Hotlanta

Well we made it to Atlanta and I don't really know why I always think it's such a great idea to take three small children away from home, and beds, to stay in someone else's home, and beds, but I do it at least a couple of times a year. It's like I get amnesia between trips. In theory it sounds like fun, until I'm in the middle of it saying out loud to strangers "What was I THINKING?" Followed by, "Someone shoot me NOW!"

Anyway....we went to Ikea today. It's like Six Flags except it's no fun for kids. Just for grown ups who want to get fun household things for cheap. But not so much fun for grown ups who are dumb enough to haul kids. Catherine DFO (done fell out) in the middle of the floor at one point, and William went into shock as we piled on the people mover escalator and was screaming hysterically realizing he'd been left, so he had to be carried on by some strangers coming up behind us who realized we'd have to post an amber alert to find him if he didn't join us. But I got some really cool stools for my kitchen bar. So maybe it was worth it. Maybe.

I don't know what we'll do for fun tomorrow. Maybe find somewhere to get root canals?

Which Way to the Hill?

Today is Andy's birthday. It's funny how - when you're young - another birthday, another year older, is such an exciting time. You tell everyone how old you are, it defines you. I mean, as soon as you meet Catherine, she tells you her name is Catherine and she's two (holding up two little stubby fingers). If you were to see Andy today, I doubt he'd announce that his name is Andy and he's thirty-six (oops, did I just let that slip out?).

Once you hit oh, 30 or so, you really don't want to even acknowledge your birthday. You just want to let it slip on by, pretend it isn't happening. I guess you feel that way until you reach, say, 80, when you start getting excited about having birthdays again.

So even though I'm sure Andy would rather this day go unnoticed, we're not going to do that. Because we don't want to miss an opportunity to make him feel special. And remind him how very much we love him. And how happy we are that he's ours.

He may be on his way over that proverbial hill, but I'm sure glad I get to go on the journey with him. Actually he'd be the first to point out that I'll make it over before he does, by about a year and a half.

Happy Birthday, Andy!

Stuart

Our smallest little one is having tubes put in those poor little sore ears on Friday morning. Five ear infections in three months. No fun for anyone, much less such a little guy who only wants to eat, sleep, and be merry.

If you think about it, say a little prayer for him. That everything goes ok. That he isn't too upset when he has to get up and go to the hospital at 5 am with nothing to eat or drink. That we are back home sooner than later that morning. And that his little ears will be all better and not hurt anymore.

Oh yeah, and that we are able to leave that afternoon for what we hope will be a fun week in Atlanta.

Insanity Defined

Insanity: in-san-i-ty, noun

Something utterly foolish, such as taking three children under the age of five, one of which cannot even walk, to see Elmo along with 65 other children under the age of five crammed into a small upstairs room at the local bookstore. And telling them after waiting patiently in line for 30 minutes they have all of 1.2 seconds to hug and speak to their favorite red furry friend.

What Does This Mean?

This is what I woke up to this morning and saw first thing as I walked into the kitchen to get my coffee. Notice it's written on a package of sausage left to thaw out.

Here's what I'm guessing. It either means (a) I'm supposed to cook up the sausage and have a nice hearty breakfast waiting on the fisherman when he returns or (b) he's going to cook the sausage along with all the fish he's planning on catching or (c) he's going to keep children this afternoon while I go to the spa.

I'm going with (c).

More Potty Talk

Lest any of my readers go into withdrawals from my lack of potty talk lately, I have some exciting news to report. We have SUCCESS! Catherine is now potty trained. I was certain she would be the first child to attend college in diapers, but I apparently mistakenly labeled her as a failure rather than the stubborn white woman we know her to be. Truth is, our Catherine doesn't do ANYTHING unless and until she wants to. It ain't quittin' time until Catherine says it's quittin' time. She made up her mind about 2 weeks ago and it's quittin' time.

Only problem is, now it's a novelty. She goes all the time. All. The. Time. If she isn't sitting on her little potty in front of the TV watching Dora, she's sitting on her Dora potty seat on the big potty. But hey.....I'll bring her room service in there if she wants. As long as I don't have to change her diapers anymore.

I'm thinking about getting Stuart potty trained. He can sit up. It's worth a try.

Mission Impossible

I'd rather stick needles in my eyes than try to get one good picture of the three.

Seriously.

Soul Kitchen

We had a most unusual but most delectable Saturday night dinner tonight. We stopped by the farmers market the other day and Andy bought some collard greens. I told him I don't eat 'em, I don't cook 'em, and I certainly don't clean 'em. But they were already cleaned so that wasn't an issue. The eatin' and the cookin' of them was though.

So tonight it was all Andy. He cooked up Paula Deen's recipe for collards, fried pork chops, cheese grits, and we had some leftover mexican cornbread from last night's Santa Fe soup dinner. I was starving, so I decided to try some of the soul food and, oh my. I didn't know what I'd been missing!

I'm going to have to throw that rubber ball extra hard at next week's Silver Sneakers class to work off that meal.

It's Not Easy Being Green

Um, I'm not sure, but I'm think-ing that, uh, I might have killed this poor plant. It could possibly fall under the category of murder in the first degree - as in premeditated murder. Because the thing is, I know before I ever even purchase a plant that I'm going to kill it. Because I have too many other creatures in my care to feed, water, and expose to sunlight. So plants usually rank last. Right above dust and mold. Actually I grow mold better than I do plants.

My cousin apparently got all the green in our family. Check out The Garden Sage. I obviously need to make a purchase myself to fill up my pretty blue pot that was the final resting place for the sad little plant pictured above. Although I'm not sure she would sell something live to me. Maybe she'll send me some more mold.

But check out all the pretty things she has! (By the way....don't you just love Etsy? And I thought eBay was fun!)

Extreme Makeover Blog Edition

How do you like my new look? I've exerted less effort writing Supreme Court briefs than I've spent on this blog. But I have to say the blog is much more fun. But I also have to say I made more money writing the briefs.

There may be more surprises to come. Stay tuned.

The Biggest Loser

I started back to the gym this week. So this is going to be short because my arms hurt so badly that I'm typing this with a pencil between my teeth. I can barely move. I'm pathetic. My eyelashes are sore. But today was my third day in a row. I'm on a roll. Woo-hoo!

Andy realized the other day upon looking closely at his paycheck that he's been paying every month for me to go to the wellness center at the hospital where he works. He came home and said "HEY! Did you know we're paying every month for you to go work out?" And I said "HEY! Did you know I have three kids?" Newsflash for both of us apparently. Because unless that gym is open at 3 am, there isn't another spare moment in my day that I'm without at least one little person. So because he hates to waste money, he came up with a plan to come home every day for lunch so I can go work out. So far it's working.

I went to spin class today and while I was waiting on the class already in session to get out, I stuck my head in the door to see what hard core workout was going on. What I saw was a small little circle of about five 80+ year olds tossing bright colored rubber balls to each other.

Then I did my spin class. After I fell off my bike 45 minutes later and crawled out of the room on my elbows I picked out my ball for tomorrow's class. I hope they will let me join them.

Nine

Nine months old. Nearly 22 pounds. Twenty-two pounds of some of the best sugar....ever.

To quote Paula Deen (speaking about her new grandson): "Y'all.....He's so sweet....I could just suck the skin right off of him."

I understand, Paula. I understand.