Mamma Mia!

Andy went hunting last weekend and no sooner returned home than he "asked" me that he was going again tomorrow.  I know that's not a grammatically correct sentence but since questions involving things like hunting, fishing and golfing are generally framed as statements, it's the only way I knew how to put it in prose.  These "conversations" usually go something like this (and usually occur less than 24 hours in advance of said event):

Him:  "Oh...hey....I might have "forgot" to mention it to you but I'm going hunting/golfing/fishing/to the Auburn game/to the Grand Canyon/________ tomorrow/tonight/in five minutes.  Hope that's ok."

Me: "!^&@* *&$@! ^&*!  !^&*@*!  !&*#&*(@ !!!!!!!!!!"

Except this time he added, "And to help you out, I'll take William with me."

Yes.  That will be a HUGE help.  Take the only one who can (in theory but not usually in practice) wipe his own hiney and who can also (in theory) help me wipe someone else's hiney.   

So, alas, Andy will be taking my firstborn on his first hunting expedition tomorrow.  I don't know how long he thinks a five year old will stay quiet in a tree stand.  My guess is 4.2 seconds but Andy's a pretty good shot so maybe he'll hit his target quickly.  

To celebrate New Year's before he leaves, as a surprise I rented Mamma Mia for us to watch together tonight.    He's going to be sooooooo excited.   I have a bottle of champagne too.  Not sure which he dislikes more.   Bubbly or Dancing Queen.   He can detox in the woods tomorrow.

Happy New Year, y'all!    

~"you can dance, you can ji-ive, having the time of your life....ooh, ooh, ooh, see that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancin' queen....." ~

Dear Santa, I want some Loritab and a nice big bottle of Crown Royal. Thanks.

So yesterday I get a phone call from my dear husband and I could tell he was a little bit not himself.  Come to find out, he cut his hand open, is bleeding profusely and is trying to get to the emergency room.

This was more than a little alarming to hear him even mention the ER because this is the same man who practically cut his finger completely off his hand a while back and, as the finger is dangling with blood shooting across the room and bone exposed he calmly asked me to run get one of William's spiderman band-aids.  Of course I couldn't hear him because I was in an unconscious heap in the floor. 

He called me an hour or so later and said he had 5 stitches in his hand and was on his way to the liquor store to pick a little something up in case he started hurting later.  But he also had a prescription for a pain killer.  

I hope he wakes up in time for Christmas.

I may be taping a note on the bicycle boxes that says something like, "Dear kids....Santa was too tired to put these together.  Instructions are in the box.  Good luck.  Love, Santa."

But now that I think about it, the bikes won't even make it out of the attic.  Maybe I'll just draw an arrow on the note pointing up.  I'm sure they'll get over it....  one day.

Awww Foot

Thought I'd share a few of the happier scenes from the season....the kids' Christmas program, breakfast with Santa (and no there was NO WAY I was taking that "paaa" out of his mouth), baking goodies, roasting smores over the fire and singing Christmas carols 'round the tree holding hands.  No pictures of the snacks, smores and songfest?  Hmmm, musta gotten lost somewhere.

I've really tried to make some fun Christmas memories this year but Christmas is HERE.  And I'm not ready!  I need more time!  

 

My Granny used to say "aww foot" whenever she was over it.  Whatever it was.  And as for the busy-ness and madness that has taken over what should be a peaceful, restful season spending time with those you love most?  I say the same thing.

Granny had another great saying too ~ "I'm gonna whip your little hiney if you don't shape up!"  I use that one often too.  That's another post though....

I think tonight I'm going to finish wrapping gifts and decide that if it's not bought, baked or done after tonight, it's going in the "to be continued next year" file.

Can I get an amen?

&#*@(!&@ Paaaaaa

Please don't judge me on this post...I offer this account not to seek advice but rather to entertain you.

Stuart is nearly 20 months old and is hopelessly attached to his paci. His "paaa" as he calls it. I know, I know...some people find it appalling (including my dear Dr. Rosemond) to see the silly thing in the mouth of a child older than 6 months. But sleep is a precious commodity around these parts and if it means the difference between sleep or no sleep, I always opt for sleep.

We have at least 4 "paaas" for Stuart but for some reason the other night we could only find one. Not a good thing when I usually ensure that a spare is left on the kitchen counter for those 3 am wake up calls when the one he went to sleep with is lost.

So there we were...Sat. night...sleeping peacefully when we heard the preemptive whining through the monitor. This is the point that he's not fully awake so you can usually dart upstairs, grabbing the spare "paaa" along the way, tiptoe into his room and plug up the cry pipe. But remember I told you that we'd gone to bed with no spare.

So I crept into the room and started feeling the floor near the crib hoping to find the missing "paaa." Nothing there. I ran my hand under the crib and drew it back with nothing but a handful of fuzz, dust, and a random Barbie shoe. At this point I was beyond the window of opportunity to send him back into dreamland because I looked up and found him standing in the crib, looking over the side at me saying "paaaa....PAAAAA!"

Ugh.

So I leaned over to the monitor and got right in the microphone where I knew it would blast at top volume in our bedroom and said "Get up here and help me look for the &#**^# PAAA....and bring a ##&!^@ flashlight!"

So there we both were with little penlights looking under the bed, the rug, under the furniture, lifting up the crib mattress and saying things like "where the ^#$% could it be? Did the #$!@& ELF take it?" And the whole time Stuart is jumping up and down in his crib laughing, thinking it was a party. Woo-hoo!!

Finally I remembered the diaper bag, dug around the bottom and found one. Of course it had probably been on the floor of the Dr. office and never washed which is why it was in the bottom of the bag. But I was so happy to see it ~ rotavirus, influenza germs and all ~ and ran back into the room only to realize that it was way, way too late. Stuart was ready to get up, watch Dora and eat a waffle.

Not only did I lose a half night of sleep, but the infected "paaa" will probably lead to the next round of stomach virus for our family. Maybe it's time to heed Rosemond's advice and endure a couple of sleepless nights in order to get a string of sleep filled nights.

Or better yet...I think I'll just be accepting donations to replenish my stash of "paaaas."

Smile Anyway!

We had pictures made on Saturday at the Grand Hotel. My friend Brandi, who has just started her photography business did them. I would encourage you....if you have small children...and want family photographs (which is akin to saying "if you want a double root canal")...call Brandi because she has three children of her own and she is gooooood with kids. She came bearing candy! Which is the only way we were able to get a smile out of some folks.

Of course, I have a confession to make. Catherine was sick, Stuart had an ear infection and Andy had a terrible sore throat. But by golly I'd scheduled the photographs and nothing was going to keep us from having them made. It would be easier to organize a summit of world leaders to discuss the effect of global warming on the temperament of toddlers than it is to get the family together for pictures.

These are just a few pictures I snapped myself while we were there. Notice Catherine sitting in the stroller wrapped up in Brandi's thick blanket she brought (she was more thoughtful than I....I didn't even have the kids' coats on hand). And try not to notice the green stuff coming out of Stuart's nose.

At least it coordinated with the Christmas theme.

Evil Elf

Hey, did you know I have a blog? Apparently I FORGOT. Wasn't until Mary Anna reminded me that Halloween is over and I don't think I recorded any of the November antics here. And there were antics. Trust me. There are always antics with us.

I swear I don't know where the time goes. I only thought the days flew by when I was lying around eating bon bons and watching Oprah all day. I am really enjoying my job. That is, when I actually make it there. Take one day this past week, for example. Let's say....Wednesday I believe it was.

We were running a little late and I was still running around in my big pink poofy bathrobe trying to get William to pick his pajamas up out of the middle of the floor and brush his teeth so we could finish getting ready to get to school on time. Stuart and Catherine were (amazingly) already dressed and weren't (as of yet) demolishing anything. William (predictably) was dilly-dallying (I just love that word) around. I hollered (sweetly) "William....go straighten up your bed and get your shoes on!" Here's what he must have heard: "WILLIAM....go saw your fingers off one by one with a rusty pocket knife and when you're finished, do your toes!" Because he hurled himself into the sofa and started wailing and weeping and yelling "Nooooo......NOOOOOOOOO!"

{Give me a break.}

"NOW~!" I hollered (sweetly). And off he went into his room. And then there was a loud crash. More weeping and wailing. And I went in to find that an ornament had mysteriously jumped off the Christmas tree in William's room and shattered all over the floor. SO....I grabbed Stuart, threw him in his crib, grabbed Catherine and threw her (sweetly of course) into her room, ran to the carport (flashing the neighbors I fear) and grabbed the broom. Ran back up into the room to clean up the mess and a FRIGGIN' FROG jumped out of the broom. I screamed. William screamed. I captured the frog into a plastic playdough container, set him free out the front door, set Catherine and Stuart free, dumped the shattered glass, got myself dressed, changed a poopy diaper, loaded the wrecking crew into the van, dropped them off at school, and walked into work calm, cool and collected. They have NO IDEA. NONE!

Because I'm gooooooood.

Speaking of being good. Let's talk about Santa's little elves. Particularly that creepy little plastic faced Elf on the Shelf. I thought it was a great idea...a way to make the kids behave during the holidays if they thought the little elf was watching them to report back to Santa if they are naughty or nice. We named him Rufus. And he comes out every Thanksgiving and hangs out until Christmas. But this year William is a little smarty pants and is on to the whole gimmick. He just isn't buying it. We were on our way to school the other morning and he asked if the elf really comes alive and leaves every night to talk to Santa. Of course, I told him. He then asked what he does when he gets back. I don't know, I said. Whatever elves do.

"He eats our cookies," Catherine said matter-of-factly.

Uh, no, that would be Mama, I started to say but instead I agreed. "You're right, Catherine. He's a bad little elf. Bad little elf who eats all the cookies." I wiped some crumbs off my lips as I blamed Rufus.

Later that night I started to move the elf again and I swear he gave me the evil eye.

I swear he did.

M.I.A.

Do I have any readers left? Sigh. I really wanted to make a concerted effort to keep up this blog a little more regularly than once a season but this j-o-b is really interfering with my blogging. Maybe I should reconsider. Especially if I could stay at home and blog and just live off of someone else's wealth. But I'll save my political rants for another day. Maybe Tuesday....

I was in Ohio this past week. Left on Monday. Arrived in Columbus to snow. SNOW, y'all. This southern girl nearly froze to death. One morning I walked outside to get in my car and it was covered in ice. So I jumped in the car, shivering, turned the heat up, rubbed my hands together and turned the wipers on. Because the kind of ice we get around these parts (once every other year) comes off with a couple of swipes. But nothing was happening. In fact, the wipers were frozen stiff. So I picked up that thing that looked like a hair pick the rental car man handed me when I'd picked up the car and realized he wasn't insulting my plane head but was preparing me for the elements. It took me fifteen minutes to chisel away a little peephole in the front windshield. And it's only October. What do those people do in January??? If Ohio votes for you know who my guess it's because they want to quit their jobs and stay inside where it's warm and just collect from those of us in the South who are out working. But again...I'll save that for later....

So we had Halloween. And because I was going to be gone all week, last weekend I felt the need to create a memory with the kids. So I took William to the Pumpkin Patch (ok...maybe it said Winn Dixie over the door but I told him it was the pumpkin patch) and picked out a beauty and then we got some ingredients to make caramel apples. He was so excited....and all the way home I was picturing the tender moments we would share as we made caramel apples together and pumpkin bread...it was only 75 degrees so I felt like it was cool enough to dig out my LL Bean cable knit sweater and light a fire just so we'd have the full effect in pictures....and then we pulled up in the driveway and he saw his best friend across the street. He jumped out of the car and hollered "Hey mama...you go make the apples and just call me when they're ready." And he was off.

So I made them myself. And after dinner we enjoyed them. Some of us more than others. Stuart didn't care for his. Catherine licked all the caramel off and left the apple and William ate a few bites and decided it was too stringy. So then I finished off the leftovers, including all the unused caramel.

Here are a few pictures from that project...there are none of me because I was passed out from heatstroke and in a sugar coma.

Rocket Science

I had to go out of town overnight this week and left Daddy flying solo with the three.  I left notes.  I instructed and lectured before I left.  I bought lunchables to make the lunchbox prep easier.  I thought I had all the bases covered.  After all, it was just one night.

I called home to check on everyone and was told by the nanny that Catherine wasn't feeling well.  She had pink eyes.  Was in a foul mood.  And she and William both had been put in time out at school.  So from three hours away I called the nurse to find out how we'd know if she truly had pink eye and what we should do about it.  I found out it's a simple diagnosis.  If she woke up and her eyes were glued together, it would be official.  In which case they'd call in some eye drops.  So I called Andy with instructions to watch out for Elmer eyes in the morning and call the Dr.  I'd deal with the time out issue later.  As for the foul mood....the point was????  Sounded like a typical day to me...

So the next morning I called early to check on her and Andy said the eyes were open and no sign of glue.  So she just had pink eyes...not pink eyes.  One crisis diverted.  He said he was off to do the morning routine and get everyone ready for school.  Knowing I'd left detailed instructions (and lunchables that surely could make it from the fridge into the bags) I wasn't worried.  But I wished him luck nevertheless.

I was walking into my breakfast meeting when my phone rang and I saw "home" flash on the screen.  I answered.  I heard weeping and wailing in the background.  Andy sounded desperate. 

"Can you talk to Catherine?  She wants to wear this little wrap shirt and bloomers to school."

"So?  Let her wear her Tinkerbell costume if she wants.  No one cares (something I've learned through great wisdom and experience)."

"No, not real bloomers.  They're more like panties.  She'd have on a shirt and panties."

"Hmmm.  Mmkay.  I see.  Put her on."

At this point I'm standing outside the door of the restaurant holding the phone to one ear and sticking my finger in the other ear to drown out the traffic.  I hear this sad little voice.

"Hey mama."

"Hey sweetie.  Listen, you need to do what Daddy tells you to do.  You need to wear what Daddy tells you to wear."

"Waaaaagggghhhh!  But I don't wanna...."

I cut her off.

"I'LL BRING YOU A BAG OF CANDY WHEN I GET HOME!!!!!!!"

"Okay.  Here, Daddy.  Talk to mama."

Daddy got back on the phone.

"Ok..." I announced, "She'll wear whatever you tell her to wear."

"How'd you do that?"

"Um, I just told her to do what you tell her to.  She minds me.  What can I say?"

I can't let him in on all my secrets.

But here's one I should have shared.  When I got home last night it was about 9:00.  Andy had let William and Catherine stay up to see me.  I was hugging on them and Andy said "Would you look at this?"  I followed him into the baby's room "This is what Stuart did until nearly 10:00 last night and he's doing it again!  I turn it off and he turns it back on and won't go to sleep!"

I looked into the room and sure enough, Stuart was reaching over next to the bed flipping the light switch on and off.  I walked up to the ceiling fan, pulled the cord to turn the light off from the fan as Andy's own light (the one in his head) came on at that point and he said "Ahhhhh." 

We're all adjusting.

One More Thing....

I have a footnote to the last post. Add this to things that just ain't right...

William had to go potty a while ago. The kind of potty where he stays in there a really long time and then hollers out "I'm finished now" and we're supposed to do something about it. Except that he's been told that five-year-olds should take care of their own business. So lately I just don't come running very fast when I hear him beckon from beyond the closed door.

So tonight he hollered out but it sounded different, so I DID go running. Only to open the door and have him ask me to hand him his newest prized possession. A tiny little plastic two cent pirate ring that he wears on his pinkie. It was lying on the bathroom counter and he needed it. Immediately. I rolled my eyes, held my nose and handed him the ring. And left to take care of my own business....washing dishes.

A minute or so later we hear a panicked, urgent call for help. I went running while Andy continued reading the paper, barely looking up. I opened the door and find William, still sitting there, peering into the pot with a forlorn look on his face. I didn't even have to ask. He looked down again, looked back up at me and whined, "Ma....ma! My ring!"

No. Friggin'. Way.

I closed the door, walked out to where Andy was still perusing the sports page and said, "William needs you."

Let's just say that Andy's now William's hero. Had something to do with a rubber glove....some bleach....hot water....not sure what all else. But when he came to kiss me goodnight, William was proudly wearing his ring once again.

Eeew.

The things we do for love.

Things That Just Ain't Right

A few weeks ago I was walking into my bedroom and looked over in the corner next to one of the french doors and saw a pile of....something. I got a little closer, somewhat comforted that there was no odor, but quite perplexed and mildly disturbed that someone or something had left a pile of indistinguishable YUCK in the corner of my room. I hollered at Andy and beckoned him over to view along with me and, very eloquently inquired, "What the CRAP is THIS?"

Upon further investigation and after opening the door and looking along the entire perimeter of the door and the outside adjourning patio, we discovered that there appeared to be a fungus among us.

So yesterday we took to removing the mess and, along with it, had to remove the door and portions of the wall, leaving a huge gaping hole in our bedroom. Very elgantly covered by a lovely plastic sheet held up by duct tape.

So today Andy is hopefully going to be able to hang the door because I'm not sure the visqueen is much of a crime deterrant. Luckily we don't get much crime in Mayberry. But you never know. There's always Mrs. Joann.

Oh, and to make this project even more fun, Catherine is sick. And I'm supposed to be leaving on Tuesday to be out of town the rest of the week. Oh, and my coffee pot is broken. And Stuart won't stop eating the dog food. And....and...I'm scared to think of what's next.

Of course then there's the election....

Sigh.

What's the Difference Between a Soccer Mom and a Gross Smelly Person Who Hasn't Even Brushed Her Teeth?

Not much.

William is playing soccer this year and his enthusiasm for the sport is underwhelming.

Soccer practice rolls around on Thursday nights and Andy and I look at each other and say, "Crap! We have soccer practice?" Because William could really care less. So it really doesn't cross his mind.

Then Saturday mornings when we've barely rolled out of bed after a night of musical beds like we had last night, and Andy's planning on spending the day in the yard and I have a million errands to run, we look at each other over breakfast and say, "Crap! We have a soccer game this morning???" Then, like this morning, we realize we're already late so after getting everyone else ready, I am forced to choose between getting my pants on or brushing my teeth. I opted for pants.

Gross.

It's not that we're not happy William is playing. We were actually really excited about it. But after the first practice, William announced that he'd rather be swimming. So he spends most every practice and every game just sort of fluttering around the field, making fish faces and trying to ignore us yelling to him, "The ball, William! The ball! Kick the ball!" Sheesh.

I'm thinking this time next year we'll be going to swim meets. Michael Phelps is probably making more money than David Beckham anyway. Wouldn't ya think?

Role Reversal

So yesterday I went to a management meeting at the Grand Hotel that included lunch, meetings all afternoon, and dinner. Since our nanny doesn't start until Monday, Andy picked the kids up at school, stayed home with them all afternoon and enjoyed a gourmet meal of chicken nuggets, tater tots and applesauce. I had grilled tuna, lightly seared with a pineapple/mango salsa served over a rice pilaf and seasonal vegetables. And bread pudding with whiskey sauce for dessert. But I digress.

Usually it's been me at home, answering the phone with screaming hungry children clawing and hanging off of me, when Andy calls to "check in" on his way to a business dinner at some upscale steakhouse. Yesterday I called about 5:00 to check in and when I couldn't hear him over all the screaming and carrying on, I sadly had to run and said I'd see him later. When I came home after dinner, ex-hausted from a grueling day of sitting in a chair listening to grown ups talk while I was served Dove chocolates and Diet Coke, I just had to kick my shoes off and plop down in the recliner to watch some football. I asked Andy what he'd been doing all day because it didn't look like much to me. (note: I'm truly embellishing here for creativity's sake because I have to say the house was spotless, kids were in bed and all was calm...I was QUITE impressed).

But oh how I missed my babies! I quickly changed clothes and crawled in bed with each of them just to snuggle and get some good sugar that I'd missed all day. Yesterday was really just a trial run. I don't officially start my job until Monday.

Funny thing about that meeting. See, I've been HOME for more than three years. Truly, other than Law and Order and a few re-runs of Legally Blonde, I've not been too immersed in the legal world. And I haven't been in the banking world since I was a teller one summer during college, circa nineteen-ninety-something. So as I sat there listening to all these banking officers talk, what I mostly heard was "blah blah blah blah money" and "blah blah blah loans" and "blah blah accounts". Basically, there was just a smattering of words that I recognized. Mostly from having cashed a few checks and made a few deposits myself at my local bank through the years. I have a lot to learn.

But at one point someone turned to me as I was zoning out and asked me what I thought about it. (meaning, whatever blah blah blah they'd just been discussing). I froze in fear that I was about to answer something like, "Well, um, the way I see it, I can make an analogy to the time that Dora had eight books to return to the library, but Swiper the Fox stole two of them, so she only had six left. But thanks to Map showing her the way across Tall Mountain, she and Boots the Monkey were able to get them back and she turned all eight of them in!"

Instead, I tried to toss out some legal terminology (in LATIN) that would make me sound like I actually still have a few working brain cells. So I said something like, "Um, the uh, habeas corpus of the stare decisis is very pro hac vice to me. So, um, I don't really object, your honor."

They were really impressed, I think. So far I haven't gotten a call from them saying "uh, thanks but no thanks. That will be all." So I guess we're still on for Monday!

Miss Me?

Both of my faithful readers apparently have so I'm back!  Back from vacation (boo hiss) but I have lots of news and lots of pictures to post.

First, the news.  I'm going back to work.  Well let me qualify that.  I'm going to a paying job.  Which means that my legal career has been resurrected (sort of).  Rescued from the sewer.  Resuscitated.  Revived.  Those who knew me in law school and recall my utter disdain for tax law, secured transactions and decedents wills & estates will find it most ironic and quite humorous that I'm going to work as a trust officer at a bank.  But here's the best part...NO billable hours!  Bankers' hours and bankers' holidays.  My office will be just down the street from the house so when the nanny finds herself in the midst of a poo emergency (as is sure to be the case), I can (thanks to caller ID) ignore the call for help and wait to come home when the air clears.  What a change this is going to be for us all!

So this is why I've been silent the past couple of weeks.  Well actually we ended spending 10 days at the beach, which was fabulous.  But upon returning from vacation (boo hiss) I started interviewing nannies.  That's a whole other post altogether.  But for now I'll just say that everything has come together nicely.  I've brushed the dust off the few work clothes I have that still fit, thrown out the others that had shoulder pads and went out with the Clinton administration, and bought a few new things.  My yoga pants and law school t-shirts aren't going to get as much wear in the coming days for sure.

I still plan to blog.  But maybe not as faithfully as when I was depending on my blogging income to pay the bills.  (and by the way I've almost hit the $25 threshold to get a payout from those ads so I'm going to try not to spend it all in one place). The best thing to do is put my blog in your google reader and then you'll be alerted when I have breaking news.  In the meantime...here are some highlights from the beach trip from which we returned last Sunday (boo hiss).

No worries.

Nothing like soggy cheezits floating around the pool.  Better than soggy Baby Ruths.

The little one is Sybil in disguise.

William celebrated his 5th birthday while we were there.

One of his best little friends drove over from Fairhope to spend the day with us and celebrate.  (well actually his Mom drove him since his feet don't quite touch the pedals).

Catherine was terrified of the slide until she finally became brave in her Daddy's arms.

Breakfast at one of our favorite places, Tacky Jack's, the morning before Ike hit.  Winds were already gusting at about 45-50 mph and the lower floor was flooded.   Needless to say we dined upstairs.

Surf was UP.

Too windy to play outside, we stayed indoors and let Catherine play in my makeup.  She looks a bit like Baby Jane.

Nightmarish attempt to take pictures of the three on the beach at sunset.  I'd rather have been horsewhipped.

Vacation....VACATION?????

I'm going crazy. We're supposed to leave in a few hours to go to the beach. I've not packed a SINGLE thing except for MY bag. Maybe somewhere deep in my psyche I'm dreaming of a solo vacation?

Usually by this time I've made lists....laid out clothes....put open bags in every room to pile stuff upon stuff in them that we'll never even use. But not this time. Seriously. We are supposed to leave in less than 4 hours. It's not that I haven't tried. It's just that packing for a "vacation" with three preschoolers is truly an exercise in futility. And I keep asking myself...why? Why?

I take two steps forward and three back so...basically...I'm making NO progress. I get out a bag to pack and Stuart puts it on his head. I sit out a couple of outfits and Stuart hauls them off and stuffs them in the warming drawer under the oven. I start trying to pack up bathroom stuff while Stuart and Catherine are bathing last night and Stuart poops in the tub. Talk about being derailed. As I scooped, scrubbed and bleached and said over and over "I'm about to barf," I then spent the next hour listening to Catherine say "What's barf, Mommy?" Took me about another hour to explain and at that point I was exhausted and just went to bed.

I really can't waste anymore time blogging. Just wanted to say that if I can manage to throw everyone in a swimsuit and a pair of underwear, we're off in a few hours. The only thing that's giving me even a tiny smidgen of hope that I might have a small semblance of a vacation is the fact that grandparents are going with us. Backup. Reinforcements. More of us than them.

I'm going to dream big and take a book to read. Without pictures.

Beware of Dog

"You know what the difference is between a hockey mom and a pit bull?"

"Lipstick."

I love it.

Oh Really?

William keeps us enlightened. For instance....I just overheard him explaining an important concept to Catherine over lunch. "Catherine....you need to understand. Copying someone means that if they say yes, and then you say yes, you're copying."

Catherine sat there a minute or two and then softly said, "oh."

A few minutes later she looked over at him eating his sandwich just like she was doing and announced, "Weeyum, you're copying me."

He rolled his eyes. "You just don't get it," he said.

Welcome to my world, little buddy.

Next he explained the quiet game to her. And I just happened to be at the computer working on the above entry when he started talking, so I typed this verbatim. "You have to be quiet. Then I will count to ten and if you haven't been quiet, you lose. This is how you play. If I count to one and if you, um, haven't talked you get to ride on my horsey and if I count to zero and if you have talked, you don't get to ride on my horsey."

No wonder she throws such inconsolable tantrums on a bi-hourly basis.

Something NOT Stupid

Smart man. Smart woman.

Smart ticket.

Stupid Storm

Sorry it's been silent 'round these parts. Been busy baking pound cakes....digging out bicycle helmets for me and the kids to wear when we hide in the closet....cooking up all the meat in the freezer....filling up bathtubs....looking out the window to make sure Jim Cantore isn't broadcasting from my front yard....stuff like that.

Stupid storm. With the stupid name. We are supposed to go to the beach next Friday for our summer vacation. We like to go in September because (a) it's cheap(er) and (b) there's no one there. Well guess what? It's cheap and desolate for a REASON! There aren't many people who wait until peak hurricane season to plan a vacation. Just stupid people.

I can name 5.

(I know I've been using the word "stupid" a lot lately...it's just been appropriate...maybe I should start a new blog...."Stuff that's stupid.")

Stupid Storm Preparations

Growing up on the coast, preparing for hurricanes becomes a way of life at an early age. From June until November, you watch the weather reports, always on the lookout for one of the little red swirly things that means trouble is heading your way. I remember that the moment she heard a storm had formed off the coast of Africa, my grandmother would bake a pound cake and fill up all the tubs, sinks and washing machine with water. Just in case. It's how I grew up thinking you prepared for storms. Batteries - check. Flashlights - check check. Pound cake - we're ready.

So too, I like to be prepared. But I married someone who has entirely different ideas when it comes to preparing for danger. The second year we were married, when we were back home in Mobile, some french named stormed visited us....Georges, Frere Jacques, or something like that. Anyway....after I made all my own preparations (bought beanie weenies, spam, bottled water and baked a cake or two) I started hounding him to get ready. So the afternoon before the storm was supposed to move in, he hauled a pile of plywood home and stacked it all neatly in the garage. Then came inside and went to sleep. That night, around midnight, as the winds were howling and trees were going down around us, I punched him and suggested we might need to pull a mattress from one of the beds and cover ourselves with it in the bathtub. He woke up, yawned a couple of times and said he thought he'd go board up the windows. Luckily we were spared.

Years went by before we had to deal with hurricanes again, but for a number of years we lived in Birmingham where we had tornadoes. Once, just after we moved there, in the middle of the night, the sirens sounded and I yelled to Andy we needed to take cover. So I grabbed the dogs and my pillow and ran into the closet where I found an old bicycle helmet, strapped it on and hunkered down. Instead of joining us, Andy ran to the front door and stood there with it wide open to see the action. It made me sad. Because I was going to miss him. But at least I had my dogs. From that point on, the closet was my shelter. I kept a couple of cans of beans and a bottle of water next to my helmet.

Then there was that horrible hurricane season a few years ago. 2005. I was hugely pregnant with Catherine and a storm was heading our way in early July. Andy had me help him board up windows. (He always pampered me so when I was pregnant). I thought I was going to go into labor. But luckily, because of his job, we had to spend the night at the hospital. I took my cake with me.

A couple of months later when Katrina hit, Catherine was only 3 weeks old. We were exhausted and very storm weary. We didn't have the energy to board up windows. We didn't even get the plants in from the front porch. We were lucky. Very very lucky.

So here we go again. Fay is on her way. I panicked a while ago because I don't have enough butter and eggs to make a cake. I can't survive a storm without a cake.

I just can't.

Stupid Recycling

In an effort to save money and eliminate waste, I've become quite good at consigning clothes and shopping on ebay and second hand shops. Especially for the kids. I am constantly shocked and awed by the expensive, beautiful and barely worn (if at all) clothes that you can find in these circuits. But this post isn't really about my thriftiness. Or resourcefulness. It's about my stupidity.

I had a few minutes today so I popped in my favorite consignment shop in downtown Fairhope. I picked up a few cute tops and went into the dressing room to try them on. I had picked up this one black top that I figured would go with the rest of the black clothes in my closet (for some reason I think I fear anything with color...maybe it's the whole "black makes you look slimmer" mentality so I try to wear it all the time). Anyway, I tried it on and it didn't fit just perfectly but it was so cheap (like a couple of dollars) so I thought....Hmmm....might as well....I'm sure I could use it.

I walked up to the counter and laid it down and thought something about it was strangely familiar. I kept staring at it and then it hit me. IT WAS MY OWN FREAKIN' SHIRT THAT I HAD HAULED UP THERE IN A BIG BROWN BAG A FEW MONTHS AGO TO SELL.

I almost bought back my own shirt, y'all.

So basically....I bought it new a while back. Never wore it because I didn't like it the first time. Schlepped up to Hertha's a few months ago to sell it to make some money so I could.... BUY IT A SECOND TIME!!!!!!!

But it was a good deal.

You Found Me How?

I have this little sitemeter on my blog and it tracks the number of visits to my site. I like to look at it occasionally just to see if someone other than my mother is reading it. Also it's fun to see how people found me. Most of the time I think people visit my blog because they want to see what poo stories I have to tell this week. But sometimes they find my blog because they've done a google search for some random term and it leads them here. Here are some of the search terms that have brought me a few visitors.

"Keeping out sound under doors." Hmmm. Let's see...you could try....locking yourself in the bathroom with your iPod turned up real loud. I've never tried it of course...I'm just guessing it works. Try some Lenny Kravitz. Just guessing.

"FAA Facebook Addicts Anonymous." Are you kidding me? Seriously? Seriously. Someone was actually looking for such a group?

"Shut D Door Keep Out D Devil." Again, try the bathroom. I'm thinking it just might work.

"McCaughey septuplets grocery list." Some grocery fairy out there wanting to surprise them? I'd suggest lot and lots and lots of food. Lots.

"Tricker tree." Whatchoo say when you go someone do gettin' candy-n-stuff?

"Hotlanta Mommies." Um...sounds like a strip club. Please. No.

One of the most popular searches that leads people to my site is "what does esquire mean?" Like maybe they saw it after their lawyer's name and they wanted to find out what it means. When they find one of my poo stories bet they are sorely disappointed to find it means one who cleans up other people's poo all day long.

Wait a minute. Now that I think about it...that's exactly what lawyers do. Hmm.

I'll Take "Things That Make You Smile" for 100, Alex

Well, a lot of people have been asking what in the world did I do with myself on Thursday... my first day off in nearly five years.  Where did I go as I peeled out of that parking lot?  Ok...one or two people have asked....ok...it was my mom and Andy's mom....but if you were wondering, I'll go ahead and share.

I'd like to say I went to the Grand Hotel and had a pedicure, Swedish massage and sat tranquilly in the quiet room sipping on lemon water and munching on trail mix for four hours.  But no.  Haircut and dramatic highlights?  Nope.  Lattes and granola with a few of my girls?  Nyet.  I went to the dentist.  The DENTIST, y'all.  I had to reintroduce myself to him.  Last time he saw me I swear I had metal on my teeth and crisscrossing rubber bands.  Not really.  But almost.

When you become a mom, things like going to the dentist become a luxury.  Forget spa treatments...Peeing in peace without bodies hanging off of you is something you can only dream of. So finding time to go to the dentist is about as rare a treat as I could have imagined on my liberation day.

But as always I was rushed, even as I sat strapped in the chair having a jackhammer pound away at all the tartar on my teeth, eyeing the ticker hanging on the wall thinking of all I still needed to do.   My appointment had been at 11:20 and, after all the chiseling and gagging on cardboard shoehorns for all the X-rays, I finally made it to the checkout stand hoping to have time left to run by the drugstore, grocery store, health food store and the kids' Dr. to pick up blue cards before I had to be back at school at 1. I had 32 minutes.

The receptionist asked if my insurance had changed since I'd been there last.  Um....I think when I was here last I was still on my parents' insurance.  But I told her no, I didn't think so, we've had the same insurance for a couple of years now.  She crinkled up her nose and stared at the computer screen.  She asked to see my card.  I handed it to her.  She stared at the card.  Back at the screen.  Laid my card on the top of my wallet and went back to surveying the screen.  She crinkled her face all up again and started typing.  What, I don't know.  But she typed and typed and typed.  Click click click click click.  Crinkled face.  Looked all confused.  Click click click click clickety click.  Back space.  Back space.  Back.  Space.  Pause.

What in the world was she doing?  I was intrigued.  And annoyed.  The sand was rushing out of my hourglass.  She started the whole process again.  She reached up, grabbed my card, stared at it again, handed it back, then got that worried crinkled look all over her face yet once again and started typing furiously.

Good lord I could have written all my information in hieroglyphics for as long as she's taking.

Finally....a few more crinkled brows and several dozen backspaces later, she said... "So.... you still live on Myrtle?"

Sheesh.  All you had to do was ask....

Anyway...no cavities (amazingly) and I've already scheduled my six month checkup for February.  I was flipping channels and saw a documentary on hillbillies last night and none of them had any teeth. Nary a one.  Scared the crap out of me.   This is one appointment I'll be keeping. 

F-R-E-E-D-O-M

Today was the first day of preschool.  William is in K-4, Catherine is in K-3, and Stuart is in K-razy.  Stuart is only going two mornings a week.  I had to register everyone way back after the first of the year and, at the time, I thought I might be working some this fall.  But alas I'm not.  At least not working and getting paid.  So I felt really bad about sending them all to school.  Especially Stuart.  But he has done a great job making me feel better about it.  Especially when he does stuff like this:

And hides in all the kitchen cabinets.

And messes up every television in the house and then hides the remotes.

And eats my plant.

Not to mention eating the dog's food and hiding in her crate, but I won't get into all that again.

SO....today was a good day as they headed off to school.  I tried to get a picture of my three.  This is the best I could do.

"Hey Stuart...get your backpack and go stand by William and Catherine."

"No?  Mmkay.   I'll just get a picture of them while you pitch a fit."

"William, Catherine, take his hand and see if you can get him to stand next to you."

"No?  Mmmkay.  We'll just do whatever Stuart wants to do.  That's ok.  Really.  I don't need a picture of all three of you together.  That's what Photoshop is for."

I heard strains of the Hallelujah chorus as I peeled drove out of the parking lot after walking them all inside to their classrooms.  Yes indeed. It was a good day.

Birthday Crashers

We had a whirlwind weekend of princess parties, bear building expeditions, fountain playing and party crashing.  I'll explain.  And I have photographs to illustrate.

First, on Friday, we celebrated Catherine's third birthday with a princess party.

We invited a few of her little girlfriends over to don their royal attire and join us for tea and crumpets.  Well, juice boxes and cheese sandwiches actually. 

They wore fancy hats made by mimi.

And got manicures from gigi.

Played Kiss the Frog and Turn Him Into a Prince.

note:  artwork by daddy

Spiderman even dropped in for a visit.

So did Sleepy Dwarf.

The royal court.

note:  cupcakes and invitation by mommy

The birthday princess:

So anyway, after all the party excitement on Friday, we had planned to celebrate Catherine's actual birthday on Saturday, just us 5, with a trip to the build a bear workshop where she would pick out her present from us.  After naps yesterday we loaded up the family truckster and went to the bear makin' place where after much indecision she found the one.

She dressed her and named her Claire.  Claire Bear.

After a very peaceful, organized, orderly and quiet dinner at Moe's (you really believe that don't you) we decided to let the kids run off some energy at the fountains.  This was the first time we had taken all the kids to the fountains this summer.  There's a reason.

See this little guy?

It's impossible to keep up with him.  And it was next to impossible to keep up with all three, especially when we were outnumbered and outwitted.  We found out last night they are faster and smarter than us.  And very very sneaky.

William got injured at one point and we needed to bandage his bobo.  I was holding Stuart and had one eye on Catherine, who was playing happily in the fountains, and the other eye on my little patient being tended to by Dr. Daddy.  I looked up and saw her:

Then five seconds later she was not to be found.  I started scouring the crowd, looking for the little pink ruffled swimsuit but she was nowhere.  I started to panic.  I took off running 'round and 'round the fountains, calling her name, my heart beating fast and terrible thoughts running through my mind all of a sudden.  I hollered back at Andy, "She's gone!  I don't see her anywhere.  Call for help!"

About that time I spotted a birthday party and a gathering of children under the pavilion.  I ran up the steps and peered in and spotted a familiar looking profile in the midst of the partygoers.  No, it can't be. I looked closer.  There sat my Catherine.  Perched in a chair next to the birthday girl  eating a huge - and I mean HUGE - chunk of cake.  I can only pray now that she didn't also blow that poor girl's candles out.

As I was apologizing profusely to these strangers for my daughter's boldness, William found me and said loudly, "I want some cake!"  I tried to act like I didn't hear him.  Or know him.  But those nice people insisted he join them and gave him a big piece as well. 

See?

So Happy Birthday to Catherine.  And Happy Birthday to Kaylee too.  Thanks for letting us crash your party.