wille Nelson picture I kissed in 6th grade, but that's a different post altogether), when Ryan looked up at one of the hanging birds and announced to the table,

"Look! There's a big 'ole cobweb on the ceiling! Just like at home!!"

That said (and not at all denied) we left her and Jax in the care of the elders and are packing to leave for Arizona in the morning.

If only all of you were as lucky as Lea Ann.

Hang on to your tiaras, it's gonna be a bumpy ride

I'm really not even sure how to start this post. I just don't have it in me to come up with something clever, cute, witty, or (insert adjective here) to set up the double-whammy Ryan unleashed on me today. So, I'm just gonna dive right in.

This morning, around 9am, Ryan started complaining about being hungry. After the requisite banter, Me: "Well, you hardly ate any of your breakfast"/Her: "Because it was sickening", I suggested a few items I would be okay with her digesting, and sent her on her way to the kitchen. As I sat plugged to the computer, balancing checking accounts and trying to figure out how many plasma donations I'll have to make to cover the upcoming surgeries, I heard a loud crash followed by silence.

My acute MOTY instincts kicked into gear and right away I knew that, a)something had fallen and b)no one was hurt. Not really wanting to walk all the way downstairs to see what unique, irreplacable item was now lost to me forever, I kept working away.

Cut to about 7 or 8 minutes later, when I hear Ryan talking to her dolly in a choking/sobbing way, every now and then catching the faint remnants of sentences like, "...be so mad..." and "...i don't want to tell her..."

This being Ryan, I just assumed she was playing "Harry Potter of Narnia and Rapunzel the Pauper in Fairytopia", until I see her creep up to the desk, face streaked with tears. There really was no need to ask what was wrong, seeing as how the moment our eyes locked she gushed,

"I'mreallysorrymommyIloveyouImadeamessand
droppedyourmostyummybananacreampieandI
loveyouandI'mreallyreallySORRY!!!" (aaaannnndddd SCENE)

Come on man! How do you go about getting mad at that? She sooo had my number, because when I asked her why she was getting into the pie in the first place, seeing as how it was not on the list of approved snacks, she was all, "Well, I saw it sitting there, and I just wanted to taste it cause it's so so good!" Well, it was.

So now I'm all acting magnanimous, saying how I'm more mad that she disobeyed than the fact that she dropped the pie *cough*bullshit*cough*, and I would be down in a minute to help her clean it up.

Luckily, she had already taken care of that little part for me, as I discovered when I walked into the kitchen and found 2 kitchen rags covered in bananas, graham cracker crumbs and pudding shoved between the crack next to the fridge and wall. How freakin' awesome is this kid, I ask you?

But wait -- it gets better.

Fast forward to this afternoon, when again on the computer (pattern?), I hear a knock at my bedroom door, and it opens to Emma, who has been playing in her yard with Ryan.

"Umm, I'm really embarrassed to say this, but Ryan kinda took her pants off outside. And peed. On the sidewalk."

Fuckwaaaaa???

I thanked Emma and excused her -- from what, I had no idea -- this was definitely a new one.

As is mandatory of all parents pf pre-schoolers, I took a deep breath and entered the doorway to No Man's Land, otherwise know as "Tell me what happened".

"Well, I really really had to potty, but I didn't want to get my pants all wet, so I just took them off . And then I peed."

There is logic in there somewhere, of this I am certain.

And Richard Pryor Makes 4

Jax, Jax, Jaxedy, Jax,

We just spent the most enjoyable 60 minutes. You, me, the nebulizer, and Richard Pryor.

A great combination, since: a) There is no other time in my life when I would ever be able to watch a Richard Pryor special, b) I'm helping you, ya know, breathe better and all, and 3) You are getting exposure to true comedy without all the cursing (that will come later, my dear).

Anyway, I just finished putting you back in your crib, that is, after I changed your vomit-soaked sheets and pj's, due to the latest round of antibiotics coarsing through your tiny chunky body, "Aug-makes-him-puke". Luckily, I am a genius, and loaded your tummy with yummy maple-flavored oatmeal prior to dosing you with the nasty stuff, so this vomit was no where near as foul as it's earlier counterpart, Vomit with Bananas and Milk. You're welcome.

A Lighter Shade of Pale

Here's why we are about to go even farther into debt to take a vacation we can't afford, OR
"Eat Your Heart Out Mastercard":

3 same-day doctor's visits: $60

Meds to correct 3 ear infections, 1 allergy attack, 1 case of bronchialitis and 1 perforated/bacteria-ridden ear drum: $100

Ear surgeries for 2 ridiculously ill offspring: $3,000

Replacement for car window shattered by Medical Center's landscaping weedeater-attack: $0

Full-on Psycho Mommy Meltdown in middle of Medical Center parking lot: PRICELESS

M-A-R-R-I-A-G-E is a 4-letter word

Ry and I were watching "SuperNanny" tonight (I like to see other people screw up, Ry enjoys learning new methods of rebellion), and it was an episode that featured a divorced couple.

At some point, Ryan asked why the Daddy didn't live with the Mom and kids, and I explained to her that the Mommy and Daddy were not married anymore, so they stopped living in the same house.

"Are you and Daddy still married?" her little voice quavered.

"Yes, Baby. Mommy and Daddy love each other very much and will always be married and live together forever." (shut up, we do -- and God help us, we probably will be together. FOREVER.)

She responded by crossing her arms over her chest, stomping the floor, and grunting,
"Oh, man! No fair!"

Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

I don't remember anything being said about weeks, months, or years.


I received this message in an email Saturday morning:

"Try to be reasonable in the way you grow, and don't ever think it is too late. It is never too late. Even if you are going to die tomorrow, keep yourself straight and clear and be a happy human being today. If you keep your situation happy day by day, you will eventually reach the greatest happiness of enlightenment."

-Lama Thubten Yeshe, The Bliss of Inner Fire

Now. I'm thinking to myself, "Okay. I could just delete this and go on rolling in the sarcasm, or I could take this little nugget of wisdom for a walk around the block and see what happens." I'm adventurous (or wish I was), so...

Because Ryan insisted the neighbors would LOVE to have her as an extra daughter, we called them and left a message to get back to us on that possibility, STAT.

After waiting 5 whole minutes for them to return the call, we got bored, so I decided to take the kids to see Ice Age: The Meltdown Saturday afternoon, mostly because all 3 of us are snotty (physically -- shut it), but even more so because Shawn was closing the restauraunt and I was facing the rest of the entire evening alone.

So we pile in the car (happy! happy!) and as we make our way to the ticket booth, the just-barely-pubescent cashier tries to let me down easy:

"You might want to know that this showing is pretty crowded, in fact, it's almost sold out."

Genius is telling this to a woman hopped up on allergy/sinus meds, toting a goopy-eyed 4 yr old and a wheeling a watermelon-sized goopy-eyed baby, both of whom are tired, hopped up on allergy meds, and hungry.

"Just sell me the tickets, please." (Happy!Happy!)

$6 later, we were in -- but not for long.

After searching the tiny theatre for at least 2 seats together (preferably aisle, please--what with the enormous stroller and all), I finally score a spot on the second row against the wall. PERFECT. Even better was the fact that Ms. Mormon and her brood taking up the rest of the row were very scary in a "we're all robots" kinda way, so Ryan insisted on gluing herself to my leg during the trip to the front of the room to drop off the stroller, back to our row, and then allllll the way down to our seats. That was neat. (Happy!Happy!)

Okay! So, re-grouping, I get us situated in our seats, open the diaper bag, hand out snax, the movie starts, and we're laughing, we're laughing, we're --

"no, Jax! Sit still! Stop! Shhhh. Please stop screaming! Oh God, don't throw the bin--"

Yep. Threw his binky right into the back of the rather large and menacing woman in front of us. You'd think this wouldn't be such a big deal, since we were there watching a KIDDIE film and all, but I've yet to reveal that we were at the discount theatre.

Discount patrons are serious about their movie-viewing experience. We don't have a lot of the mula to throw around, which is why we're putting up with the non-razed, sticky-floored, old-school-style theatre seating in the first place. Needless to say, the lady wasn't following our Happy!Happy! lead.

Oh-so-sorry smiles and apologies followed, and we settled back into our seats. I'd lost the binky , so I pulled a granola bar out of my bag of tricks in an effort to keep my poor, sick, sleepy baby quiet for you know, 2 hours. The brick-sized piece I broke off apparently wasn't big enough, so I quickly handed over the entire thing which he immediately threw. In front of him. And hit that lady in the head. Again.

So there we were, 10 minutes into the movie, sheepishly gathering our wares, scuffling to the front, crouched over, grabbing our stroller and performing the walk of shame out of the theatre, all set to the pleasing tunes of Jaxson York's greatest hits. (Happy!Happy!)

Luckily, the movie was my idea in the first place (brilliance lurks just beneath the surface -- I swear), so Ry wasn't too crushed, especially when I bought her off with a trip to the bookstore. You know us bookworms -- throw us into a realm of shelves, dust, and binding, and we're good to go. Until it's time to leave, and you realize your mom brought you to the 1/2 priced bookstore for a reason, and won't buy you the 27 Disney Princess books you've so carefully selected.

Fortunately, I had come this far on my Happy!Hapy! trip, that I wasn't going to let a little tantrum slow me down. After a little bartering, we called a truce and left with 3 books, a slightly lighter wallet, and smiles all around. Jax had actually greatly enjoyed himself, throwing his ball on the floor, seemingly just to watch the old suckers perusing the used cd's section bend down to get the ball, hand it to him, and turn around, just to get pelted in the head 2 seconds later. Over and over and over again. Thankfully, they didn't seem to mind, so I didn't mind, either. Happy!Happy!

Once back at the house, Ry raced to see if the neighbors had returned the call, thus allowing her to pack her things and get the hell outta dodge, but unfortunately there were no new messages. We soon discovered why:

That's right. Phone was off the hook for 270 minutes, like 4 hours in real people time.


happy happy happy happy happy...

Jaxson Thomas, member since 2005

Okay, kiddo. So you're one year old now and I am dying over how quickly the year went. Filled with visits to the ER, an insatiable appetite and an unwillingness to sleep, you have made the past year one to go down in the record books.

I love how hard it is to envision life before you. I have memories that I cherish of a happy family of 3, but now that you are here we feel complete in a way we hadn't before. aawwww. That's something you are gonna have to come to terms with -- Moms is a nerd, buddy, but a funny one, so life shouldn't be all that bad for you. heh.

You are so aware of your body: your feet, your hands...your privates. It's cool, though. Your two favorite things in the world right now are balls and music. You throw balls around like you were born knowing exactly what to do with them (an answer to your Daddy's prayers), and your whole body comes to life when your hear music. Any music. I guess that part is me, or maybe it's Ryan, she loves to move too.

Speaking of Ryan, I promise you, there is no other little girl in the world who is going to love you like your sister does. Sure, she pokes and prods, tosses you around and sits on you till you scream, but damn, baby, there is nothing that kid wouldn't do for you. I've never had to ask her more than once to share her food with you -- this, my friend, is huge. She has no desire to bathe alone anymore, and rather than beg to watch tv with me and Dad before bed, she now begs to play with you. I never had a brother (hang on, does Aunt Lea Lea count?), but I know what it's like to share a history with a sibling, and it's the greatest thing in the world. I am so excitede to see each day unfold between the two of you, and although this may not always be the case, you both light up at the sight of one another, and that does my heart somethin' good.

You are ever-so-mischievious, something that tickles me now, but it's only 8:30 am -- check back with me after lunch. You must know how sweet you are, because the moment you hear the word "No", you cock your head, drop your eyes and smile. You suck when you do that. You know full well when you're breaking the rules, as well, my man. You love to cut looks at me as you toddle over to random wall sockets, forbidden doors, the stairs... You have an adventurous spirit, little man, and that is definitely a good thing.

I never understood the bond between mothers and sons -- I've always been fully aware of the Girl's Club, and your sister and I are definitely members -- but this whole Mom/Son dynamic is hitting me completely out of the blue. I'm guessing it has something to do with getting my hands on you while you are sweet and innocent, two traits that most likely will not hang around for too long, especially when the evil minions of hell (aka: GIRLS) come along. You love me so much, it kills. You reach for me and I think, "Okay, now I get it." Although at times the neediness gets to be a bit much for this impatient mommy, I know that it won't last for long, so I'm trying to cherish each needy moment.

Like this morning, you woke up bright and early after a long night of up and downs, and hoping to squeeze one more hour of sleep out of you, I carried you to the twin bed in your room and we snuggled. I didn't get one more minute of sleep, but when you held my hand and patted my face, all was forgiven.

So, Happy Birthday buddy. I know this is a little late, but...you'll get used to that, too.

Things that make you go...

HMMM..... (for you, Shah)

Jax has a new little quirk where he sticks his finger into his mouth with every bite of food you give him, jabbing at the inside of his cheek, and then sucking off everything but the skin (though that, too may soon follow).

In related news, who wants to spin the Wheel of Wellness, or Guess What Jax Has This Week? Okay, here ya go, give it a big push...round and round it goes, where it stops .....oh fuck it. Ear infections? Check. Pink Eye (again? possibly). Check. Allergies? Check. Teething? Don't make me laugh.

As far as Ryan is concerned, it's her nerves that are ailing her.

When asked just 30 minutes ago where she would prefer to have her slumber party with moi tonight (what? all the cool kids are doing it), she selected the pull-out bed downstairs as opposed to Mommy and Daddy's bed. Why?

"Cause Daddy gets on my nerves. He's always pushing me and turning me and just, like, always getting on my nerves. (Sigh) He just gets on my nerves."

God, Shawn. The least you could do when your four-yr-old crawls into bed with you every night is let her do whatever the hell she wants, man. It's not like you have to be up at an ungodly hour or anything. It's not like sleep is a precious commodity not to be taken for granted. It's not like we got the King-size bed for us. Sheesh.

Happy Birthday Lalo!

Mommy: Today is Lalo's Birthday.

Ryan: Oooh. Lalo's old.

Mommy: Whatever, she's the same age I am.

Ryan: (beat) OH MY GOD!! Y'all are all gonna die soon and then who will take care of me?!?!

Just a Little Light Housekeeping

Just a few updates, memos, items to skim over. I am nothing if not tidy ( gossip-wise, that is). Not that any of the following can be construed as gossip, it's just that I can't very well claim that I'm delivering hard-hitting news. Or can I?? (FOX NEWS anyone???)

1) Jax walking? SOOOO Charlie Chaplin, minus the bowler and cane. If his feet turned out any further, he'd be walking backwards.

2) Remember back in the day when I said I'd post pics from our trip to visit Honey & Pappy? Me too! Check them out here.

3) And I've saved the absolute best for last. Looks like BigDaddy & Shawn took a little ride. They claim it was Ryan's idea, but I think they just took her along in a buffer capacity. It was sooo worth forfeiting my ride on the bike just to get a pic of Shawn in that helmet. BTW, you can try to hide your identity Dad, but there is no one else living in that tony little resort of yours who would ride around with a 4 yr old girl and son-in-law. You might as well lift the shield, the jig is up.

Master of His Domain

When it comes to the 1st Birthday, it's all about the cake. Literally.

Leave it to Oprah...

...to bring my worst nightmare to the screaming masses.

In an effort to make amends with myself and my issues, so as to avoid having to watch Ryan battle those same evils, I worked out a little something here.

Basically, what I want Ry to know is this:

Mommy loves herself, no matter how many self-deprecating jokes I make, no matter how many times I gaze "secretly" in the mirror with dread and disappointment, I love who I am because I helped make you and your brother. You guys are so wholly amazing that there is no way that anyone less than wonderful could have conceived you. I know that I had a lot of help from your pop, but I was there, too, and dammit, I deserve a little credit as well.

While I know that I'm not the perfect example of shining self-esteem, I am eased in knowing that God took this knowledge and created your grandmother and aunts; 3 awesome, strong, gorgeous women whom I hope you will spend time looking up to in the same manner that I'm frighteningly certain you will look up to me.

Not one of us is perfect, and we all bear scars of some nature, but we love and we laugh and we live and at the end of the day that's all you can do.

I love you just the way you are, tiny heiny and all.

I HEART Harry Potter

We're watching him right now, and as I see Ryan bringing toys into the living room, an act that is somewhat forbidden -- okay, well, it's technically forbidden, but hasn't actually been enforced as of yet-- I ask her why she's committing said felony.

"We're going to Hogwarts, Mom. I have to be prepared."

Sweet.

That still doesn't touch the remark I got from her when I asked why she didn't eat even half of her lunch at school today.

"I couldn't just eat it all. *EYE ROLL* I'd be as big as a house!"

That's juuuust perfect...

I Need Coffee

I woke up this morning convinced that Hell had frozen over, since it was 7:30am, and no children were screaming, crying, laughing or jumping on top of me -- that, or the kids were having delayed-hangovers from the alcohol they both seperately and secretly consumed on Saturday*.

Then I realized Holy Shit, it's 7:30 , we have to be in the car by 8, GO GO GO!!!!!!

Kids up and dressed, fed, Shawn even made it to the shower, and then we hit a train. Not literally, you understand...

Lots of fun conversation during our traffic stall, including the fact that it was going to cost us over $150 to have Shawn's new trucks keys made, followed by how much better off we'd be if we weren't so fucking retarded as to manage to lose 4, yes 4, sets of auto keys within 3 months. How we've managed not to lose the kids yet was the next subject on the list, but we didn't want to jinx anything, you understand...

Went straight to my training session with the Grim Reaper, and proceeded to bust my ass for the next 2 hours to make up for Saturday (party, cupcakes, beer, beer, beer).

Did I mention it is now 11:14 and I have yet to rendevous with Senor Valdez?

Now I think I just saw Shawn wielding a broom and dust buster, trying to beat Jax to the food on the floor, so I know I MUST be dreaming.

(Dad -- I don't want to post about the party without the requisite pics. Could you get your shit together and send me yours, please????)


*Don't get your panties in a wad: Jax managed to swig some beer before we saw and could grab it from him. Ryan took a sip of Jeff's Crown and coke, thinking it was just regular coke, and imediately began gagging. You see? Now it will be at least 4 more years before she dare try the hard stuff again. Pro-active parenting at it's best.

Favorite New Pasttime

How's this for fun?

Our local grocery store received flood damage in this week's storms, and instead of just closing up, they rallied on, securing staffers to actually shop for the customers.

For once on the other end of the short-order stick, I took advantage and had a little fun, sending several staffers scurrying about looking for precise items, only to inform them as sickeningly sweetly as possible that what they had just spent 15 minutes seraching for was actually the wrong product, and could they please go back, oh and check the price differences while they're back there? Thanks so much.

Masochist? Maybe, but at least I stopped short of sending them to the feminine hygiene section to look for lady-products and "ribbed-for-her-pleasures". And trust me, I was sooo close.

Tiny Heinies On Parade

"Mommy! Listen to what my teacher says at school:
Please sit your tiny heinies on the floor!
Heeeheeehee! Isn't that funny? Will you call me tiny heiny for the rest of my life?"

This was Ryan at 6pm this evening.

Speaking of tiny heinies, now that Jax is "walking", he began experimenting with personal space and the subsequent crossing of at Storytime today. He'd lurch his fat little hamhocks at the nearest warm body, grinnin' away, then dive bomb into said body's arm, shoulder, lap, head, etc...

No accidents here -- this kid is super-intentionally just trying to see exactly how far his cuteness will take him. How can I tell? Oh, I guess the giggling, grinning and farting gave it away. Have I not told you how he has started farting when he laughs? This would be cute, except it just leads to an exhausting circle of laughing & farting, seeing as how our laughing at him leads to him laughing at us, farting, us laughing...you get the idea.

(Although now that I think about it, it may also have something to do with the recent switch from formula to whole milk. While it has lightened our baby-budget load, it's also funkified his diaper loads. They are freakin' wretched. But I digress...)

I'm sad to report that it looks like the sky's the limit on the cuteness-pass, especially since he was able to ellicit the most heart-wrenching emotion from his big sister this afternoon, a mere 5 minutes after she kicked him and said she never wanted to see him again.

Apparently he was trying to climb a chair and knocked it over on top of him, managing to bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood. I wasn't in the room to witness it (MOTY), but Ry was right there giving me the 411 through tears and screams.

"Oh my gosh, Mom! I'm so worried! There was BLEEDED! I saw bleeded in his mouth! He has got bleeded!!!!"

"Ryan, I'm looking at him (from across the room, seeing as how am too lazy to open baby gate and walk to him) and there is no blood. Besides, he's not crying anymore, so he's fine." (MOTY)

"Mom! Please! Just! This! Once! I! Wish! You!Would!Believe ME!!!!!! I'm serious -- there was bleeded in his mouth, I (sob) saw (sob) it (sob), I (sob) promise (hiccup)."

"Okay, Baby. I'll come look closer."

(Huge sigh as I climb over gate -- why unlatch when you can stradle??)

Sure enough, there it was: bleeded on his tongue.

The kid has an 1/8th of an inch of tooth and already he's injuring himself. Couple that with 3 ER vists in his first year of life, and I'm suddenly VERY grateful that we live in walking distance to the hospital.

P.S. Trashing the toys has yet to take effect, but in the name of Spring Cleaning, I will charge ahead! We've already lost Rapunzel, a pig dog, and possibly Ariel (she's "trying" to earn that one back), yet the behavior? No change whatsoever.

Any other suggestions??

Walk This Way

OhMyGod OhMyGod OhMyGod!

Slap my mouth and call me Fred, I just witnessed Jaxson walk across my bedroom by himself, without prompting, without falling, just for the hell of it, 'cause he can, holy shit.

This is, of course, typical Jax. We've been prodding, begging, pleading with him the past couple of weeks to start walking, and while he has managed to show a few baby steps here and there, what he just did was unprecedented in the world of Jaxson Thomas.

And did I mention it like JUST happened? 4:10 pm, to be exact.

Here I was, literally sitting at the computer, wishing something exciting/interesting/funny would happen so I could post something, and VOILA!

I'm just flabbergasted right now. Gob-smacked, jolly-knockered, flat-out amazed.

Now I can't get him to do anything but roll around, but let me just recount the big event step by step.

First of all, let me just say that the whole thing was done while holding my cell phone and a toy barbie wedding cake, and resembled something akin to tight-rope walking.

He stood; confident in his balance, step step step...whhoooaaa...wiggle wobble, hands still up straight in the air, still holding his accessories, and we're walking, we're walking, we're -- uh uh uh uh bam! Mission accomplished.

I do not care even one little bit how boring and lame this may have been for you all to read, I am so hyped up right now -- this means soon I'll be able to stop carrying his chunky ass around everywhere I go!

Can I get an AMEN???

Trash Power

No, the title is not in reference to my Tomball roots.

It is, however, my new motto regarding discipline.

I'm not sure if I'm the Hitler or the Hippie of the Mommy Brigade, but either way I'm so completely fed up with whining, attitude, talking back, messes everywhere, etc.

The fact that yesterday I had my 5th meltdown in as many days (including full-fledged curse words, aka: FUCK, thank you very much) has led me to take drastic measures.

The trash can is now my new best friend. If I have a problem, he is always there to help me fix it. Toys left out again? Trash! Snacks left uneaten? Trash! Clothes all over the floor? Trash! Little girl sassing too much? Trash!

Okay, well maybe not her, but her beloved Rapunzel doll? You better believe it.

I urge any of you out there with young ones, sloppy husbands, etc to become closer acquianted with your Trash Can. He/She just might save your life (and your child's...)

Ryan Remarks, pt. 734

It's only 8 am and already she's slapped two doozies on me.

The first came around 1 am this morning. As a set-up, let me explain the current sleeping situation. Since none of our previous tricks have worked in regards to getting her to sleep the whole night thru in her bed, I have resorted to bribing her with money. I prefer to think of it as "rewarding", but whatever. So, for every night she sleeps the whole night in her bed, she receives a dollar to do what she wants with. Currently, she's "focused" (ha.hahaha) on saving up for a new Snow White Barbie (the only one she does not currently own*huge eye roll*).

So anyway, around 1 am she comes to my side of the bed, wakes me up and says: "Mom, I think I have enough dollies. I'm just gonna go ahead and sleep on your floor now." Who am I to argue with that? What sane person would tell their 4 yr old that they in fact DO NOT have enough toys, and please try to work towards buying another item to junk up the house? Aye.

Then, just 5 minutes ago, after seeing the pic of her and me that I put in her new picture frame, she says, "Mom, I was really wanting to put a different picture in here."

"What picture do you want?"

"One of Daddy."

"Ry, you already have framed pics of you and Daddy."

"But I need another one so I can always remember his face all the days of my life."

This is where I just went ahead and gave up.

The Passion of the Mommy

Shame on me for not posting for such a long time! But don't worry, I've been suffering just the right amount of guilt over it, Thank You Very Much.

Forgive me again, but this particular post needs to be short. Lots to do, not enough time.....

So Jax turned 1 on Friday -- WooHoo! The best part is that he now has his 2 top teeth coming in AT THE SAME TIME -- Woo Hoo, no? not even a Woo? Okay, so he's a little late. I prefer to call it INDIVIDUALITY.

He's also learned to "kiss", which is the cutest damn thing you have ever seen, his little wet slimy mouth coming at you open wide, while he yells "aaahhhh". Ry hates it, "It's all wet!", but Shawn and I just can't get enough.

We spent his birthday in Port Neches, which isn't where I'd thought we'd be doing the One Year Anniversary thing, but our presence was needed, so we complied.

Honey is quite near the end. No good way to say it, and Pappy is alone. So Mom and I took the kids to cheer him up and get at least one last visit with her. It's really too much for me to discuss, so I'm gonna stop now.

The car trip was HORRIBLE, but mostly because Jax is teething. Did I mention that already?

There were some great moments, though, like when Jax up and slapped the EMS guy who was holding him at the nursing home, oogling over his cuteness. Then there was the incredibly massive, Disney-stature playscape castle that Mom and Pappy took Ryan to play in (pics to come). Finally, we ended with my kiddos dancing around to Pappy's band playing "Big Mamou" (sp?) - you know, the Cajun theme song - at the local KofC Fish Fry. At least they've got the blood in there somehwere.

Easter Bunny has delivered cheap Walgreens gifts, complete with confetti eggs which I now have to go clean up.

Happy Easter!!!!

Dear Mother-In-Law,

You know how I'm always making fun of you and your weird hippie obssession with Austin's Bat colony?
Um, well, sorry.
Now that I've apologized, could you help me develop a similar (smaller) colony in my backyard? To take care of the mosquitoes? You know, 'cause apparently Jax is allergic. To mosquitoes. In Texas.
That'd be great, thanks! Your Fave (okay, only) D-I-L

Found out this valuable little nugget of info today after waiting hours in the ER, praying he was not suffering from a Brown Recluse bite. Hey, when you're up against that possibility, you'll take an allergic reaction to mosquito bites any day.

BTW? 2nd ER visit for Jax in the past 4 days. He spiked a 103.5-ish fever Saturday afternoon. Just a dual ear infection, no real reason to have to drive 30 minutes and pay $100. Especially since there was nothing we could do about it that we hadn't already be doing.

Kinda like today only with extra mileage.

Yeah, this should be fun

Have I ever told you the story where Amy plays a working Mom to a toddler, and out of a deep desire to spend time with her baby, quits her job and becomes a SAHM? Fun and games ensue; so much so, that Shawn and Amy decide they want to throw another monster into the mix, thus birthing Jax.

Cut to one year later, as Jax plays and I clean; the Happy Little Homemaker, revelling in these, the real Days Of Our Lives, I stop and think about how this is the type of day I've been dreaming about: an ordinary day at home, just me and Jax, bonding, mopping, and making the world a better place. No doctor's appointments (well, there was the one, but it was so early it doesn't really count), no Ryan (KDO), though we do miss her-- just me and him together.

As I mop the floor, thinking of how this is the kind of stuff I missed with Ryan when I was working, I go to check on him in the playroom, and there he is, putting one of the baby gate's wall hooks into an open electrical outlet. Before you begin with the judging, he takes the cover-things off, and actually pulled the wall hook out of the wall. On his own.

Then as I'm cleaning the windows, I walk into the kitchen to find him with the over-turned trash can, eating cereal from the garbage.

In between all that, I spent a majority of the time chasing after him as he raced up the stairs.

You know, those hard-wood 14ft high ones.

You really haven't lived...

...until you've wakened your children at 5 am to take Daddy to have his colonoscopy done. No amount of sippy cups, dvd's, binkies and random bribes could get those kids to sit quietly for 5 straight minutes.

All I could think about were all those poor people coming in to have this procedure done, attempting to stay calm while my kids run, scream, jump and cough all over the place. I could see I was getting furtive glances from many a patient, but no one dared say a word to me -- that is, not until they saw me packing up our stuff to walk the kids outside. Then it was all, "Can I help you with that?"

My favorite part was in the recovery area, where flanked by bursts of flatulance, Ryan felt the need to keep a running commentary: "Oops! Somebody FARTED! Stinky! OOh! There's another one..."

I still can't understand why she and I were the only ones laughing...

When Junior Mommy-Divas Attack

So today Ry was bummed about not being able to go play b/c of her "illness" (whatever it may be). She stomped defiantly, declaring, "How will everyone be able to tell me how cute I am if I can't leave the house? They will be so sad!"

This coming from the daughter of the woman who used to skip classes in college if I didn't like the way I looked. Freud?

I gave in and took them on a walk (Ry pushed her Barbies in her stroller; I got stuck with Jax). Halfway through, after breathing as deeply as friggin' possible through 7 tantrums, 4 squeals, and 3 dirt-kicks, I exerted my Mommy Authority and declared we were turning around and going home, to which Ryan declared, "Fine! I don't love you anymore! You are the worst Mom ever!!!"

Then, she ran her mini-Graco right into my ankles.

Between that one and Mr. Incredible Rolling Baby, I may need a wheelchair sooner than I thought.

More Reasons I'm Not Fit To Be A Mother

Another ear infection, another mysterious disease, and a perforated eardrum thrown in just for kicks.

I'm thinking of having "SICK & TIRED" stenciled on our foreheads, but I'm afraid it will take something away from our "cuteness" factor. What the hell, if the high-pitched screaming and whining doesn't do it, nothing will.

Humor Injection of the Day: Ryan decided to name the Civic "WalMart", which when you think about it, is actually quite fitting: Both are well-used, cheap, and perpetually dirty.

Your Wait Has Ended

So as we were waiting for the garage mechanics to figure out how much money they would try to steal from us, I walked the kids over to get their hair cut. Check out the new 'dos:
















Not even SuperCuts can mess up God-given perfection.

The sad, sad look on Shawn's face at seeing Ryan's new grown-up look was a little like this:












Not to be confused with Jax's "I just got scolded, and now I'll make her pay" look:












Speaking of making me pay, I'm THIS close to writing to SuperNanny about the way Jaxson just won't


stop
crying!!!


We have NO idea what his issue is. Obviously he comes from a loving, nurturing household. Why the hell won't he STFU??




One of my theories is that he's a little frustrated with his paradox of a father. As seen here in Evidence A -- Shawn, Mr. "I am MAN. ARGH ARGH ARGH", caught playing with a BARBIE.










What's a little boy to do?
"I just can't quit you, Dad!"
(Sorry, couldn't stop myself)

Granted, I'm sure I could be a little better in the "Mother" department. I suppose I could stop letting him smoke the MaryJane. At least not before breakfast.

"Uploading pics. Please wa----"

Nothing like getting to the very end of a long-overdue picture post, only to have your 7 yr old computer (that's 49 years in computer-life) shut down on you. that's 30 minutes of my life I'll never get back, and now I have to go do the Mom thing, so the pics will have to wait. Check back this evening, unless I've destroyed this damn thing, which isn't quite such a far-out possibility.

Embracing My Inner (Christian) Diva

Who knew that turning 29 would bring out my bitchy side even worse than before?

I was at church today -- alone. again. -- and was lucky enough to have the World's Most Annoying Man sit right behind me. He was there with his young son, and at first I assumed his wife must be home sick or in bed, but after sitting in front of him for 5 minutes, I quickly realized she either refuses to be seen with him in public, or has left him, either reason very likely in my *christian* opinion.

First he begins by just plain talking loudly, but it was before mass had begun, so I *christian-like* let it slide. Then his mom showed up, and he really pissed me off.

The woman had barely crossed herself, before he starts going off about the LSU game the night before and how glad he was that they didn't win, blah, blah, blah, which really made me mad, 'cause Tiger blood runs in the fam and all. I don't think it would've been quite so excrutiating had he not been the biggest dork the Good Lord ever put on the Earth, sporting shorts and Tivas. At church. Here I am, lookin' all pretty and shit, and this yokel can't bring himself to wear long pants in the house of the Lord. Some people.

Asswipes, I can deal with. Goobers-as-asswipes? not so much.

So after putting up with the unbearably loud, grating conversation for about 15 minutes, I resisted the urge to turn around and scream, "Are you fucking kidding me?" (cause that really wouldn't be What Jesus Would Do), and instead just oh-so-slightly glanced at him over my shoulder socialite-style, which shocked the hell out of me because I had no idea I had such power of retstraint in me (see, I have grown up), and because it actually worked. Sort of.

From that point on, he was reduced to an annoying, grating WHISPER, which I guess I could have tolerated had Mass not already begun. For the Love of God, shut the hell up.

Then he starts intermittently whispering praise to his son, "Way to go Buddy. I'm really proud of you. You're doing great.", which I'm assuming was in reference to the kid's ability to keep his mouth shut, a feat I too applauded, seeing as how the kid had a shitty-ass role model and all.

Then people's babies started crying, and I totally went into Judgemental Christian mode, wondering why the hell these people don't use the nursery, that's where I left my crying wonder. Some people are so self-centered.

I finally just got up and walked out after they took up the collection, b/c according to THE CHURCH, if you've given money, then you're not really required to stay any longer and all is forgiven.

This whole 29-years-old thing is gonna be a cakewalk. Really.