You know your husband loves you when:
1. You tell him tuna out of the can is for dinner.
2. He asks you why you didn't drain it, and you shrug and say, "I didn't know I was supposed to."
3. You burn lunch. Fish sticks.
4. He eats the GV Mac N Cheese without commenting on the GIANT globs of powder that you absolutely could NOT get to mix!
5. He smiles and says, "You look nice, Gothic" when you accidentally dye your hair BLACK instead of the brown shown on the box from WAL MART.
6. He tries to trade with his friend: You for a lawn mower. A USED lawn mower.
7. He distributes your breast milk to your friends.
8. He pretends he doesn't know where your secret stash of Pretzel M&M's are hidden.
9. He fixes the arm on your glasses that you broke off trying to pull on a SWEATSHIRT in the middle of the SUMMER because you are COLD in DESTIN.
10. He uses an arm off his old aviators to fix your glasses.
11. He muffles his laughter when you put on the "fixed" glasses instead of poking fun at the "new" arm's extra three inch length that is sticking out the side of your head.
12. Has sympathy for you when you nearly crack your shin in HALF. (Even though it occurred while you were trying to attack him).
13. He has yet to punch you in your face EVEN though every time he opens the shower curtain, bathroom door, bedroom door, or EYES... your face is right in front of his, contorted in the most heinous expression of HORROR, and you blare a blood curdling "AAAAAHHHH!"
14. He just smiles when you tell him you mowed the lawn... and some of his electrical cords.
15. He kindly reminds you that the reason all of your plants are BROWN is because they have to be watered more than once a year.
16. He constantly calls you endearing names... like Amilia Bu-Dillia... (apparently a childhood book about an IDIOT that couldn't cook).
17. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear like, "Girl, you been eating Doritos???"
18. He doesn't get angry when you tackle him and BREATHE your fiery DRAGON breath on him... ya know... just to gross him out. (Even though he know if he does it to YOU, you'll beat him. And/or throw up).
19. He doesn't get impatient when you have to back up THREE times to fit your car in a parking space.
20. He doesn't say "I told you so" when you try to make up your very OWN crock pot recipe and it tastes like regurgitated meatloaf.
21. He carries you to bed every time you give him the silent treatment and STORM off to the couch to sleep. (EVEN when you were NINE months pregnant. Probably why his back hurts..)
22. He doesn't LOSE his MIND when BOTH his girls are throwing a tantrum.
23. He lovingly laughs hysterically when you DANCE in an attempt to elicit a romantic mood... and instead trip in the high hills you so carefully chose and nearly break down the closet doors.
24. He acts excited and grateful to see canned corn and green beans cooking on the stove EVERY single DAY.
25. He doesn't burst your bubble when you say, "Whatever I throw together- chicken nuggets, canned soup... I just make corn and green beans as sides to make dinner into a respectable MEAL."
26. He claims he can tell a difference EVERY time you run through the door shouting, "I worked out my legs! Do they look more muscular??"
27. He doesn't chastise you after he put the water hose in the pool to raise the water level, and you come behind him and unscrew the water hose so you can wash the grass off your shoes AND the hose in turn DRAINS the entire pool.
28. He just sits on you and yawns when you are hysterically trying to mutilate him because... because you have NO idea why... you just FEEL that you would like to do it in that moment.
29. He stashes frozen pizzas in the deep freezer so that he can offer you (and him) an escape from cooking.
30. He only shakes his head when he discovers that his two year old has colored all over his school assignments AND work contracts. (That.. YOU gave her because they looked like garbage to you).
AHHHH. It feels GOOD to be LOVED!!!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Nasty-Fi-Cu-ROCIOUS!!
Today has been a nasty day. And I mean that literally, not metaphorically. I don't mean, "I woke up with my hair greased to my forehead, showered, then had a bad hair day..." I mean nasty like GROSS, DISGUSTING, MAKE you wanna grab hold of a toilet and VOMIT. RepeATEDLY.
The day started normal enough. Hayden and Colton stayed with us last night and so they cheerfully pulverized each other on some Wii game. Brooklyn was on my heels whining for chocolate milk. Starling was on the phone. Brighton was intently watching a baseball game. ALL normal.
Well... I went and mowed. The boys went and swam. Starling... stayed on the phone... and "watched" Brooklyn and Brighton. I noticed, as I approached my front door, that there was a fowl stench that APPEARED to my NOSE hairs to be freshly squeezed DOG POOP. Of COURSE. Who KNOWS which dog pooped there because there is a different pack of dogs planting seeds in my yard every DAY. I walked into to my house which did NOT smell like dog poop.
Starling went outside with the boys and took over the inside children. After Hayden and Colton left that mouth watering STENCH was lingering INSIDE my house. Starling said, "Uh... it smells like a dog took a DUMP in here... I didn't notice it until I leaned over to pick up those sleeping bags." THAT is when it ALL started. The NASTY.
Starling wiffed his shoes. "UGHGUGH! Its on my SHOE!" Fabulous. Where all had he WALKED? The kitchen, the living room, the pantry, the Red Room (or den- whatever people call it)... The whole front of our house was REAKING!! I told Starling the only solution was mopping.
About that time Brighton started trying to break out of his swing, which he was successfully doing with his giNORMOUS legs. (Seriously... if he could STAND up... he'd be able to pick ME up. His legs are MASSIVE and STRONG). I assumed he was hungry so I slapped him against my chest and continued yapping at Starling about random dogs always leaving surprises in our yard. "THAT is why I have a MIDGET dog that lays TINY terds so I don't HAVE to tiptoe around my front yard hoping not to step on a land mine." Starling sweetly tuned me out and started working on the sink which has been giving me FITS! EVERY TIME I run water in ONE side of the sink, the OTHER drain fills up. (AND IT ISN'T CLEAN water!) It coughs up all the residue off my dirty dishes and LEAVES it in the sink while the water lazily escapes the drain. Its disgusting! And I throw a tantrum EVERY time I use the sink... even if I'm home alone! So NATURALLY Starling wanted to fix it.
But I wasn't done talking about dog poop. "UCK! Did you WIPE your shoes on the couch?? It smells FUROCIOUS over here... like my EYES are BURNING." And that's when the 2nd NASTY happened. The smell was so close to my nose that it could have been chilling on my upper lip. "What the...?" I asked as I glared at my ORANGE, seedy hand. AND then my MOIST, hot sticky, LEG. It was POOP alright... and it was EVERYWHERE!! "BRIGHTON finally POOPED!" I announced to Starling, who still had me on MUTE and didn't even acknowledge my great and dreadful news. (Brighton's been blocked up for about a week... but today was the day of unclogging... and he got it ALL out. And there was a LOT of poop. And it smelled RANCID). I carried my joyful little man the best I could without letting him TOUCH me... though WHY I bothered, I have no idea.. if I had just opened his diaper and wallowed in it... I don't think I would have been MORE covered than I already was. I laid him on his cute little WHITE changing table. He grinned and gleefully began kicking his legs. AS he ALWAYS does when he gets excited. And diaper changes EXCITE him. So ORANGE poop, the consistency of tomato soup before water is added, starts SPLATTERING at ME, the WALL, and of course every where white. And THAT was before I even OPENED the diaper. I strategically opened it and set it ALL the way in the corner so Brighton couldn't reach it. But GUESS what? That little SUMO scooted as FAST as he could scoot and PLOPPED his FOOT RIGHT into the pile of goo. "AHH!" I squealed as I Jackie Chan grabbed his leg to keep him from making orange foot prints anywhere. Brooklyn, who had heard my initial commotion when I discovered I was covered in the heinous semi-solid, liquid, was now standing on the OPPOSITE side of the room MORTIFIED asking in the SAME voice that chic on JURASSIC PARK used when a T-REX started sniffing her face, "Mommy??? You got POOPS?" And she kept repeating that question, each time in a more intense, SHRILL voice until I thought a chip munk was about to pop out of her vocal cord. Not being able to resist I asked her, "Brooklyn do you want to throw this diaper away for me?" She took a stepped forward until she SAW the overflowing, saturated diaper. "Noooo..." She half whispered, half shrieked. And then hysteria started bubbling in her eyes as she beheld her baby brother. "Ooohhh.... Bry... Bry..." She emphatically began shaking her head and backing up, both her hands covering her mouth, her eyes welling with tears... Seriously. You would've thought he was covered in blood.
I stripped the kid, plopped him in the bathtub, hosed him down, then bathed him, washed all the spots I could find of poop on me... then heard Starling say, "OH CRAP."
Note to reader: Crap is our curse word of choice when things go terribly awry. And when Starling says it... USUALLY disaster has struck.
This was no exception. I rushed into the kitchen where I'd left my darling husband performing a seemingly simple task of SNAKING our drain. This is when the THIRD NASTY occurred. My eyes and stomach witnessed the monstrosity simultaneously almost causing me to ADD to the black SLUDGE COVERING our kitchen floor with a nice topping of PUKE. I just stood there wondering how the heck I had PEEVED KARMA off. I snapped to attention and rescued my kitchen rug and grabbed an old towel. Starling was mopping it up instantly. "I called for you to check the drain!" he told me. "I'm sorry," I snapped, "I was busy being covered in POOP!" He told me he couldn't find major blockage when he ran the snake DOWN. SO? He did an "experiment."
NOTE TO READER: Starling's "experiments" usually result in a HUGE disaster, but DO essentially FIX the problem.
So- even though I rolled my eyes, I was certain he'd successfully found the debris. (AND the evidence ALL over the FLOOR was pretty convincing, too). He'd CLIMBED on top of the roof with our WATER HOSE. APPARENTLY there is a VENT up there for the plumbing. (I've never heard of such in my life, but I also just discovered there is something in cars called a CARburetor SOOO I wasn't ALL that shocked to learn something new). Starling, and his SCIENTIST SELF, let water run into the vent to see if the water went straight down or bubbled up. It bubbled up, showing it was blocked by something. I don't know what happened next, but Starling somehow REMOVED the blob causing the hold up and my sink's drain performed a beautiful rendition of Niagra Falls. (This is what I was supposed to be WATCHING for).
I finally registered Brooklyn's AGAIN mortified expression. The kids been officially TRAUMATIZED today. She got teary eyed AGAIN and said, "Oooooh YUCK... DADDY... WHY did you...?" Her little voice trailed off. And of course she didn't want me going NEAR it. "NOOO!!" She screamed in horror every time I went towards the "YUCK." And then she spotted the GLOB.
The glob was the size of a cat. Heck...it could've BEEN a cat! (Though I REALLY hope not since I use that water to run my dishWASHER). Again... I could NOT resist, "Brooklyn, can you help Daddy and carry THAT to the TRASH?" She got so pale I thought she'd faint. Instead she ran out of the room screaming, "NO! No! I don't WANNA touch the YUCK!" (Come to think of it... maybe Karma is avenging my poor Brooklyn). ANYWAY. SOOOoo, after Starling successfully MASTERED his task of de-clogging the drain... he had somewhere he had to be. "SO," he yells to me as he walks out the door, "I need you to clean that up... make sure you use a tooth brush on all those grooves so you get ALL the residue." WOW. And then he popped his head back in, "And I'm taking the Bronco and Trailer so now would be a good time for you to mow the side yard."
As I approached my doomed lot in life, I laughed under my breath at the irony of me CLEANING my CLEANING supplies... which had all been under the sink when they got brutally sloshed by the foul liquid smelling like a delicious mixture of rotten EGG and cow MANURE. Then of course I had to MOP. AND before I was even GETTING to the mopping portion of my NASTY day, I hear Brooklyn yelling, "Poop! Poop! Poop!" while FRANTICALLY bolting down the hallway to the bathroom.
NOTE TO READER: You know how "THEY" say bad things happen in THREES? Well don't hold your BREATH or take that as a PROMISE. "THEY" obviously have a DIFFERENT saying on NASTY.
In her MAD rush to get ON the potty, Brooklyn forgot to take her panties off so she had to Climb OFF the potty and start again. She got her panties off but terds started escaping before she got positioned on the potty again.. THREE to be exact. They plopped onto the bathroom rug. DANG! I yelled at Karma, whoever THAT is, "WHAT DID I DO!? It's not like I KILLED SOMEBODY!"
And my reward for all the NASTY?? I have a story to blog about. THAT's IT. AND I guess... a mopped kitchen.
The day started normal enough. Hayden and Colton stayed with us last night and so they cheerfully pulverized each other on some Wii game. Brooklyn was on my heels whining for chocolate milk. Starling was on the phone. Brighton was intently watching a baseball game. ALL normal.
Well... I went and mowed. The boys went and swam. Starling... stayed on the phone... and "watched" Brooklyn and Brighton. I noticed, as I approached my front door, that there was a fowl stench that APPEARED to my NOSE hairs to be freshly squeezed DOG POOP. Of COURSE. Who KNOWS which dog pooped there because there is a different pack of dogs planting seeds in my yard every DAY. I walked into to my house which did NOT smell like dog poop.
Starling went outside with the boys and took over the inside children. After Hayden and Colton left that mouth watering STENCH was lingering INSIDE my house. Starling said, "Uh... it smells like a dog took a DUMP in here... I didn't notice it until I leaned over to pick up those sleeping bags." THAT is when it ALL started. The NASTY.
Starling wiffed his shoes. "UGHGUGH! Its on my SHOE!" Fabulous. Where all had he WALKED? The kitchen, the living room, the pantry, the Red Room (or den- whatever people call it)... The whole front of our house was REAKING!! I told Starling the only solution was mopping.
About that time Brighton started trying to break out of his swing, which he was successfully doing with his giNORMOUS legs. (Seriously... if he could STAND up... he'd be able to pick ME up. His legs are MASSIVE and STRONG). I assumed he was hungry so I slapped him against my chest and continued yapping at Starling about random dogs always leaving surprises in our yard. "THAT is why I have a MIDGET dog that lays TINY terds so I don't HAVE to tiptoe around my front yard hoping not to step on a land mine." Starling sweetly tuned me out and started working on the sink which has been giving me FITS! EVERY TIME I run water in ONE side of the sink, the OTHER drain fills up. (AND IT ISN'T CLEAN water!) It coughs up all the residue off my dirty dishes and LEAVES it in the sink while the water lazily escapes the drain. Its disgusting! And I throw a tantrum EVERY time I use the sink... even if I'm home alone! So NATURALLY Starling wanted to fix it.
But I wasn't done talking about dog poop. "UCK! Did you WIPE your shoes on the couch?? It smells FUROCIOUS over here... like my EYES are BURNING." And that's when the 2nd NASTY happened. The smell was so close to my nose that it could have been chilling on my upper lip. "What the...?" I asked as I glared at my ORANGE, seedy hand. AND then my MOIST, hot sticky, LEG. It was POOP alright... and it was EVERYWHERE!! "BRIGHTON finally POOPED!" I announced to Starling, who still had me on MUTE and didn't even acknowledge my great and dreadful news. (Brighton's been blocked up for about a week... but today was the day of unclogging... and he got it ALL out. And there was a LOT of poop. And it smelled RANCID). I carried my joyful little man the best I could without letting him TOUCH me... though WHY I bothered, I have no idea.. if I had just opened his diaper and wallowed in it... I don't think I would have been MORE covered than I already was. I laid him on his cute little WHITE changing table. He grinned and gleefully began kicking his legs. AS he ALWAYS does when he gets excited. And diaper changes EXCITE him. So ORANGE poop, the consistency of tomato soup before water is added, starts SPLATTERING at ME, the WALL, and of course every where white. And THAT was before I even OPENED the diaper. I strategically opened it and set it ALL the way in the corner so Brighton couldn't reach it. But GUESS what? That little SUMO scooted as FAST as he could scoot and PLOPPED his FOOT RIGHT into the pile of goo. "AHH!" I squealed as I Jackie Chan grabbed his leg to keep him from making orange foot prints anywhere. Brooklyn, who had heard my initial commotion when I discovered I was covered in the heinous semi-solid, liquid, was now standing on the OPPOSITE side of the room MORTIFIED asking in the SAME voice that chic on JURASSIC PARK used when a T-REX started sniffing her face, "Mommy??? You got POOPS?" And she kept repeating that question, each time in a more intense, SHRILL voice until I thought a chip munk was about to pop out of her vocal cord. Not being able to resist I asked her, "Brooklyn do you want to throw this diaper away for me?" She took a stepped forward until she SAW the overflowing, saturated diaper. "Noooo..." She half whispered, half shrieked. And then hysteria started bubbling in her eyes as she beheld her baby brother. "Ooohhh.... Bry... Bry..." She emphatically began shaking her head and backing up, both her hands covering her mouth, her eyes welling with tears... Seriously. You would've thought he was covered in blood.
I stripped the kid, plopped him in the bathtub, hosed him down, then bathed him, washed all the spots I could find of poop on me... then heard Starling say, "OH CRAP."
Note to reader: Crap is our curse word of choice when things go terribly awry. And when Starling says it... USUALLY disaster has struck.
This was no exception. I rushed into the kitchen where I'd left my darling husband performing a seemingly simple task of SNAKING our drain. This is when the THIRD NASTY occurred. My eyes and stomach witnessed the monstrosity simultaneously almost causing me to ADD to the black SLUDGE COVERING our kitchen floor with a nice topping of PUKE. I just stood there wondering how the heck I had PEEVED KARMA off. I snapped to attention and rescued my kitchen rug and grabbed an old towel. Starling was mopping it up instantly. "I called for you to check the drain!" he told me. "I'm sorry," I snapped, "I was busy being covered in POOP!" He told me he couldn't find major blockage when he ran the snake DOWN. SO? He did an "experiment."
NOTE TO READER: Starling's "experiments" usually result in a HUGE disaster, but DO essentially FIX the problem.
So- even though I rolled my eyes, I was certain he'd successfully found the debris. (AND the evidence ALL over the FLOOR was pretty convincing, too). He'd CLIMBED on top of the roof with our WATER HOSE. APPARENTLY there is a VENT up there for the plumbing. (I've never heard of such in my life, but I also just discovered there is something in cars called a CARburetor SOOO I wasn't ALL that shocked to learn something new). Starling, and his SCIENTIST SELF, let water run into the vent to see if the water went straight down or bubbled up. It bubbled up, showing it was blocked by something. I don't know what happened next, but Starling somehow REMOVED the blob causing the hold up and my sink's drain performed a beautiful rendition of Niagra Falls. (This is what I was supposed to be WATCHING for).
I finally registered Brooklyn's AGAIN mortified expression. The kids been officially TRAUMATIZED today. She got teary eyed AGAIN and said, "Oooooh YUCK... DADDY... WHY did you...?" Her little voice trailed off. And of course she didn't want me going NEAR it. "NOOO!!" She screamed in horror every time I went towards the "YUCK." And then she spotted the GLOB.
The glob was the size of a cat. Heck...it could've BEEN a cat! (Though I REALLY hope not since I use that water to run my dishWASHER). Again... I could NOT resist, "Brooklyn, can you help Daddy and carry THAT to the TRASH?" She got so pale I thought she'd faint. Instead she ran out of the room screaming, "NO! No! I don't WANNA touch the YUCK!" (Come to think of it... maybe Karma is avenging my poor Brooklyn). ANYWAY. SOOOoo, after Starling successfully MASTERED his task of de-clogging the drain... he had somewhere he had to be. "SO," he yells to me as he walks out the door, "I need you to clean that up... make sure you use a tooth brush on all those grooves so you get ALL the residue." WOW. And then he popped his head back in, "And I'm taking the Bronco and Trailer so now would be a good time for you to mow the side yard."
As I approached my doomed lot in life, I laughed under my breath at the irony of me CLEANING my CLEANING supplies... which had all been under the sink when they got brutally sloshed by the foul liquid smelling like a delicious mixture of rotten EGG and cow MANURE. Then of course I had to MOP. AND before I was even GETTING to the mopping portion of my NASTY day, I hear Brooklyn yelling, "Poop! Poop! Poop!" while FRANTICALLY bolting down the hallway to the bathroom.
NOTE TO READER: You know how "THEY" say bad things happen in THREES? Well don't hold your BREATH or take that as a PROMISE. "THEY" obviously have a DIFFERENT saying on NASTY.
In her MAD rush to get ON the potty, Brooklyn forgot to take her panties off so she had to Climb OFF the potty and start again. She got her panties off but terds started escaping before she got positioned on the potty again.. THREE to be exact. They plopped onto the bathroom rug. DANG! I yelled at Karma, whoever THAT is, "WHAT DID I DO!? It's not like I KILLED SOMEBODY!"
And my reward for all the NASTY?? I have a story to blog about. THAT's IT. AND I guess... a mopped kitchen.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Body Tweekage
My body is officially WIGGING out. I can't sleep at night, I can't stay awake during the day, I can't stand up without holding on to something, I'm having heat WAVES(not FLASHES), and random back spasms that feel like labor pains. (And if you've never experienced back labor, you should be told that it SUCKS!) AND I'm STILL having my monthly psycho, crazy breakdowns. I've thought a lot about it and the ONLY explanation I can come up with? Menopause. At 24.
My body is as dead as a corpse at night. I don't think it is even possible to be MORE tired than I am when I flop into bed. So why don't I sleep in a restful bliss? Well- maybe its the newborn... NOOOO... Brighton is snoring peacefully in his crib. The crazy two year old that kicks non-stop and wakes up screaming, "NOOOO MOMMY! DON'T CLIMB THE POTTY!"? Noooo... she's conked out, too. Is it that HUSBAND and his horrid habit of YANKING my pillow out from under my head to add to the SIX pillows on HIS side of the bed? Believe it or not, I'm already WIDE awake when I feel my pillow being confiscated. Is it Charkley, that perfect little fur-ball that has to be touching me at all times no matter HOW many times I kick him off the bed? NOPE. Its my stinking BRAIN... With all the doctors out there, you'd think one of them would've come up with a Brain OFF-SWITCH. I lay there with my eyes closed and its all dark in there with my eyes... but I can SEE the DARK swirling behind my eye lids. Its the most obnoxious thing EVER. I can FEEL the swirl, too! Kind of in my gut like when driving over a big hill. And then when I try to make myself think of NOTHING... my stubborn, rebellious brain throws HOARDS of garbage at me.
Last night I FINALLY fell asleep and had the most AWFUL dream imaginable. FIRST of all I looked pregnant again, but it wasn't a baby in there... it was a tumor that was eating all my nutrients and was going to kill me. As if THAT wasn't bad enough, I went to the "hospital" which looked more like a dungeon made of steel, where I was drugged and paralyzed and watched my two babies be SOLD to some couple that wanted them. It was so REAL and I could NOT wake up. When Brighton started crying (in REAL life) I started crying, too. (In real life) because I THOUGHT he was crying in my dream. And Brooklyn was HYSTERICAL in my dream saying, "I jus WANT my MOMMY!" FINALLY Brighton's whining grew louder and something heavy (kind of like Starling's ARM) wacked me. I woke up panting, chest heaving, tears and snot EVERYWHERE. Then I fed Brighton, curled up with him on my bed and decided I would NEVER complain about my children's whining EVER AGAIN.
I was so drowsy that I fell asleep immediately and my DREAM picked RIGHT back up! And then I thought I'd dreamed myself waking up with my kids and REALLY my nightmare was reality. It was TERRIBLE!!
I woke up today in a fog, EMOTIONALLY exhausted on top of just tired. But I got up anyway determined to CLEAN my house while Brooklyn and Boston giggled running room to room. My head would randomly spin and I'd catch the wall.. or chair... OR FLOOR. So then I gave up and just laid down on the couch and watched them play... which was actually more entertaining than cleaning ANYway. I felt better after a bit, besides my back spasming.. which I have NO idea the cause... I probably worked out wrong since I'm CLUELESS in the gym STILL.
And the heat waves. OH my dear SWEAT glands. I'm not a sweater by nature... Even when I work out.. a little glisten... not so much pouring fluids. But LATELY I'll just have a wave of SMOLDERING HOT come over me and its all I can do not to fling off all my clothes and stand in the refrigerator! (Unless I'm at home in which case I often DO strip down and stand under the cold shower, stick my head in the freezer, or turn the air to sixty in my bedroom and lay under the fan. Thank GOODNESS we finally got blinds. And thank goodness I can't fit in the fridge). Well...Sunday I was at CHURCH on the STAND about to lead the music and I promise I felt like the desert came and SAT on my lap. I started flapping the hymnal at my head which did NOTHING but work my arm which probably caught more of me on fire. I looked to my left and asked, "Am I smoking?" Nope. AND everyone else was quite comfortable. And that is saying something with all the men in suits and ties with suit jackets on. I was only in a very thin skirt and thin shirt. The draft ALONE should have kept me cooler than everyone ELSE. But I was simmering like the wick on a fire cracker. I was racking my brain of what clothing I could part with but couldn't figure out how to remove any undergarments without drawing attention to myself. I guess I need to go through all of this so I can empathize with my Grandma and her flashes... I won't ever poke fun at a stripping 70 year old again.
And to the gym I trotted EARLY today... like at SIX p.m. There is no swimming pool at 180 Fitness but you wouldn't know it if you saw me walk out of there! Except for the stench... chlorine usually doesn't smell as foul as the green FOG surrounding my PERFUSELY sweating body. Every time I finished a set of pushing my legs to NOT EVEN their MAX, I got so DIZZY I was holding onto the hand grips like I was free falling. I probably looked like one of those gamer kids at the arcade swaying in unison with the motion of their race car on the screen WHICH wouldn't NEARLY be as terrible if I WERE actually watching a screen instead of the faces of three really bulky dudes waiting to use the leg press.
AND THEN I had to go to WAL MART smelling like a hippo that just got done wallowing in fermented pond scum. I kept my arms VERY close to my sides and prayed no one would get too close. I got out of there in RECORD time. I ONLY bought what I went in for... frozen pasta, frozen garlic bread, and ice cream. YAY! We're feeding the missionaries tomorrow so I went gourmet. Starling said, "Don't you think you should COOK something... you know... from SCRATCH?" And I looked at him like he'd asked me to pull a rabbit from my nostril. "Don't YOU think I should cook something... you know... EDIBLE?" He thought about that... "Yeah... you should definitely let Stouffers make the pasta." The missionaries will thank me. TRUST me.
So NOW I'm all done eating my hamburger helper, canned corn, and canned green beans, and done eating a bag of GV BBQ chips, and am headed to the kitchen to find MORE food because I am RAVISHED! (I think that's a word).
My body is as dead as a corpse at night. I don't think it is even possible to be MORE tired than I am when I flop into bed. So why don't I sleep in a restful bliss? Well- maybe its the newborn... NOOOO... Brighton is snoring peacefully in his crib. The crazy two year old that kicks non-stop and wakes up screaming, "NOOOO MOMMY! DON'T CLIMB THE POTTY!"? Noooo... she's conked out, too. Is it that HUSBAND and his horrid habit of YANKING my pillow out from under my head to add to the SIX pillows on HIS side of the bed? Believe it or not, I'm already WIDE awake when I feel my pillow being confiscated. Is it Charkley, that perfect little fur-ball that has to be touching me at all times no matter HOW many times I kick him off the bed? NOPE. Its my stinking BRAIN... With all the doctors out there, you'd think one of them would've come up with a Brain OFF-SWITCH. I lay there with my eyes closed and its all dark in there with my eyes... but I can SEE the DARK swirling behind my eye lids. Its the most obnoxious thing EVER. I can FEEL the swirl, too! Kind of in my gut like when driving over a big hill. And then when I try to make myself think of NOTHING... my stubborn, rebellious brain throws HOARDS of garbage at me.
Last night I FINALLY fell asleep and had the most AWFUL dream imaginable. FIRST of all I looked pregnant again, but it wasn't a baby in there... it was a tumor that was eating all my nutrients and was going to kill me. As if THAT wasn't bad enough, I went to the "hospital" which looked more like a dungeon made of steel, where I was drugged and paralyzed and watched my two babies be SOLD to some couple that wanted them. It was so REAL and I could NOT wake up. When Brighton started crying (in REAL life) I started crying, too. (In real life) because I THOUGHT he was crying in my dream. And Brooklyn was HYSTERICAL in my dream saying, "I jus WANT my MOMMY!" FINALLY Brighton's whining grew louder and something heavy (kind of like Starling's ARM) wacked me. I woke up panting, chest heaving, tears and snot EVERYWHERE. Then I fed Brighton, curled up with him on my bed and decided I would NEVER complain about my children's whining EVER AGAIN.
I was so drowsy that I fell asleep immediately and my DREAM picked RIGHT back up! And then I thought I'd dreamed myself waking up with my kids and REALLY my nightmare was reality. It was TERRIBLE!!
I woke up today in a fog, EMOTIONALLY exhausted on top of just tired. But I got up anyway determined to CLEAN my house while Brooklyn and Boston giggled running room to room. My head would randomly spin and I'd catch the wall.. or chair... OR FLOOR. So then I gave up and just laid down on the couch and watched them play... which was actually more entertaining than cleaning ANYway. I felt better after a bit, besides my back spasming.. which I have NO idea the cause... I probably worked out wrong since I'm CLUELESS in the gym STILL.
And the heat waves. OH my dear SWEAT glands. I'm not a sweater by nature... Even when I work out.. a little glisten... not so much pouring fluids. But LATELY I'll just have a wave of SMOLDERING HOT come over me and its all I can do not to fling off all my clothes and stand in the refrigerator! (Unless I'm at home in which case I often DO strip down and stand under the cold shower, stick my head in the freezer, or turn the air to sixty in my bedroom and lay under the fan. Thank GOODNESS we finally got blinds. And thank goodness I can't fit in the fridge). Well...Sunday I was at CHURCH on the STAND about to lead the music and I promise I felt like the desert came and SAT on my lap. I started flapping the hymnal at my head which did NOTHING but work my arm which probably caught more of me on fire. I looked to my left and asked, "Am I smoking?" Nope. AND everyone else was quite comfortable. And that is saying something with all the men in suits and ties with suit jackets on. I was only in a very thin skirt and thin shirt. The draft ALONE should have kept me cooler than everyone ELSE. But I was simmering like the wick on a fire cracker. I was racking my brain of what clothing I could part with but couldn't figure out how to remove any undergarments without drawing attention to myself. I guess I need to go through all of this so I can empathize with my Grandma and her flashes... I won't ever poke fun at a stripping 70 year old again.
And to the gym I trotted EARLY today... like at SIX p.m. There is no swimming pool at 180 Fitness but you wouldn't know it if you saw me walk out of there! Except for the stench... chlorine usually doesn't smell as foul as the green FOG surrounding my PERFUSELY sweating body. Every time I finished a set of pushing my legs to NOT EVEN their MAX, I got so DIZZY I was holding onto the hand grips like I was free falling. I probably looked like one of those gamer kids at the arcade swaying in unison with the motion of their race car on the screen WHICH wouldn't NEARLY be as terrible if I WERE actually watching a screen instead of the faces of three really bulky dudes waiting to use the leg press.
AND THEN I had to go to WAL MART smelling like a hippo that just got done wallowing in fermented pond scum. I kept my arms VERY close to my sides and prayed no one would get too close. I got out of there in RECORD time. I ONLY bought what I went in for... frozen pasta, frozen garlic bread, and ice cream. YAY! We're feeding the missionaries tomorrow so I went gourmet. Starling said, "Don't you think you should COOK something... you know... from SCRATCH?" And I looked at him like he'd asked me to pull a rabbit from my nostril. "Don't YOU think I should cook something... you know... EDIBLE?" He thought about that... "Yeah... you should definitely let Stouffers make the pasta." The missionaries will thank me. TRUST me.
So NOW I'm all done eating my hamburger helper, canned corn, and canned green beans, and done eating a bag of GV BBQ chips, and am headed to the kitchen to find MORE food because I am RAVISHED! (I think that's a word).
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Brighton 3 Months
Brighton,
You are THREE months old!! And, even though you are MY #1 man and I MAY be a little bit partial to you, you HAVE to know that you are the SWEETEST, CUTEST, MOST ADORABLE bowl of PUDDING in the entire UNIVERSE. I kiss EVERY roll on your little body EVERY day... usually more than 6 times, if I'm being honest. (I am making up for your teenage years when it will no longer be cool for me to hold you down and chew on your legs). As of now... you are pretty OKAY with it, more than okay... you squeal and giggle and LIKE it! But don't you worry, kiddo... once you hit puberty and hair grows on your leg... I'll keep away... promise. BUT until then... you remain my chew toy.
You have the SWEETEST demeanor. I suppose you got ALL the patience I had to offer from my genes (because your sister got NONE and I didn't keep any when I transferred it to you). You politely let me know when you are hungry (usually by making a loud SMACKING noise that is the result of you trying to suck milk from your wrist roll). And if you want to be held you make a noise that SOUNDS like a fussy coo, but is actually your distress call. Pretty much... if I wasn't tied up with fetching chocolate milk every four and a half minutes, and I went and picked you up every time I heard your "pardon me, Mommy... I just wanted to remind you that you do have a second child... and... you haven't fed me in a while... so if you get a minute and can feed me, talk to me, or at least put something on the TV for me to watch OTHER than Diego... I'd really appreciate it..." than I believe you would never cry. I try not to WAIT for you to get upset... but at times its inevitable... mostly because I have to do annoying tasks like laundry and dishes.
You don't care too much for bottles... you want milk straight from the cow. And you are a DANG good eater. Even though you can't breathe right now, because you have a cold, you aren't deterred from getting your Eat On. I do feel terrible for you. You sound like Marge Simpson when you breathe. You've unfortunately been introduced to the snot sucker. You really don't care for it at all. I think you have about a pound of snot in your little head right now. I didn't weigh it last time I sucked it out... but my visual guestimation DEFINITELY says a pound. I couldn't imagine that it would HURT to have your nose blown FOR YOU, so I stuck it in my nose to find out how it felt. I now have empathy for you. It felt like my brain and even eyeballs might get sucked through my nasal cavity. But, none the less, it has to feel better than my fingernail being jabbed up into your skull.
You are such a talkative little fritter! Every time someone gives you a hint of attention you light up like Rudolph's nose and you just Coo! You kind of sound like a little boy instead of a baby sometimes. I think you may have a deep voice. When you fuss, and perhaps its why I have to gather you up in my arms immediately, you whine, "Ma ma ma..." I know you are 3 months and all that jazz, but you don't whine "da da da." I'm just saying. If it comes to a debate later on... you DEFINITELY said Ma Ma first.
You love to cuddle. (Or "I" just love to cuddle and you can't tell me to stop or yell put me down so I ASSUME you love it). You don't like being held sideways like a normal baby... you want to be sitting STRAIGHT up, STANDING straight up, or leaning against my chest STRAIGHT UP. You like to SEE what is going on and are VERY observant.
I never get to hold you at church. Or when I'm anywhere else for that matter. Everyone (who can lift you) snatches you from me and loves on you. You usually repay them with a HUGE grin... and often a shirt full of spit-up. (THAT is when you KNOW you are a sweet baby... when people hold you KNOWING they are going to get puked on). With ALL the sweet and PERFECTNESS you have to have SOMETHING to make you human so you don't float back up to Heaven being mistaken as an Angel. And those two things are spit-up and RANCID gas. When I am nursing you and you TOOT, my whole head turns green. For the longest time I was chewing Charkley out for leaking rotten air out his bum which is ALWAYS attached to my leg. THEN I realized the foul fog was hovering around YOU! I stopped eating cabbage.
You are a FABULOUS sleeper! And I deserve a good sleeper after your SISTER who WILL not sleep through the night. (I've seriously been considering crushing up some Tylenol PM in her chocolate milk). I lay you in your crib and you smile and coo at the mirror until you just can't hold your eyes open any more. Then you crash for the night.
You love baths and I try to give you one at least once a week before church. (Just kidding.. kind of). I try to bathe you babies every night... but I don't get my stress on if we miss one.. or two.. or three nights. You play in the pool enough to make up for your lack of hygiene. AND, since you spit up at least seven times a day, you get at LEAST seven baby wipe baths... and that can totally count for bathing. Plus if we go into public I put lotion on your head to cover up the stench of spit-up so people at least THINK you are clean. (Unless they give your neck a good wiff... those rolls are pretty brutal tattle tails).
Anyway- I just sit around gawking at you and sucking on your cheeks and thanking God that He let me have you! I feel so blessed and so LUCKY. I don't take you for granted... just ask your Daddy. I probably say to him at least four times a day, "Starling... just LOOK at him... Can you BELIEVE HE is OUR baby? How did we get so blessed?", "Starling... I am SO in love with this BABY! I don't think I could have created a better baby if I'd been using gene selection!", "Starling...do you REALLY think we should have a third baby? After Brooklyn and Brighton... don't you think we're REALLY trying our luck? NO WAY can we get THREE angels... there's going to be a stinker coming up for SURE,", "Omgeez, Starling. I just don't ever want to put him DOWN! I just can't stop holding him!" (Which is why you weigh 17 pounds... so I HAVE to put you down)! Whatever or WHOEVER you THINK you love... times that by about 100,000 million cuzillion. Now you are about an eighth of the way to comprehending how much I love YOU!!\
Love,
Yo' Mama!
Monday, August 15, 2011
Brooklyn and Boston.... Best Buds
For the record, Brooklyn will not be allowed to date until she is 34, but I MAY make an exception for Boston. He and Brooklyn are ice cream and chocolate. They absolutely AMAZE me with how well they get along! I have to record some highlights from their day so that I'll have something to hang over their heads when I'm a little older and turn into my parents.
First, they run into the Sailor Play Room (also known as Brighton's room that he doesn't sleep in... also known as Brooklyn's Big Girl Room because occasionally she sleeps two hours in there before she wakes up the neighborhood screaming MOMMAY!) There is a cute kitchen my mom built and it’s equipped with plastic food, plastic dishes, and an array of beverages. Boston's eyes light up every time he walks in there and the next words out of his mouth are, "Ummm we can play house! An Brook Brook can be the Mommy and my can be the Daddy!" (She's two. He's three). Brooklyn always squeals with delight and says, "YE-EH! We can play house!" She agrees with anything Boston says. He could say, "Brooklyn, let’s go collect flying monkeys and let them nibble off our toes," and Brooklyn would say, with STARS in her eyes, "YE-EAH monkeys and our toes!"
So they began playing house. It’s comical the things little ones pick up on. They know they need to have children. And, maybe because they are both from LDS families, they assume they need to have LOTS of children. So they collect ALL of Brooklyn's baby dolls and sit them up so that they can "feed" them. Six babies. One baby gets a bottle. The second baby gets a hamburger, french fries, and a jalapeño pepper. Those are the only two babies they feed. I ask, “What about the OTHER four babies? Are you going to feed them?” Boston said, “Umm… no. Dees babies need to go to bed.” I looked to Brooklyn for some sign of motherhood. BUT she stood behind her man, “Ye-eah! They HAF ta go night-night.” But on second thought, maybe they needed a bath. Well ONE needed a bath. So Brooklyn dunked the baby head first into the tub and then got distracted with a horse Boston held up, “This can be the pet horse for our house!” Brooklyn thought that was FABULOUS. So one baby slept face down in the bathtub, and the OTHER five slept in the “baby bed” which is a basket that would comfortably fit ONE baby, BUT can stuff five babies if you pile them on top of each other and sit on them as Boston proved possible.
Finally they remembered the baby in the bathtub, but only because they needed that space to hold their three pet dinosaurs. And then Brooklyn’s Barbies joined the family. Boston didn’t look thrilled about the Barbies invading his home, but, like every good man, he bit his tongue and let the wife do her THING. When Brooklyn wasn’t looking, he made all the Barbies nose dive out of the stroller to make room the stuffed dogs that he found.
When Brooklyn came across some bubbles, she and Boston blew bubbles all through the house giggling and frolicking like two little deer. Then they took turns throwing tennis balls at my fridge. This was ESpECiaLLY amusing because CHARKLEY is the SOLE owner of EVERY tennis ball in my house. (Or so he thinks). So every time they would throw the ball, Charkley would run 20 miles an hour after the ball only to watch the ball bounce off the fridge. He’d attempt to run the other way, but his momentum wouldn’t let him and he’d skid on the tile INTO the fridge, bounce off and fly towards the ball. But before he’d get to it, another ball was zooming over his head. He’d abandon the first ball and run after the last one thrown. You would have thought we had clowns falling off their tight ropes in the kitchen. Brooklyn and Boston were laughing so hard I had to keep telling them not to pee on the carpet.
THEN we went outside. I played the donkey and pulled them UP and DOWN the road in the little red wagon. Brooklyn said, “Boston, I want you to lay down wif me.” So the two of them lay in the wagon, Boston letting his arm rest around Brooklyn’s shoulders. While I trudged along wheezing like a chain smoker, the two of them sang “Butterfly Butterfly happy all DAY!” at the top of their little lungs. They sounded SOOO sweet together that I started making song requests. Brooklyn quickly said, “Mommy, puh-leeze stop.” I guess I’m already an embarrassment to my TWO year old. I think they should sing a duet in church.
Then they swam and swung and slid. (Try saying that three times fast). Boston didn’t want to leave and Brooklyn didn’t want him to leave, either. They are just the best of friends!
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First, they run into the Sailor Play Room (also known as Brighton's room that he doesn't sleep in... also known as Brooklyn's Big Girl Room because occasionally she sleeps two hours in there before she wakes up the neighborhood screaming MOMMAY!) There is a cute kitchen my mom built and it’s equipped with plastic food, plastic dishes, and an array of beverages. Boston's eyes light up every time he walks in there and the next words out of his mouth are, "Ummm we can play house! An Brook Brook can be the Mommy and my can be the Daddy!" (She's two. He's three). Brooklyn always squeals with delight and says, "YE-EH! We can play house!" She agrees with anything Boston says. He could say, "Brooklyn, let’s go collect flying monkeys and let them nibble off our toes," and Brooklyn would say, with STARS in her eyes, "YE-EAH monkeys and our toes!"
So they began playing house. It’s comical the things little ones pick up on. They know they need to have children. And, maybe because they are both from LDS families, they assume they need to have LOTS of children. So they collect ALL of Brooklyn's baby dolls and sit them up so that they can "feed" them. Six babies. One baby gets a bottle. The second baby gets a hamburger, french fries, and a jalapeño pepper. Those are the only two babies they feed. I ask, “What about the OTHER four babies? Are you going to feed them?” Boston said, “Umm… no. Dees babies need to go to bed.” I looked to Brooklyn for some sign of motherhood. BUT she stood behind her man, “Ye-eah! They HAF ta go night-night.” But on second thought, maybe they needed a bath. Well ONE needed a bath. So Brooklyn dunked the baby head first into the tub and then got distracted with a horse Boston held up, “This can be the pet horse for our house!” Brooklyn thought that was FABULOUS. So one baby slept face down in the bathtub, and the OTHER five slept in the “baby bed” which is a basket that would comfortably fit ONE baby, BUT can stuff five babies if you pile them on top of each other and sit on them as Boston proved possible.
Finally they remembered the baby in the bathtub, but only because they needed that space to hold their three pet dinosaurs. And then Brooklyn’s Barbies joined the family. Boston didn’t look thrilled about the Barbies invading his home, but, like every good man, he bit his tongue and let the wife do her THING. When Brooklyn wasn’t looking, he made all the Barbies nose dive out of the stroller to make room the stuffed dogs that he found.
When Brooklyn came across some bubbles, she and Boston blew bubbles all through the house giggling and frolicking like two little deer. Then they took turns throwing tennis balls at my fridge. This was ESpECiaLLY amusing because CHARKLEY is the SOLE owner of EVERY tennis ball in my house. (Or so he thinks). So every time they would throw the ball, Charkley would run 20 miles an hour after the ball only to watch the ball bounce off the fridge. He’d attempt to run the other way, but his momentum wouldn’t let him and he’d skid on the tile INTO the fridge, bounce off and fly towards the ball. But before he’d get to it, another ball was zooming over his head. He’d abandon the first ball and run after the last one thrown. You would have thought we had clowns falling off their tight ropes in the kitchen. Brooklyn and Boston were laughing so hard I had to keep telling them not to pee on the carpet.
THEN we went outside. I played the donkey and pulled them UP and DOWN the road in the little red wagon. Brooklyn said, “Boston, I want you to lay down wif me.” So the two of them lay in the wagon, Boston letting his arm rest around Brooklyn’s shoulders. While I trudged along wheezing like a chain smoker, the two of them sang “Butterfly Butterfly happy all DAY!” at the top of their little lungs. They sounded SOOO sweet together that I started making song requests. Brooklyn quickly said, “Mommy, puh-leeze stop.” I guess I’m already an embarrassment to my TWO year old. I think they should sing a duet in church.
Then they swam and swung and slid. (Try saying that three times fast). Boston didn’t want to leave and Brooklyn didn’t want him to leave, either. They are just the best of friends!
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Friday, August 12, 2011
The Complex
I just got home from working out. The worker dude commented that I was in EARLY tonight... early... at eleven THIRTY p.m. Unfortunately... its true... I've become a #1 slacker. I can NOT make myself get up at 6 a.m. PLUS I am DYING (like a dog watching his owner pick a rib bone clean) to work out at night. I mean... I'm not STRESSED out at six in the morning! (EXCEPT for stressing over the fact that I have to be AWAKE that early). But at NIGHT? I've had ALL day to find nerve irritants and I am SOOO ready to GET OUT of my HOUSE and do ANYTHING!! I could probably go to WAL MART every night and run laps in the grocery isle and be just as satisfied... but that would be more expensive than going to the gym. (I tend to buy things in Wal Mart. LOTS of things).
But working out is giving me a complex. Seriously. There I am sprawled out on a medicine ball, lying on my back doing a back bend balancing on my head when some chic walks over. I continue my um... NOT exercise... Then I bounce a bit on the ball... just because its FUN. I had finished working out my legs and was feeling pretty good about it. And I was "stretching" out my legs for a "cool down" though all I did was weights NOT aerobics... but playing on the giant bouncy ball is my reward for a job well done. (or a job well ATTEMPTED. A for Effort). AnyWAY... I take a glance at the girl. She is doing a full out SPLIT across the two ab machines and then STRETCHES her body in HALF and puts her head on her FEET. I'm 99% sure the chic could lick her own toes. The chic is a scrawny looking thing so my eyes bulged out of my head when she started doing push ups in the air on the stand thing that I never knew its purpose. All the while she's doing all her crazy fit routines I'm gawking from my perch on the ball. When she walks away... probably to go do back flips in the bathroom, I decided to take a gander on the stand. I LUCKILY didn't rip my arms off... just out of their sockets. I decided I would stick with ab stuff. So I got the little wheel thing that you hold and roll across the ground. It looked like a simple procedure when Julie the Gymnast did it. Well... I got on my toes and rolled it. Then I sat up and rubbed my poor nose that got PLASTERED against the floor when the wheel kept rolling and I hadn't the strength to pull it back towards me. I was done after that. I shakily walked out on legs that were randomly jerking, arms that were hanging limp, and a BIG red nose.
I was OKAY being a weakling when I thought it was just because I was a GIRL... or just because I was SCRAWNY... BUT when girls half my size are lifting TWICE as much (well probably more like 18 times as much) and people TWICE my age... no.. twice my GRANDMA's AGE are kicking my tail... I feel a bit perturbed. So... I've vouched to myself that ONE DAY when I lift my arm sleeve... people will STARE at my MASSIVE muscles and be AFRAID! When I'm walking in a dark parking lot and a scary man is waiting to rob an unsuspecting stranger... he will take one look at me and think... "YIKES! I can't take HER... she'll kick my sorry, low life BUTT!" That is my PLAN! And its going to happen! I can already crank the push mower ALL BY MYSELF!
But working out is giving me a complex. Seriously. There I am sprawled out on a medicine ball, lying on my back doing a back bend balancing on my head when some chic walks over. I continue my um... NOT exercise... Then I bounce a bit on the ball... just because its FUN. I had finished working out my legs and was feeling pretty good about it. And I was "stretching" out my legs for a "cool down" though all I did was weights NOT aerobics... but playing on the giant bouncy ball is my reward for a job well done. (or a job well ATTEMPTED. A for Effort). AnyWAY... I take a glance at the girl. She is doing a full out SPLIT across the two ab machines and then STRETCHES her body in HALF and puts her head on her FEET. I'm 99% sure the chic could lick her own toes. The chic is a scrawny looking thing so my eyes bulged out of my head when she started doing push ups in the air on the stand thing that I never knew its purpose. All the while she's doing all her crazy fit routines I'm gawking from my perch on the ball. When she walks away... probably to go do back flips in the bathroom, I decided to take a gander on the stand. I LUCKILY didn't rip my arms off... just out of their sockets. I decided I would stick with ab stuff. So I got the little wheel thing that you hold and roll across the ground. It looked like a simple procedure when Julie the Gymnast did it. Well... I got on my toes and rolled it. Then I sat up and rubbed my poor nose that got PLASTERED against the floor when the wheel kept rolling and I hadn't the strength to pull it back towards me. I was done after that. I shakily walked out on legs that were randomly jerking, arms that were hanging limp, and a BIG red nose.
I was OKAY being a weakling when I thought it was just because I was a GIRL... or just because I was SCRAWNY... BUT when girls half my size are lifting TWICE as much (well probably more like 18 times as much) and people TWICE my age... no.. twice my GRANDMA's AGE are kicking my tail... I feel a bit perturbed. So... I've vouched to myself that ONE DAY when I lift my arm sleeve... people will STARE at my MASSIVE muscles and be AFRAID! When I'm walking in a dark parking lot and a scary man is waiting to rob an unsuspecting stranger... he will take one look at me and think... "YIKES! I can't take HER... she'll kick my sorry, low life BUTT!" That is my PLAN! And its going to happen! I can already crank the push mower ALL BY MYSELF!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Watermellon
Yesterday was a Cabbage. A rotten, fermented cabbage. I vowed that TODAY Brooklyn, Brighton, and I would go OUTSIDE. We would NOT watch Diego. We would NOT read Care Bears. I would NOT clean. (Well... much). And we would have a Watermellon day... a juicy, sweet day. SO, after we all had brunch, OUT I hauled us. FIRST, I strolled them down our street in the little red wagon. Then I plopped two kiddies into swings and swung them. (AFTER I poured water on the swings so that my children did not receive third degree BURNS from the melting plastic). Brighton passed out... I checked to make sure he hadn't passed ON from a heat stroke, and when I was satisfied that he was still breathing, I put him inside in the air conditioning. Brooklyn and I swung a little longer and then I asked her if she wanted to help me build a nest.
You see... three days ago our back yard was a jungle. And I mean that in all literal terms. The grass was so long I'm certain monkeys could have lived in it undetected. WELL I mowed. It was no easy feat, mind you, and not without me running over a yellow WIRE that Starling had looped partly above ground, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do. (I would have mowed it sooner if a tsunami hadn't landed on my house EVERY afternoon for two weeks). And NOW my yard is a pile of hay... a giant pile of hay. And it occurred to me that my grass is all going to DIE. I almost lost this thought of horror to thoughts of relief, but I clung to the horror with all my might in an attempt to motivate myself to do the unthinkable. RAKE. THIS is where the NEST comes in. Brooklyn would NEVER want to stop swinging to RAKE... but I figured she MIGHT if she thought we were building a nest. And I was right. (That's why I'm the MOM. BC I'm RIGHT. ALWAYS RIGHT... except for the FEW times when I'm wrong... but I don't admit those times so its kind of like they don't exist).
I raked up the brown grass and put it in Brooklyn's wagon. "Do you want to help me?" I asked her. "SURE!!" she said... but then paused. "What's wrong? Just grab a handful and throw it into the wagon." She tilted her head uncertain. "I don't WANT to touch the NE-EST... its very yucky."
"Its not yucky... its grass. See? Mommy is touching it." Famous last words. A spider climbed out of the grass onto my hand as I choked on a SCREAM. Literally. Not figuratively. I was in the middle of swallowing and my scream got stuck in the wrong pipe or something and I thought I was going to have to Heimlich Maneuver my scream out of my throat. That cinched it for Brooklyn. She wanted NOTHING to do with the grass.
When I was finally able to BREATHE, I brainstormed for places to PUT all the dead grass. There is the BURN pile... but who the heck wants to stand next to a FIRE when it is a million and fourteen degrees outside?? THEN I thought of the perfect place. Around the palm trees Starling just planted. I hauled each tiny load and dumped it in the bed. "Oh you are making a really BIG nest, Mommy!" Uh huh. "All the birds can sleep here."
I hope the mess kills the grass so we don't have to weed eat the four foot tall sprigs that shoot up every time a drop of water makes contact with the ground. The hay is not very beautiful. I coin it the Poor (wo)Man's Mulch. But it'll do the trick until we put in real mulch.
I only did ONE bed... there are still at LEAST three to do... but Brooklyn's head looked like an apple which made me thirsty for apple juice and so we had to take a break... a break that is going to last the rest of the night, I believe. (My USUAL style... HALF done).
But I must get back to entertaining Brooklyn. She's caught on that I'm blogging instead of making her penguin dance while she's playing the piano. NOW we are making a band out of tinker toys. The LOUDER they CLANK the BETTER! WHEN will Starling be HOME???
You see... three days ago our back yard was a jungle. And I mean that in all literal terms. The grass was so long I'm certain monkeys could have lived in it undetected. WELL I mowed. It was no easy feat, mind you, and not without me running over a yellow WIRE that Starling had looped partly above ground, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do. (I would have mowed it sooner if a tsunami hadn't landed on my house EVERY afternoon for two weeks). And NOW my yard is a pile of hay... a giant pile of hay. And it occurred to me that my grass is all going to DIE. I almost lost this thought of horror to thoughts of relief, but I clung to the horror with all my might in an attempt to motivate myself to do the unthinkable. RAKE. THIS is where the NEST comes in. Brooklyn would NEVER want to stop swinging to RAKE... but I figured she MIGHT if she thought we were building a nest. And I was right. (That's why I'm the MOM. BC I'm RIGHT. ALWAYS RIGHT... except for the FEW times when I'm wrong... but I don't admit those times so its kind of like they don't exist).
I raked up the brown grass and put it in Brooklyn's wagon. "Do you want to help me?" I asked her. "SURE!!" she said... but then paused. "What's wrong? Just grab a handful and throw it into the wagon." She tilted her head uncertain. "I don't WANT to touch the NE-EST... its very yucky."
"Its not yucky... its grass. See? Mommy is touching it." Famous last words. A spider climbed out of the grass onto my hand as I choked on a SCREAM. Literally. Not figuratively. I was in the middle of swallowing and my scream got stuck in the wrong pipe or something and I thought I was going to have to Heimlich Maneuver my scream out of my throat. That cinched it for Brooklyn. She wanted NOTHING to do with the grass.
When I was finally able to BREATHE, I brainstormed for places to PUT all the dead grass. There is the BURN pile... but who the heck wants to stand next to a FIRE when it is a million and fourteen degrees outside?? THEN I thought of the perfect place. Around the palm trees Starling just planted. I hauled each tiny load and dumped it in the bed. "Oh you are making a really BIG nest, Mommy!" Uh huh. "All the birds can sleep here."
I hope the mess kills the grass so we don't have to weed eat the four foot tall sprigs that shoot up every time a drop of water makes contact with the ground. The hay is not very beautiful. I coin it the Poor (wo)Man's Mulch. But it'll do the trick until we put in real mulch.
I only did ONE bed... there are still at LEAST three to do... but Brooklyn's head looked like an apple which made me thirsty for apple juice and so we had to take a break... a break that is going to last the rest of the night, I believe. (My USUAL style... HALF done).
But I must get back to entertaining Brooklyn. She's caught on that I'm blogging instead of making her penguin dance while she's playing the piano. NOW we are making a band out of tinker toys. The LOUDER they CLANK the BETTER! WHEN will Starling be HOME???
The Endless Wait
I kind of feel like all I do is WAIT. I wait on Brooklyn to finish her chocolate milk so I can brush her teeth... I wait on Brighton to finish nursing so I can get back to vacuuming. I wait ALL DAY for Starling to get home so he can distract Brooklyn for just a FEW minutes so that MAYBE I can finish doing whatever project I have been attempting to complete ALL day to no avail. BUT... something else seems to always happen that keeps me from completing ANYTHING. I have HALF a load of laundry folded, HALF the dishes in the dishwasher put away, a couple of rooms vacuumed... the BATHTUB washed but still haven't made it to cleaning the toilet... One kid bathed... one kid going to bed with no bath...
So that's where I was last night... a bundle of nerves. I was PU-RETTY sure I was about to go crazy, a term I don't take lightly. I'd gone on a cleaning RAMPAGE and emptied EVERYTHING out of the laundry room. I organized all of MY junk and PILED all of Starling's stuff in the den for him to sort and HOPEFULLY put TONS of it in the garage sale pile. (For example... we had THREE dust-busters in the laundry room. I didn't even know we had ONE dust buster. Who the heck needs THREE?) Cleaning makes me ornery. The more I clean, the more I get mad at Starling. Every time I pick up a dirty sock, move a motorcycle helmet, collect a pile of screws, rinse an oily rag...it takes a little notch out of my sanity. And when I see the summation of Starling's collection all in a pile...my nerves kind of go berserk.
Then of course there is BROOKLYN. She's tidy enough... its her CONSTANT need of attention that makes me want to bury my head in the toilet and slam it with the porcelain lid. Repeatedly. She contracted some little virus that has not impaired her energy WHAT-SO-EVER, but has put us under house arrest. NOT a good combination for the most SANE woman on earth. For the last week I have been trapped with my little ANGEL, left to be her SOLE source of entertainment since I didn't want to spread the illness to her friends that would NORMALLY frolic with her. I've eaten Mardi Gras beads "bu-sketti and beat balls" that Brooklyn cooked for me in her kitchen until my stomach popped, read Care Bear books until my eyes crossed, played "scare daddy" until my throat got raw, fed her spagetti o's and chocolate milk until my arm went limp, listened to Diego's theme song until my ear drums busted, built stars out of Popsicle sticks until my fingers grew stiff, and WAS she TIRED? NO!! BUT I WAS! AM. I look like a strung out junkie and have the munchies like one, too.
So when Starling FINALLY got home at 10:30, I met him at the door with my gym bag and practically RAN from my house. Brooklyn was screaming, "NO, MOMMY! Don't leave us! I want you to go get in the night-night RIGHT NOW!" All I could think was, 'WHY doesn't the gym have a punching bag? I really just want to HIT something.' Well, I walked into the gym and headed straight for the weights. I was sweating in minutes and my nerves were beginning to settle. I took a book to read for the two minutes of rest time between each set. I was JUST starting to RELAX and BREATH when some dude asked about my hat.
"Is that you or you're just wearing that?" I LOVE to talk. You KNOW I do. But when I go to the GYM, I go to ZONE into work-out mode and OUT of dealing with PEOPLE mode. I had to think a minute about what HAT I was wearing. (I don't exactly dress to impress when I head to the gym. I grab and go). A Philmont hat. "I worked there one summer." I went back to my book.
"I've been there. I was boyscout... eagle scout... all that stuff." I looked up again. "Cool."
"Are you from around here? You're pretty young, but I think I know you." My nerves started twitching AGAIN. "Yeah. My HUSBAND and I live in Oak Grove. We just had our second baby and I'm trying to get back in shape." Instead of being like- 'Oh. She's married. WITH two kids. Never mind.' But I shouldn't have flattered myself by thinking he was trying to hit on me. He wasn't. He was like, "Wow you just had a kid!? Well let me give you some work-out tips that will get the permanent POOCH to go away!" I went to a DIFFERENT weight area. The dude followed.
The guy talked to me for over an HOUR. Super nice. Good info. I can't count reps AND pay attention to someone talking. I didn't even FINISH my workout. To my knowledge, chatterbox never even STARTED his workout. At MIDNIGHT I finally decided the only way I was going to WORK OUT was to go back LATER. Starling was texting me that Brighton was awake anyway. When I announced I was LEAVING, the dude gave me a summary of our one hour conversation, reminding me of ALL the tips and tricks I needed to know in life. THEN, before I was even gone, he'd made his way to a group of men that were working out. They gave me the look of death. I threw a grin and a wave and said, under my breath, 'Better YA'LL than ME.'
Needless to say, I REEEEEALLY wanted to hit something when I left the gym. But instead I tried to go to bed. Starling was holding Brighton while watching t.v. and Brooklyn was passed out on my side of the bed. I fed Brighton, put him in his crib, and crawled to my bed exhausted. I lifted Brooklyn to put her in HER bed and her panties were wet. I glared at Starling. "Seriously? You didn't make her potty before she went to bed?" He shrugged, "She fell asleep." Yeah. AFTER drinking two GALLONS of chocolate milk. "And you didn't think to put a DIAPER on her?" He didn't bother answering the rhetorical answer. "UGH!!!" I had JUST put clean sheets on the bed before I left to work out. I cleaned up Brooklyn, put a diaper on her, plopped her in HER bed and when I went back to MY BED... was it CLEANED? NOPE. Starling was snoring. EEERRR! So I cleaned the bed and slept on the couch, because I was #1 NOT sleeping on a wet spot and #2 was PISSED. Not at anyone in particular. Just at my life in that moment.
And, despite the fact that I hadn't gone to bed until after 1:30 in the morning, after I fed Brighton at 6:30, I went BACK to the gym to finish my work out. And that was smart. I did crunches until my eyes were glazing over from lack of sleep, did the rest of the tummy trauma, and once I was SO exhausted that I questioned my ability to DRIVE home and ONLY then, I left. I slumped into my house, threw in the LAST bit of laundry into the washer, and flopped into my bed. I woke up with my kiddos in a MUCH more child-friendly mood.
So that's where I was last night... a bundle of nerves. I was PU-RETTY sure I was about to go crazy, a term I don't take lightly. I'd gone on a cleaning RAMPAGE and emptied EVERYTHING out of the laundry room. I organized all of MY junk and PILED all of Starling's stuff in the den for him to sort and HOPEFULLY put TONS of it in the garage sale pile. (For example... we had THREE dust-busters in the laundry room. I didn't even know we had ONE dust buster. Who the heck needs THREE?) Cleaning makes me ornery. The more I clean, the more I get mad at Starling. Every time I pick up a dirty sock, move a motorcycle helmet, collect a pile of screws, rinse an oily rag...it takes a little notch out of my sanity. And when I see the summation of Starling's collection all in a pile...my nerves kind of go berserk.
Then of course there is BROOKLYN. She's tidy enough... its her CONSTANT need of attention that makes me want to bury my head in the toilet and slam it with the porcelain lid. Repeatedly. She contracted some little virus that has not impaired her energy WHAT-SO-EVER, but has put us under house arrest. NOT a good combination for the most SANE woman on earth. For the last week I have been trapped with my little ANGEL, left to be her SOLE source of entertainment since I didn't want to spread the illness to her friends that would NORMALLY frolic with her. I've eaten Mardi Gras beads "bu-sketti and beat balls" that Brooklyn cooked for me in her kitchen until my stomach popped, read Care Bear books until my eyes crossed, played "scare daddy" until my throat got raw, fed her spagetti o's and chocolate milk until my arm went limp, listened to Diego's theme song until my ear drums busted, built stars out of Popsicle sticks until my fingers grew stiff, and WAS she TIRED? NO!! BUT I WAS! AM. I look like a strung out junkie and have the munchies like one, too.
So when Starling FINALLY got home at 10:30, I met him at the door with my gym bag and practically RAN from my house. Brooklyn was screaming, "NO, MOMMY! Don't leave us! I want you to go get in the night-night RIGHT NOW!" All I could think was, 'WHY doesn't the gym have a punching bag? I really just want to HIT something.' Well, I walked into the gym and headed straight for the weights. I was sweating in minutes and my nerves were beginning to settle. I took a book to read for the two minutes of rest time between each set. I was JUST starting to RELAX and BREATH when some dude asked about my hat.
"Is that you or you're just wearing that?" I LOVE to talk. You KNOW I do. But when I go to the GYM, I go to ZONE into work-out mode and OUT of dealing with PEOPLE mode. I had to think a minute about what HAT I was wearing. (I don't exactly dress to impress when I head to the gym. I grab and go). A Philmont hat. "I worked there one summer." I went back to my book.
"I've been there. I was boyscout... eagle scout... all that stuff." I looked up again. "Cool."
"Are you from around here? You're pretty young, but I think I know you." My nerves started twitching AGAIN. "Yeah. My HUSBAND and I live in Oak Grove. We just had our second baby and I'm trying to get back in shape." Instead of being like- 'Oh. She's married. WITH two kids. Never mind.' But I shouldn't have flattered myself by thinking he was trying to hit on me. He wasn't. He was like, "Wow you just had a kid!? Well let me give you some work-out tips that will get the permanent POOCH to go away!" I went to a DIFFERENT weight area. The dude followed.
The guy talked to me for over an HOUR. Super nice. Good info. I can't count reps AND pay attention to someone talking. I didn't even FINISH my workout. To my knowledge, chatterbox never even STARTED his workout. At MIDNIGHT I finally decided the only way I was going to WORK OUT was to go back LATER. Starling was texting me that Brighton was awake anyway. When I announced I was LEAVING, the dude gave me a summary of our one hour conversation, reminding me of ALL the tips and tricks I needed to know in life. THEN, before I was even gone, he'd made his way to a group of men that were working out. They gave me the look of death. I threw a grin and a wave and said, under my breath, 'Better YA'LL than ME.'
Needless to say, I REEEEEALLY wanted to hit something when I left the gym. But instead I tried to go to bed. Starling was holding Brighton while watching t.v. and Brooklyn was passed out on my side of the bed. I fed Brighton, put him in his crib, and crawled to my bed exhausted. I lifted Brooklyn to put her in HER bed and her panties were wet. I glared at Starling. "Seriously? You didn't make her potty before she went to bed?" He shrugged, "She fell asleep." Yeah. AFTER drinking two GALLONS of chocolate milk. "And you didn't think to put a DIAPER on her?" He didn't bother answering the rhetorical answer. "UGH!!!" I had JUST put clean sheets on the bed before I left to work out. I cleaned up Brooklyn, put a diaper on her, plopped her in HER bed and when I went back to MY BED... was it CLEANED? NOPE. Starling was snoring. EEERRR! So I cleaned the bed and slept on the couch, because I was #1 NOT sleeping on a wet spot and #2 was PISSED. Not at anyone in particular. Just at my life in that moment.
And, despite the fact that I hadn't gone to bed until after 1:30 in the morning, after I fed Brighton at 6:30, I went BACK to the gym to finish my work out. And that was smart. I did crunches until my eyes were glazing over from lack of sleep, did the rest of the tummy trauma, and once I was SO exhausted that I questioned my ability to DRIVE home and ONLY then, I left. I slumped into my house, threw in the LAST bit of laundry into the washer, and flopped into my bed. I woke up with my kiddos in a MUCH more child-friendly mood.
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