Zen and the Art of Motherhood

He Sees Dorky People

2010-09-19T20:33:00.001-06:00

Today the Little Stinker had a friend over to play. There they were playing with Legos, catching moths and engaging in other boy-like endeavors when the friend made a profound statement.

"Your mom's not cool."

Truer words were never spoken. I passed cool a long time ago on my way to frumpy and fugly. No big surprise, here.

But what did take me back was the fact that this enlightened phrase came from a four-year-old boy. My other kids were at least seven or eight before they started noticing mom's fashion sense wasn't exactly trendy. And they were probably nine or ten when they decided I was an embarrassment of epic proportions.

Kids are certainly growing up faster these days. But four? Don't you think that's a bit young?

When I look back, I've never been the popular type. I was an all-out dork in elementary school, which morphed into a nerdy, smart kid in middle school, to a bit of a misfit in high school. But my secret was tucked away safely -- along with my old school photos and yearbooks -- until I was exposed by a preschooler with the insight of that kid in Sixth Sense.

The gig is officially up. I'm doomed to live the rest of my life as pitifully uncool. Very sad. Very sad.

I think I'll need a trip to the mall to cheer me up.

Touching up my image,

P.S. Mr. Shyamalan, if you happen to be reading...your career can use a good boost and this kid's got a real gift. You may want to check him out.

I Drive, Therefore I Am

2010-09-14T09:16:00.000-06:00

Colorado is not a small state. One of those nice, neat rectangular states it travels 387 miles from east to west and a mere 276 miles from the north to the south. It's terrain is quite varied, with the Great Plains to the east, the Rocky Mountains smack-dab in the middle, and then the more arid and desert-like Western Slope.

Why this little lesson in western U.S. geography?

School is now in full swing for my family. And while that means that I have between three and five glorious hours to myself each day, mornings and afternoons are anything but peaceful. I honestly think that while carting my dear children from home to school, school to home and activity after activity, I have now covered the perimeter of Colorado about ten times over. And that's a lot of driving.

As you may know, I, in all my infinite wisdom, have four children at four different learning establishments. Yes, its true. Now, when you stop laughing hysterically, I go on with my tale of woe.

Last year wasn't so bad. Our oldest took the bus to our neighborhood school, my youngest was in a preschool a few blocks away and the others were placed in their respective carpools. There were days where driving presented some problems, but all-in-all it was doable.

This year...

No such luck. My oldest is now in high school. If that alone isn't scary enough, our ~~cheap~~ fine district doesn't believe in buses. I'm not sure why, but rumor has it research has shown riding in all those goldenrod vehicles is bad for their self esteem. Whatever the reason, given the fact that she is seemingly allergic to walking or biking, and she's still too young to drive herself, the task falls on yours truly. It doesn't help that our up-and-coming athlete is doing two sports and a youth group too.

This year also finds my other kids in activities of their own. Even the four-year-old is playing soccer. So, the Mom Bus has been put to good use this year. So much so, I feel like I should start charging a fare for riding.

Hmmm. That gets me thinking. Self esteem be damned, maybe I should trade up for one of those beautiful goldenrod vehicles after all. The one pictured above is a real looker, don't you think? I could put a bed in the back, a small fridge for snacks and maybe a bathroom for those emergency pit stops.

Am I scaring you? I'm scaring me too. I've been driving way too much.

Just Truckin' Along,

An Oldie But Goodie

2010-08-17T09:11:00.000-06:00

Three down, one to go.

As of this morning, I have three of my four back in school. So to honor this glorious day, I decided to repost a little something I wrote last year around this time. And without further ado, here is Twas the Day that School Started:

Twas the day that school started, and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

My gym clothes were placed by the door with care,
In hopes that some free time would soon be there;
The children all nestled in classes where they read,
While visions of peacefulness danced in my head;
And me in my sweats, ready for a lap,
Had first settled down for an overdue nap,
When out from the house there arose no clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away down the stairs I flew like a flash,
I tripped on the cat, and stepped on the trash.

The sun shedding light on the orderly show,
Gave the lustre of midday to the neat scene below:
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the kitchen still clean, and a floor that was clear,
No toys on the counters, no arguments to fix,
I knew in a moment something must be amiss;
Then quickly I remembered, and smiling went to work,
I mastered the laundry; fixed every little quirk,
I put make up on, even sported a pose,
then gave a quick nod, sad the day would soon close;
I got off my feet, to my dog gave a whistle,
And away the hours flew like the down of a thistle.
As I leave you today, there’s just one thing to say,

"HAPPY SCHOOL YEAR TO ALL, AND TO ALL ENJOY YOUR DAYS!"

Doin' a little happy dance,

Yeah, Sure It's Free

2010-07-26T17:16:00.000-06:00

Sorry all, but I think I'm suffering from a little sticker shock today.

Am I planning a big vacation? Buying a new car? Maybe new appliances for the kitchen?

Nope.

I just tallied up how much it's going to cost to get my kids back to school. And let me tell you, it ain't pretty.

Here's a breakdown of what we've got so far:

Registration and school fees: $429
School supplies: $300
School photos: $100
New clothes: $500

That's $1300 before anyone even enters the building. Mind you -- but for my youngest who is still in preschool -- all of my kids are in public school. You know. Free education.

Ha!

And this doesn't include the perpetual stream of requests that pop up once school is back in session. Sports fees, art fees, party fees, field trips and fundraisers. Why, it's a bottomless pit.

So now, instead of enjoying what's left of our summer (did I mention school starts in mid-August in these parts?), I'm sitting here scratching my head trying to figure out how I'm going to pay for all this stuff. You think I can get a Back To School loan somewhere?

We were thinking of taking a long weekend up in the mountains before school started. But no. Now I'll be spending the money on paper and pencils and highlighters instead. How lame is that?

Trying to find gainful employment (or a long-lost rich relative),

Ode to Beau

2010-07-02T13:47:00.000-06:00

Today is a sad day in the Zen household. It is the day we said goodbye to an old friend.

He was a part of our family for the last 14 years. Come to think of it, we've known him longer than most of our kids. And while I know he lived a long life for a big black goofball of a mutt, his time with us was too short.

He went by many names. Beau. The Big Lug. And Big Bad Beau Dog. There were a few others sprinkled in there on bad days, but I think I'll leave those out.

A stray, he had no papers, no pedigree, but still he was as good as they come. He didn't have a mean bone in his body, and I can proudly say he never bit a soul -- even when the kids would ride him or dress him up or torture him in various other ways.

Whenever we came home, he always greeted us the same way. Not only his tail would wag, but his whole back end would join in the action. It was like we'd left him for days, when in fact we'd just returned from a trip to the store. That back end wag was what I remembered most of the day I picked him up and continued to be his signature move for years to come.

He loved to swim, he loved the snow and he absolutely loved to run. In his younger days, could be seen outpacing us even on our bikes. Unfortunately, he was not the best trained dog in the world, with his running abilities far surpassing his recall. There were many a time I was left cursing in his dust as he took off in the ranch behind our house.

But what I will remember most was his disposition. Even when he was old, deaf and in pain, he was a lover. As a matter of fact, he lay their licking my face as we waited for the vet to put him out of his misery.

I have to say, this was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I know it was the kind thing to do, the right thing to do, but still I sat there crying like a baby as the vet did what needed to be done. I came home to a house was a little quieter, a little emptier without him.

So this is my tribute to a wonderful stray pup from Montana who made his way into our home and our lives so many years ago. Rest in peace Beau Dog. We miss you terribly and will never forget you.

With a Heavy Heart Today,

Something is Very, Very Wrong Here

2010-06-08T20:44:00.000-06:00

Everything seems all right. My house is the same boring house, It has the same dirty carpet, the same broken tiles. You might even be able to see them but for all the kid's stuff sprawled out on top of every floor in the house.

But you can see the furniture. Too bad its the same crappy stuff we've had for years. And the kitchen. Don't get me started on the kitchen.

But with all this sameness, something is decidedly different. There is an eerie sense of calm, an uncharacteristic quiet that, quite frankly, is a little hard on the ears. The messes are not as mountainous, the chaos cut clear in half. Why its been so freaky, I actually pinched myself this morning to see if I was in the middle of some sick, bad joke of a dream.

Alas, I was awake. I have the bruise to prove it. Ouch. I shouldn't pinch so hard. And just as I resigned myself to the fact I that I was now living life in another dimension, I remembered.

This is my week. My one and only week. The one where most of the kids are gone most of the time, leaving me not knowing exactly what to do with myself.

You see my youngest daughter is away at camp in the mountains until Friday. Her brother started day camp this very same week. And, the Stinker is in vacation bible school every morning for the next five days.

That only leaves my oldest here. she is prone to sleeping in until 10 or 11, it's like having the house to myself.

This would all be great if I had something wonderful to fill my time. Instead, I'm like a deer in headlights. Stunned by silence, totally frozen and dead in my tracks. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?

That's because after ~~months~~ -- oh who am I kidding -- years of not having a moment to myself, of not being able to finish a thought or a sentence in over a decade, my to-do list has gotten a tad lengthy. And me being the focused, organized type that I am, has no idea where to begin.

The pressure is on too. Considering how little time I have, I feel like need to use it in the best, the most productive way possible. Every project that I've ever dreamed of dances through my head, along with a hundred to-do and grocery lists.

And yet, unable to corral my many unruly thoughts, I sit here playing solitaire on my computer, contemplating a nap. Oh well, so much for efficiency.

Scattered and Sleepy,

Ordinary People

2010-06-05T11:00:00.000-06:00

We live in an ordinary neighborhood. Look up and down our street and it's nothing special. No flashy cars, no monstrous houses. Just common folk going about their everyday lives.

My house is small by today's standards. A throwback to that lovely era that was the '70s, its a horrid tri-level. Whoever thought this was a good idea must have been snorting some other trendy drug of that era. So what made us buy it?

Three simple words: Location. Location. Location.

We in the Zen family tend to like our privacy. And our lot -- not horribly big or beautifully landscaped -- backs up to a ranch owned by the county. It extends our yard by about a mile or so of open prairie. This is a rare commodity in these parts, so we snapped at the chance to purchase our not-so-wonderful abode.

At the time we said it was just a starter home. We'd be out in five years max. On to something bigger and better and definitely less common.

Yes, famous last words, I know. That was 15 years ago. Here I sit, in my little not-so-special house on the prairie, always looking longingly at those big houses in nicer neighborhoods.

But looks can be deceiving. As I look back over the years, this unimpressive neighborhood is home to some pretty outstanding people.

When I was pregnant with my last, I was very sick in bed. And I could let my children play on the streets unattended, because I knew my neighbors were all watching out for them.

When my oldest son, who is autistic, was having a difficult time last year, the neighborhood kids, many of them teens, would willingly take time out of their days and walk him down to the pond to go fishing.

When things were tough and our yard a mess, no one complained. Instead, I had neighbors over helping me clean my house and cooking us meals, because they knew we were having a rough go of it.

I can honestly say, we have never had a major problem with a neighbor. Whatever minor disagreements there were have always been solved by a simple knock on the door or a ring of the phone.

Tonight, the kids in our neighborhood -- all 25 of them -- will put on their annual play. Totally written, produced, directed and starring the diverse group of young ones, they've been doing this for six years. Everyone is included and many schools and organizations could learn a lesson or two from this success display of inclusiveness.

Tonight, as we sit and watch their production, I'll be very proud of my four. But I'll also be thankful for my ordinary neighborhood and its not-so-ordinary people.

Humble and Thankful,

Call Me Crazy...

2010-06-03T19:21:00.000-06:00

...but I like camping. Always have.

It may have something to do with my love of nature, sitting by a campfire or drinking some nice strong camp coffee. Or maybe it's the big, bad-ass trailer I have sitting in front of my house right now.

OK, I admit it. We don't exactly rough it. Sleeping on the ground is just too much for my old bones these days, so we opted for a few creature comforts. Like a memory foam mattress. And a microwave. And a potty. That wonderful, glorious potty. Bet you never thought you'd see glorious and wonderful in the same sentence as a toilet?

Even with all this stuff, it still took three days for me to recover from our weekend camping trip. But all in all, I'm happy to report that we made it through the first Zen Family camping trip of the year -- and everyone lived to tell the tale.

While the trip was by all accounts a success, it was not without its highs and lows.

Day One:
We were only an hour late in heading out. Not bad for our crew. Everyone was in a decent mood and no tantrums or meltdowns. We were definitely on a roll.

Too bad the same couldn't be said for our tire. About half the way to our destination -- in the middle of nowhere, of course -- we heard a low rumbling noise. This quickly turned into a What-The-Hell-Is-That? kind of noise. We pulled over to find out that our front tire was totally trashed.

Thank God for Roadside Assistance. One hour and a few hundred dollars later we were on our way with a new tire and a passel of grumpy kids. It might of had something to do with the bones we saw on the side of the road. My husband said they were cows, but no one was entirely convinced. Except for the dog, who tried to have them for a snack.

Day Two
Would have been great, if we hadn't encountered hurricane force winds. Nothing ruins a picnic like getting dirt and dust embedded in the eyeballs. By the end of the day, everyone (including me) was convinced that camping was evil and wanted to click their heels and get the hell out of Dodge.

Day Three
What a difference a day and a little less wind makes. We went to a local zoo, waded in a mountain stream and actually enjoyed one another's company by the campfire that evening. Camping was good and order was once again restored in the universe.

Day Four
My teenage daughter was so anxious to get back home to her texts and the mall, she was actually helpful in packing up. Note to self: we need to take her to the wilderness more often. Its great motivation in getting some much needed chores done.

Call me a glutton for punishment, but in two weeks we head out for a week-long, thousand mile trip to the Grand Canyon. Now that should be fun.

Brushing up on my cleansing breathes,

Cujo is Alive and Well

2010-05-28T15:11:00.000-06:00

This has been a wild and crazy couple of weeks. Literally.

I've already told you about Diablo. Well, I'm happy to report that our devil-dog, guest-from-hell has finally found a new home. Hopefully one without phones to chew or carpets to worry about.

No sooner did Diablo make his exit, we had the Bird Incident. Yesterday, it was the Giant Bug Scare. I'm not going to get into these now -- they're really worth a post all their own.

Whoops, digressed again. Back to the story. Today, the kids and I had the most bizarre experience we've had in a long time. Given the insane nature of our lives, this is really a major accomplishment.

It all started when we picked up our son from his last day of school. Yes, the last day of school. The words that should not be spoken. Just to let you know, I wore black.

Well, I decided to get the dog (the good one) out of the house and bring him along for the festivities. All was well until we were headed back to the car. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a cute little terrier attached itself to our Angel Dog's rear.

Chaos ensued, but all was still well. Our car was not too far and then we'd be gone.

Not so fast.

This was no ordinary dog and this is no simple story. Cujo followed us, the whole time no more than an inch away from the Angel Dog. Looks like he was totally enamored with our big guy. I finally got our dog into the car and slammed the door shut before the little canine could follow. After jumping up on my car door for a while, it decided (in protest, I'm sure of it) to lay down right under the wheel of my car.

No amount of coaxing would make it budge. In one failed attempt, I put my hand out and sporting my best puppy sweet-talking voice, I was met by a nasty set of teeth lunging toward me. I swear I would have run over it at that very moment if the kids weren't with me.

Not wanting to traumatize my kids with a pint-sized pup under the tires, we kept trying unsuccessfully to dislodge the beast from the car. This went on for fifteen minutes, until a kind man across the street took pity on us and joined the cause. Three attempts and one bite later, he finally succeeded in relocating Cujo.

At that very moment, I gunned the engine and made my escape, only to hear my kids yell, "Mom, its following us!"

And so it was. For two blocks, the surprisingly speedy dog was right behind us, until it spied yet another mom in another minivan and decided to terrorize her instead.

I'm happy to report that we made it home safe and sound. But after this incident, I have Animal Control on speed dial in my phone, just in case.

Right now, we're off for a weekend of camping with the family. I'm sure I'll have some adventures to share upon our return.

In the meantime, have a safe and wonderful Memorial Day weekend.

The Dog Catcher is My Friend,

The End Is Near

2010-05-19T06:03:00.000-06:00

I know what you're thinking. Here goes yet another Armageddon-like doomsday prediction.

Nope. Not exactly. It may be the end of my world, but yours should be just fine. Unless you have a preschooler that is.

Today, when I dropped off the Stinker at preschool, I went to sign up for Wednesday Lunch Bunch as usual. Too bad there were no sign up sheets.

And then it hit me. This is THE last week of preschool before summer break. Its filled with field trips and water days and other fun stuff, so no enrichment for the little ones.

This will truly rock my world. Gone will be my 2 1/2 hours of bliss...usually spent running around like a crazy lady trying to accomplish at least a few of the millions of things I need to get done sans a four-year-old.

And my five hour stretches? I guess I can kiss those goodbye until sometime in late August too.

I am taking some deep cleansing breathes right now to ward off the stress, but something tells me its a losing battle. In the meantime, I'll be repenting for all the sins I will be committing over the next couple of months...before its too late.

Enjoying my last days of freedom,

How Diablo Got His Name

2010-05-14T20:41:00.000-06:00

Last night I was watching one of my favorite shows of all time, LOST -- at least what's left of it. This episode gave the back story to the mysterious Jacob and the ultra-bad Man-In-Black. And while I was engrossed in my weekly dose of paranoia, death and destruction, it hit me.

Why the parallels were uncanny. OK, maybe I'm reaching here, but I'm gonna share anyway.

We have two dogs...at least officially. We have an very old, very grumpy guy who sleeps most of his days. Then there's our young guy. He's a gorgeous yellow Lab, as laid back as they come, and yes, even well trained -- no thanks to us, he's just THAT good.

Oh, I almost forgot, there's also Diablo. He's our Angel Dog's brother and had to vacate his home due to some severe allergies (or so they claimed). When the breeder asked if we could watch him for a little while until she found him a new home, we happily agreed. After all, being related to Angel Dog must mean that he would be equally as celestial. Right?

He's a Lab and a male, but that's about where the similarities end. He's black, not light, he's a tad on the energetic side, and no one -- I mean, no one -- would mistake him for an obedient pup.

Why, he's single-handedly been responsible for the majority of the destruction in our humble home. He's officially passed up the kids in this department, and that's no small feat.

Our list of casualties now includes one dog crate (he broke out on his first day), a box of tissues, a paintbrush handle, and old purse, numerous stuffed animals and a phone. Yes, you read that right...I came home today to find one of my phones chewed to pieces on the floor.

He's also been reason all the dinosaurs in my son's beloved collection now have no tails. And did I mention his propensity for sprints as soon as the front door opens? Or how about the fact that he really, really likes to climb up on the counter and munch on the cat's food for little snackeral?

You may ask why we haven't booted his bottom out the door by now? Believe me, we've threatened. But we happen to owe this breeder big time. You see, Angel Dog is a service dog for our son, and because of this she has our undying gratitude. Diablo is supposed to follow in his brother's footsteps, but something tells me he may not make the cut. The other thing that keeps him here is the fact that -- when he's not in full destruction mode -- he's really, really sweet. One look into those big brown eyes and he is once again granted a reprieve.

So these days, we are anxiously awaiting word that our resident Tasmanian Devil has found a new home. In the meantime, I can be found hiding the phones, stuffed animals and any other inanimate objects he might take a liking to.

I So Don't Need This Right Now,

Diablo and the Imp

2010-05-11T10:10:00.000-06:00

Our story begins with a little imp. Cute as a button, with gorgeous big eyes and a deceptively angelic face. With the uncanny ability to charm all he met, many a good man would find themselves unknowingly bending to his iron will. With a smile on his face and a chuckle under his breathe, he left a path of destruction everywhere he went.

Then one day, Diablo strolled into town. Tall, dark and quite handsome, he went by many names, but for our story, let's just stick with Diablo. It is the most fitting, after all. He could be a lover one minute, a terror the next. Under the guise of "passing through" he inched his way into every part of the local's lives until it was clear that he was never leaving.

When the imp first laid eyes on Diablo, he knew he was in for trouble. He was not one for competition and after all, this was his territory. Needless to say, their relationship was a contentious one, both showering the other with a daily dose of mayhem and torture. Ill will and childish pranks spread like wildfire, leaving no one unscathed.

Until yesterday, that is. It seems a friendship was forged, a deal struck. As Diablo bounded into the car, his tail wagging furiously, the imp reached out from his carseat and boldly declared, "I love you, Diablo."

This peace offering was met with a huge lick to the face -- until his attention was diverted by some crumbs on the floor, of course. But I am happy to report that -- although boy and dog still terrorize the rest of us -- they have made peace with each other and will probably live happily ever after.

Life is a Fair Tale,

If Its Not One Thing, Its Another

2010-05-06T12:18:00.000-06:00

Yes, I totally dropped off the face of the earth. And yes, I'd say I was sorry if I hadn't already profusely apologized for my absences a million times before.

What floors me is, after just checking this blog after a month-long hiatus, I still have people following me. You guys are great.

Now if any of you continue to read my ramblings remains to be seen.

Things have finally settled down in these parts. I am just now able to breathe and think. I've even been able to catch up on some things around the house. Its just an unfortunate that my timing happens to suck. That's because, just when I think I might actually get my act together, the kids gets out for the summer.

Hold me back. I feel a full-fledged anxiety attack coming on.

Four kids. Three dogs (yes we added a third temporarily, and yes, I'm insane). One small house. And one eternally cranky mom. This should be fun.

Don't get me wrong. I adore summer. I'm definitely a warm weather kind of gal, and I love the idea of having no intense schedule to keep, like during the school year.

But then again, we have no schedule to keep. And this means way too much free time. I've told you before I'm not one of those crafty moms. Fun, creative activities that keep my kids wildly entertained don't just pop into my head. And somehow we missed out on that delivery of cash, the one that would have allowed me the to fill my children's days with movies, shopping, trips to the pool and other budget-draining activities. Guess I'll just have to wear ear plugs when they begin the never-ending I'M BORED chant.

I think to worst thing about summer is what it does to my alone time. And I love my alone time. I live for it some days. I also tend to get a tad grumpy without it. Yeah, I didn't believe it at first either, but by all accounts, I am sad to report that it is very, very true.

My only saving grace is that, unlike last summer -- a time I try to block from my memory entirely -- we at least have SOME plans this year. One child will be enrolled in a summer-long day camp. I know you can't see me right now, but believe me when I tell you I'm doing a little Happy Dance as I type. The visual might not be a pretty one, but too bad. I take my excitement where I can get it.

Another child will be going to a week-long away camp. And yet another will be heading out on a ten-day mission trip. Too bad none of these happen to be the same week. So at any given time, I'll have at least three of them underfoot. Crap. I think I feel myself hyperventilating again.

We also have a week-long family vacation on the calendar. But before you get too excited, did I mention its a camping trip? To the Grand Canyon, no less. I'm just hoping no one falls off a cliff -- or even worse, gets pushed after seven days together in close quarters wrecks havoc with our family bonding strategy.

So as we head into the warmer months, I will try to keep you posted on the comings and goings of our lively bunch. No promises, however, considering it may be hard for me to type when I'm sporting one of those fashionable jacket with the extra long arms.

I will stay sane, I will stay sane,

Lemonade Stand

2010-04-18T08:07:00.000-06:00

Once again, I find myself unable to write like I used to. No witty remarks are forthcoming, no funny glimpses into daily life.

My heart has grown increasingly heavy. Lately, we've been dealt some rather large blows, but amazingly we continue to muddle through. I don't have the energy to go through all the details, but suffice it to say that life has provided us with an overabundance of lemons. In turn, I'm up to my eye balls in lemonade.

Instead of partaking in my favorite pastime of writing, I've been concentrating on my family, my home and my sanity -- what little there is left of it anyway. Some things never change I guess.

The good news is, what is important in life remains in tact. The kids are alright. My husband and I remain a tired, yet united front. And we have been graciously blessed by the kindness of so many around us.

I also find myself saddened by the struggles of some of my dearest friends. It seems I'm not the only one overflowing in citrus. I've been hit over the head hard with the fact that life sometimes sucks -- for so many people out there -- and how I'm not alone. Its time to stop wallowing and to reach out to somebody else for a change.

Just this morning I was reading a post on Califmom's blog. If you aren't familiar with her, follow her. IMMEDIATELY.

She is writing about her wonderful husband, who happens to be dying of cancer. Her words are poignant and full of strength. Her story is a sad one, but demonstrate the undying power of love so beautifully.

Her experience reminds me how resilient we humans are. How we can overcome so many horrible and terrifying events. And it puts into context my own rather trivial issues.

So, if anyone happens to still be following this blog, sorry in advance if you find my new found seriousness a downer. Its just where I'm at and if nothing else, I'm honest.

Do me a big favor, will you? This morning, give your loved ones a big hug. Hold onto them close, because you never know what tomorrow brings. And never ever underestimate your own power and strength.

Lost in Melancholy,

A Blockage of Epic Proportions

2010-04-02T06:22:00.000-06:00

Stagnant. Immovable. Stuck.

Things are a bit backed up around here.

No, not my pipes.

My thoughts.

I've gotten myself into a rut of the same old, same old. I've officially lost my edge and just go through the motions each day. That's why no posts. I can't seem to think of anything word-worthy. It all seems so...BORING.

So what's a girl to do? Turn to her virtual friends to lift her spirits, of course. What do you do when you hit writer's block? Inquiring minds want to know...

Bored to the Bone,

Its All the Same to Me

2010-03-26T08:00:00.001-06:00

If I had a keen eye, I'd see it. If my ear was more in tune, I'd most certainly hear it.. If I had a discriminating palate, I'd taste it. If any of my senses were finer and wiser, I would feel it in my bones.

But that is not my fate. No matter how hard I try, how deep I look, it doesn't change. When I look at the days of the week, they all look the same to me.

Now I know that many of you get all giggly and excited when the weekend comes. But are those two little days THAT special? Really?

Not in my neck of the woods. I still clean, I still do laundry, and I most definitely still watch the kids. All while desperately trying to fit in all those projects and errands that didn't get done during the "work" week. I actually find myself biding my time, waiting patiently for Monday to roll around. At least then I get a couple of hours of quiet time while the kids are at school.

But that doesn't stop me. I still find myself with a little skip in my step come Friday. Every week, I still have hope that maybe, just maybe, this week will be different. Oh when will I ever learn? Instead, like clockwork, my bubble is burst by Sunday evening.

There are no gourmet dinners, not wild parties. Just another day in the life of a frazzled stay-at-home mom.

So as we head into the weekend, I hope you all have a great one. Sorry if I don't share in the excitement -- its all the same to me.

Your Friendly Curmudgeon,

Productivity Redefined

2010-03-23T16:42:00.000-06:00

Once again I find myself apologizing. Life has this pesky way of getting in the way of my blogging. I will get around to visiting, commenting and posting again. I promise. But all in good time.

This has been just a symptom of my entire existence these days. Every day I seem to fall further and further behind. Papers to the ceiling, bills unpaid and dishes piled high and wide. I just can't keep my head above water.

Being the Queen of Disorganization, I'm always looking for ways to mend my evil ways. So my predicament started me thinking. Why am I having so much trouble? What's getting in my way of being efficient?

And this, in turn, set off a whole other chain of events. The result? A slew of rather philosophical inner discussions centering around the meaning of productivity.

What does it mean to be productive, anyway?

From an early age, outward signs of accomplishment are drilled into us. You know you're making progress when you can check stuff off your list or see the fruits of your labor in a nice, clean environment.

Lately, my little guy has been more needy than usual. He follows me around and in a constant, extremely endearing manner, he chants:

"Mommy, will you play with me?"

All too often, my response includes one of the following lines.

"I'm too busy right now. Maybe later."

"I need to clean the dishes."

"We need to go to the store."

And this situation, my friends, let to yet another revelation. It all began when I asked myself a simple question. In 20 years, what will be remembered? Will it be that my sink was always cleaned or that I actually found the time to build a relationship with my kids.

So today, productivity has taken on a whole new meaning.

It involves lounging in my rocking chair. With the Stinker in my lap, we watch Land Before Time for the eleventh time together. Or maybe it is that mid-day trip to the pond to feed the ducks and play make-believe fish.

Now don't get me wrong -- this doesn't come easy. To the contrary. I constantly feel a pull to "get something done" instead of just enjoying the kids (or anything else for that matter).

That's when I force myself to remember how quickly they grow. I know, right now that seems like such a fantasy! But when that day finally does come, I know I'll miss Ducky, Little Foot and all their friends. My kids will be on their own and then I'll have plenty of time to be productive.

Doing Nothing (and loving it),

Zen is Overrated

2010-03-12T15:45:00.000-07:00

OK. I need to breath.

No, not just short, shallow breathes. You know the ones. My kids are famous for these, especially when I tell them to turn off the TV.

No, I'm in need of some cleansing breathes. Ones that reach deep into the diaphragm then work hard to blow out all that stored stress.

That's the theory at least. If the truth be told, I've been huffing and puffing all week long and those great moments of calm are nowhere in sight. And that, my friend, bites.

What's got me so worked up?

In short, my life.

What was I thinking when I had four kids? They were just so darn cute, I guess. But now? Not so much. Between the laundry, the homework, the messes and the meltdowns, I'm about ready to blow my proverbial top.

And then there's the house. The projects I look at everyday, only to run away hyperventilating. There's also the bills. These just happen to go hand-and-hand with the lack of money to pay said bills.

Last but not least, there's me. Imaginer of many, finisher of few. Its already the end of March and I'm nowhere with my This-is-My-Year kick. I am sad to report my Couch to 5K exercise plan has now morphed into Couch with Doritos. As for my diet? Let's just say if I was on a weight gain regime, I'd be doing great.

There are days when everything seems to swirl above my head and put me in the front-row seat for my very own Beat Yourself Up show. And if you haven't noticed already, that day is today.

The one thing I'm thankful for today is this blog. Yes, I realize you may not be feeling the love as you read this written venting session, but for me, this outlet keeps me sane. OK, maybe not sane, but as close as one gets in these parts.

Hopefully the show will end soon and I'll be back to my ~~in denial~~ normal self tomorrow.

Its My ~~Pity~~ Party and I'll Vent If I Want To,

I Hate Winter

2010-03-09T19:28:00.000-07:00

This has been an exceptionally bad year around here. Seems we've gotten every bug, sniffle, sore throat and cough known to man. Why it hasn't been this bad since the older kids were younger. Back then, with three little ones under the age of three, everything came to a grinding halt whenever one of the kids got sick.

But its different now. This time I'm the one who's fallen for every germ that's come within a five mile radius of the house. And, unlike the days of old, I still have to complete carpool duty, run my errands and entertain the little guy -- all the while wishing I could just curl up and take a nice, peaceful nap.

This time its a good old-fashioned cold that's got me down. Contrary to popular belief, there's nothing common about this one. Its a dozy and has me actually looking back on my time with the Swine Flu fondly.

So tonight I'm typing from bed, with Kleenex strategically place on my right and cough drops to the left. I can't wait for the warmer weather to get here so I can feel human once again.

Sniffling Away,

Houston We Have a Problem

2010-03-08T12:00:00.000-07:00

Our Little Stinker's done it again. And just when I thought that I had heard and seen everything.

To say he has an active imagination is most definitely an understatement. Like most boys his age, he's way big into dinosaurs, tigers, lions and any other predatory beast past and present. But, as usual, he needs to take things a step further. Not only does he have a passion for these creatures, he now things he's one of them.

I've already told you how he growls at new people he meets. This has caused many a problem as little kids run crying to their mommies when the mean kid roars in their faces. Yep, that would be my kid.

The other day, I realized I've been remiss in the hygiene department. I looked down and saw his fingernails were longer than mine. But when I got the clippers out to remedy the situation, my efforts were met with a big, loud "NO!"

Determined to push through this I continued, "We need to trim your nails, bud. They're way too long."

"But Mooommm. They're not NAILS, they're my claws." This last point was emphasized by drawing up his hands, giving a good swipe and a mean growl in the process.

What's a mommy to do?

This went back and forth a few more times like a good game of ping pong. Would you be horribly surprised to hear that I lost? Didn't think so.

I know my boy and there is no way, no how I'm going to get him to do something once he has his mind set on it.

So go ahead and laugh if you will. I might just have to sneak into his room tonight and separate him from his claws. If that doesn't work, we may be making a trip to the salon. Hey, those suckers are long and strong and, well, claw-like. If they're here to stay for a while, might as well make them look good. .

Keeping me on my toes,

Silly Walk Central

2010-03-05T19:33:00.000-07:00

The Little Stinker's been having a hard time getting to school lately. This is quite perplexing, considering who he is.

He's the youngest of four. From the day he was born, he's had all sorts of people holding him, caring for him and babysitting him.

He's not exactly what you'd call shy either. Of all my kids, he's the most unflappable of the bunch. Noises don't phase him. Nor do crowds or big events. Why, he's my kid who would take off at preschool to go play with his favorite toy without even a backwards glance.

That's why this new found separation anxiety has left me scratching my head.

At first I thought it would just go away.

Not a chance. Every time we'd go, he'd cry a little longer and a little harder.

On Monday, he was so distraught he clung on to my leg and wouldn't let go for anything. No one could pry him off, leading me to give the little guy a mental-health break from preschool.

By Wednesday, I wised up. I brought out the big guns. Dad was enlisted to take over drop-off duty. And I'm happy to report, it worked like a charm. It never ceases to amaze me the crap the kids will pull with me. But Dad? No way!

Today, preschool duty was back in my trembling hands. I really, really needed the day off.

We were off to a good start. He got ready without a fuss, even got in the car without undo force. But as I opened the car door, I saw it. His face fell, his fists were tense and those dreadful words were uttered.

"I don't want to go to preschool."

At that very moment I knew I had to do something...fast. So I whisked him out of the car and started walking. Not just any walk mind you. But the silliest, goofiest gate ever seen. Then I asked him to join in. Together we skipped, hopped, leaped and shuffled our way through the parking lot, up the stairs and right into his classroom.

As the other parents stopped and stared, I was sporting a huge grin. That's because as my steps became more absurd, all I could think about was our friend above in his official capacity as the Minister of Silly Walks.

I do believe that the Era of Shy is officially over. And so ends today's installment of Parenting Tips by Python.

With a skip in my step,

What's R Got to Do With It?

2010-03-04T20:16:00.002-07:00

We interrupt this normally light-hearted blog for a very serious topic -- one that is near and dear to my own heart.

Just last weekend, I read two editorials for and against the campaign to end the "R" word. In case you don't know what this is referring to, there are those out there that would like to ban use of the word retarded.

I look back to when I was a kid and how this was used to describe those with developmental disabilities or one of your friends that had a particularly bad blond moment. No harm, no foul, right? After all its just a word.

Yeah, right.

Today, I have a totally different perspective. You see, I am the mother of a child with autism. Brilliant, quirky and able to think on a totally different plane than the rest of us, he's a genius in the making. Yet, over the years, this one little word has cut my child to the core more times than I can count.

Why?

He's different. He doesn't always know the right words to say, is a bit uncoordinated and tends to goes on and on about his favorite subject.

Kids can be cruel. And grown ups can be stupid. I don't know how many times I've heard boys will be boys, after my son was beaten up or called the "R" word by the "popular" kids. It was not taken seriously and nothing was done.

And so it continues.

The worst of all is the result. After hearing this so often, my little guy began to believe it. For so long, he thought he was dumb -- too stupid to do anything right. And he's not alone.

He's just one boy in one school. There are so many others like him. So tonight, I'm here to tell you this is so much more than just a word. It is a symptom of a bigger problem. A society where intolerance is not only ignored, but sometimes encouraged.

So I will do what little I can to change the world. I'm going to take the pledge. Won't you?

Fighting the good fight,

Inquiring Minds...

2010-03-03T12:03:00.000-07:00

I think I'm back. For reals this time.

While I was a tad obsessed with tweaking my design, many of you have offered me a wonderful suggestion.

"SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP."

Yeah, if I had any active synapses still firing, I would have heeded this wise warning. I still might, but in the meantime, I just needed to figure out how things worked.

Why must I inflict pain on myself in this manner? Good question.

I realize there's something inside of me that is just too curious. I can't seem to leave well enough alone.

There was the time I was determined to paint the house myself. Why hire a nice, tidy painter, when I could do it myself. How hard could it be? Two years, a hundred cans of paint and a whole set of professional painter supplies later, I realized the error of my ways. But I am a damn good painter, if I do say so myself.

Or how about the many pieces of junky furniture I've lugged home from yard sales because I was certain that I could transform them into works of highly creative, inspired art. Part of my collection still graces our garage, while most have gone on to live out their useful lives in some thrift store or another. Whenever my family sees me making my way down the street -- the trunk of the van ajar, holding my latest find -- they just shake their heads and smile.

Too bad I never seem to learn. My inquisitive nature may offer a challenge or two, but when it comes to results, I'm no Martha Stewart. Instead I'm sporting an eerie resemblance to our furry monkey friend, George.

After a few weeks spent developing a totally uninspired, average design, I've come to a decision. When it comes to a creative outlet, I'd better stick to writing.

Intelligence is Overrated,

Long Time, No Write

2010-02-27T08:54:00.000-07:00

Wow! Its been so long since I last posted, I don't know where to start. I'm not even sure what happened to cause my daily venting sessions to cease. Its not like we had any huge crises or major announcements or anything remotely interesting.

It all started a couple of weeks ago, when I decided to do a little work on my blog design. And that's never a good thing.

Let's just say I got a tad hyper-focused in the process. For a whole week, I ate, slept and dreamed tweaks. Why, I spent an entire weekend in my room on my computer trying to figure out how different programs could help me accomplish the beautiful vision I had in my head. Yep, its true, I really know how to have a good time.

God, I've come to hate those visions. They're always the same. The idea seems so simple and amazingly straight forward. Why I can pump it out in a matter of no time.

Too bad that's not the way it works -- at least in my world. Hours (or days) later, I'm left swearing at my trusty little laptop and my family is left to figure out who the strange, crazed woman is...the one seen emerging from her bedroom from time to time, looking more like a psych ward patient than their beloved mother.

All because I can never seem to recreate the stupid idea that's dancing around in my head. And being the flexible, take-it-as-it-is kind of person I am, I can't seem to let go and move on.

So after all that, my blog remains untouched.

Kind of.

As I tried to input my new, mediocre design, I totally screwed up my posts, my sidebars and everything else. For the first time in my life, I can totally understand why Mr. Van Gogh went after his own ear.

Being creative is overrated, totally obsessive and wreaks havoc with family life. So next time I try to implement another totally inspired, yet illusive idea, you have my permission to do an intervention. Or maybe just politely remind me to read my own blog.

Sanity is fleeting,

Sweet Sixteen

2010-02-19T22:12:00.003-07:00

It was sixteen years ago today. During a torrential downpour, in front of all our friends and family, I walked down the aisle of a small church in Palo Alto and said I Do to my one and only.

What a ride its been. We had no clue back then of what life had in store for us. It was all so romantic and new. But as the Gods must be crazy, so must we, because we've managed to hang in there through thick and thin. So today, as we were just able to steal away a couple of hours to celebrate, I remembered why we embarked on this journey in the first place.

Happy Anniversary, Honey. Here's to many more.

Staying Blissfully Married,

Welcome to Shameless Plug Friday

2010-02-12T13:28:00.000-07:00

OK. I'm bad, I know. Today, there will be no witty commentary on my dysfunctional family.

Today, its all about me.

I think I mentioned I've been trying to actually make some money, instead of spending countless hours puttering around the blogsphere. In an effort to do this, I started writing articles for Woodall's Family Camping blog.

So in an effort to make me look good to the editors (and help me keep my job), I'm posting links to my beautiful prose about trailers, travels and more. This is my shameless plug to get more people to actually read what I've written. Hopefully you won't be too bored.

Head for the Hills
Go, Dog, Go!
Best of Both Worlds

I promise more stupid family stories next time.

Typing away,

Snark, Snark and More Snark

2010-02-11T21:11:00.000-07:00

Not really. It's just that I've always had a certain fondness for that word and have been dying to use it in a post. So what if it makes no sense.

What I am up for is for some healthy venting. Ready, set, go.

With all the craziness in my household lately, my nerves a fried. Gone are any illusions of exercising, dieting or taking care of myself. And in the middle of everything else, the Stinker leaped over the edge of impdom today. Not sure if impdom is actually a word, but just go with me here.

Once again, I've been remiss in my mommy duties. I've put a few minor things off. And because of it, the little guy's gone without a haircut for -- actually, I forget how long its been.

As a result I now have a four year old that looks like the youngest Flower Child in recorded history. A shaggy do, complete with long sideburns -- why all he needs is some round glasses, a tie dye shirt, a few beads and presto..

So this morning I set out to right this neglectful situation. We headed into the nearest Great Clips for a cut. Normally, this only takes a few minutes, tops, and we're on our way.

Too bad this wasn't a normal day. As soon as the Stinker saw the chair and the cape, he bolted. No amount of pleading or bribing could get him in the thing. Kicking and screaming reared their ugly heads, so even though it killed me, I cut my loses and headed home.

That's when my little imp spent some quality bonding time with his room. After some lunch and a mommy time-out, I decided to try again. We picked up his big sis from school and went to another fine beauty establishment. I was way too embarrassed to go back to the scene of the crime of earlier in the day. You can call me chicken if you'd like. Or just a sucker for punishment.

The second time around, he walked right in and hopped in the chair. He even let the guy put some tape around his neck and fasten the big ole cape. But as soon as the trimmer came out, all bets were off.

After a few futile efforts, the trimmer was replaced with the scissors. Too bad the damage was already done. He kept lurching and jumping in his little booster seat until the nice hair cutter made us leave. Yep, we were kicked out of Super Cuts. Of course, this happened AFTER the ~~nice haircutter~~ jerk made a few artful cuts.

So tonight, I am left with a half-hippy, half do-it-yourself-trim looking kid. Can't wait to hear what the other moms at the preschool Valentine party have to say about that. Guess we can kiss those visions of playdates from that bunch goodbye.

Gotta go. Need to check into military schools -- FAST!

Where O where has my Zen gone?

What a Week -- And Its Only Wednesday

2010-02-09T22:07:00.000-07:00

I'm afraid you'll find no humor, no sarcasm here this evening. I try to keep things light on this blog, but just can't manage it tonight. It would be too dishonest.

Life has been difficult these past few weeks. Although I don't touch on it much, I have two kids with some special needs. Over the past year, both have them has had their share of issues. And over the last few weeks one in particular has showed some serious decline. It all came to a head a week ago and we've been dealing with the fall out ever since.

While things are marginally better, we're all pretty jaded and exhausted. When you have a child with special needs it not only affects them or you, but everyone in the household. I find myself running around in circles as I try to put out fire after fire.

So right now, I just ask for your thoughts and prayers while we sort through the mess that is our lives. Hopefully I'll be in a more Zen-like mood soon next time you come to visit.

A Definite Downer,

Doing the Time Warp

2010-02-07T21:15:00.003-07:00

As the rest of the world was stuffing their faces and watching some hopefully funny new commercials during Super Bowl 2010, I was at the local mall with my oldest. By the way, if you ever need to go shopping, that's the time to do it. We parked right out front and practically had the whole place to ourselves.

Anyway...halfway through the mall, my daughter started a chant .

"Please can we go into Forever XXI? Please, please, pleeeaaase?"

In a moment of weakness I acquiesced and in we went. Within a few minutes I had an eerie feeling come over me. Why, it was like I had died and gone to that great '80s haven in the sky. I seriously thought Madonna or Flock of Seagulls or Duran Duran were going to jump out from behind a wall and start reenacting some vintage MTV video.

Since THAT didn't happen, I settled on the fact that I was having one of the most amazing deja vu experiences ever! Rack by rack, I walked by things swear I wore when I was young. I even have pictures to prove it.

As far as the eye could see, there were cropped jeans, cropped jackets and leggings galore. There were long sweaters with banded bottoms and neon print jackets too. The only things missing were the shoulder pads. You remember the ones, don't you? They made us all look like very pretty, very feminine linebackers. Oh, those were the days.

Now I realize some of you are youngsters. At this point in my little tale you're probably uttering a not-so-quiet, "Heh? What the hell is this lady talking about?"

But for all you old farts like me, this was a bittersweet walk down memory lane. Sweet because it brought back so many memories, and bitter because I realize how long ago it was that I was young and was decked out in stuff that could have come from Forever XXI.

Chuckling and Crying (all at the same time),

This is So Lame

2010-02-03T21:51:00.002-07:00

Calling all bloggers! I need your help.

I've been mulling over an idea -- well, more like two ideas -- lately. Come to think of it, its been more like months but I move very, very slowly. Remember?

I really want a blog makeover. While the youthful, peaceful blond on my header may be sweet, she most definitely is not ME. I'm a middle aged, overweight brunette. Actually there's more gray than brown these days, but lets just move on, shall we?

Every time I visit one of your sites I keep thinking, "That's it! Mine's gotta go." I also threaten to move to Wordpress on an almost daily basis now.

But suffering from Mommy-Onset ADHD like I do, thinking and threatening is a far as I get. Since funds are at an all-time low, I had the ingenious idea of doing it myself. After all, how hard could it be to learn a little code?

After THAT exercise in futility, I am officially ready to admit I have a problem. And I'm willing to seek help. The only thing is, this little confession creates a whole new set of problems.

I have no idea where to start in my search. I start hyperventilating just thinking about choosing a designer. Ferreting out who's good and who's cheap is daunting. And who could move my stuff to a new platform without wiping out all my friends?

Then I started thinking. Wait a second. I have all sorts of bloggy friends that are not shy with their opinions. So I'd love for you all to weigh in on what you think of the different platforms and who you used (and if you'd use them again.) Do you have to get a second mortgage to pull it off? If you don't want to dish for all to see, just shoot me an email at zenmommyhood AT gmail DOT com.

You guys are the best!

Forever Grateful,

Call of the Wild

2010-02-02T19:03:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been giving a lot of thought to why I like to write so much. As I look back, I realize I've been in love with the written word for as long as I can remember.

Being the shy, retiring type I am, I also dreamed of being published. My earliest works are still on display at my parents' house -- from STOP etched into the living room end table to my more stream-of-consciousness ramblings scribbled on the inside of my mother's sewing cabinet.

As I grew, so did my portfolio. Unfortunately many samples from this period have been lost -- most confiscated by intolerant teachers, not recognizing the raw talent right beneath their noses.

During those days, multiple choice tests confounded me. But give me a blue book and a pen, and I could write my way to an A almost every time. Not that my style was always appreciated. Biting sarcasm mixed with a good dose of irreverence didn't go over so well on my essay on Christopher Columbus or the Economics of Third World Countries.

For me, a pivotal moment came when I landed an internship at a local newspaper. A stroke of luck placed me in the advertising department, where my mentor told me, "Just write like you speak."

That cinched the deal. My style was a natural fit for a career in copywriting. I also dabbled in greeting card captions, event marketing and other equally meaningful endeavors. I not-so-secretly dreamed of becoming a comedy writer. Ah, those were the days.

Then came motherhood and everything changed. I no longer had endless hours to ponder self expression, so my hiatus began. Playing peekaboo replaced prose.

Now eleven years later I've finally found some time to steal away from my crazed existence just long enough to write down a few words here and there. And once again I'm hooked. I just hope all of you out there enjoy my ramblings half as much as I love writing them.

And the Bad Parent Of the Year Award Goes to...

2010-01-30T17:17:00.001-07:00

Bet you guessed Brittany Spears. Nope. That was a couple of years ago. How passe.

Or maybe Brangelina. Will they stop having kids already?

Or maybe one of those moms on Jerry Springer. You know, the one that needs a paternity test to figure out which five guys is the father of her 3 year old love child. She's also the one to get into a fist fight with the other two ladies trying to figure out the same thing.

And the answer is...none of the above. As of this afternoon, its settled. Its me. Big time.

It all started on Wednesday when I got a call from school. I should be used to these by now. But the nice nurse at Pond Boy's school called to tell me he had a little accident in gym. Seems he had a run in with a basketball and he jammed his finger.

She said he was fine, it was OK and he was coming home with some ice. No biggie.

I promptly examined it, and yes indeed it was swollen. But so are a number of other injuries we see around here. So being the decisive person I am, I told him, "Let's wait till you dad gets home."

Now there's one thing about my dearest hubby. He's a minimalist in the way he approaches problems. Most things are fine until proven otherwise. So when, after examining the injury, he proclaimed "nothing but a sprain" I should have said something.

Like that happened. I was too busy making dinner, supervising homework and after-school activities and thwarting the Little Stinker's efforts to torture the cat. I got sidetracked, OK?

Fast forward to three days later. I'm in the kitchen with Pond Boy when I notice something funny about his hand. Was it always that blue? I don't remember it looking like a balloon before? I know my memory is a little fuzzy these days, but something was most definitely not right.

So one trip to Urgent Care and two hours later we got the verdict. Its broken. Its also out of place. He was put in a splint and first thing Monday morning we'll be making a visit to the hand specialist.

So now you all know my dirty little secret. I let my son go three days with a broken hand. Isn't that special? I'm the proud recipient of the Worst Mother of the Year award. And its only January. Can't wait to see what the rest of the year will bring.

Feeling Really, Really Stupid,

Today is Offical Non-Sequitur Day

2010-01-29T09:49:00.000-07:00

Today I'm a little scattered. That's because its the first day this week I'm home WITHOUT sick kids, and I'm not sure where to even begin. Besides, I think I'm coming down with the stomach thing myself. Welcome to my life. And my stream of conciousness.

Why is it that I have over a hundred followers...did I mention I hit the 100 mark? Yippee...and I only get 10 comments? I'm starting to have self image problems over this one. Please help.

I'm actually thinking of going to BlogHer this year. Yes, blogging has officially taken over my life. Then again, I don't have a life, so it really doesn't matter.

Did I get the dogs their heartworm shots yet? Where are the dogs anyway?

To all my bloggin' fiend friends out there, I have a favor to ask. STOP. That's right, stop writing. Just for a little while. I need to get caught up and I realize that's the only way its gonna happen.

Remember I said dieting wasn't so bad. I lied. If I have to keep eating like this for another six months I think I'm going to lose it. Stop. I know what you're thinking. I should have added "even more" to that last statement. There, I did it. Are you happy?

I did brush my teeth today. I think. God I'm a wreck.

As I try for the millionth time to spring for a real, professional blog design, I get sidetracked and never do a thing. Someone mentioned mommy-onset ADHD. Is there a support group I can join?

I'm done now. My mind is officially on strike. Plus, I've got to go clean the bathroom. Hopefully next time I'll be able to write a real post.

There will be no Zen today,

If Its Wednesday....

2010-01-27T14:30:00.000-07:00

...it must be Screw With Mom day. Officially.

Long, long ago, there was a time when Wednesdays were so peaceful. And quiet. Just me, the dogs and over five hours of uninterrupted down time.

Only I'm having a hard time remembering what is was like. That's because its a myth. A fantasy. A pure figment of my imagination.

Why it seems that as soon as humpday rolls around, someone has it in for me.

And not just someone. EVERYONE.

When the kids get sick, its always on Wednesday. My dentist appointments, the only open slot for months is on the very same day. Same for the root canal. Oh, and one cannot forget the Kermit Incident. Yep, Wednesday again.

This week, like all the rest, I had hope. And a to-do list a mile long, just waiting for some quiet time to complete.

I should have known better. The writing was on the wall. Monday night, the Little Stinker came to sleep in our bed. Since he's so damn cute, we let him. An unfortunate decision on our part, considering he decided to throw up on the sheets, the pillows and us at about 2 am. Nothing wakes you up from a sound sleep like that oh-so-lovely smell.

It was downhill from there. He was running a fever yesterday. But yet I still hoped. Maybe it was just a 24-hour bug.

As I picked up my daughter from school yesterday, she was sporting the same greenish hue. And that's when all hope of a day to myself went out the window.

So here I sit, stealing away a few moments to write as my two sick children nap. There will be no errands run, no exercise done, no projects completed. I'll be whipping up a couple of batches of chicken soup instead. With a family as generous as ours, I'm sure we're not done yet.

Depression Rules,

Oh How the Mighty Have Fallen

2010-01-25T10:55:00.001-07:00

My recent rash of computer woes has gotten me thinking. I realizedits been a while since my last confession. Not wanting to disappoint,I will force myself to divulge one of my deepest, darkest secrets.

I used to be a techno-geek. Through and through, technology was in my veins.

Ilived in Silicon Valley. I worked for a software company. I owned thecoolest hardware and ran the hottest software. I ate up info on newtrends and releases like it was candy. And my idea of a good time wasgoing to a conference where I'd promptly drool over Steve Jobs' or BillGates latest presentation. Did I just admit that? Well, its too latenow.

You see it was the early 90s -- a time when Applestill ruled the world and money flowed like water. I was in the knowand I loved it.

Then a funny thing happened. I movedto the middle of the country. I had kids. Suddenly my days werefilled with diapers instead of databases and the only conferences Iattend have a teacher sitting at the other end of the table. The slidewas gradual, but the result obvious. I lost my edge.

Big time.

Andnothing brought this home like a computer crash or two. It made merealize I can't even get my email up and running without majordifficulties. We've already been over my challenges with cell phones. I won't even go into my texting issues.

So today I am faced with the cold, hard reality that technology has passed me by. I am a geek no more.

Well actually, according to my teen, I am -- but I can no longer put the word techno in front of it.

I'll just have to get used to the fact that I'm just one of those out of touch parents. the ones that need their kids to fix the computer, test the latest software and help them get set up on Facebook.

After all, technology's for the young. So why am I having such a hard time letting go?

Simple. I guess I have a few denial issues to iron out. And when it comes right down to it, I so don't want to grow up.

Repeat after me...Denial Is Your Friend,

From Couch to 5K Wheelchair

2010-01-22T12:16:00.000-07:00

This getting into shape stuff is highly overrated. I think its officially going to do me in.

Now you may know that I'm attempting to turn over a new leaf. Tired of the continual upward movement of my pant size, as well as the jeers and wisecracks from the kids, I decided to get healthy and loose weight.

News flash...it ain't as easy as it seems.

Surprisingly, the diet stuff is going OK. Then again, its only been a week and a half. But I'll except small victories where I can get them.

The thing that's really getting to me is the exercise. Here I thought is was supposed to make your more healthy, fit and flexible.

Not exactly.

As I make my way through the Couchto5K plan, I am forcing myself to jog at least three times a week. I use the word jog loosely, because you really can't call it running. I am officially the slowest jogger on the planet. Why, even senior with walkers have been known to lap me.

But I keep plugging away. Who knows, with a little work I might actually make a 30 minute mile. OK, maybe I'm exaggerating just a bit. But seriously, 20 minutes is my goal.

What's worse than the pace is the pain. My back, my neck, my feet. So much for that increased flexibility.

There's also the laughter. My oh-so-encouraging family takes great pleasure in mocking my ohs and ouchs. They're having way to much fun with this.

But I keep plugging away. Why? Because I am that proverbial tortoise. I may be ungraceful and pokey, but I'm gonna win this race -- dammit -- if its the last thing I do.

Calm but Sore,

It Doesn't Get Much Better Than This

2010-01-21T13:37:00.000-07:00

So remember the bomb scare yesterday? Today I have a few more details.

They're pretty juicy.

Actually slimy would be more like it.

Thankfully, it was a false alarm. As the story goes, a teacher pulled up at school and saw a duffel bag in the middle of the empty parking lot. Something looked suspicious, so it was reported and the cavalry was called in.

The school was closed, mass hysteria ensued and there were a whole lot of worried kids and parents wondering what the heck was going on. It turns out that using a robotic device, the bomb squad very carefully inspected the bag. And this is what they found:

Yes, folks, in case you're wondering that is indeed Kermit the Frog sprawled out, his hands and feet spread. I don't know about you, but he looks like he's been roughed up to me. I'm wondering if a home video is going to surface in the next few days showing unnecessary police brutality against an amphibian.

So, just to recap, what appeared to be law enforcement from all over the state of Colorado, plus the news media, all gathered at our little school because of a muppet sighting. To put in in other words, I MISSED MY ENTIRE FREE DAY because someone left one of Miss Piggy's friends in the parking lot.

Now if that don't beat all. I am very thankful that this was a true false alarm, but truly, it doesn't get much better than this.

Laughing Hysterically (but trying to look serious for the kids),

Tick, Tick

2010-01-20T13:13:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining, the sky was clear and there was just a slight nip in the air. Add to that being greeted by the SWAT team at school, and you have the makings of one fine day.

The sad thing is, I'm not even exaggerating.

This morning was calm -- at least by our standards. Everyone got ready without too much fuss and there was only one fight over the bathroom. We even got out the door on time to bring my younger daughter to school.

I thought is was kind of funny that we were hitting so much traffic. Then I saw the sirens at the school. Silly me thought is was just an accident blocking the way. Under much protest -- I had my girl get out and walk the rest of the way. Hey, I'm pretty practical and it was definitely going to take less time for her to walk than for me to drive.

I was making my way home when I called the school to let them know she might be a tad late. That's when I was promptly told by the somewhat flustered receptionist, "Uh, the school's closed right now. We've had a bomb threat."

Crap.

You've never seen a car whip around so quickly. I think I broke a few speed records trying to get back to my daughter. Luckily she was safe and home we went.

I don't have a lot of info yet, but it seems a suspicious package was found in the parking lot. Examining it was the police department, the bomb squad, the SWAT team and the fire department. Topping off the spectacle, we even made the news. Even the news helicopters came out for this one.

The worst thing about this? Once again, this was my day. The day when my little guy goes to Lunch Bunch and I have the house to myself. So all the way home I just kept shaking my head, wondering why the Powers that Be have it out for me so badly. Damn, I'm a bad mommy.

Calm has left the building,

Stop The Violence

2010-01-18T21:07:00.002-07:00

At Starbucks.

Bet you didn't know this was a growing epidemic? Well believe me, it is.

What? Don't you trust me?

Why just today a male walked into our local Starbucks, looked at me and screeched at the top of his lungs.

"BANG. I'm going to shoot your head off!"

So what if he's only four and happens to be related to me. Mere details. It was still traumatizing. Can you say PTSD?

Itall started months ago. My oldest son is a Transformers Afficionado. Mind you he's never seen either of the movies, but he can tell you (ingreat detail), who's who, what they turn into and if they're an Autobot(the good guys) or a Decepticon (bad guys). Thank you very muchYouTube.

It just so happens that Pond Boy is idolized by hislittle brother. When he went through his Indiana Jones phase, theLittle Stinker could be seen using any belt, hose or yarn as his own"whip." That was fun. Especially when he used it on the neighborkid. We've been blacklisted from playdates ever since.

As PondBoy transitioned into Star Wars, his little brother joined in -- theonly two year old who could hum the Theme Song unprompted (usually inChurch or at a meeting or some other totally inappropriate place.) Hecould also wield a light saber with amazing speed. Once again, social engagements were inexplicably canceled.

Thenew Transformers stage is no exception to this trend. My four year oldis equally obsessed with all things Megatron, Optimus Prime, BumbleBeeand all their friends. And let me tell you, they have a lot offriends.

So when we had to run some errands today, it seemsquite reasonable to bring one of the toys with us. It would keep himoccupied and quiet.

It was a good theory.

Allstarted out fine. He made it through the grocery store withoutincident. Even when we were in Starbucks, he sat quietly, downing hishot cocoa. But once the treat was gone, all bets were off.

Those creative juices started flowing and soon he was recreating one of his favorite scenes. Pointing his Transformer at me he said I was a bad guy.

And then it happened. As all was quiet around us, my little angel stood up on his chair, looked me square in the eyes and told me I was a goner. He not only said it, he included hand gestures. Oh yeah, and the loud voice. The stop-everyone-dead-in-their-tracks kind.

So as all the nice people around us stared in horror, I slowly picked up my little delinquent, smiled and made my way to the door. Guess we can add yet another place to our list of banned venues.

Eternally Embarassed,

Work It Baby

2010-01-17T21:00:00.001-07:00

For a while now, I've been thinking of going back to work. Well, not exactly going to work -- I was kind of hoping it would come to me.

Between the kids, the animals, the house and all the activities, there's no way I could hold down a 9 to 5 job. But given the current state of the economy, and our ever-shrinking bank account, its no longer a wish, but a necessity.

The only problem has been my lack of focus. Until recently, I truly had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.

In a past life (before kids), I used to be in advertising.

But that was then.

Now -- 14 years and 4 kids later -- there's no way I could go back to that. First, my contacts have dried up. So I'd be pounding the pavement with credentials that are over a decade old. Let's face it, I'm not exactly a sought-after commodity these days.

Even if I did land a job, the hours would kill me. Not just the normal 9 to 5 type business, deadlines rule and so do long, long hours. And what about the kids? Clients have a funny way of frowning on missed deadlines because your kid happens to have strep.

I was just about to give up and go take that retail job down at Target when my luck suddenly changed. I'm pleased to report I just landed a couple of writing gigs.

First, I'm just doing some article rewriting. Its a no-brainer, but it pays. And I can do it from home -- when I want, how I want.

The second is a little more exciting. I just was hired to write blog posts on family camping by Woodall. It may not be glamorous to some, but its perfect for me. We're a camping family, you see. We've got the trailer, the gear and the stories.

And given my family's penchant for drama, material will certainly overfloweth.

So who do I have to thank for all this?

Why blogging of course. It reminded me how much I love to write. And it gave me a little confidence. So I'd like to give a big fat thanks to all of you who actually take the time out of your days to read the rantings of little ol' me. I couldn't of done it without you.

And now for a little update: I'm one week into my diet and I'm proud to report I lost 5 lbs AND made it through Week One of Couchto5K. I'm pleased, but the real test will be not gaining all the weight back in the upcoming weeks. Wish me luck. I'm definitely going to need it.

Keep ~~Calm~~ Busy,

When Did I Get So Old?

2010-01-13T20:03:00.001-07:00

Its only Wednesday and I'm already beat. I think I've tracked moremiles in my car over the last few days than all of last year combined.

First,we have yet another bug making its way through the house. Here I wasso looking forward to Monday, and I ended up with three kids homesick. In between answering pleas for ginger ale and chicken soup I hadto drive my oldest all over the place. So much for getting anythingaccomplished.

Yesterday was met with trips to the doctor, thedentist, pick up, drop off, and again I had the privilege of being myteenager's personal chauffeur. You see, next year, she'll be startinghigh school, and it seems like we've toured just about every one in thestate in an attempt to find the right match.

Today, is my day ofrest. In theory at least. I had a handyman to supervise, foodshopping to do -- why I even went on a run (my second day of #Couchto5Kand already I'm dragging). There was a little relaxation time thrownin, and for that I am very, very grateful. I'd better be, it has tolast me a whole week.

On the flip side, all that alone timealways seems to lend itself to that pesky thinking stuff. And today,my mind kept going to one simple fact.

I'll have a kid in HIGH SCHOOL next year!

Yikes.

Or more appropriately, WTF!

It seems like just yesterday I was picking her up from preschool and coordinating princess-themed playdates with her little friends. Or helping out at the class parties in grade school. (Funny, I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss those little parties). I even remember driving her home from her first middle school social. And I thought she was old then.

But now....

She's almost as tall as I am. She certainly has more attitude. And did I happen to mention she'll be in high school? HIGH SCHOOL.

This scares me on so many levels.

There's school itself. Have you been in your local high school lately? Its downright frightening. I've found out that Goth is passe (I think someone forgot to tell the ten or so I saw though) and Emo's are bizarre. Of course, peppered in the crowd are the jocks and the popular types too.

Then there's the whole social scene. Late nights, dating, parties with drinking or drugs. Oh crap. I'm so not ready for this.

And the cruelest twist of nature? Next year I'll have one in high school, one in preschool, plus the two in middle school.

This keeps getting worse by the minute. I think its time for me to stop typing now -- I'm starting to hyperventilate.

Trying to Keep Calm (but failing miserably),

Weighing In

2010-01-09T20:59:00.002-07:00

I know, I know. I have been a bad bloggy friend. I'm just having a hard time getting back into the swing of things after my little "break." If I haven't come a commenting lately, once again bear with me. I'm just a little slow on the uptake these days.

And no, I wasn't committed (yeah, you were thinking it, admit it). I was truly hanging out at home, sans the straight jacket or padded walls.

Then again, this week was kind of crazy. After all that yummy food, fruitcake and downtime, getting back to the grind was downright brutal. Monday the hubby went back to work, by Wednesday I had all the kids back at school and by Friday I was ready to lose it. Come to think of it, I DID lose it. Whoopsie.

With everyone back into their respective routines, I once again found myself with some time to think. And that's never a good thing. 'Cuz this week I started thinking about all those things that I wasn't happy with. That alone sent me into a tizzy, me because I kept losing my list. Told you I was slow.

Seriously though, one thing keeps nagging at me. Because 2009 was a tough year, I had to let some things go. Unfortunately that shedding process took a toll, because I prioritized eating properly and exercising right out of my life. As a result, I am now the heaviest I've ever been in my entire life.

And that sucks. I live in Colorado for God's sake. THE most outdoorsy, healthiest state in the country. While I was never what one would call skinny, I was always healthy. I'd ski and hike and bike and run. I would do spin and aerobics. I could even keep up with the kids.

But now....

I'm pretty pathetic. I feel like an geriatric 40 something. My joints ache. I can't make it up a flight of stairs without huffing and puffing. I make tons of Old Lady noises. And I have one big, fat muffin top.

So, I've made a decision.

Its time to get off my ever-growing bottom and do something about it. I'd like to thank Kathy at Strawberry Seeds to introducing me to Couch-to-5K. It means I'll have to drag my carcass off the couch and train for a real, live 5K run. It may be the last thing I do, but I'm going to attempt to run the Bolder Boulder this year. Its a 10K, but what the hell -- 5K, 10K, what's the difference, right?

I also came by some inspiration from Elastic Waistbands and Comfortable Shoes. She turned me on to Lose It Bitches. The name alone will have me coming back, let alone the weight loss support. Thanks for the encouragement.

Now, I know me. Remember all those good intentions last year? So I figured if I publicized this here, all of you out there wouldn't let me get away with blowing it off come March or April.

Right now I'm gonna need my rest. Then I start...tomorrow.

Keeping Calm (in theory),

The Year of Good Intentions

2010-01-04T16:36:00.000-07:00

What a difference a couple of weeks can make. I feel like I've been away for a lifetime. Actually, I'm a little rusty so bear with me as I stumble through my first post of the new year.

The break was just what the doctor ordered.

First and foremost, it was R-E-L-A-X-I-N-G!

No, there's nothing wrong with your eyesight. That word actually came from me. Really.

For a brief moment in time, I think I actually achieved Zen-ness (is that a word?).

Along with the relaxation, I also had a lot of time to reflect on the last year. I'll be the first to admit that 2009 was not one of our finest. If you must know, I'm kinda glad to be rid of it.

During one of my introspective episodes, I dubbed the last 365 days The Year of Good Intentions. And you know what they say about good intentions, don't you?

The year started off innocent enough. I had plans. Big plans. Small plans. You name it, I was going to do it. Exercise more. Be more organized. Do more to help others. [Go ahead...insert more of the same here.]

As the year progressed, one by one, each one of my little resolutions dropped like flies. Seems I had a little problem with something called follow-through.

Then came the holidays. And nothing magnifies one's faults like the holidays. So all those great crafts, baking, gifts and decorating I was going to do? Nope. Didn't do any of it.

The funny thing is, this was one of the nicest Christmas's on record. No pressure, no deadlines, just downtime. Lots and lots of quality downtime.

As for my resolutions this year?

Simple.

Prioritize. Commit to less but do what I commit to. Can I do it? Good question.

Come March or April, I'll let you know how its going.

Peace,

Balancing Act

2009-12-21T08:46:00.001-07:00

I've never been what one would call coordinated.

My eye/hand coordination is almost non-existent, as is my ability to pitch a ball without throwing like a girl.

This was apparent at an early age. I still remember those wonderful home movies my mom would whip out -- you know the kind. The ones that make you sink into your seat with embarrassment as everyone around you has a good belly laugh at your expense.

There I was with my best friend, trying to do a flower dance. We started curled up on the ground as buds and, at least in theory, were supposed to open up into beautiful flowers as we danced gracefully around the room.

Theory would be the operative word here. In reality, the two of us made the most graceless, bumbling flowers the world has ever known.

Of all my coordination issues, balance was by far the worst. No tight rope walking for me. Unless you really want a good laugh. Then of course I'll oblige.

Unfortunately my issues with this much needed skill seep into all aspects of my life -- including my new found hobby of blogging.

And now, here comes the confession you've all been waiting for --- without further ado --

I'm a tad obsessive.

Phew. There I said it.

I'm am totally and completely addicted to blogging. Not just writing, mind you. But to reading. Leaving witty and wonderful comments (Hey, I try). I even spent the good part of my Friday night trying to work on the design (considering my computer literacy problems, that was fun).

When I'm not on my computer, I'm preoccupied about being on the computer. What will I write? Who will I visit? Where can I find that widget?

And this, my dear friends, is getting somewhat problematic. You see, once again, I've lost my balance.

Like any addiction, is starts small. And then before you know it consumes your very being.

"I just need to check my email for comments."

"I've got to finish the one post."

"I have to catch up on my friends' new stuff."

In the meantime, things like dishes, dinner and laundry have been a smidge neglected. Unfortunately so have the kids and the hubby.

And this is creating a bit more chaos than I can take. Have you ever seen a house with four kids running around unsupervised? I haven't either, because I'm somewhat glued to this stupid laptop.

While it can make for some pretty funny material (see, told you I'm addicted), it doesn't bode well for the whole family bonding thing.

So, in an effort to get myself back up on that tightrope -- without breaking my neck -- I'm going to have to pull back. The kids are home on break and we have cookies to bake. Presents to wrap. Plus a little togetherness time to catch up on.

For the time being, as I get back to my role as wife and mom, I'm gonna be a bad bloggy friend. But believe me, I haven't forgotten. I can't. I have an addiction, remember? Besides, all of you are too awesome to miss for too long. So I promise.

I'll be back.

The Sweetest Gift of All

2009-12-18T21:20:00.000-07:00

Our sweet Little Stinker's been sick the last few days.

Actually sweet is probably not best choice of adjectives here. Cranky's more like it.

Hmm, even that can't accurately reflect his mood. I'd say grumpy. Uber grumpy. Yeah, that's it.

But I can't really blame him.

It all started Wednesday night, when his preschool put on THE cutest Christmas program. OK, I'm a bit biased, I know. Anyway, he was up there, singing his little heart out for the first half.

Then all of a sudden, he just stopped. And stared. Not exactly staring, he put his hands up to his eyes like he had binoculars and was searching the crowd. Did I mention he was smack dab in the middle for all to see?

And for his encore, he would sneer at anyone who would look his way and smile. Guess some of my Scrooge-like behavior has rubbed off on the little guy. Uh oh.

By the time we got home, he had that tell-tale glazed look in his eyes and was running a pretty good fever.

If it were any other week, we would have camped out at home and let him convalesce. But this is not just any week. It is THE week for holiday festivities, especially for those of the school aged variety.

So the poor kid was dragged from store to store, party to party. And I had a grumpy kid? Go figure.

So by the end of today -- the Mother of all Holiday Party days -- the little guy was pooped. Still running a fever, I delivered him up to his bed, but he was too miserable to sleep. I tried to make my exit downstairs, he stuck to me like glue. When I asked him if he wanted to come downstairs he just shook his head.

And then he said what all women dream of hearing one day.

"Please stay." Big pause. Then, wide eyed, he added, "You're Mom And I need you."

No sweeter words were ever spoken. So there I stayed, while the other kids were downstairs running with scissors, setting fires or engaging in some other wholesome activity. Because I'm mom and I said so.

The Deed Is Done

2009-12-16T13:16:00.048-07:00

Today was the day. The deed is done. After much anticipation, I had my very first root canal.

And I have to tell you, it wasn't so bad. Now my opinion may change once the Novocaine wears off, but judging by what transpired, I'm not sure that will be anytime soon.

Unfortunately, I'm not a very good patient. I've had many a dentist frustrated with me because no matter how much Novocaine they pump into me, I still flinch at EVERYTHING. I could still hear them, trying to stay calm as they spit the words from between their gritted teeth. "You still feel that."

Luckily this guy was a pro. He tried once, no luck. Twice, the same. But there was no knashing of teeth, no frustration to be heard. By the third try he wised up and brought out the big guns. As a result I felt nothing.

And I mean nothing.

That's a good thing right? Well...there were a couple of minor side affects. Like the fact that I am currently numb from my eyeball (yes, my left eye was literally hard to blink) down to my chin. I kind of look like someone went a little wild with the Botox -- on just one side of my face.

I couldn't smile if I tried. Or blink. Or talk. But, hey, I can still type so all is good.

Now the fun will really begin once the kids get home, which is any minute now. There will of course be the requisite pointing. Plus the laughs. And one must not forget the we're laughing with you jokes that will follow.

I'm getting tired just thinking about it. And as I type I feel the slightest throb starting to creep into my frozen jaw. Hmm, maybe its time for those pain killers the dear doc prescribed. What a nice guy.

And after that? There is no after. Just lots of snoring...and probably some good drooling added in for good measure.

Ain't Misbehavin'

2009-12-15T20:33:00.000-07:00

I am happy to report that our deer have regained their composure and are once again adorning our front light display with a "G", Approved for All Audiences rating. And, no I didn't get a picture. Maybe next time.

But have you ever noticed how things get a worse before they get better?

Last night, I went to take my daughter out shopping. Once again, the wind knocked over the happy couple. Now remember these two are animated. Yep, we spare no expense around here. The cheesier the better.

Anyway, their compromising position did not escape the keen eye of my oldest. How they fell on top of each other. How they kept moving, even though they were down.

I've got to say, I could really have done without the visual of our forest creatures bumping and grinding. I'll never look at Bambi the same again.

But, being a bit animated herself (OK, downright dramatic is truly more accurate) she kept going on and on. And on. And...that got on Mom's nerves. So as I reached my limit I heard myself say what no mother should tell her young daughter.

"OK, OK, I know their doing the nasty out there. I fix it when I get home!"

There you have it folks. Bad parenting moment number 991.

Get a good chuckle. Good. Its my Christmas present to you.

A Change of Heart

2009-12-14T10:10:00.001-07:00

You gotta love those hormonal rages. The way they take over your very soul can be a tad unnerving.

But what really messes with my head even more is the way I can be a raving loon one second, and Miss Congeniality the next.

After yesterday's holiday bashing fest, I had a change of heart. Or hormone levels. Not quite sure which just yet.

But anyway...

I forgot how it goes with the Holiday Spirit. You just can't force it. For me at least, it comes upon you when you least expect it.

And that was yesterday.

After officially declaring my good cheer dead, I came downstairs to my family putting lights on the tree. Cheesy Christmas music was blaring from our crummy stereo. And everyone was smiling.

Yes, folks you got that right. We had a miracle in the making, because I can't tell you the last time we had all six members of my family happy at the exact same moment.

Spirits were lifted and I found myself joining in on the fun. Dancing, laughing...all while we put the finishing touches on our poor, Charlie Brown like tree.

And when we were done? It was beautiful. It gave our house a whole new look. And attitude.

So I'm happy to report that today, Christmas is alive and well.

And Now For Something Completely Different....

We've been having some issues with our outside light displays -- especially the deer. Yesterday we had some high winds and we noticed that some of our decorations had fallen over, including our sweet, animated doe.

No worries, we picked everything up and all was good. Until I pulled into the driveway last night and noticed her lights were out from the neck up. The result? We have a beautiful buck gazing fondly at his headless mate.

The winds continue today. And once again, as I pulled into my drive, there were the deer. This time they were one on top of the other, getting frisky on our front lawn for all to see. It wouldn't be so bad if they were not placed so close to the beautiful Nativity scene.

Whoops. I'm hoping that's not an accurate depiction of the first Christmas. So off I go to break up the loving couple and restore order to our home once again.

Holidays Schmolidays

2009-12-13T09:54:00.000-07:00

BIG FAT WARNING: My mood is pretty darn sour today. Hormones, they are a ragin'. Why they're so bad, I actually know I'm crazy and I'm OK with it.

When I was younger -- not even a little kid, but a young adult -- I loved Christmas. I loved going through the stores, humming along with the Christmas musak piping down from the ceilings. I took great effort picking out just the right gifts for all my loved ones and friends.

I loved the hustle and bustle, the crowds didn't phase me, nor did Uncle Joe's hour-long, drunken rant over Christmas dinner about how Rush Limbaugh should rule the world.

I have distinct memories of my parents during this time. They had what one might call an attitude problem.

I'd ask them what they wanted. With a heavy sigh, shoulders slightly slouched, they'd tell me not to bother. How they really weren't into the whole gift-giving thing.

Not get them anything? Didn't they know how important it was to ME? Get with the program, people.

So today, imagine how I feel when I realize I've turned into one of those grumpy, Grinch-like beings.

Its not that I haven't tried. I always try. I write myself lists, make deadlines and have all sorts of wonderful creative ideas. But just like every year, about a week before the big day, I realize I am totally behind with no chance in hell of every catching up.

This year I thought it would be different. We had most of ourdecorations up early, I my lists were done. We were off to a greatstart.
But life has a funny way of getting in the way of my best-laid plans. First, my kids are getting older. All those traditions they loved just a year ago meet with a chorus of Moooommmmms now. So gone are the hot cocoa parties by the fire, family picture taking and other family love fest activities.

I guess I could beat them into submission, but I'm just too tired to fight.

That leaves me to sit here, shoulders slouched, head hanging low. The tree is not trimmed, the cookies not baked, and don't get me started on those handmade teacher gifts we were going to do. And when the kids ask me what I want this year, I have a new appreciation for my world-worn parents.

First, I know whatever they get me, I'll end up paying for. Second, I'll have to take them to Target or Walmart or some other crazy-making block of concrete. And that leads me to utter the following statement.

"Don't worry kids. I'm not really into the whole gift giving thing."

Crap. Its official. I've turned into my mother. Or the Grinch. Either way, I'm screwed.

Pain, Pain Go Away

2009-12-10T19:16:00.000-07:00

Today I overslept. It was really cold and my covers were so snuggly warm. When I finally dragged my carcass out of bed, I was greeted by the thermometer in our kitchen. I had to check it twice. It couldn't be right. No way in hell. Most definitely, it couldn't really be -13.

It was at that very moment that I threw any notions of a good day right out the window. The foreshadowing was clearly on the wall.

My first thought was to run and hide. But I forced myself to continue. To my suprise, I didn't mind the cold once I was in it. It did wonders for those pesky hot flashes I've been getting lately. There I was in my car -- window rolled down, head sticking out to the side, all while I peeled away layer upon layer of clothing.

Damn it felt good.

About halfway through the day, I realized things were still running smoothly. Everyone made it to school OK, I was able to put the finishing touches on the new paint in the living room (Very big NOTE TO SELF: Never, never again take on a painting project two weeks before Christmas!). I even got a little quality TV time so I could finally catch up on my Heroes episodes.

Could it be? An actual, bonified good day? I began losing faith in my own prediction abilities. Why it was downright peaceful.

And. Then. I saw it.

On the refrigerator, written ever so neatly on the calendar was an appointment. Not just any appointment. The one that I happen to dread most.

Let's get this straight. I'm no wimp. I can handle my fair share of pain. Why, I've given birth to four children, for God's sake. So how is it that seven letters on the refrigerator could have me breaking out in a cold sweat?

Easy.

When those seven letters spell D-E-N-T-I-S-T.

There. I admit it. I hate the dentist.

Maybe I watched Little Shop of Horrors one too many times growing up, but even a routine cleaning can make me cry like a little baby.

Too bad today was no ordinary cleaning. It involved two cavities. Oh, and a drill. And that can never be good.

First, there's the sheer humiliation of being put in that chair. They lay you back, use some kind of crank to open your mouth wider than you ever thought possible, then stick all sorts of contraptions inside.

If that's not bad enough, they keep talking. Like that's supposed to make you forget what they're up to. Nice try.

Why, they just won't shut up. Laughing. Telling witty jokes. Asking you tons of questions.

Hello? Do you really expect me to answer that?

Whoops. Digression rules, yet again. Back to the story...

The first filling went fine. Once again, visions of peacefulness danced through my head.

Not so fast, missy.

Time for the second one. I was sufficiently pumped full of Novocaine. So I thought. Too bad I felt every zip of the drill. So in came more Novocaine. Then more pain. A little more Novocaine. A lot more pain.

Finally the words I hoped to never hear were spoken. Root canal.

I've never had one. I was fine with that. I could have lived a long and useful life without ever have this lovely experience. But someone up there had other plans for me.

So tomorrow morning I get to call the specialist to make yet another scary appointment. I'm really thinking of blowing it off. Maybe if I just ignore it, it will go away on its own.

Ya think? Me neither. Guess I'll be writing a check for an early Christmas present. I think I'd rather get coal. Darn, I feel another Bah Humbug coming on.

Pump Up the Volume

2009-12-07T10:08:00.001-07:00

In my younger days I was way into music. The more obscure the better, causing me to have more than my fair share of useless 80s and 90s music trivia swimming around in my head.

I also went to way too many concerts -- mostly in smoky, loud dive bars, which in turn caused irreparable harm to my poor, then-innocent eardrums. But it just didn't matter. I was in my element.

That was then.

Now, I like my peace. With a large order of quiet on the side, thank you very much.

Yes, I'm officially an old fart. Too much noise makes me grumpy. I don't listen to my iPod too loudly, rarely blast my car stereo (the other moms in the carpool lane tend to frown on this -- believe me, I learned the hard way) and I have a healthy dislike of booming movie theaters. Ever since my neurotic, worry wort mom gene kicked in, I also take seriously all the warnings about the adverse affects of noise pollution.

So the other night, as I sat at the kitchen table trying to enjoy a moment of calm, I had yet another scary revelation.

My precious offspring, whose sweet little ears I've tried so hard to protect, were running around the house like a pack of wild coyotes. Hooting and howling, the noise level in my humble abode was about to reach something resembling a sonic boom.

Then the light bulb went off.

In my house lies a not-so-silent killer. One so dangerous, no one speaks its name. One the Press dares not cover. That research amazingly overlooks. Why its a conspiracy in the making. How could I have been so blind?

I realized that when my kids speak, the dial reads at least a 6. Its like they're projecting for a performance at Carnegie Hall. When they're excited, it gets even worse -- usually with the added bonus of the high-pitched, crystal-breaking whine thrown in. And when they're yelling (Yell? Us? I know its hardto believe, but just go with me here). When they yell, to coin a phrase from our friends at Spinal Tap -- they're at eleven all the way!

And that's when it hit. No wonder why old people are deaf. Its not just because their old. Not because they went to too many concerts or listened to too much Lawrence Welk. Its because they had kids. It turns out those little bundles of joy not only make us gray, but they'll also have us all sporting hearing aids before all is said and done

So the next time you run into some week old lady shouting, "Heh?" repeated, have some compassion. After all, this could be you some day. And if you get the chance, go to a concert. If you're gonna go deaf, might as well have some fun doing it.

Woe Is Me

2009-12-05T23:59:00.003-07:00

OK, I'm really starting to have some unkind thoughts. No, not about anyone in my family. Not this time at least.

I'm getting a little peeved with this whole holiday thing.

Yeah, I know, just call me Mr. Scrooge for short. But all this bonding with the kids, family togetherness and merry making is really cramping my style.

Do you realize in the last two weeks, I've written only three posts? Not to mention the fact that I'm seriously missing out on a ton of great stuff on all my blogging buddies sites.

Its gotten so bad, I'm actually having withdrawals. Sure I do my normal stuff -- bringing the kids to school, doing laundry, making dinner -- but all the while I'm obsessed with what I'll write next. And when I'll be able to steal away for a few minutes of writing time. And if I can't, that's when the shaking begins. Then come the cold sweats. OK, maybe not the cold sweats -- that's the whole menopause thing, I keep forgetting.

But anyway....

Bear with me, my friends. I promise I'll be back in solid form as soon as these pesky holidays are behind us. In the meantime, if you see some middle-aged lady muttering Bah Humbug to herself in the grocery line, have no fear. Its just me.

Chances are good I won't hurt anybody. Just give me my space and a laptop and I'll be fine.

What a Long, Strange Trip Indeed

2009-12-02T18:47:00.002-07:00

Long time, no post. I know. Its been a strange few days.

Monday was so serene. The kids were back at school (Halleluiah!) and I was able to gain my bearings. I organized closets, did some shopping and even made a great turkey tortilla soup dinner. I was on a roll.

Then Tuesday came. I was so excited because my long-awaited new laptop was scheduled to arrive. Yes, my old one officially bit the big one, so I broke down during all those online Black Friday deals and bought me a brand spanking new one.

The anticipation was almost more than I could handle. I kept running to the door every time I heard a truck go by. When the FedEx guy finally did show up, I nearly knocked him down trying to get my hands on my new toy.

Well, its not actually a toy. More like a necessity if you ask me. My life as a blogger was being seriously hampered by a series of annoyances. Holidays, kids and pesky chores like dinner and laundry were constantly getting in the way. And anytime I did sit down to type a few lines, I had three not-so-subtle kids breathing down my neck.

“Are you done yet? “
“When can I go on?”
“Mom, I have to do my homework!”

Come on kids. What’s more important? Your essay on the Constitution or my blogging fix? This was officially cramping my style.

So as soon as I had the box in my grubby little paws, pieces of cardboard could be seen flying everywhere. That new laptop was unwrapped and ready to go in record time. Why I’d be up in a matter of no time.

Yeah, like that happened. You’ve all known me long enough to know better, right?

I knew there was going to be some setup time required. What I didn’t sign up for was exactly how much time we were talking about.

I read the instructions. I followed the directions. It was supposed to be easy.
So they said.

They lied. I ended up with about half my files and none of my programs loading properly. As for my email? It was gone. Out on some joyride, generously taking all my contacts, addresses and phone numbers along for fun.

So if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been, I’ve spent the better part of the last two days trying to figure out how to get all my info from one computer to the next. And this sent me on a seemingly never ending trip in circles.

First I started by contacting Microsoft. It was there software after all. But no. Since the operating system came loaded on the computer, I was not-so-quickly instructed to talk to Dell. Not to be outdone, their policy clearly pointed me to a link right back to the software vendor.

Never mind that groceries needed to be bought and bills paid. I was plastered to my chair (in between breaks cursing this elaborate conspiracy to take my money and run), because I was bound and determined to figure it out.

Round and round I went until finally – I’m still not sure what exactly I did – software and data alike magically appear. What the $@*#!

All I know is, right now I am pleased to report that all is safe and sound. Backups are scheduled. And I am right where I belong – on my bed cranking out yet another mindless, but sanity inducing post.

So at the moment, the planets are aligned. And all is once again right in the world. Until tomorrow.

One never knows what kind of trip I’ll end up on then.

Is It Monday Yet?

2009-11-29T18:11:00.000-07:00

I love my family.

No, really I do.

There's just something about being cooped up with them for 10 days straight that will send my over the edge. And I'm teetering dangerously close right now. I sit here writing this post because, if the truth be known, I may cause the next person who whines, yells, complains or messes up my newly organized house serious bodily harm.

The beginning of our marathon week-long Fall Break (I love it, is it now politically incorrect to say Thanksgiving?) started out OK. We organized play dates and enoyed fun activities. I was even able to do some much needed planning. Thanksgiving came and went without a hitch.

By the time Friday rolled around things took a nasty turn. Because I love my sleep even more than a good bargain, no shopping was done, but believe me it was Black Friday through and through. And then Black Saturday. And Really, Really Black Sunday.

You see, once again I made a huge error in judgment.

Since everyone was getting along so well, I thought I'd enlist the kids' help in clearing a path, then organizing and putting our Christmas decorations up. It was going to be a family thing. Like something you'd see in a Norman Rockwell painting. Oh how I love Norman Rockwell.

That's when the revolt began. Me ask my kids to work? Pitch in to do something that had nothing in it for them? The resulting bitching, moaning and tantruming could be heard 'round the world.

My idyllic scene suddenly turned into an episode featuring the Bundy or Barr families instead. Mom and kids snapped alike. Then followed a whole heap of yelling, pouting and stomping out of the room. In the end, I cleaned while the kids spent a lot of bonding time with their respective rooms.

But tonight I have to admit there's a little skip in my step. Tomorrow it's a school day once more. Then maybe, just maybe, I will steal a few moments of peace and quiet.

Only one question remains. Is it Monday yet?

Gobble, Gobble

2009-11-26T21:35:00.000-07:00

Meet my friend the turkey. You can call him Mr. Stuffing for short. Handsome, regal, he instills fear and respect in all he meets. Right?

Not exactly.

I have to admit, he's not really the picture of confidence. Or majestic grace. And there's no denying he's quite goofy looking. What was Benjamin Franklin thinking when he nominated this creature for the national bird?

But to tell you the truth, I think he's gotten a bum rap.

I know, I know. It's just way too easy to poke fun at him. After all, he's not known for his smarts. He certainly doesn't have the looks of his kin the eagle or hawk. But when you think of it, where would we be without our lowly friend -- the one who supplies the centerpiece at so many of our holidays?

Why our tables would be barren, the stuffing and yams looking lost all by themselves. And those cute little Thanksgiving crafts the kids bring home. I'm sorry to say, they just wouldn't be as sweet with a pig or a cow. Why he's the workhorse of the American feast.

And in a sick, weird way I kind of relate to this fellow.

I've never been what one would call pretty. My style these days could be best described as Modern Frump, given my affinity for comfort over style, sweats and elastic waistbands. Even my body showing signs of resemblance with the constant growth of my midsection and the unstoppable southward shift of everything else.

But mostly because I feel like he's a kindred spirit. Like him, I'm overworked, certainly underpaid and definitely unappreciated. And when it comes down to it, my house would not be a pretty place without me.

So today, I would like to dedicate this post to all the workhorses out there. The turkeys. The moms. The dads. And everyone else that makes this wonderful day possible. For all of you I give thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving to all and to all a good night.

And next time you see my friend Mr. Stuffing, give him a little respect, will you?

Healthcare Reform, Stinker Style

2009-11-22T17:39:00.001-07:00

My little guy ADORES his Daddy. Whenever I go to do something for him he yells, "NO! I want Daddy."

I should be hurt, right? Well, there are some definite benefits to this arrangement. Daddy is the only one allowed to put him to bed, to give him a bath and get him changed.

Not to shabby if you ask me.

One of daddy's duties is the reading of nightly stories. And one of his favorites is Pajama Time.

Seems it left its mark on the little guy. Just last night, as he was getting ready to retire he announced it was time for a Pajama Party. Then he promptly instructed both his dad and I to put our PJs on and join in the fun.

The thing that always amazes me is, we did it. This kid is going to rule the world some day, of this I'm sure.

There we all sat, at the late hour of 7 pm, in our PJs doing all sorts of pajama party type things. We played games, sang songs, and even danced. But then, almost as quickly as it started, the soiree ended.

The Little Stinker was off like a flash, heading downstairs to obviously terrorize his older siblings. Or so we thought.

We really should have known better. When will we ever, ever learn.

You see, a few minutes later the lad reappeared -- this time sporting his doctor's kit in hand.

Huh?

Seems our party had now morphed into one wicked game of doctor -- the innocent kind of course (shame on you, this is a family blog you know!)

Included in his kit was one stethoscope, one thermometer, a couple of Band-Aids and of course, the requisite Crucifix.

What?

A Crucifix?

Yep. Hubby and I both looked at each other quite concerned with what might be coming next. Doogie Howser meets the Exorcist?

So, trying my hardest to keep a straight faced, I queried my youngest.

"Dear....what's that for?"

The look he gave me was quintessential Stinker. One that screamed, "Mom, how could you be so ignorant?" And then -- in the best Revival Preacher impersonation I've heard in a long time -- he proclaimed:

"Jesus has come to save you. He's come to give you medicine."

So for any of you concerned about current state of health care in this country, have no fear. Between the Little Stinker and his Friend, we'll all be just fine.

Moms Not Allowed

2009-11-20T14:13:00.000-07:00

My oldest daughter happens to be totally into the Twilight series. I know, what warm-blooded teenage girl isn't?

It was about a year ago when she would come home from school, promptly put nose in book and commence swooning over this sordid tale of love and blood.

So, after much pleading and prodding from my oldest -- and in an effort to bond with my ever-moody child -- I decided to give the book a gander.

The first chapter: OK, but nothing special by my standards.

The second chapter: Mildly interesting.

Chapter three: Getting warmer.

By chapter four I was officially reeled in, hook, line and sinker -- or fang (pun totally intended).

Yes, I know, a forty-something mom has no business crossing over the invisible generational divide to invade TeenageLand territory, but at this point I was still doing it for the kid. And my plan worked.

Mother and daughter enjoyed more frequent conversations -- ones that didn't even involve handing over cash. She'd bound into my room, jump on my bed and tell me how I wouldn't believe what happened next. We talk about our favorites, share our thoughts on the plot and generally have a good laugh or two.

But somewhere along the way, my innocent bonding strategy went south. Way, way south.

I kind of got into the whole story. I mean really got into it. The teen that was for so long stuffed way down inside of me was mysteriously unleashed. And that's when the war began.

"I had it first."

"No I had it first."

"Mom, give me back my book!"

Did I mention I get a little obsessed with a good read? This went on for months, until in the end all four books were finally completed.

Even though the story ended, I'm happy to report our bond remained. On some level I was able to enter her world -- even it it took a few vampires to pave the way. We still argue over who are favorite undead character is. Or whether werewolves rock or not.

But there are limits to how for a mom can go. I learned that the hard way.

The new movie just came out. My daughter's had the release date on her calendar for months. And as I'd see the previews over the last few weeks, I have to admit, my interest was piqued.

That's when I made my fatal error. I asked my daughter if she wanted to go see the movie.

With me.

The corresponding laughs could be heard for miles around. Her go see New Moon with her mom? Was I crazy? Well yes, but that's another story all together.

So here I sit, getting ready to drive the big girl and her BFF to see the show. All the while I'm secretly hoping they'll ask me to go along. Don't worry, I'm not holding my breath. I guess my vampire fix will just have to wait until it comes out on DVD.

Ain't He Sweet?

2009-11-18T12:25:00.001-07:00

The last few days our Little Stinker has been....well, a stinker. And not a little one either. His mood has been so cranky, so ornery he's been promoted to a Mammoth, Super-Sized Stinker.

Last night he peaked. Yelling, hitting, screaming -- you name it he did it. Figures we had company over at the time. Why is it they always save the best behavior for an audience?

My guest, taking pity on me, took the little guy outside to play. She took him all bundled up to play in the snow.

The quiet was wonderful. I got all sorts of things done, and no one was hurt in the process. When the door finally opened and the little guy reappeared a change had occurred. No more sour puss, just a really cute kid with a grin from ear to ear. Then before I knew it I was whisked outside myself, for my own private viewing of his new creation.

Seems he had a hankering to build some snowmen. Not just any snowmen mind you. He carefully crafted three snowman to take on the likenesses of mom, dad and, of course, the little guy. In case you can't make them out, let me give you the run-down.

This is his self-portrait. Don't be alarmed, he does have two arms. One just got mistaken for a fetching toy by our over-exuberant dog. It was later foun, in tack and all was well again in the world.

This handsome hunk is Dad -- complete with Hitleresque mustache. You see, until a few days ago, hubby had sported a mustache. When he shaved it off, the little guy was not happy. This is his form of protest.

And this looker is me. Mommy. Notice how the face just fades into a big lumpy mass for the rest of the body. The resemblance is uncanny. Thanks, kid.

Sorry to bore all of you with this sugary sweet stuff. But this was just too cute to pass up. Good thing too. We were ready to ship the imp off to Siberia. Instead he has been demoted back down to the Little Stinker. Yes, at the ripe old age of three he's figured out how to work us. That's OK, because its moments like this that make me so happy to be Mommy.

Hold Me Back

2009-11-16T21:25:00.001-07:00

I'm usually a pretty peaceful person.

No, really.

I don't get in fights, am friendly with all my neighbors and generally don't rock the boat.

So why is it that right now, I have this terrible urge to take someone out? And not just anyone, mind you. I want to take out the school crossing guard.

Yeah, he looks innocent enough. Probably in his seventies, with silvery gray hair and the walk of an old man. But don't let that fool you. This guy is no pushover.

I need to start by telling you that the traffic at my daughter's school makes my house look like the most structured, calm environment around. And for that I'm grateful. At least we compare favorably against something.

They couldn't have done a worse job of planning the traffic flow if they tried. Then again maybe they did. After all it is a very popular school and LOTS of families try to get in. Maybe this is just a little extra step to ensure you really want to be there (Whoops. The conspiracy theorist in me just got out).

Sorry, sidetracked again. Now back to the story.

On any given morning, it takes me a good fifteen minutes to make it through the line of cars, minivans and SUVs that wends its way through two neighborhoods and several stop signs. When I finally hit the 4-way stop in front of the school -- like clock work -- it happens.

I swear he sees me coming. As soon I'm in his sights (you'd think at his age they would be failing, but noooo), that big red sign goes up. No matter that there are no pedestrians anywhere near the crosswalk. Or the fact that, given his advanced years, it takes him a few minutes just to make it to the middle of the intersection.

There he stands. Not letting me, or anyone else for that matter, go anywhere until finally -- usually after another 15 minutes have passed -- a pedestrian appears. All this time, sporting a look that says, "I dare you to get past me."

Believe me, I'm tempted. Just as my foot reaches for the pedal, I have a vision. In it, there's a headline that reads:

MAD MOTHER OF FOUR GETS LIFE FOR RUNNING OVER BELOVED CROSSING GUARD.

So in the end I sit there, resigning myself to the fact that it takes 40 minutes to get my offspring to a school that's ten minutes from my house. All the while cursing under my breath and fantasizing his demise. Hey a girl can dream, can't she?

Me No Meme

2009-11-15T18:17:00.000-07:00

When I first entered the wonderful world of blogging, I really had no idea what I was walking into. Things like followers, SEO and comments confounded me. Badges, buttons, widgets and gadgets made me say, "Huh?" And HTML, CSS, templates and skins simply blew my mind.

I hate to admit that my learning curve is far from over. Every day I have one of those, So-that's-what-that-is moments. Like yesterday. I always wondered how so many of you could comment on my new posts so quickly. I thought that took some pretty fast thinking -- and fingers.

Then I decided to enter my first contest. Don't worry, I'm no competition to anyone out there. I never win a thing. I just like to think I can. But anyway, in order to enter you had to sign up for this particular blog's RSS feed.

Me, not liking change, resisted at first. But I really, really wanted that car seat, so sign up I did.

Then a curious thing happened. I got an email every time a post was added.. AHAH! That's how its done. Hmmm.

This kind of thing seems to happen a lot. I know the drill. After taking a few moments (OK I'll 'fess up -- a few days) berating myself for sheer stupidity -- I pat myself on the back and embrace whatever new concept it is. Except for one.

Memes.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against them. I truly enjoy visiting other blogs and reading all those thematic lists and posts. I'd even like to do some. But for some odd reason, I just can't.

I know they'd make my life easier. Like the writing prompts I had in school. Might even provide me with a little fresh material now and then. But then I think of who we're talking about here.

And then I just have to say, "Me no do memes."

Why? Well for starters, deadlines have a way of making me break out in a cold sweat. Given my ability to create on demand these days, we'd have some pretty odd posts. Take Thankful Thursday. Thankful Saturday -- which is when I'd get around to it -- just doesn't have the same ring.

And Wordless Wednesday. Me? Wordless? Now that's an oxymoron of epic proportions.

The list goes on, but you get the point. But you never know -- some day I might just change my tune. Then you all have permission to say, "I told you so." Until then, I'll just have to stick with writing when the spirit moves me.

Talk Amongst Yourselves

2009-11-14T22:59:00.000-07:00

Or click. Or do whatever one does in the blogsphere. I'm just too choked up to speak. I'm beyond words.

Yeah, don't you wish.

Seriously folks, I'm in awe of all of my friends and followers out there. Especially those who have bestowed some pretty awesome awards on my humble little blog. You rock!

Now please don't be insulted. I don't do rules too well. I'd just mix 'em up, forget some and basically make a mess of the whole thing. So you won't see ten things about me that no one knows. Seriously, don't I confess enough already?

But have no fear. I would love to express my gratitude and pass these wonderful little tidbits of love on to others. I'm just gonna do the condensed, Reader's Digest version. Otherwise, it may take me until Christmas 2010 for this post to be written. So, here it goes...

First to Rocky Mountain Memoirs and EcoMeg, here is my extremely belated Thank You for passing on the Lovely Blog Award.

And, in turn, I would like to present this award to....Strawberry Seeds, Coming Clean and Its a Beauty-Filled Life.

A huge thanks also goes to Brittany at MommyWords. You are truly the bestest! Your posts always make me laugh.

Now its time for me to pass this on to Brilliant Sulk, Stacie's Madness and Hormones, Headaches and Hotflashes.

I'd also like to thank Amy from Confessionals of a Stay at Home Mom. From me to you, I absolutely LOVE your list of lesser known facts. I think the pool one is my all time favorite.

And my winners for this are:
Menopausal New Mom, The World According to Me and Mean Mom Academy.

To Nancy at If Evolution Really Works, I love you too. I also loved your award post. Way too creative.

I also love Country Fried Mama, MommyLiteOnline and Immoral Matriarch.

Last, but not least, thanks abound for Stina at Woman and Mom for this refreshing award. And to Forever Folding Laundry, Bloggin2Noggin and Crazy Mom With 4 Boys. Come on down and pick up your very own lemonade award.

Pheww! I made it. This was a hard list to make. There are so many wonderful sites out there, this was a toughie.

Right now, the snow is falliing, my eyes are getting heavy and its time to call it a day. Good night and happy blogging.

That's One Strong Glue

2009-11-12T20:54:00.001-07:00

Our little guy is one active kid. Mind you -- ALL our kids are pretty energetic. At least that's the phrase that usually exits the lips of every adult that has spent any time with my broad. But my youngest, he's decided to take it up a notch or two.

This is actually quite ironic. When he was born he was the quietest, sweetest, most content baby in the world. He would stay in his little bassinet and just watch the commotion around him. He'd smile and coo and take it all in. He wasn't colicky, rarely fussed and was an all around pleasure..

With a huge grin and knowing sigh, I would sit rocking him and declare, "Ah, I finally got a calm one."

I really should have known better. As soon as those six little words entered the universe, the forces that be decided it was yet again time to mess with my head.

The day he became mobile, the honeymoon was officially over. And the world as we knew it ceased to be.

No gate could contain him and he could pick every safety lock known to man. In no time he was stacking chairs, scaling counter tops and leaving a path of destruction where ever he went. It was during this time that our once plentiful babysitting offers mysteriously dried up. They were replaced instead with the whispers of friend and passerby alike.

"He's the PRECOCIOUS one."

That's my boy. The one I used to joke would be the first one to be taken to the emergency room after pulling some Jackass-like stunt.

I really should know when to shut up. When will I learn that all those little "sayings" of mine always, always come to fruition. And today was the day.

Luckily it wasn't so bad. Especially given my history of hysteria at the sight of blood. It was, however, a little unnerving.

I was in the middle of such a nice nap when my oldest bolted into my room.

"MOM! Mom! Come quick. He's hurt."

This really is a cruel trick to play on a groggy Mom. And of course my mind had thought of a hundred and one scenarios, none of them pretty, by the time I made it to the scene of the crime.

Turns out my little monkey was jumping on the bed, fell and bumped his head smack dab on the corner of the nightstand.

It didn't even bleed -- at first. But when it did start, it wouldn't stop. No gushing blood or anything, just a steady stream requiring multiple bandaid replacements.

After a few hours (yes, I am very slow in my old age), I realized this wasn't going to resolve on its own. Luckily our pediatrician was game and no trip to the ER was required. All the way there, I was dreading the inevitable sewing of the wound. I knew the screams would not be pretty and lets face it, I'm a wimp when it comes to a crying three year old.

So imagine my surprise when I heard the prognosis was gluing. Yep. A wonderful invention, they just dab a little on the site, squeezed it together and -- Presto -- it's good to go after a short 60 second wait. Just like Super Glue.

So tonight I'm feeling pretty smug. The experience wasn't half as bad as I thought. But that's all I'm saying. I've learned my lesson and if asked I'm pleading the fifth.

This Has Got to Stop

2009-11-11T09:59:00.002-07:00

I woke up this morning to yet another bug -- this time the common cold. I've been getting sick almost continuously since school started. So much so that I was wondering if I had some terrible illness that was wrecking havoc with my poor, abused immune system. I even went to the doctor, who promptly put half of my blood supply into little tubes to see what was the matter.

Turns out I'm fine. Well not exactly fine, but close enough. So then I started wondering if I was just a hypochondriac and that my various ailments were all just figments of my sometimes overactive imagination.

I kept up with this line of thought until a couple of days ago. That's when I made a discovery that blew me away. One that sent millions of tiny shivers up and down my spine.

I've always taught my kids to share. Actually, I've hammered it into their little brains from when they were knee high to a grasshopper. Well it looks like I might have overdone it a bit.

Two days ago, when I asked my soccer girl where her toothbrush was, I got the infamous shoulder shrug and almost incomprehensible I dunno. She's a teen, what can I say.

Then I started to get suspicious. With a little prodding (OK, threats of bodily harm might have been involved) I found out that because she lost track of which one was her's, she's been using any toothbrush that was in sight. Yuk!

But wait, it gets better.

Turns out all my kids have gotten in on the action. They have all been partaking in a game of toothbrush round robin for a while now. The best part was when I found out I was an unknowing participant. All those times I saw them lingering in my bathroom, I thought they were just using my hairbrush or make up. How could I be so blind?

Is nothing sacred?

Nope. There are no boundaries in this house. My kids walk in on me getting dressed on a somewhat regular basis -- there's usually an eeeww involved (Thanks kids, I needed that.). They will hold entire conversations with me while I'm on the phone and usually want me to help them with their homework while I'm in the bathroom.

So now, I'm turning over a new leaf. I bought new toothbrushes for everyone and spent the evening labeling each one with their respective names -- its more like wallpaper, but I want no more questions as to who's is who's.

Then, I'm going to start with the lessons. There will be no more sharing in this house! And anyone who even thinks about using my toothbrush again might just see these pearly whites staring them in the face.

Membership Has Its Privileges

2009-11-10T10:00:00.005-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about getting older these days. Usually when I'm looking in the mirror. That's when I see those new lines and all those new gray hairs cropping up.

It also crosses my mind when I go to put on my pants and realize I've outgrown them yet again. Or during those times I try to get up from a sitting position only to be stuck in some yoga-like pose, sans the yoga. Not before I let out a few good old lady noises of course.

Come to think of it, this whole aging thing is pretty much on my mind 24/7. Getting older is really a downer.

I went on a hike with an old (no pun intended) friend of mine a while back. The whole time we talked about how different we are now than in our younger days. How appearances don't seem to matter half as much as they used to. We talked about our growing disdain for small talk and anything superficial. And how we just don't have time to make nice-nice with people who are just pains in the ass.

As we made our way up the mountain, the theme for the day became clear.

It just doesn't matter anymore.

I'm no longer bound by what others think of me. My idea of fashion consists largely of what is comfortable. And, as many of you can attest to, I feel a certain freedom to speak my mind.

The biggest revelation? I feel more free to be my own person than I have in years. So along with all the bad, I'm coming to realize aging most definitely has its privileges -- and I must confess -- I'm kinda liking them.

So it looks like I'm a proud, card-carrying member of the Old Geezer's Club. Wanna come join me?

Clueless

2009-11-08T20:27:00.008-07:00

DISCLAIMER: We interrupt this normally light-hearted, satirical blog to talk about something serious. I have a sneaking suspicion I may ruffle some feathers out there, so I formally apologize in advance. If you're offended, all I have to say is -- the hormones made me do it.

We all know the economy sucks. There is so much need, so much hurt. With the holidays coming up, many are wondering how they will get through. The reasons are as numerous as the stories...lost jobs, medical expenses, dwindling (if any) savings accounts. This is serious stuff folks.

I know. We've been there. In our case, some big medical issues reared their ugly heads, putting us into a tailspin trying to figure out how to keep our heads above water.

Now I don't say this for sympathy. We have been blessed more than I could ever imagine. God has provided for us and I have faith that however hard, we will make it through.

But because I've had a taste of this, I'm a tad sensitive to things that others seem clueless about.

While I've always been on the ~~cheap~~ thrifty side, I find it funny that being frugal is now in fashion. I see so many otherwise loaded individuals now rambling on about how they need to tighten their belts. That's OK. We could never have enough fiscal responsibility. But what really irks me are those, many whom I know are quite comfortable, complaining about how hard they have it. If they only knew...

Being the old advertising type that I am, I figure this is nothing that a good ole awareness campaign can't cure. So I've taken it upon myself to educate those of the more fortunate out there. Its not that I want to make fun of them, I sincerely want to help them stop making total fools out of themselves.

And now for my Jeff Foxworthy impersonation.

NOTE: The following is based on true events, I couldn't make some of this stuff up. No worries, all the names have been changed to protect the ~~innocent~~ oblivious.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE A WHINER WHEN YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT...

...cutting your two week trip to Disney World to a mere seven day jaunt. As a last resort, you may just go up to the mountains for a ski trip instead. Get over it. If this is you're biggest problem, you are so not struggling. If you're able to go on vacation, any vacation, thank your lucky stars. People with REAL problems can't even do that.

...the fact that you can't put enough money in the kids' college funds. Whoopie. Be thankful you have a college account or retirement account or savings account for that matter. REAL problems mean your savings consists of a bunch of pennies in the jar in the basement or whatever change you can find under the couch.

...the fact that you have to cut out little Buffy's gymnastics camp because you're just too tapped out with her dance, riding and French lessons. Hate to break it to you, but I think she'll live. REAL problems include not having enough money to pay for your child's school supplies, lunch or field trip fees.

...not being able to get your nails done because you have to cut back. Hold me back. I really want to hurt you. If this is your biggest worry, please, please shut up.

...poor people, saying "So many of these people create their own problems. Why should I pay for them?" Do I really need to explain this one?
.
...the fact that you'd like to help out, BUT {insert any of the above here}. Pleeeeaase. My only advise is...wake up and look around you. Then give. Or do. Whatever you choose, do it like your life depends upon it. Tides have a way of turning. You never know when it actually will.

The ironic part of this is that the people who need it the most are the ones that rarely complain. Why is that? Is it that they have learned to appreciate the smaller things in life? I don't know for sure, but we can all learn a lesson or two from those "less fortunate" then ourselves.

My World's Been Rocked

2009-11-06T19:44:00.001-07:00

This has been one long week. First, the phone incident. Yeah, you know about that one already.

Then dearest hubby had a run-in with John Law. No, he wasn't speeding (not this time) but he had expired plates. A fix it ticket's not a big deal, right?

As our luck has it, this was not a fix it, but a Hand-Over-95-Smackaroos-and-Be-On-Your-Way ticket. Highway robbery if you ask me. To top it off, our old, shoddily built banister lost a post. So now we're left with a gaping hole between the kitchen and family room. As I went to call the handyman, I swore I saw visions of dollar signs swirling above my head.

Then, on Wednesday, the unthinkable happened. The Word Which Must Not Be Spoken was uttered. It was awful. Traumatic. I think I'm scarred for life.

Why so glum?

My laptop died. There, I said it.

I wasn't in the room when it happened. I did however hear the screams. I made it down the stairs just in time to see two of my dear children, both looking so, so guilty. And then I saw it -- the dreaded blue screen. You know the one. The lovely That's All Folks shade that tells you all is definitely not well in computerland. .

After some requisite screaming and threats of groundings for life, we tried to resuscitate my old friend. No such luck. Today, as tears streamed down my cheek, I watched my hubby packed it up to bring it into the shop. At this point, the best I can hope for is retrieving at least some of the stuff I had on it. And, no, smart me did not back it up. I thought about it. But that's as far as it got.

Now that the shock is finally worn off, reality has hit. And boy does it bite.

My laptop. My life. It's all over now, plain and simple.

I never realized how dependent I have grown on the little sucker until I tried to do without it. Yeah, we have another computer in the house, but its not the same. No more writing posts from bed? Or declaring "Mommy's taking a time out" only to steal way and shop while watching Monk in the peacefulness of my room? How's a Mom supposed to get any peace around here?

Instead I'm left to share a computer, sitting in the middle of our family room, with three kids -- two of which don't know how close they came to biting the big one.

So if this post seems a little rushed, that's because it is. Right now, I have about two more minutes before the door opens and the circus begins. Ahh, there's nothing like a deadline looming to get those creative juices flowing.

Uh-oh, the knob is turning. Let the games begin. Until next time...

Please Press $@#%!

2009-11-03T18:03:00.004-07:00

Here goes another confession. Yeah, I know, what else is new?

Call me old fashioned, but I'm horrible with cell phones. I'm notorious for my uncanny ability to lose mine. When I do find it, the battery's usually dead. And on that off chance that its in place AND has power, its probably stashed at the bottom of my purse so I never hear the stupid thing go off.

Today was no exception. A couple of days ago it wouldn't charge so I neatly (not!) put it away. I admit, with kids screaming, dogs running off and dinner burning, it just wasn't at the top of my proverbial pile.

Too bad for me, when I went to find it, it was nowhere. Kaput!

And right now I could really use that normally insignificant hunk of metal. You see, our home phone (yeah, I know a lot of you in the younger crowd may consider this in of itself archaic) is having issues.

Every time I pick up the phone, it shouts back a static sound at a decibel level way too high for human ears. At first I thought it would go away on its own, but after a day of causing irreparable damage to my eardrums, I decided to take drastic measures.

I called the phone company.

I was greeted by a lovely voice (automated of course), then prompted to several other equally automated voices. Then the real fun began. I got to the part where I was supposed to give my computerized friend some simple answers.

Simple? Right. Between the static and the three year old screaming in the background I guess I wasn't making myself very clear. I kept getting the Hal of automated systems saying, "I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Could you say it again?"

Well after the fifth time around, I began to get a little testy. That's when I found myself screaming at the top of my lungs. The neighbors stared, the little guy cried, wondering why mommy was acting so crazy. (Don't worry kid, in time you'll get used to it.)

When I finally did get a live person, they kept asking me for my alternate number.

"No, I don't have another number."

"What?"

I don't have an alternate number."

"Are you kidding me?

"I LOST MY CELL PHONE OK?!"

The chuckles could be heard, right through the static. And then, "Well...I'm sorry, but if you don't have another number, I can't help you." Chuckle. Chuckle.

Two hours, three more calls and a probably a small fortune later, I have a tech coming out tomorrow to assess (and hopefully fix) the damage.

This could have been so simple. If I just had that wee little phone.

So right now I have just one thing to say: Please, please come back, cell phone. I promise not to take you for granted anymore. Just make the noise go away and I'll be your bestest pal ever.

It's the Most Wonderful Day of the Year

2009-11-02T20:33:00.008-07:00

Yesterday just happened to be my absolute favorite day of the whole entire year.

Nope, not Halloween. Not All Saints Day. Not even Christmas.

It was Daylight Savings Day!

Now I forget if its the beginning or the end of this funky little arrangement, but whatever it is -- all I know is its the day when the impossible happens. For just one single day out of the entire year I get what I begged for the other 364 -- more hours in the day. Well, at least one more.

I know its only sixty minutes, but around my neck of the woods, I need all I can get. And that single hour has a way of recharging me and making me feel -- dare I say -- downright serene.

It was an added bonus that this year it fell on the day after Halloween. This put all the kiddos in an extra special relaxed mood. Coming down from that sugar rush can do that to the system, I guess. Or maybe it was the euphoria of knowing they had that much candy. Whatever the cause, the result was wondrous.

With the kids happy and contained, I was able to do what I do most days. I got things done. I just didn't do them at my usual frantic pace. It was like I was floating through the day in this surreal slo-mo state. Why the feeling was so foreign, I couldn't put my finger on it.

At least not until tonight. Now I know what it was. I remember feeling it long ago, I think sometime in a former life. The name? Its on the tip of my tongue. Ah, yes, it's called R-E-L-A-X-A-T-I-O-N. All the way down to my bones. There was no rushing, no hurrying along. No worries about being behind. Because I knew that -- at least for one day -- I actually had enough hours in the day to keep up with my crazy life.

Now I know that with this change comes shorter days, longer nights and the inevitable cold, but right now I'm too comfortable to care. But like all good things, this too came to an end. So now its time to go. Unlike yesterday, we're back to our measly 24 hour stretch, so time to get myself in gear to face another way-too-short day.

Halloweens Gone By

2009-10-31T21:27:00.005-06:00

Its Halloween night and as far as we can tell, a good time was had by all. Two out of four kids are happily in bed, still clutching their pumpkins. The other two are on their way home, no doubt in good spirits.

This Halloween was downright peaceful. Unlike the days of old, there was no mad rush to find costume pieces or arguments over who got what pumpkin. The older kids were self motivated and calm. That, I have to say, was kinda spooky.

Then in a flash, they were gone -- at parties or friends houses. They were all in such a hurry to get to their respective destinations we forgot the annual ritual of pictures, amidst the usual chorus of moans and groans, followed by hamming it up in front of the camera

We were left with uncharacteristic quiet. And the Little Stinker. The scene was totally surreal. Two parents, one child, tranquility. It was just plain wrong.

So us two parents headed out with the little guy and went door to door in the neighborhood. While it was great spending two-on-one time with our youngest, I kept flashing back to when the older kids were little. The neighborhood was different then. Mostly young parents like ourselves and tons of kids. We would head out in packs -- including the requisite scary monsters, pretty princesses and those adorable little kid giggles.

That was then. Now, we're no longer young parents. And most of the little kids are growing up, leaving an eerie silence to the streets. So tonight -- while very cute and utterly enjoyable -- something was missing. I mourned those days gone by, not to mention my younger ones. I couldn't shake the feeling of being old and out of place.

That's not to say the evening was without its moments. The Little Stinker was dressed up as James, his very favorite Thomas the Tank engine. That in itself was priceless. So were his feeble attempts at saying Trick or Treat instead of just taking the candy and running.

At first he was pretty shy, not yet clear on the whole concept. But being the quick study that his is, he soon was bounding down the street, dashing ahead of us screaming, "Coming through!" on his way to the next house. Once there, he'd methodically described a scene from some Island of Sodor adventure to the poor soul handing out the goods. Classic Little Stinker.

By the end of the evening, his pumpkin was so full, he enlisted his dad to carry it for him. As for me, I carried James, eyes at half mast, all the while pleading, "One more house Mommy, I LIKE CANDY!"

Halloween Wonderland

2009-10-29T17:33:00.000-06:00

The snow continues to fall. And fall. And fall. I think right now we have about 20 inches on the ground and by the end of the day we should have more. So here starts our second snow day. Even the hubby is home.

This is pretty freaky. Its like Mother Nature is playing her own Halloween trick on us. I knew I shouldn't have gone cheap on the candy.

It is pretty, I have to admit. Too bad the beauty is being drowned out by the screaming. And the whining. Oh we can't forget the whining. Six people cooped up in my humble home for two days has a way of rattling one's nerves.

I had this idealistic picture in my mind of how yesterday should have gone. Hot cocoa, fresh baked cookies, harmonious dealings with the kids. Yeah, that happened.

Instead we had kids camped out in front of the TV for hours. Worse yet I let them. The grayness of the day left me in drowsy and slow. I don't think I got anything on my list checked off. When my husband got home I was caught face down on our bed napping. What can I say, laziness ruled.

I admit, yesterday caught me off guard. But today I'm ready. I'm hunkering down, resolved to survive another housebound day. Besides, the kids are already gearing up for sledding and I think I see the makings of a snowman in progress. Time to enjoy our little taste of Christmas in October.

If the weather forecasters are anywhere close to accurate (its a big IF, I know) then tomorrow fall will return, so all will be well in the world again -- until Halloween and the annual sugar rush hits. Ahh, but that's another post all together.

Snow, Snow Go Away

2009-10-28T07:55:00.005-06:00

No way! I woke up this morning to six inches of snow on the ground. How pretty. How peaceful. How Zen.

Not exactly. Along with those delicate white flakes came the news I dread most. A snow day.

IT"S ONLY OCTOBER. This can't be happening. Not yet.

Then again, this is my life we're talking about. Why am I surprised?

At the moment I have ~~two~~ ~~three~~ four kids and one big dog on the bed with me watching the news. This is not a dream. I repeat, this is not a dream.

You may think my reaction is a little extreme. And you're probably right.

I usually LOVE snow days. Everything comes to a screeching halt. For just one day, we have to slow down and relax. We bake cookies, sip hot cocoa and head to the sledding hill. But did I mention its only October? The time of year we jump in crunchy leaf piles, enjoy the changing colors and some wonderful Indian Summer. Oh, what happened to my beautiful Indian Summer?

I shouldn't be surprised. After all, this is Colorado we're talking about. I've lived here long enough to realize anything is possible. Like white stuff all over the ground three days before Halloween.

The worst thing about it? Today was my day. You know, the day when not only the older kids were in school, but the Little Stinker had Lunch Bunch. Its the day I look forward to all week long.

I had plans. Grand plans. Bills to pay, projects to be done. And rest. Wonderful, glorious rest.

Instead I'm looking at my entire clan confined within these four walls. All day. All night. I think I feel a panic attack coming on.

Ahh, the best laid plans. Guess I'd better get the hot cocoa going and pull out the old cookie recipes. After I head down to the basement to dust off all that winter wear. Ready or not, its time to get out there and enjoy the snow.

Of Mommies and Menopause

2009-10-25T19:54:00.002-06:00

Life can be funny. Seems it likes to play some pretty cruel jokes on me in particular. Its like being repeatedly Punk'd without having Ashton Kutcher come out from behind a wall or curtain or whatever it is he does. Darn the luck.

What could be so bad, you might ask? Just when I finally had all my kids in school, I got surprise number one. As my twins (come to think of it, they were surprise number one) were finishing up first grade, I found out I was pregnant with child number four.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love the little guy. He touches our lives in ways we never thought possible. I couldn't imagine life without him. But getting him into the world was a tad problematic.

First of all, it was a big jolt to the system. You see, in my mind I was done. I gave away all the baby things, was thinking of going back to work and had just gotten used to my time alone. Silly me.

Second, I was not spring chicken. This all came to be at the ripe old age of 42. Do you know what its like walking into a maternity store where all the other customers are 20 years your junior? It was quite a trip, let me tell you. So was re-entering the wonderful world of diapers, strollers and bouncy seats.

Third is the fact that pregnancy most definitely does not become me. I know so many people who loved being pregnant. Who actually glowed. Me? I took on a funky green hue. I drooled. Yep, you got that right, I actually freaking drooled. I also had morning sickness from hell not only in the first trimester, but the second and third too. It got so bad, I ended up sporting a lovely combination of tubes and IVs before all was said and done.

Once the little guy was born, things improved. Although I'm convinced an old geezer like me is just not meant to run after a highly-active, super-precocious child. Or wake up twenty times a night with a newborn. This little engine ran out of steam just looking at the mountain.

Then the cruelest trick of all was played on my poor, abused body. About a year after the Little Stinker made his arrival, my hormones decided to go on strike. Seems they had enough of this whole child-bearing thing.

When I was pregnant, I used to joke(the operative word being joke) that since I was such an old pregnant person, I was gonna go straight from pregnancy to menopause.

IT WAS A JOKE, PEOPLE! Come on, I didn't MEAN it.

Too late to take it back, I'm left to suffer the natural consequences. Damn, I hate natural consequences. Like the fact that instead of being able to loose my baby weight, I added another 20 on for good measure. I could feel the pounds packing on every time I just looked at something yummy.

Oh, I can't forget the hot flashes. Those pesky things always hit right in the middle of a meeting, a party or some other public venue. And the looks? You'd think I'd grown two heads. The gray hair isn't too pleasant either. But that's nothing a little box every month or so can't take care of. There's no way in hell I'm going to get the grandma question in the kindergarten pick up line.

But I have to say, the very worst of the worst is the mood swings. You don't think you're crazy when they start. You're being perfectly reasonable. Then, right in the middle of your hour-long rant about the price of eggs it hits you. Holy crap! Just get me my straight jacket, hon...I'll go ahead and make the call.

So if you find me ranting from time to time, have no fear. I'm really not that scary. Not all the time at least. And if you want to keep your distance I understand. I'm not hard to miss. I'm the one pushing a stroller with one hand, holding a cane in the other with a constant stream of sweat running down my face. Ain't getting old grand?

Monsters Inc.

2009-10-22T14:06:00.003-06:00

Today was another crazy day. A house that would make junk yards lookgood, a to-do list a mile long. So being the woman of action that I am,what did I do? Took the little guy and went to the park.

What's the big deal with that?

The following bad parenting confession should clear that up: As youmay know, our little guy is the youngest of four. I'm an older parent.And that's not the best combination for doing fun, kid-oriented stuffon a regular basis.

Unlike his siblings before him, we don't do playdates, he has no friends his own age, and his usual outing consists of driving his older siblings to and from THEIR activities. And the time we do have alone together is usually the only time I can run errands, go grocery shopping or clean house.

That said, I don't know what got into me today. After leavingSuperCuts I just didn't want to go home to my growing mound of work.It's a beautiful day (compared to the snow two days ago) and the sunwas shining. So to the park we went.

The little guy's reaction kinda surprised me. Suspicious and unbelieving, he kept asking, over and over again, "Why?"

That's when the mommy guilt really hit. Note to self: I've got to get out with him more often.

Now this wasn't the normal,sit-on-the-bench-exhausted-while-the-little-guy-runs-around-like-a-bansheetype outing. Contrary to my usual MO, I was right out there with him,sliding on slides, swinging on swings and yes, I even did the monkeybars. Some of the teens ditching class at the local high school looked atme as if I was certifiable, but today, nothing could stop us.

The best part was the game. My highly imaginative little man wanted to play Monsters. Tickle monsters, scary monsters, Frankenstein, mommy monsters -- you name it, I played it. And the corresponding giggles could be heard 'round the world. His were pretty loud too.

To sum it up, a good time was had by all. This is one of those days I want to hold onto for a long, long time.

The moral of the story? Get out with your kids more. Not only does itdo wonders for their disposition, but it might just make your day.

Do Tell

2009-10-20T21:56:00.002-06:00

Today, I have a bone to pick. And a confession to make. Boy, I think I confess more to you folks than my priest. Actually, I know I do. Well here goes the confession de jour:

I AM TOTALLY OUT OF MY LEAGUE!

Now I know that I'm still pretty much a newbie at this whole blog thing, but come on. Everywhere I look, I see great blogs. Ones with hot designs. The coolest gadgets. Witty prose. Not to mention a zillion and five followers. To develop blogs of this magnitude takes work. Lots of work. Or sheer genius (and since I'm darn sure I'm not in that category we'll just leave this one be.) So that leads me to my query:

Where the hell do you find the time?

I don't get it. Most of you out there are moms like me. And, unlike me, some of you even juggle family life with full time jobs. So how do you find the hours in a day to get this all done?

It takes everything I've got to get a post out every other day or so, let alone research HTML and CSS to make clever tweeks to my sidebars or get the newest widget. Don't get me started on the whole social networking thing.

And although I love all the comments and good wishes that have been posted along the way, I'm usually too scattered to reply to each one. I'm ashamed to admit, that right now I have two awards that were graciously given to me by fellow blogging friends and I haven't gotten around to passing it on -- or even posting about it. A fine image I'm painting, don't you think?

Maybe I'm just not in the know. Hey, it wouldn't be the first time, and probably not the last either. So what am I missing?

The thing is, I like this new world I've entered. I want to be a part of it. And I want to be good at it. But you, my friends have given me some pretty hard acts to follow. So, tell me. What are your secrets? What tips and tricks allow you to balance your real-world lives and the cyber alter egos we all create?

Can you tell?

Pumpkin, Pumpkin on the Lawn

2009-10-18T22:16:00.004-06:00

This weekend was absolutely glorious. Blue skies, warm weather with soft breezes. A perfect time to head to the pumpkin patch.

Luckily we have one right in our backyard. Literally. Our property happens to back up onto one of our area's premiere pumpkin spots. Every fall my kids watch out our back windows, anxiously awaiting that first hint of orange. Then the mantra begins.

Are we going yet? Are we going yet? Are we going yet? Mantra, questions, what's the difference? Whatever it is, its incessant.

So on Saturday, the annual trip was made. Each child combed the fields, taking great care to pick just the right one. Its a painstaking process, but the results are well worth the effort.

That's why this morning was such a disappointment. We woke to the sound of my son. Nothing unusual there. He's our normal weekend alarm clock, the kind that uses you like a human trampoline, all the while asking if you're awake yet.

But this time, there was something decidedly different. No jumping, just panic.

"Who did that to the pumpkins?"

Turns out our brand new pumpkins, plus the one my son grew himself, we innocent victims of some sick suburban vandal. As a result, our lawn sported a lovely shade of orange. Seems our beautiful display was now in pieces all over the place.

At first I wondered why we were targeted. Then I looked down the street to see the same warm hue on the neighbors' lawns.

As for my kids, they were dumbfounded. They just kept asking, "Why would someone do this?"

As adults, we know it was probably some teens getting their kicks by destroying seemingly disposable items. But to my kids, I think a bit of innocence was lost.

When I asked if they'd like to go back and pick out new ones, they replied, a little deflated.

"Nah. Let's just get some at the store."

I Promise Not to Kiss You

2009-10-16T15:27:00.001-06:00

The last couple of weeks have been pretty low key around here. What? My house quiet?

Well, we've had our reasons. As I posted before, my oldest son came home with the Swine Flu a couple of weeks ago. After a week, it looked like it passed over the rest of us. Pheww! But by a cruel twist of fate, the incubation period is 7 to 10 days, and on about day 9, the swine hit the fan.

The two girls got it, followed quickly by me and then my husband. The little guy is the only one in the clear right now. Not to be outdone though, he got an ear infection from hell instead. It threatened to rupture, but so far, so good.

The worst part for him has been the medicine. Because of the severity, the doctor prescribed a new antibiotic. Not the normal pink, bubble gum flavored kind, lets just say it didn't go over too well. The first time I tried to get the syringe into his mouth, he happened to pull back just as I squirt it into his eye. I'm pretty sure that wasn't in the little directions packet that came with the bottle. The second time (and third and forth and fifth for that matter) it got into his mouth, but was quickly launched across the room as he spit it back at us.

You try telling a three year old to drink something that tastes like crap. All the "but it will make you feel betters" in all the world won't make a lick of difference. Its gross and that's that. We even tried mixing it with some chocolate milk. It worked once, but now he'son to us yet again. So right now, we've back to the drawing board, trying to find new and ingenious ways of sneaking the smelly stuff past him.

If this wasn't enough, I found out a couple of weeks ago that I have mono. That's right, the Kissing Disease. The problem is, with all the bugs going around here, nobody's been kissing anyone. How do you like that? If I'm going to end up with the stupid ailment, you'd think I could at least have some fun doing it. Oh well, such is my life.

What I'm left with is a fine combination of fevers, chills and the unrelenting urge to go back to bed. Come to think of it, my eyes are feeling a bit heavy as I type, so time to sign off and say Good Night -- or Good Afternoon or Good Morning. Whatever.

Night. Night.

Conferences Anyone?

2009-10-14T13:07:00.001-06:00

Wondering why I haven't posted in a while? Well, I spent the better part of the last week at teacher conferences. And being the glutton for punishment that I am, I sat through three different formats for three different children at three different schools.

Now these meetings are a far cry from the ones I remember as a kid. We'd spend a good week drawing pictures, cleaning out our desks and printing our names as neatly as we could in preparation for the big day. The babysitter would be called and my parents would leave for the evening. At school, my parents would visit the classroom, talk to my teacher and look at all my work. Back at home, us kids would wait nervously, hoping and praying that Mom and Dad would come home happy.

Fast forward more than a few years and my kids conferences come in several varieties.

There's the Let's Talk as Fast as We Can While Flashing Worksheets in Front of You until the Timer Goes Off variety. For these you have exactly 20 minutes (and woe to the parent who goes over their allotted time) to go over how your child is reading, writing, adding and playing with others. All the while Junior's teacher has a fake smile plastered on his/her face, conveniently leaving you about 30 seconds for questions. This format usually ends with the "your child is right where they should be" line.

Then there's the Take a Seat in the Gym and Wait in Line to Talk to the Teacher Who Has No Idea Who Your Kid Is kind.. Rearing their ugly heads in middle school, these conferences (I use the word loosely here) has all the warmth and charm of a trip to the DMV. The teachers all sit at tables lined up in the gym or cafeteria, while us parents wait patiently (or not) for our turn to confer. When you finally make your way to the front of the line, you get the pleasure of an oh-so-intimate conversation while the growing line of equally impatient parents breathes down your neck. All this trouble to speak to an educator who fumbles for your child's name, and basically regurgitates the same information you found on Infinite Campus earlier in the day. But its all worth it when you here them tell you that your beautiful child is "right where they should be."

Now my personal favorite is the We're Gonna Let Your Kid Run the Show and Tell You How Great We're All Doing conference. Affectionately known as the Student Led Conference, your sweet angel sits in front of you, flashing that sweet, sweet smile. She'll show you her work, reads you her list of goals (dictated by the teacher earlier that day) and tell you how much she enjoys her class. And if little Suzie's not doing so well? Are you going to be the one to break her little heart by pointing it out? Nope. And the teacher knows it. So there you sit, when to your horror you hear the words leave your lips. "That's great, kiddo. Looks like you're just where you should be."

So here I sit at the end of a long week scratching my head. I realized that after hours spent at school I still have no clue how my kids are doing. To top it off, my search for that elusive place where everyone is magically right where they should be has been a total flop. Maybe if I kick my heels together three times, or sprinkle some fairy dust, Iit will magically appear. In the meantime, I can't get my mind off that big elephant present at each meeting, trying desperately to get someone to notice it.

Bend It Like Beckham? Not Exactly

2009-10-03T16:57:00.003-06:00

My husband is an avid soccer fan. He's been playing since he was a little kid and absolutely loves the game. Unfortunately at times its a very one-sided relationship, with the game selfishly not showing the love back.

This was evident after his last indoor game last night. As I came down to breakfast, there he was limping. A stoic kind of guy, he said it was nothing, just a few hard hits. But as the damage was assessed, we discovered he took a blow to the back and one to the ankle, the worst being the ankle. It was swollen up like a balloon and sporting a lovely shade of purple.

This is not his first stint on injured reserve, mind you. In the lastcouple of years, he's had his share of back issues, at least one brokenfinger, a broken bursa sack and some pretty good bruises. Now we can add -- as the ER doctold him in technical medical speak -- a "doozy" of a sprained ankle. Not tomention the chronically bloody knees and aches and pains.

And here I used to think that soccer was such a civilized sport. Not as bad as football or hockey. I guess it can be, as long as you're not the goalie. A good one at that. My husband takes more dives and slides than most baseball players. He gives it 110% and then some.

Its this very enthusiasm that gets him in trouble. While his mind is definitely up for the challenge his body is in major revolt. A revolution that until this point he has chosen to ignore.

Overall, he's hanging in there, but it might be time to take one out of the Master's play book. Don't worry hon, even Beckham is slowing down a bit these days. Those old bones ain't bending like they used to. Maybe its time to take up a nice, serene hobby. Golf anyone?

You Swiene!

2009-10-02T07:20:00.004-06:00

Confession of the Day: I'm a rabid fan of anything Pink Panther. The original, Peter Sellers version of course. And just like one of Cato's surprise attacks, our nice pediatrician blindsided me this morning -- informing me my son now has the swine flu. But instead of immediate dread, my first visual was of our dear friend, the Inspector. Hey, it made me chuckle at least.

Unfortunately, my amusement has quickly given way to fear. My Pond Boy may be the only one to come down with it so far, but I know its only a matter of time before the rest of us fall like dominoes. That's just the kind of family we are. Generous to a fault.

My oldest daughter has already been complaining of symptoms and the little guy was an amazing grump today. As I type, he's face down on his bed, fast asleep. He went up there all by himself, and that's never, ever a good sign. Peaceful, yes. Comforting, no.

So right now I'm bracing myself for a very long weekend. As soon as I finish typing, I'll start disinfecting Then I'll be stocking up on the Echinacea and all things antioxidant. Oh crap, who am I kidding. We're doomed. You swine flu.

If I Only Had a Brain...

2009-10-01T08:05:00.014-06:00

I've been whistling this classic from the Wizard of Oz all day long -- with a skip in my step and a smirk on my face no less.

Lately, I've been feeling even more scattered then usual. My addled mind cannot
seem to remember the smallest of details (which my kids take immense pleasure in reminding me, over and over again) Focus has been non-existent, as well as planning, cleaning, cooking -- you get the idea. I was beginning to wonder if something was seriously wrong with me.

Then today, like manna from heaven, a beautiful gift dropped from the sky. When I saw the sign at the Little Stinker's preschool announcing their "Lunch Bunch" I almost knocked the other moms out of the way to sign up.

Whoever came up with this little perk was a bonified miracle worker. They sure didn't have it when my older kids were little. Basically, instead of rounding the little guy up after the whopping 2 1/2 hour session is over, he gets to stay for lunch and play with his friends. The result? Five glorious hours to myself.

I haven't had this much time to myself since school started. Come to think of it, I haven't had this much time to myself since I had my little guy. I ran errands, did chores around the house and even went for a run with the dog. I was quick, efficient and productive. Its amazing what a block of time without any interruptions will do to you.

Its during this time of uninterruped thought that I had a personal epiphany. I CAN think. I CAN concentrate. I CAN accomplish something . OK enough of the CANs -- I'm having visions of the Little Engine That Could. And that can't be good!

Whoops, I digress. Back to my point. I realized today that I don't have ADHD or Alzeimer's afterall. I just have kids. And the four of them have a way of distracting me into oblivion.

So for all those days when I wondered where my brain had gone, I realized it was here all along. Just like our friend the Scarecrow. I just needed a little peace and quiet to coax it out of exile. Way to go Lunch Bunch. And to my much maligned mind -- I look forward to seeing you again next week.

Why Do They Do This Anyway?

2009-09-25T23:07:00.007-06:00

OK. I have a bone to pick with Hanes or Fruit-of-the-Loom or whomever else makes those cute little kid undies. Why the heck do they put the best, the funnest, the coolest picture on the back?

Our Little Stinker is none too happy about this. For the last two weeks, he's gone around with his undies on backwards in protest. And this just can't be comfortable!

There's no talking him out of it. No way. After all, how else can he see his good friends Bob or Thomas or Scooby? Certainly not when they're camped out on his backside. So he's taken matters into his own hands. That's my boy.

Now, if a mom had designed these, I'm sure we wouldn't be in this situation. She'd have thought this through, examined all the possibilities and designed accordingly. Function would definitely have come before form. Instead, we have a drawerful of underwear now destined to be worn backwards. No wonder the little fellow's been so cranky these days.

My Car Will Go Where?

2009-09-21T09:55:00.036-06:00

Yesterday we did the unthinkable. The unimaginable. The seemingly impossible. As the neighbors lined the street and cheered -- OK maybe not actually cheering, but I'm sure they thought about it -- we began cleaning our garage.

Now, if this was a cutesy kind of thing, I'd post sweet before-and-after photos of the big day. But believe me when I tell you this mess was way too gross for even me to document. So, you'll just have to take my word for it.

Then again, I'm taking a bit of perverse pride in the whole situation. After all, it took years of very hard work to morph our supposed car parking area into a mess of this magnitude. That's quite an accomplishment if you ask me.

I have to say I was amazed by all the crap we found.. There were bags of clothes from when my oldest was a toddler. Boxes of books that I think were from the '80s. Then there were the mystery objects -- the ones that even CSI would have a hard time identifying.

But what took the cake lay inside an old trunk. As the flimsy lid squeaked opened, I saw an old doll that was mine when I was a little girl. But instead of the pristine, well-kept kind you will find on a shelf (in someone else's home perhaps), this one had matted hair, no clothes and divots in the arms. There was one other thing. It appears that over the years, the plastic around her neck wore a bit thin. The result? My old friend was now headless. Yep, it was pretty traumatic. I'm still reeling from the experience. I may actually be scarred for life.

Broken up, I pronounced her DOA and tossed into a pile with the rest of the trash. The end.

So imagine my surprise when I pulled out of my driveway that night to pick up my daughter. There she was, her headless figure shining brightly in my headlights. Like she'd been waiting there...in the shadows...just ready to exact her revenge. If any of you every watched a Chucky movie, you can understand my horror.

I finally managed to calm down, but as I drove away, my overactive imagination reared its ugly head again, this time with one of those perverse thoughts. You know, the kind that you don't want to admit you had. You see, all I could think of was those neighbors again. Oh and the police. And a late night arrest for the seemingly headless baby sitting in our driveway. All because we decided to clean the stupid garage. That'll teach us.

Critters, Critters EVERYWHERE

2009-09-18T12:37:00.003-06:00

Did I mention I have a strict catch and release policy? I had good reason for it and was standing pretty firm. Until yesterday. Unwittingly I gave in. And today I pay the price.

The afternoon was another crazy one. I had back-to-back meetings at the house as distractions abounded. Phones rang, doors knocked and dogs barked. So my son, being the smart, opportunist type that he is, saw an opening and ran with it.

With everything going on around me, its no wonder my son scurrying up the stairs went unnoticed. So did the hint of green sticking out of his pocket. I have to admit, I didn't even see the aquarium, sand and other accessories go up the stairs.

After the guests were gone, I started putting two and two together (yes, I'll admit I'm a little slow). When I finally made my way up to his room, what should I see? The biggest, greenest frog you've ever seen staring up at me from beneath the pond-watered aquarium set-up.

So after some high pitched screams, I did the unthinkable. I acquiesced. It WAS dark and obviously too late to return the creature to his natural surroundings. Tired from the day, and in a moment of weakness, I allowed him to stay the night.

This morning, screams were heard yet again. Seems our amphibian guest decided the accommodations weren't to his liking and flew the coupe -- or hopped it I should say. So right now we have a renegade frog loose somewhere in the house. He's probably visiting with the caterpillars that the Little Stinker freed yesterday. They're yucking it up, having a party at this very moment -- I just know it!

I just hope his little bash isn't his last. There are way too many dangers around these parts. He'd need to make it past the cat (given her aversion to mice that probably wouldn't be too hard). Then the dogs -- the old one's pretty easy, but our young pup, well, he's a different story. And, let's just hope he didn't hop into the guinea pig's vicinity. That creature has some sharp teeth! The last immunity challenge would involve our Little Stinker. Let's just say, he doesn't mean to torture animals. He just likes to play with them.

Worse yet, I'm really not up to finding a shriveled up pond creature sometime next week. We already went through that with the tackle box incident, and believe me, it ain't pretty. So, today I'll spend my time cautiously creeping through the house, not wanting to be surprised by our little friend hopping out from under a bed. Maybe if I just yell, "Uncle" the little sucker will take pity and this perverse game of hide and seek will end.

Its Been a Backwards, Inside Out Kinda Day

2009-09-16T11:49:00.002-06:00

It started the moment I woke up. Groggy as usual, something just seemed off.

As the morning progressed, I realized I wasn't the only one out of sorts. The kids were grumpy, so was the hubby, and as for me...I was slow. Way, way slow.

We had one girl upset about her outfit. And when a tween girl is not happy with her outfit, believe me, nobody's happy. Then our oldest boy was in full mope mode because he was "way too tired." No amount of pleading or prodding could move him along. As for our youngest? He was just downright ornery.

We literally had to fight to get the kids out the door. One mishap after the next meant we left the house nowhere near to on time -- and it was our turn to drive! Petrified of being kicked out of our lifesaving carpools, several remorseful calls of apology soon followed.

The fun continued even after the kids were safely in their classrooms. With the little guy in preschool for only two and a half hours, I have a very structured itinerary for my "free" time. Foiled again, I was plagued by non-working laptops, stores that didn't open on time and dogs that were none to shy about asking to be fed. Topping off my day, I put my shorts on inside out...not for the first, or the second, but the third time this month! This finishing touch came when I realized I had them on backward as well. Thank God I caught it before I left the house. I haven't been so lucky in the past.

Its just one of those days. So here it is 11:45 in the morning and I'm wishing for a Do Over. Wouldn't that be nice? Since I'm pretty sure I have a snowball's chance of that happening, I'm left to watch the clock -- waiting desperately for this nasty day to end.

Why Is This Getting Harder?

2009-09-14T13:37:00.001-06:00

When I first started this blog, it seemed inspiration was everywhere. I found myself stealing away every chance I got to recapture moment after moment. I was cracking myself up.

Then came the school year. All the kids gone, hours without interruption. So why is it, I can't seem to find the time to write? Or even worse, anything to write about? It makes no sense. But then again, having an uncanny knack for doing things a tad differently than most, I shouldn't be surprised.

I have several theories forming at the moment. First, we've all been sick, and boy, nothing kills creativity like the flu. Then there's the fact that now that I'm here by myself, I'm noticing all those pesky projects that have gone unnoticed for a very, very long while. They keep calling me like some sick stalker.

I've also had the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, I'm just losing touch with my creative side. Fleeting is the operative word in that last sentence, 'cause I'm not ready to go there yet.

Of all these ideas, the one that keeps coming back to me is material. Let's face it, with four kids under foot this summer, we were swimming in it. Chances were good that at any given moment there was someone doing something that was worth noting. Now, with all the peace and quiet, all I seem to have left is,,,peace and quiet. And while this might be the road to personal fulfillment, it sure can be boring. So what's a girl to do?

Right now, I'm going to enjoy my moments of solace. A rarity in these parts, I liken them to those days of youth. They'll be gone before I know it.

Then, I'll start tackling some of my projects. Knowing my luck with power tools, or tools of any type actually, I'm sure the material will present itself quickly enough. And then those creative juices will flow.

In the meantime, I'm just going to lay my head down for a quick nap....Ah, you gotta love peace and quiet, don't you?.

Being Sick Ain't What It Used To Be

2009-09-10T18:37:00.014-06:00

Here we are, two whole weeks into the school year, and already our household has been hit by its first bug. I'll warn any of you living nearby, its a whopper. It all started last week, when my oldest son woke up complaining of a stomach ache and headache.

Mind you he has a knack for falling ill right around the time he needs to leave for school. Then, like a faith healing in action, he miraculously takes a turn for the better when he hears the car pulling away. So being the sympathetic (but not born yesterday) mom that I am, I promptly sent him to school anyway.

Later that day, when a routine visit to the allergist led to a throat culture and the dreaded Strep diagnosis, those all-too-familiar pangs of guilt set in. And as living proof that karma does exist, my head began throbbing the very same afternoon. One week, a ruptured eardrum, and a self-diagnosed case of the flu later, I'm just now able to muster up the energy to type.

It wouldn't have been so bad if I were the only one down. But ours is a generous family, and over the course of the last seven days each of my children passed this little bug down to the next in line. It even took down my husband.

This was, of course, in direct violation of The Pack. You see, long, long ago, along with love and honor, we pledged never to be sick at the same time. At the time we had a surprisingly realistic vision of children running around the house unhindered by the likes of adult supervision. Lets just say it was ugly. That's why, in our 15+ years of marriage, The Pact has only been broken once -- that is until this week.

While my husband and I tried to take turns being the grownup, there were still too many times when we were both down for the count. And that's when our ghoulish nightmare came to pass, with amazing accuracy I might add..

When I finally assessed the damage, reality hit like a ton of bricks. Looks like there was ice cream for breakfast (possibly dinner too) with leftovers on the counters. Snack wrappers were scattered here and there. It was kind of hard to see exactly how many because they were being hidden by the dirty clothes. Oh and then there was the Gatorade spill on the carpet being conveniently soaked up by the cracker crumbs.Needless to say, I was shocked into recovery.

So here I am today, trying to wade through the mess, afraid of what I might come across next. All the while I'm having flashbacks to those sick days when I was young. My mom bringing me soup, crackers and ginger ale. And me, able to just lay in bed until I got better.

Ahh...those were the days. Nowadays all I can say is, "I WANT MY MOMMY!"

Did You Know...

2009-09-05T12:51:00.010-06:00

...if you shine a flashlight into a frog's eyes at night, he'll freeze in his tracks, allowing you to catch it easily? Its kind of like the deer in headlights thing.

Now I understand this may go under the I-didn't-know-and-frankly-don't-care category for most folks. Who wants to catch those slimy creatures anyway?

Our very own Pond Boy, of course. He talked his dad into a night-time excursion (on a Friday night, no less) down to the water to test his latest theory. One hour, three laps around and five frogs later, he made the following conclusions.

1. You have to shine the light directly into their eyes or it won't work.
2. It doesn't work if you go in the water after them. His shoes, pants and muddy legs can attest to this little factoid.
3. This was way fun!
4. He's none too pleased with Mom's strict catch-and-release policy.

I, however, am very thankful that this little field experiment didn't net us five new hopping additions to our brood. In the meantime, a few good lessons were learned. Pond Boy unwittingly put his school work into action -- and liked it! He also is gaining valuable skills in building persuasive arguments. Dad enjoyed a nice bonding experience with his son. As for me, I thoroughly enjoyed one hour of peace and quiet. In my book, it doesn't get much better than that.

Cleaning for the Cleaners

2009-09-03T20:56:00.002-06:00

Does anyone else out there do this?

First, let me say that, yes I know, I'm very blessed. We have a cleaner/miracle worker that comes over and makes my house look decent-- at least one morning a week. Unfortunately, my organizationally challenged clan can undo all her handiwork faster than a speeding bullet. Fearing the inevitable, I've actually been known to well up a bit when I see her making her exit.

Its because of our unkempt ways that I do the following: I run around the house like a madwoman on cleaning mornings. I scoop up toys, round up laundry, gather clean sheets and basically do everything in my power to clear a path so as not to hinder her glorious efforts.

All the while my family watches. Actually they watch and chuckle. Then again, most times its more than a chuckle -- mass hysteria has been known to ensue. In part because of the irony of my actions, and in part because they take some perverse pleasure in watching me scurry to and fro in a frantic state.

Even the cleaner has been known to sport a smirk or two when she's spied me in action. Why? Either because she's in on the joke with the rest of my family. Or maybe she's secretly thinking, "Give up lady. This place is never gonna be neat."

I tend to think the latter is the most plausible explanation. But either way, why is it I care how my house looks when the cleaner comes over? Or the refrigerator repair guy or the plumber or whatever worker enters our humble abode. My husband doesn't. My kids sure don't. So what is it about me that feels instantly judged if it has that, shall I say, lived in look? I'm not sure, but here I am, the night before cleaning day, already mapping out my strategy for tomorrow. Some habits are too hard to break I guess.

Whisper Sweet Nothings to Me, Baby

2009-08-28T17:19:00.017-06:00

The other day I was putting my three-, almost four -year-old, to bed. Now, being the youngest of four, we've been somewhat neglectful on the whole bedtime routine thing. While my older children were in bed promptly at 7 pm at his age, he can still be seen wandering the house well past nine.

There are several reasons for this sad reality. First, we're just too damned busy. Between sports, activities, homework and the nightly drama of his older siblings, our little one gets a tad overlooked.

Also, did I mention he's our youngest? Our caboose. The Grand Finale. So everything he does is tempered with the knowledge that this will be the last time we see this stage. Even the terrible twos and tantrums looked a little sweeter this time around.

Last but not least is the not-so-gradual dissolve of our resolve. My husband and I were both over 40 when we had the Little Stinker, so we're tired, plain and simple. This has lead to us slipping up a bit in the discipline department. Admittedly, he gets away with way more than his older siblings -- a fact they remind me of on almost an hourly basis.

That's why, at the ripe old age of almost four, we still go through the nightly ritual of laying down with him until he falls asleep. None of the take a bath, read stories then say goodnight nonsense for us. We have to camp out with him, being absolutely sure he's well on his way to dreamland before we dare leave. If not, whining ensues and we're back at the drawing board.

So the other night, as I oh-so-gingerly attempted my exit, my son leaned over, his arm outstretched, eyes open slightly. Foiled again, I thought. But instead, he whispered in that voice that is easily recognizable to any mom out there. It was the I'm-so-vulnerable, I-depend-on-you, you-are-my-whole-life tone that can soften even the hardest of hearts.

"Mommy, don't go...." he said, his voice trailing off as he settled back into sleep. To this, I melted. Instead of stealing off to do the evening chores, I lay there relishing the moment, not wanting it to end.

But having older children, I know all too well that this phase is fleeting. Soon he will grow like his older siblings, and he won't need me at the level he does now. Friends will enter his life, his innocence will fade and he will become more and more independent.

So here I sit, typing away -- trying desperately to develop a snapshot in my mind -- to remember, to treasure. Even though I'm way too tired most of the time to recognize it, I know deep down these are the best years of my life. A time when the whisper of a child can move me in a way no others can.

Move Over Momma Loa

2009-08-27T18:35:00.015-06:00

My kids sure know how to push my buttons. They take this perverse pleasure in testing just how far they can push me before the veins in my neck heave, my nostrils flare and my head spins round on my neck like a top.

This week, I think we hit speed records in this little experiment of theirs. You see, the relative tranquility of the school day only amplified the decibel level upon their respective returns from school. Just as I became acclimated to the calm, I was rudely jolted back into the wonderful of the world of insult hurling, food flinging and tears streaming -- yes, it always seems to end with tears streaming. Or maybe its door slamming, I forget.

But anyway, back to my point. The normal chain of events goes something like this. Kids yelling. Kids rough-housing. Kids breaking objects or each other. More yelling. Repeat.

During this cycle not one dares to heed my futile attempts at keeping the peace.

"Kids, keep it down."
"Don't do that."
"Someone's going to get hurt, you know."

That is until I make the following statement...usually in an extremely forced, carefully measured tone. "If you keep this up, Mom's gonna blow."

That's when they realize the lady means business. Maybe its the calm in my voice, the strength of my convictions, or maybe its the fact they've all seen me blow like a volcano and it ain't pretty. I like to think of it as Mauna Loa. You know the one. Mighty and fierce, the majestic crater need only send a hint of black smoke into the air, thus sending everyone shaking in fear. Hey, a woman can dream, can't she?

Well so went our week. Except for the fact that more than once I screamed the above statement at the top of my lungs. So much for cool and collected. Seems my top had already popped by the time the words left my lips.

When it happened yesterday, my oldest son started running around the house, hands waving in the air, "Duck and cover, mom's gonna blow. Duck and cover, she's gonna blow." Did I mention he was laughing hysterically?

Soon his sisters joined in, along with the toddler, the dogs and the cat (held against her will by the toddler). All forming a conga line from hell, now adding leg and arm movements as they wound around the house. Thankfully, the procession finally ended at the dining room table, where they curled up underneath, feigning fright and laughing uncontrollably.

It was at this very moment I realized I have lost all semblance of order and authority. Sad as it is to say, I am Momma Loa no more.

Wendy Gets a Promotion

2009-08-23T20:27:00.012-06:00

Our Little Stinker's new favorite show is Bob the Builder. He goes around singing the songs, knows who's who, and can recite the most minute detail of every episode with amazing accuracy.

Although this may border on the obsessive, I'm basically OK with his love of all things home improvement related. What I can't deal with are the questions.

"What does Scoop do?"

"Why does Dizzy spin around?"

"Where does Lofty take all the wood?"

Don't be fooled. These are not the innocent questions of an adorable toddler. They're part of a test -- and woe to the person who answers incorrectly. For any Monty Python fans out there, the moment you are presented with one of his queries you get the eerie feeling you've just been asked what you favorite color might be. Its gotten so bad that I've been known to bolt from the room when the little guy gears up for another round.

"Mommy, who helped Dizzy fix the road"

"Was it Bob?"

"NO Mommy!"

"Lofty?"

"Mooommmmy! WHO HELPED DIZZY FIX THE ROAD?"

Finally, admitting defeat, I whimper, "I don't know bud."

"YES YOU DO. Tell me now!"

Inevitably, I just hang my head, too exhausted to go on. And that's when the Little Stinker swoops in for the kill.

"Mommy, what does Wendy do for Bob?"

Now if you've ever watched Bob and Wendy in action, you might have gotten the feeling that they're more than co-workers, so to speak. I've always thought there's probably a little something something going on behind the scenes. And I have a sneaking suspicion my youngest has figured this out on some level as well.

"Wendy works for Bob, right?"

"No Mommy, what does she do for him?"

"She helps him build things?"

"No Mommy. What does Wendy DO for Bob?"

Now I'm on the edge. I then suffer a momentary lapse of judgement brought on by mounting frustration. And before I can take the words back, I hear myself yell "Listen, kiddo, I'm not sure, but whatever it is, I'm sure she's getting a promotion!"

Welcome to my world of bad parenting moments. I guess its time for me to brush up on my home improvement episodes.

'Twas the Day that School Started...

2009-08-19T16:17:00.012-06:00

Twas the day that school started, and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

My gym clothes were placed by the door with care,
In hopes that some free time would soon be there;
The children all nestled in classes where they read,
While visions of peacefulness danced in my head;
And me in my sweats, ready for a lap,
Had first settled down for an overdue nap,
When out from the house there arose no clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away down the stairs I flew like a flash,
I tripped on the cat, and stepped on the trash.

The sun shedding light on the orderly show,
Gave the lustre of midday to the neat scene below:
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the kitchen still clean, and a floor that was clear,
No toys on the counters, no arguments to fix,
I knew in a moment something must be amiss;
Then quickly I remembered, and smiling went to work,
And mastered the laundry; fixed every little quirk,
And putting make up on, sporting a pose,
I gave a quick nod, sad the day would soon close;
I got off my feet, to my dog gave a whistle,
And away the hours flew like the down of a thistle.
As I leave you today, there’s just one thing to say,

"HAPPY SCHOOL YEAR TO ALL, AND TO ALL ENJOY YOUR DAYS!"

What Was I Thinking?

2009-08-18T15:34:00.010-06:00

It seems a few of you are curious as to how I ended up with four children at four different schools. Funny I keep asking myself the same question -- over and over and over again. What was I thinking?

I wasn't. This was not the grand plan I had in mind. Not even close. Just last year I had it all. My three older kids went to our neighborhood K-8 school (School #1). They even took the bus, so I didn't have to worry about that. There was just one slight problem. We loved the convenience, but we hated the school. So early last year we began our quest for a better option.

After many, many open houses, we decided on a charter school (School #2). Unfortunately we weren't the only family smitten with this particular institution, making it EXTREMELY hard to get into. Feeling lucky (this coming from the person who has never won a single thing in her life!), I took a chance and tried to enroll my kids anyway.

As it turned out, the twins got in, but my oldest daughter did not. However, she was 11th on the waiting list, so I still held out hope. Silly me. Here we are, on the second day of school and I'm still waiting. Hence, she remains at School #1.

In the meantime, another little issue cropped up. School #2 literally panicked when they found out my son, who has some special needs, was on an IEP. I don't know how it is in your neck of the woods, but here charter schools can deny entry if they feel they can't meet a child's needs. As for the schools in our district who said they could -- well, lets just say I'd rather stick needles in my eyes than place my child at one of them.

Luckily we found another charter school, this one specially geared towards kids who "learn differently." Its a great model and perfect for my Pond Boy, and that's how we ended up with School #3.

As for the Little Stinker, he's in preschool (School #4) and will be going to a program at a local church three times a week. I guess I could have kept him at home another year, but considering my youngest doesn't have any playmates under the age of 10 and currently roars at people he wants to meet, we figured the socialization would do him good.

So that's the long and short of how I got myself into this mess. If you were a compassionate bunch, you would just shoot me now and put me out of my misery. But since I don't think that will happen, I guess I'd better buck up, fill up and get driving.

The New School Year is Here! The New School Year is Here!

2009-08-16T21:20:00.001-06:00

Did I mention I'm a bit excited? The moment I have been waiting for all summer is finally upon us and guess what? Its totally anticlimactic.

It could be the hundreds of dollars I just forked over for supplies, fees, planners, lunch boxes and backpacks. Or maybe my zeal took a hit when I saw how big a dent those new back-to-school clothes put in our checking account. Anyway, the event that basically gave me a glimmer of hope as I muddled my way through summer with four kids in tow, is now leaving me in a slightly sour mood.

I guess the grass is always greener, right? But from where I sit now, it just looks like I've exchanged one over-committed experience for another. While I dreamed of days free of distractions, time to catch up and, yes, getting my nails done, I'm now facing carpools from hell, endless school fundraisers and the dreaded after school shuffle.

At this particular moment you may be asking yourself, "It can't be that bad?" Well....my situation is a little different from most. You see, in all my infinite wisdom, I enrolled my four children in four different schools. How stupid is that? Its a long story, so we'll leave it for another post all together. But in the meantime, I'm left with four start times, four calendars and four sets of volunteer duties. This doesn't even include the logistics of getting my brood to and from four locations (on opposite ends of the universe, mind you) each day.

I'm just hoping the little cherubs are worth it, because right now I'm tempted to send them all off to military school. And tonight, as we pack our backpacks, make our lunches and ready ourselves for the grind, I find myself secretly pining away for those lazy days of summer.

How Smart Are Bears Anyway?

2009-07-31T23:07:00.001-06:00

My son tried to sneak something by me yet again. I found him, his mouth full of chocolate chips, unable to speak. This was right before dinner, mind you.

"Don't have anymore," I said.

In response he tried to covertly shove just one more handful in before putting the bag away.

"You know I saw that."

"Saw what?"

To that I launched into one my famous long winded explanations on how us moms have a sort of super power ability to see and know all. He may have bought it at 5, but these days its just one of those, "blah, blah, blah, Ginger, blah, blah" moments. The glazed look in his eyes told all.

Then, feeling rather witty, I explained, "You know bud, I'm smarter than the average bear."

Clearly not getting the reference (yes, I'm dating myself WAY back here), he looked at me very seriously. "Mom, that's not saying much. Bears are pretty dumb."

And so went my evening. Once again, outwitted by a ten year old.

Surprise Photo Op

2009-07-27T22:33:00.000-06:00

This weekend we started a major clean up job brought our own Flood of the Century. In between wringing out carpets and diverting newly created waterways, I was charged with salvaging the family photos.

Now I need to tell you, I love our family pictures. I'm the resident photographer at family gatherings and events and take my job seriously. Unfortunately, I'm not a big scrapbooker. Oh, who am I kidding – I’m not a scrapbooker at all. Ive tried those cutesy crops, but I can never seem to finish more than one page of any album I've started. The task is just too overwhelming for my scattered mind. All my grand plans have amounted to is a sizable collection of paper, stickers and blank sheets sitting in a pile in the basement. Actually its now a big soggy pile.

As a result, we have LOTS of prints sitting around. Some are stored in boxes, but many are not-so-neatly kept on countertops and shelves. These are the ones that were hit the hardest.

Trying to salvage what I could, I spread out all the old pictures on any table, shelf or other flat surface I could find. With years worth of shots, we had pictures everywhere. There were those of my husband and I when we were dating, my oldest as a 4 yr old fairy on Halloween and many, many pictures of the twins from birth to present. There was even a group of our Little Stinker still in the hospital.

Recently I've been feeling like my life has been one mishap after another. But looking at these images, I realized how much genuine fun was woven in -- the parties, the vacations, the goofy poses. Too bad this tends to get obscured in hindsight.

So today, I really love my cheap little camera and the diary its kept. On this day in the life of one stressed out mom, it brought a healthy dose of happy reality. Maybe its time to dust off all that scrapbooking stuff to show off all the fun we've had along the way.

Water Woes and Peaceful Places

2009-07-24T12:05:00.001-06:00

It was a nice dream. A pleasant dream. A peaceful dream. The details are kind of fuzzy, but I do remember being on vacation -- I think it was the beach. Oh, I love the beach.

Then, like a tsunami hitting the shore, I was jolted out of my fantasy world by my oldest daughter.

"Mom! Mom! The dishwasher's leaking and there's water all over the kitchen."

Still in my relaxed state I tried to ignore the interruption.

"Mom! Mom! There's water everywhere. Its dripping from the basement ceiling."

That got my attention, but I was still a little slow.

"Moommm! Did you want all those photos? They're all wet."

That did it. I love those photos. I had them safely tucked in a corner of the basement so the kids wouldn't get to them. Now came panic time.

Running down the stairs my daughter turned to me and said, "By the way, did I tell you there's water squirting from the washing machine too?"

Its official. I hate my life.

Our dishwasher woes started a few days ago when the old one broke. We couldn't afford a brand new one, so we bought a new-to-us dishwasher off of Craigslist. Never one to pass up a bargain, I've been a big fan of the online marketplace. I'm now rethinking my position. The new dishwasher ran fine last night -- no leaks, no worries. Too bad the water supply never turned off. Water ran all night as we slept. No wonder I dreamed of the ocean.

As for the washing machine, we sprung for a front loader a while back. With six people in the house, it made total sense. There's just minor one problem. Our particular model has this pesky habit of eating socks and other small objects, eventually lodging them in the water pump. Every month or so, my husband is enlisted to drain the pump and rid the washer of all the odd items so we can enjoy clean clothes once again.

Flash forward to today. I've spent most of the morning on the phone trying to figure out how to rid the basement of the 6 inches or so of standing water. My husband tackled the washing machine and we've got towels everywhere soaking up the spill. All the while, I've been trying to steal away for a little nap. Maybe, just maybe, I can get back to my dream. And then I can have some peace.

Survival of the Fittest

2009-07-22T20:24:00.001-06:00

You have to be one tough animal to make it in our house. Let's just say, with all the comings and goings, things like food, water and clean living environments tend to get overlooked a smidge. But so far, our passel of pets has turned out to be one hardy bunch.

Most impressive is Tiger the salamander. He's a living experiment on how long a creature of his type can go without the prescribed diet of crickets. I'm afraid to admit, he's even been known to go without water for awhile.

Now before you contact the local authorities, please know we do try our best. And for the most part our pets, especially the dogs and the cat, get fed on a semi-regular basis. We're just not one of those families who dotes on their animals.

In our home you'll see no jewel encrusted collars, designer dog houses or specialized "human" diets. We simply don't have the time for this kind of thing.

You'd think we'd go through pets faster than Kleenex. Nope. These critters seems to possess amazing longevity. Tiger is going on three. We had an aquatic frog -- you know, the kind you get as a tadpole in the mail -- for six whole years! Even our old Lab Beau is over thirteen years old and still ticking. Come to think of it, the only ones to meet untimely end were the hamsters. My poor Soccer Girl went through five in a year -- and we fed them and everything. Go figure.

Our home is home to some amazing research. We have proved once and for all that survival of the fittest is more than just a theory. Long live our amazingly tough pets!

In Search of My Happy Place

2009-07-22T20:21:00.000-06:00

First I have a confession to make. I'm definitely not the picture of calm. Blame my Mediterranean heritage, but I'm not exactly what you'd call even-keeled. That doesn't stop me from trying though. In the crazy, mixed up world that is my life, I keep searching for a place where peace, calm and tranquility rule.

This is a challenge because of confession #2. I'm no Super Mom either. Organizationally-challenged is more like it. I leave the house without makeup, am not the best housekeeper on the block and am often afraid to look in my purse for fear of what might be growing inside.

Pretty pathetic, I know. But I do have one thing going for me. Four kids, two dogs, one cat, a guinea pig and a salamander -- and whatever pond creature my son happens to bring home -- make our house a source of constant amusement. Not always ours, but someone's.

With entertainment like this, who needs perfection? Join me in my fight against chaos and hopefully my crooked journey will offer some humor, fun and inspiration along the way. After all, if I can find my Happy Place in this life, I'm pretty sure anyone can.