Not too late for a revision...

Before we get too far into the new year, like um, tomorrow, I thought I'd better revise that bucket list of mine. Reading it last night I realized it might be a tad ambitious. This often happens when I'm pumped up on caffeine. I once decided to paint a room on the spur of the moment after a cup of straight up coffee. Things were going great for about an hour and then I bottomed out. I think it was six straight months of morning brew that produced Isaac. Give me one cup of 1/2 caff and I can rule the world. Wait an hour and then you can peel me off the floor like old gum. I've cut back since then which is why I have a dog now instead of another kid.

Yesterday's coffee was only 1/4 caff (even 1/2 caff can send me into temporary fits of reorganization.) So here's the revision, you know, before tomorrow and I'm fully committed.


1) Still wear slippers more often.

2) Bath daily. (that's a new one.)

3) Get a handle on my hair.

And number sixteen I should have put "eat less fudge and Christmas cookies and candy" not "eat less". I must have been in a sugar fog at the time.

The Bucket List

Now THIS is the most wonderful time of the year. Christmas is done and the excitement of a new year is approaching. Full of possibilities, fresh starts and new resolutions. Sure my resolutions only last about five days. That's usually when a snow or ice storm comes along and I'm stranded indoors with my kids because school has been cancelled. Twenty-four hours later never mind about my resolution to be a kinder, gentler mom I'm thinking about a cigarette and a Tom Collins. I don't even know what a Tom Collins is and I don't smoke. Well, you have to start somewhere I guess.

Most years I avoid resolutions of all kinds although sometimes I'll quietly suggest to myself one or two things to better myself or to accomplish in a year's time. I remember specifically one year, it was 1997, that I was going to accomplish one of three things 1) take violin lessons, 2) write a novel or 3) have a baby. I had Maya and Eva that year so I think I knocked that one out of the ballpark by giving birth to twins. Sure I could have also taken violin lessons and written a book (getting pregnant and being pregnant isn't all THAT complicated) and the girls weren't born until the end of August, but I hate to make other people look bad by being an overachiever.

Eleven years later and I'm back to the drawing board. My kids are in school and I'm pretty much a free bird most days. It's an open slate, anything can happen, I could do just about anything I want short of moving to Aruba. And finances are tight so I can do anything I want that costs less than say $10. It's a little restricting but hey, I can still do anything I want after I take care of the needs of 4 other people and a young pup on a daily basis. I can do anything I want like seek therapy.

Let's talk about goals. Right now I have none and I think I would do better with a few basic goals in place besides having clean underwear and a dog that doesn't eat everything. I think the last time I made goals was in 1997 and see? Didn't that work out well!

So here are my goals for 2009. Some lofty some not so much:
1) Wear slippers more often.
2) Sit up straighter. Good posture is the key to good health. (I don't really know that, I just made it up.)
3) Be a better friend.
4) Makes friends so I can be a better friend to those friends.
5) Travel somewhere! Preferably some place different but I'd settle for a trip to the beach to visit Tim's parents.
6)Blog daily. Ok, blog semi-daily. Ok, let's just say blog more.
7) Get paid doing something creative.
8) Get published.
9) Get a handle on my hair.
10) Get a grip.
10) Be a better listener to my kids.
11) But crack down on the b.s. I hear from my kids.
10) plus 11) = Listen intently to my kids before I give them a quarter and tell them to call someone who cares.
12) Worry less.
13) Pray more.
14) Save more.
15) Spend less.
14) Build something.
15) Take a class.
16) Eat less but eat more good food.
17) Exercise daily. Exercise almost daily? Think about exercise daily.

And last but not least...
18) Go on a date with my husband more than 4 times this year.

That last one is pretty lofty I know. Those are all very doable except maybe number 12. Now make your own bucket list for the year and we'll compare.
Happy New Year.

Sad and Gray Monday

Last Monday (ok so I'm a little behind) Isaac stayed home from school because he was recovering from croup and was on steroids after our little 911 adventure (see previous post). This caused Maya to have a stomach ache which gave her a good reason to call me and come pick her up from school. Having Maya and Isaac home gave me a good reason to lay down for 30 minutes and catch a little shut eye as I was still recovering from the emergency from the night before.

I figured they could occupy themselves for at least 20 minutes and I could go create a puddle of drool on my big fluffy pillow. Well, the puddle never happened because Isaac (being on steroids) couldn't let me be even though he had his big sister to entertain him (amazingly she felt much better by the time she got home.) So Isaac crawled in bed with me and proceeded to flip and flop and sing (being on steroids) until I finally had to threaten him with a time out if he didn't leave. This made no sense to Isaac since he's fairly certain he's never in the wrong. But he did eventually leave after I threatened to give him a strike on the chalkboard (this is big punishment in our house).

I was dosing off into some strange dream about 9 guys in big boots at my house when Isaac came in just a mere 5 minutes later (still ticked mind you) to ask me what letter makes the "ya" sound. I said a "y" and then he left. He came back 2 minutes later to present me with a note which he simply handed me (with his pouty face) and then left. Here's what it said....

I'm so glad I could help him write a heart wrenching note to myself. In case you need a translation it says "you make me sad." That sad face I believe is a self-portrait.

So I decided to come up with my own little note that I'll give Isaac when he's sixteen...

Fantasy 911

We had to make a 911 call Sunday morning because Isaac was having trouble breathing. Isaac has asthma and apparently as of 4:00am Sunday morning he had croup as well. Everything turned out fine. By the time the paramedics arrived Isaac had thrown up a bunch of phlegm and was breathing again. They took all of his vitals and he was great. His parents - not so much.

Tim and I spent Sunday walking around in a headache induced daze after our early morning adrenaline rush. It wasn't until later that night that the reality of it all hit - there were 6 (Tim says 5, but I say 6) male EMT's rushing into my house in the middle of the night - every parents worst nightmare and ok ladies just admit it, every woman's fantasy.

I'm pretty sure at one time I had fantasies. You know "real" fantasies not just the "I wish I had a housekeeper" fantasy and fantasies of going to the grocery ALONE. Ironically that evening Tim asked me if I had any fantasies. "Well," I answered, "I think I used to at one time but you know since I've been married to you there just hasn't been the need" I said. (To bad I didn't actually think to say that at the time.) "Although I think having 6 EMT's rushing into my house is a pretty good one, only ruined by the fact that I had a sick kid and a pint of mucus on the front of my oh so sexy Pacers t-shirt".

You can probably picture me sitting on the couch in my phlegmy Pacer's shirt and Tim's boxers with Isaac surrounded by 8 paramedics (I swear they were multiplying) wearing really big boots. (There's something about those boots...) So I know you all want to know if there was any firehouse candy present but unfortunately I didn't have my contacts in so I couldn't actually see the paramedics. (Just their really big boots.) There are a lot of other "unfortunatelies" like unfortunately I looked like hell. At some point Tim brought me my robe like he was trying to save my virtue or something. It was very sweet but again, unfortunately nobody was leering.

ADHDuh

Today I'm taking Eva to our pediatrician to put her on ADHD medication. It's taken us a year to come to this conclusion. And it's a conclusion I'm not even sure about - still. But at this point it's worth a shot. Afterall, it appears as though the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

And I would be the tree I'm speaking of.

I have this special ability to operate without the use of my frontal lobe, my cerebral cortex or my rear lobe (if there is one). Today I received a lovely birthday card in the mail. The problem is is that it wasn't for me but for my mother-in-law. Yes, I mailed myself my mother-in-laws birthday card. (Great card -it was even funnier the second time.) As I was lamenting my stupid mistake to Tim he kindly pointed out that I did complete half of my task. I did get the car in the mail AND it arrived on her birthday. So maybe that's 75% of my task. If only she would have received it instead of me. Maybe I can fax it.

It's not like this is the first time my body has operated sans my brain. I'm usually the one around here to admit to lost items at least lost items I've placed in my hot little hands. I'm never hesitant to put things in file 13 and I've been known to throw away that thing in my left hand that I was suppose to keep and keeping the dirty kleenex in my right hand. I've caught myself several times. And it's the really important things that I can't find that I can only assume I accidentally dumped like say, negatives and my birth certificate. At least I won't be needing a passport anytime soon.

I've been known to walk out of stores with merchandise only to find myself in the parking lot wondering why it's not in a bag. It's really embarrassing because then you have to walk back in the store with 4 pairs of pajamas not in a bag. Rather than explain myself to security I find it best to duck in an aisle and then walk out like I've been shopping in that aisle for an hour.

I've embarrassed myself so many times I've blocked out most of them. It's a challenge operating on only two cylinders. Perhaps when we get Eva's medication they'll have a little something for me too.

Mean-o Mom-o

Oh dear Lord what have I done? Don't you hate it when you've gone and done something you can't reverse and you know you will pay DEARLY for the next 20 years? It happens to me ALL the time. Why? Because I am a mean mom. And all incidences of wickedness are forever recorded in my children's little corruption sponging brains. It's just how it works. But it seems I've reached a new level of turpitude given the look of death Eva gave me this morning. God love her.

I'm letting Isaac stay home sick from school today. I had a list of things to do today which included (da,da, daaa...) the grocery (see previous post). But he's just one kid - I can handle Curly without Larry and Mo.

He had a rough night (and not just because my first husband is missing, see previous post again) - he is getting a cold. He could go to school but it's Friday, he's in kindergarten, he's not feeling great, he hasn't missed a day yet, and I was really, really tired this morning.

This didn't go over so well with his sisters. Maya and Eva acted like a couple of bear cubs who had just been given their final boot out of the den and left their little bear cub brother to snuggle with his mama bear. Maya's eyes teared up when she asked if I could have lunch with her today since Isaac "gets" to stay home. I pointed out the fact that I can't do that with a sick kid. Tears. Big crocodile tears. Eva said "Well, I don't feel good either!" No? Really?! This coming from my MIDDLE child?! Eva knew I wasn't going to give in hence the nasty glares and sneers. I do appreciate both of their strategies though ineffective.

I tried, as always, to explain to them that they are not a set of triplets always bound to do the same thing on the same day. Sometimes people get sick, and they themselves are not all attached at the hip and life isn't always fair, blah, blah, blah. More tears more sneers. (I must say Eva can sneer like a sixteen-year-old. Quite impressive.)

It didn't help that Isaac burst into song before the girls ever it made it out the door. A loud rendition of "Glory to God in the highest" doesn't say "I'm so sick I can't go to school". But alas the choice has already been made and now the next time Maya or Eva get the sniffles (probably next week) I'm going to have to try to explain the complexities of being a big kid and not a kindergartner. This is making me break out in a cold sweat as it will be as easy as feeding them creamed spinach. Oh, dear God what have I done?

Hans? or Solo?

My husband is out of town. I'm on my second day alone and so far so good. Although things don't usually get rough until the third day. By the fifth day I'm thinking about what my second husband will be like. Lucky for Tim he'll only be gone three days this time.

I could never be a military wife. I couldn't be a "my husband works nights at a convenience store" wife either. Five hours straight with my three kids and I'm done. Six hours and then they'd be done. That would be why when I put them to bed tonight at 9pm and at 10pm I turn around and child number 1 has just come in after child number 2 was in here telling me a story that she can't sleep because she hasn't talked to her dad and I have to remind her that in fact she just talked to her soon to be first father so go back to bed. (That sentence made perfect sense in my head.)

You know, I don't have much trouble sleeping when Tim is away. But for some reason tweedle dee and tweedle dum and tweedle can't-stay-in-his-own-bed do. Almost every night we play musical beds. I snuggle with Isaac to get him to go to sleep, he comes in my room at 1am to sleep in my bed, I kick him out just in time for Maya to come into my room and crawl in bed with me. An hour later I kick her out right before Isaac has a nightmare and I have to go crawl in bed with him. By morning I'm running into walls and reassuring the dog that daddy will be home soon.

But here is what panics me most. God forbid I should need to go to the grocery while Tim is out of town and the kids are home from school. The thought of having to take all three of my kids into a store, walk through the aisles and put groceries in a cart with Larry, Curly and Mo on my heels - eeeow. Just poke me in the eyes and slap my bald head - it would be less humiliating. If I had a quarter for every time I have to say "stop it" and "don't touch that" and "don't touch her" and "get your finger out of that" and "get off there, who said you could climb on that?" and "gee, no I'm not buying you Ding Dongs laced with high fructose corn syrup and red dye" then I could afford to leave town once in a while, on an airplane, and stay in a five star hotel. Make that a suite. With a masseuse. Named Sven. Or maybe Hans...

Hmmm... Hans. That sounds like a good name for a second husband.

Happy Homework Weekend

That's suppose to read Happy Thanksgiving Weekend but our weekend turned out to be more about homework. I just finished writing a lovely email to Eva's three teachers, principal, school counselor and school psychologist (hate to make anybody feel left out) about our Happy Homework Weekend.

But I think I'm just going to sum it up here by saying Eva did a LOT of homework this weekend and she deserves a big fat gold star. Tim deserves a bigger and fatter gold star for hanging in there and doing it with her through fits and tears and tantrums (and Eva had a hard time with it too). I deserve a lump of coal because after 30 minutes of homework my head popped off my shoulders and started running itself into the wall repeatedly. It was embarrassing so I went and took a nap. Laying down and covering your head in a big woolly blanket is a very mature way of dealing with stress.

We have much more exciting news in the Johnson household besides homework hell. We now have 6 pierced ears. (Seven if you include Tim's Billy Idol phase back in the 80's but I think it has filled in.) The girls were very excited to get their ears pierced on Saturday, thanks to grandma (and the other grandma who will be sending an extra pair of earrings via Florida). They never even thought twice about it. And not only that but earlier in the week Eva got contacts. So new ears and new eyes in one week. And this week they are both getting their hair cut short. Next week they'll be dating. After Christmas they'll be sneaking out at night to get a their navels pierced. I'm going to have to purchase bigger and woollier blankets. Maybe an aromatherapy blanket. How much lavender does it take to make you black out?

On top of all of that Isaac never once asked for earrings. This is big for the kid who can't decide between pink or purple polish on his toenails. He must be growing up. Although he did set up a shop this weekend and pretend to sell lip gloss and nail polish. I'm thinking that's because it's the most abundant thing we have in this house short of dog chew toys so we'll let that pass. He is getting bigger though. Not quite big enough to wipe down the kitchen table while still keeping his feet on the ground...


But bigger still. It's getting chilly in here, where's my blankie?

Job Schmob

I got a job. I started last Tuesday and I quit on Sunday. I worked for four days. That's a new record for me. I usually work for about 3 years then I quit. And back then I felt like a quitter. Sheesh.

It didn't work out. That's fairly obvious at this point. I was working in a call center. It was a room with four walls. Most rooms have four walls I guess but I just couldn't make myself sit at a desk surrounded by four VERY beige walls. I kept staring at the walls thinking they can't be THAT beige and everyday I went in (yeah, it was only four days) they became beigey-er. That was four days of torture.

The last day they put me at a kiosk to take tickets from people. It was at least out in the open and I could kinda interact with the outside world but it required no brain activity whatsoever. I was sitting right next to a wall (a little creamier, not so beige) so I took a few minutes to actually bang my head against it. Somehow it helped. I must have knocked some sense into my noggin because I realized I couldn't do this. Work should be work, sometimes a pain but not always painful.

So now I'm back to my stay-at-home status. And I must say I do appreciate it so much more. I almost want to dive into the dirty laundry and roll around in it. Ewww look! Dirty dishes! Whoopee!

Houston We Have A Problem

She's committed the ultimate crime. She was feeling a little feisty this morning but I chose to ignore her because I had things to get done (and I kinda got curled up under the covers again after the kids got on the bus. I don't know how these things happen....) and she wasn't happy with me.


I came out in the family room to find fuzz, lots of little bits of fuzz spread around the floor and Olive curled up BEHIND a chair. She looked like she just ate the Thanksgiving turkey. I thought this better not be you-know-what but all I saw was fuzz. So I decided if it was you-know-what then I wouldn't know until later today when she went outside to do you-know-what. But then she had the nerve, the GALL to bring the you-know-what out into the living room right at me feet in a big display of defiance. And there it was, orange-bear, better known as....Orangey.







Da, da, da, daaaaa. At first I thought it's mostly intact, I can save it, and kick that little beep of a dog while I'm doing it. But then I noticed it was missing something very important - it's head. Now, sometimes toys go through amputations. You know a leg, maybe a fin (or two) but then they just become "Purple Fish With No Fins". But a head? I'm fairly certain that's just not going to fly. Headless Orangey. Yeah, I don't think so...


So Olive is cooling off in her crate while I ponder replacement heads for Orangey and how I'm going to explain this to Isaac that the currently most important 4 inch (ok, 3 inch) stuffed animal out of 86 stuffed animals is now missing a head. Any suggestions?

Bye, Bye Little Chickatarian

My birthday was yesterday. Thank you - I know you mean it. Turning 41 is kinda like turning 36 - who cares? I considered telling people that I was turning 52 so that I could get all kinds of "Wow, don't you like great!" and "Really, I can't believe you look so young!" But then I was afraid someone might not comment at all and that would be bad. That would mean I'm a 52 year old looking 41 year old.

My mom loaned me a book about geno-types. The theory behind geno-types is that there are 5 or 6 (I can't remember) body types and that you should eat for your body type for maximum health (and I suppose happiness). Mom put me through the ringer, I mean helped me find my body type last Saturday. The process requires a tape measure as you need to measure your torso, your legs, your head, maybe even that 5th appendage if you're a man. You have to know your blood type and you have to have access to an ink pad for fingerprints.

Once we figured out my type we went straight to the back of the book and started on the list of red meats I can and cannot eat. I think it would be quickest to say the ones I can eat because the list of cannots is rather long. I can eat goat and mutton. Mmmmm, yum. I don't suppose goat comes in a nice filet cut. That leaves out beef, pork, veal and whew - opossum among other animals. My chickatarian lifestyle was looking just fine but then I looked at the poultry section. For poultry I can eat emu, ostrich, squab and turkey. Chicken is listed as something I can eat after I've cleaned out my system of toxins for 3 to 6 months. I'm not sure where to find a 3-6 month supply of emu as I don't live in Australia. I don't even know what squab is. I'll have to look it up. Ok, I looked it up. It's pigeon. Yeaaahhh........

So my protein sources are looking a little bleak. I'll have to check and see if peanut butter is on the"good" list. I pretty much brushed off this diet after I read it. It didn't seem all that doable to me as I've never seen elderberry juice or lingonberries at Meijer. But I took the book home and started reading more about my "type". I am a Teacher type. As I read the description of Teachers I began to hear some eerie music in the back of my mind. Doo, doo, dooo, doooo...... It seemed all the descriptions rang true: "steady way of looking at the world; soul of an artist; (doo, do, doo); can "see the forest for the trees"; sensitive digestive system (I can belch like a sailor) and "andric" - tends toward masculine body type. Oh, the irony of it all.

But I don't want to be a Teacher I want to be a Chicken-Eater. It's just easier that way. I have chicken in the freezer...

And not to ring my own bell, or wait maybe I mean toot my own horn (I should probably ring my own bell when nobody is looking), it also said I was "sinewy and flexible", "ages gracefully" and I "have a powerful spiritual energy". So, I'm like Ghandi but with more hair.

But the most powerfully convincing part of my description was the Teacher slogan: "Why can't we all just get along?"

So I might just give this diet a shot. I can cut out the things I should be avoiding like cottage cheese (bleck) and worcestshire (it probably goes great with mutton) and I can cook ground turkey instead of ground beef and eat more fish. And best of all, there was no mention of marshmallows so I think those are safe.

Democracy At Home

The beauty of children is that they never cease to amaze me. In this particular case it's my own children who have taken the art of the debate to a new level. Eva and Isaac's gift of bicker has become more and more impressive (if that makes any sense). Last night it was about the election.

Now this is an argument between an 11 year old and a 5 year old. Eva voted for McCain in her class and Isaac voted for Obama. Neither one based their "decision" on any information about the candidates and I have a feeling Isaac voted for Obama because he likes to say "Obama" as evidenced by the Obama song I heard this morning. It only had one word in it - Obama. I had to put a stop to it after about 5 minutes. Nevertheless, his need to stand by his favorite word caused a rift between him and his sister. Not a big surprise, the color of the sky can cause a rift between Isaac and Eva.

Eva did have some knowledge of the candidates mostly received from her classmates because her parents won't let her watch the news as she pointed out for the umpteenth time. The knowledge she received from her classmates was highly inaccurate and it got me to thinking. (And this is where it all becomes a learning experience - for me.) It's true I haven't let the girls watch the news because news of murderers and molesters is disturbing, it evokes fear and I don't want them to have a life based in fear and what could happen. Here's the irony - they are anxious. I could pass this off before, my kids were no more anxious than any other kids out there but then Eva got the diagnosis of General Anxiety Disorder. If that's not a slap in the face then I don't know what is.

And Eva's not the only one. Maya was disturbed (ok, genuinely afraid) by the fact that Obama would win and that's not who her parents voted for. I explained to her the beauty of our government. That Barrack Obama was not a "bad" choice for president just because he wasn't our choice. That because of the election process our country is never exposed to the threat of anarchy that no one can just come in and take over. "Does this happen in some countries?" she asked. As a matter-of-fact it does. So we are lucky, we are blessed to live in this country where people vote and make the choice for president and other political offices.

Then there's my son who will be Diego for Halloween when he's 24 years old. Like he said "Mom, I'm ALWAYS going to be Diego, how many times do I have to tell you that?" So perhaps a little fear of change in there along with a dictatorial attitude. He's either going to be a priest or the president when he grows up.

So I had a discussion with my mom this morning. When I need a sounding board of reason my mom is the place to go. She told me that we use to watch the news as kids and it was really no worse than the news today. The girls need to see what's going on and there needs to be a discussion about it if necessary. Even Isaac could handle the news she said. At one point she was yelling at me although she said she just raises her voice when she gets excited. I had to remind her that I did not vote for Obama.

But all political discussion aside I have a point here. While I've been so busy trying to raise my kids in an environment that was safe and nurturing (and not at all democratic) I've overprotected them from life and from learning what legitimate fear is and when we let fear overrun our lives. This is a life lesson I'm trying to learn myself, that if a decision I make is based in fear it's never the right decision. We can't live our lives afraid of what might happen because we'll never have the chance to see what could happen if we do.

It is a painful lesson to learn because as a parent you want so badly to think that you're doing the big things right even though you know that it is impossible to be right all the time. And that's where a little more democracy needs to come into play at our house. If I truly stop and listen to what my kids are saying rather than always putting my foot down then maybe we can work through some of these things together.

And on that note I'll leave you with this thought. You can't possibly always make the right choices but you just have to put one foot in front of the other, say a prayer, and hope that you're next choice will be better.

Now come back tomorrow, I'll try to be funnier.

All Hallow's Eve

Halloween is my favorite holiday. How many holidays are there that your entire family leaves you alone for an hour? I'm sitting here stuffing Reese's cups in my mouth as I ruminate on the beauty of this special day.

Tim took the kids, and the dog, trick or treating. It's a tradition in our house and I look forward to it every year. The kids get home from school and drive me crazy for 2 hours. That part I don't really care for. But I know eventually they will leave and I will be ALONE. That's always a beautiful thing. So Tim leaves, and I stay and enjoy the quiet of my house. Sure the doorbell rings every 2 and half minutes but that's ok. I can handle the interruption because when I answer the door it's somebody else's kids and they're not saying things like "Mom, Isaac won't stop saying blah, blah, blah, blah, blah."

I have Whoppers, I should go eat a some Whoppers now.

The dress code for Halloween is completely optional. There's not a church service to attend and chances are you're not presenting yourself in front of family that you only see twice a year so you can do Halloween however you want. I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt and makeup that has mostly worn off and mascara under my eyes because I'm to lazy to do anything about it. But it's All Hallows Eve, scary is good.

Twizzlers are good too. Not the cherry ones but the original.

There's no big fancy meal to be prepared. No pie to bake or 12 dozens cookies to slave over, just prepacked chocolate candy goodness. Yum! In fact, there doesn't have to be a meal at all. I considered feeding my kids candy for dinner. But I caved and we had spaghetti and a couple leftover meatballs. A little pasta might go a long way in staving off the sugar over load later.

Now I'm eating a brownie. It's not really a Halloween thing but I made them yesterday and for some reason I can't seem to stop eating.

Amazingly Hallmark has still not come up with a way to turn Halloween into a gift giving holiday. A couple bags of candy, preferably chocolate like Kit Kats and you're good to go. All the gifting required. Mmm, yes, Kit Kats are tasty.

So there you have it. The best holiday of all short of Flag Day. Now, I'm feeling a little lightheaded and I keep hearing this strange ding dong sound in my head. I might need to go lay down for a minute. I'll just take a couple Double Bubbles with me...

Chickatarian

I hate chicken. I love chickens though. There's a difference. When I say I hate chicken I'm talking about those huge chicken breasts I buy frozen at the grocery and then spend an hour defrosting, cutting, chopping or dicing, flattening, marinading or dredging. Some days I feel it's a position I should list on my resume: cooker of many (many) chickens. The only thing I spend more time doing is laundry (see previous post) and ok, (yippee!) dishes.

I like chickens. You know the original live ones, the ones that cluck and peck. I find them funny and entertaining with their little chicken walk and big chicken attitudes. They come in so many different colors and interesting plumage. I've also toyed with the idea of using chickens in my decor but I don't think I can look at a chicken cookie jar while I'm chopping up a once real live chicken. Nor could I have them as pets or I would never be able to look a chicken breast in the ah, breast again. It would be chicken sacrilegious or rather chickrilegious. And let's face it, it would be just plain wrong. Chicken wrong.

I use to buy more pork but I find it unappetizing when I cook it. I don't like the smell. And then there's the fact that pigs are suppose to be smarter than the family dog and Jewish people don't eat pork so I thought maybe I shouldn't eat it either. It's believed that my great-great grandmother was Jewish, so there you have it, somewhere deep in my genetic makeup is a chromosome saying "don't eat that sausage!"

Then there are cows. They're not smart like pigs or pretty like chickens and cow comes in lots of different varieties. My favorite being meatballs. Although beef is red meat and red meat has a lot of health stigma right now. Not that I think we should avoid it altogether but chicken is generally cheaper and the pan doesn't fill up with grease when I cook it. That makes chicken more appealing. And I don't eat veal because I figure you have to give an animal a chance at some kind of life before it becomes a la something. Right?

Then there's fish. I like fish. I'm leary of fish though. I've eaten some less than stellar fish and that's never a good thing. Fish aren't animals they're...fish, I think. So I don't have a lot of sympathy for them when I'm frying them up. Of course, I don't really need to be around when someone is cleaning fresh fish. I'm not a pioneer. They're not cute and I could still decorate my kitchen in fish and eat fish.

I really don't know. I'm torn I guess. There are parts of me that could do without eating meat (mostly the part that has to prepare and cook it) and then there's the part of me that doesn't want to live on beans and bean curd. There's the even bigger part of me that doesn't even want to attempt to get my kids to eat even a single bean. I'd rather chew tinfoil.

So I guess I'm back to chicken. I'll just have to sharpen my butcher knife and grease up my meat mallet, refresh those finger-licken good chicken spices and cut, chop and pound out a little chicken a la something. Mmmm-goood.

If You Give A Mom Some Dirty Laundry

I'm declaring a moratorium on laundry. I've done 3 loads a day for the past 4 days. The kick in my clean undies was when I opened the door to the laundry room this morning to find 3 more loads piled up in front of the washer. I'm going to have to regulate. Our laundry, like other critical jobs, needs the powers that be to set some rules, provide some standards or we're going to lose our pants. Well, our clean pants at least.

I'm going to have to be the laundry police. I'm no stranger to law enforcement as I'm also the homework police, the "turn the bathroom light off for pete's sake!" police, the "why is there dirty underwear in your closet and a candy wrapper under your bed?" police and the "wash your hands before you eat that" police. And now this. There are going to be tight inspections and more regulatory controls. Every piece of clothing will be inspected for filth before it is washed (underwear not included). Pants can be worn more than once, sweaters can be worn more than once, as a-matter-of-fact everything can be worn more than once except socks and skivvies unless you've got a fever or are spewing large amounts of mucus out of your nasal passages and wiping it on your sleeve. In that case I'm going to have to re-establish the snot police. (I thought we got away from that.) Our new household motto is going to be "Wear it again for pete's sake! You're not Governor Palin!" (That's just a joke, honey.)

This reminds me of the day when my kids were younger and the feat of a load of laundry was far too great for one very flustered mom. If you've ever read the book "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" or one of the sequels "If You Give A Pig A Pancake" or "If You Give A Moose A Muffin", then you will appreciate my own version. Here's one from the archives:

If You Give A Mom Some Dirty Laundry…

She’ll feel the need to wash it. On the way to the laundry room she’ll realize her house is a pit. As she stops to contemplate how she’ll ever get it clean she’ll notice the dog scratching and whining at the back door. She’ll wonder why she ever got a dog. While she’s staring at the dog pondering why she ever got her she’s bound to notice the dirty, filthy window the dog has been putting her slimy nose against. Again, she’ll wonder why she got a dog. Since she is momentarily standing still her 6-year-old twin daughters will have to find her something to do like fixing them lunch and cleaning up the marker they left in the carpet. While she’s fixing lunch she’ll realize she never cleaned up after breakfast. Ignoring those dishes she’ll go to the refrigerator to find some lunch food. On the way to the refrigerator her sock will get stuck to some partially dried baby spit-up on the floor. She’ll wonder again why she got a dog. While fixing lunch for her twins her 6-month-old baby boy will begin to scream for his bottle. Being a good mom she’ll proceed to fix a bottle, make the twins lunch and stuff chips in her mouth so she doesn’t pass out from hunger. After feeding the twins and the baby she’ll start to doze off while burping the baby. She’ll be awakened by her fighting twins. She’ll yell at them to be quiet. Yelling at her kids will wake up the baby. All the screaming will remind her that her twins have to be at school in 10 minutes – THANK GOD!! She’ll load up the van with kids, backpacks and show-n-tell items. Loading up the van she’ll notice the crusty English muffin on the floor of the van. She will remind herself that she will clean the van – someday. Since she has paused too long to reflect on the English muffin the baby will begin to scream because he doesn’t want to be in the car seat. She’ll quickly remember that she’s going to drop off her twins at school – THANK GOD!! She’ll drop off the twins at school – before anyone gets hurt. She’ll drive home with a sleeping baby. She’ll leave the baby in the car seat hoping he’ll stay asleep. Thinking of sleep she’ll relax and realize she hasn’t peed in five hours. She’ll go back to the bathroom; there she'll trip over the other piles of dirty laundry she meant to wash 4 hours ago.

THE END

I'm thinking of turning it into a picture book. Here's my first illustration for it.

Or perhaps I'll just stick to doin' the laundry.

Vote Early and Vote Often!

No, this is not a slogan for the democratic party. The air is brimming with excitement isn't it? People will cast their votes and in just a few weeks we will finally know. I know you are as excited as I am to find out the next champion of Dancing With The Stars! (Cue music.)

I love this show. It's the only show I watch religiously. Actually it's the only show I watch at all. (That doesn't include the occasional Oprah show I watch out of morbid curiosity.) I discovered after last season that I had a serious problem. The problem being that I was actually addicted to this show. After the season had ended I found myself in a funk. A "There's no more DWTS and now what am I going to do with my life?" funk. Yes, it was serious. That's why I was so stinkin' excited for a new season to start but only after the second show did I realize I was in worse trouble than last season. Monday was great, Tuesday was good (it's the results show you know), Wednesday - instant funk.

How can you not love it?! It's live, it's funny, sometimes it's hilarious. And my favorite part- people are dancing. It's inspires dreams of dancing in me. It also inspires dreams of a large disco ball hanging from my living room ceiling. It inspires dreams of Maks. If you don't know Maks you should. I've posted a picture of him next to my bed. :) Here's a picture of him:

And here's another:

And another:

And while we're at it here's Curtis Stone...

He's the Take Home Chef. He's from Australia. He has an accent. It's an Australian accent.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I've made it through a few weeks of shows now and I'm trying to get my DWTS funky moods under control. That being said, it isn't working. A person should never be so excited to see a Monday. And Wednesday feels more like the beginning of a life sentence than hump day. It's sick. I have a sickness. A disease. It might be time for a twelve step program. Well, maybe not right away. There's always next season.

January Ax-To-Grind

I'm looking for a job. A part-time job. It's not just a sign of the times it's a sign of my mental stability. It's starting to feel like life is full of laundry and dirty dishes. I know there's more out there in this great big world but right now my world is full of spin cycles and dish soap.

I'm turning into June Cleaver. I should just wear an apron all day except I don't even own one. I'm really more like June's alter ego - January. January does most of what she's suppose to but she does it in a snit. Her undies get in a bunch because she finds that her Wally and Beaver are actually 3 kids that don't help at all around the house. And if The Beave doesn't learn to pick up after herself soon she's going to be living with Eddie and Eddie's mom has to be worse than even January. Right?

January's house is never actually clean like June's but she's always picking up her kids things and turning off lights. Yesterday she walked around the house 32 times turning off 12 lights. There aren't even twelve lights in January's house. She put in three loads of laundry but folded six. She prefers to ignore the dishes but finds herself doing them anyway. After she's done doing the dishes someone puts more in the sink to do. January would rather spend time plucking her nose hairs than doing more dishes.

January doesn't bake cookies for her kids she bakes cookies so she can eat the cookie dough. Sometimes she can't eat it all so she makes cookies with the rest.

Sometime after the cookie dough lunch January finds herself face down on the sofa sleeping off the sugar high. She wakes up with brown sugar in her hair and Olive (her dog) licking her ear.

January rushes off to volunteer at Scooter's (that would be January's 3rd kid) school. She can only get one eye open and she has mascara under her eyes but no one says anything to her because well, she's scary.

January gets home in time to do more dishes before the kids get off the bus. January is sure that her house is part of some secret underground railroad because she doesn't know how the dishes got there.

Wally and The Beave get off the bus and begin complaining about homework. January loves her kids but she really loves Eddie more because even though he's a conniving little weasel he doesn't ever whine at her.

The Beave gets herself worked up into a convulsion because she has a test tomorrow and tests are so unfair. The Beave has been in school for six years but still hasn't come to terms with it. The Beave has six more years of school to go plus college. January is considering becoming a missionary and moving to Africa.

Amazingly the Beave didn't remember to bring home her study guide for the test. January makes the 25 minute drive to school and back just like she did for Wally the other day. January counts the dollars as her gas meter goes down.

January wishes she smoked. January is also a strong believer in cocktail hour although unfortunately she doesn't drink. She vows to make drinking a goal next year.

January waits to the last minute to make dinner. January believes in the dinner fairy appearing at 5:45pm. She's never ever seen the dinner fairy but she still believes.

After dinner January dreams of going to Meijer to buy groceries so she can avoid homework and bedtime.

Ward is always waiting up for her.

January is thinking she needs a full-time job.

Growing Pains

Isaac is learning how to read. This morning he was sounding out the words on his box of cereal. "Fr-u-te-ee Cob-b-les". That would be Fruitty Pebbles. He also wants to bring his picture of a dragon for "j" day because it sounds like "j - j- dragon mom". I tried to explain the difference between the "dr" sound and the " j" sound. Giving Isaac advice is kinda like telling Oprah to vote for McCain. As far as the Cobbles go I don't want him to know that Cobbles are really Pebbles that would mean he's growing up. I'm hanging on to the Cobbles as long as I can.

Olive has made great progress in the house breaking department. The other night she squatted right in front of the TV. I yelled "NO!" and threw the remote at her rear end. She stopped midstream and looked at me like the sky was falling. No, Olive that's just what happens when you urinate in the house. TV remotes just randomly fly in the air and hit you in the butt. I even got dog pee on the remote. I was pretty proud of my aim and the fact that she actually stopped peeing. Of course, she's a bit of a weenie so she may not pee at all for a couple days. It's a learning curve.

I'm putting down my foot. This whole getting out the door in the morning is making my head spin. I find the more I do for my kids to make sure they get out the door in time for the bus then the more I do for my kids. Ironic huh? So I'm making a list and they better be checking it twice. It's going to include things like clean up your breakfast dishes, make your bed, pick out your clothes the night before, brush your teeth (even though you've known you have to do this every morning for the past 8 years, EVA!!) I'm thinking they just need to miss the bus and maybe Eva just needs to get a cavity or two, or three.

The thing is, Eva is more than willing to walk out the door without her glasses, without her homework, with witchy-poo hair, one shoe on and no jacket and really nasty Olive breath. I can't allow that. For the sake of her teachers, I can't let that happen. So I'm thinking there's going to be a check off chart that must be checked every morning or something terrible happens like their Nintendo DS disappears for a day or they have to do 3 hours of homework or they have to brush their teeth FIVE times a day.

Now that would be painful. :)

Olive Schmolive

Right now Olive is eating something. Olive is always eating something. I no longer stick my finger in her mouth to find out what it is. I just decided if it's on the floor then we must not care if Olive eats it. It's all less disgusting this way. Until we scoop poop, then we know what she's be eating and we're disgusted, especially if we want it back. She's eating the tennis ball in this picture. You probably thought she was playing with it. You were wrong.

Right now she is also filling up this room with her maloforousness. It's the raw hides. Makes her gassy. Makes us wonder what we were thinking when we got another dog. Makes me wonder why I buy her the raw hides. Oh yeah, because she'll eat everything else if I don't.

Olive is at a point in her life that we all just have to get through. I think in human years she is about 4. Much like children at this age you have to constantly remind yourself to take the higher road, to ride this storm through because it's the right thing to do and because of Child Protection Services. With a puppy this is when we have to remind ourselves that in another year this will all have been worth it. Unlike my children she can be trained. Just one more year. I think we can make it.

She's certain she's a couch dog. I keep reminding her she is not in fact a couch dog. At first she started sneaking up on the couch when I wasn't in the room. She got up there and alligned herself with the 4 American Girl Dolls that were lined up sitting properly on the couch. Olive didn't pass for a doll so she got busted. But then the gutsy little sh... dog started jumping up on the couch WHILE I was sitting on the couch. I kept shooing her off. Then she jumped up and just sat there and I stared at her not knowing what to do. So she barked at me. OK, that does it. YOU are NOT a couch dog. Nobody is going to call Doggy Protective Services for you sweetheart.

Among some of her other favorite activities besides eating everything she can swallow are digging in my flowerbeds, tearing the flowers out of my flowerbeds and barking because I'm ignoring her. At first I was worried that she might ingest something that might be poisonous like a poinsettia or something. Now I'm planting poinsettias in my backyard...

The best way to describe Olive is ornery. I know we'll get through this because our last dog Phoebe, went through the same thing. I was fit to be tied with her antics and misbehavin' when she was a pup so my mom took her for a weekend while we were out of town. My mom was sure she would have her ship shape by the time we got back. Sometime during the weekend Phoebe jumped up on the guest bed in their house and peed in the middle of it. I'll never forget it. I don't think my mom has either. That's ornery.

Olive's not peeing in the house as much as she used to. She did poop in the girls' room though. I think she did it in the morning and we didn't realize it until the girls got home from school and went in their room and screamed at me that Olive had pooped in there. All day long I just kept thinking gee, I really need to clean my house, it stinks. What a relief to know I didn't have to clean after all.

I'd like to give a big shout out to Mr. Keibler for providing Olive with a nice big dog cage. The 24 inch dog cage we had was no longer big enough for our 32 inch dog. Phoebe was a long dog as well. I guess we like long dogs here. I'm just going to leave the rest of this paragraph to your imagination...

Anyway, we should be good with the 84 inch cage. Ok, it's probably not that big but I do know it holds Olive and all 3 kids comfortably. And I'm not going to reveal how I know that. I think we've changed our tornado safety place from the bedroom closet to Olive's cage. I'm pretty certain all 5 of us can fit in it and who knows, in another year if a tornado touches down in our neighborhood, we might let Olive in too.

somebody has some explainin' to do

There are some things that need to be explained to me. Ok there are a lot of things that need to be explained to me but I'm not going to tell you all of them in this rather public forum.

I watched the President's address last night and that helped. I somewhat understand why we are in the mess we are in. What I don't understand is why somebody didn't see it coming. Well, I'm guessing lots of somebodies saw it coming and a lot more somebodies chose not to listen or not do anything about it. And I can understand that too. Laws are created only when the need arises. The need doesn't usually arise until a catastrophe strikes (i.e. 9/11).

But let's not get bogged down with failing economies and terrorist attacks. I've got some things on my mind that somebody needs to explain to me like why Scotch tape costs $3.50 for a tiny little roll. That's 3 dollars and 50 cents so my kids can tape up every piece of paper that touches their little hands to our walls. Think about how much Scotch tape is made everyday. Consider how much tape my kids go through (it's enough to make me break out in a sweat every time I have to buy it). Do they really need to charge that much for it? Is that sticky substance derived from oil or perhaps 18k gold? I think big companies like 3M that charge $4 for a 2x2 square of Post-It notes should pitch in and pay our 400 billion dollar bail out. Or at least send me some coupons.

And while we are on the subject of oil, why is it that corn oil costs $5 for 24 oz? How can that be? Isn't corn a relatively or maybe ridiculously abundant resource in the US? Have you noticed that just about everything you buy in a package at the grocery store has some derivative of corn in it? It's in our gasoline. It's probably in our shampoo too. Actually, I think my undies may be made with corn husks. They're kinda scratchy, but don't distract me.

That corn oil I bought for $5 might have actually been a vegetable blend oil like canola and corn oil. So, what is a canola? I know what a cannoli is and a cannellini. A cannoli is yummy and a cannellini is a bean. I have no idea what a canola is and why I want it's oil. It must be something that grows more than a mile beneath the earth's crust and we must have to drill to find it, then pump it out and refine it and then ship it across the entire country. Because I'm thinking it costs me $4 for a gallon of gas and $5 for 3 cups of some vegetable by-product. Someone explain that to me.

All Is Well

My dog is laying at my feet completely worn out. It must be from hearing me say "no" over and over. She's been an ornery little fart head lately. Digging up my flowerbeds to bury her bone, chewing on the kids stuff, and chewing on the kids. Wonder if I can get her spayed again. She was really well behaved on that day...

So here's the latest update from Indy-suburbia: all is well. Maya is doing well in school despite the fact that it is harder than last year. I think she had a pretty easy teacher last year. I have to bite my tongue to not tell her it's only going to get harder. So I say things like "sure it's hard but it's fun hard, right?" Big eye roll.

Eva is doing well in every subject except science. She gave me a paper Thursday morning that said she was flunking science. She gave me this paper two minutes before the bus was to arrive. If she's smart enough to do that then she can pass science. I handled it well though. I told her we'd talk about it when she got home from school, gave her a hug and "I love yous" and sent her on her way. Then I freaked out. But it's all water under the bridge now. I'm not going to worry about college admissions -yet.

Isaac forgot his library book yesterday. Ok, I forgot to give Isaac his library book. I guess at the kindergarten level I'm the one that should be taking responsibility here. He didn't get all over me about it though. This is good because I see signs of anal retentiveness and of impending obsessive compulsive disorder in him. Tim thinks I'm jumping the gun. Isaac lines his fruit snacks up by color and then eats each color individually. Last week he organized the granola bars on the shelf because he doesn't like to put his hand in the box. Yesterday he rolled his eyes at me because I kept turning on his lamp from the light switch and not the lamp itself. Evidently this is wrong and he is done being patient with me. He's five. I'm forty. I have to remind Isaac I'm not his slacky, I'm his mom, there is a difference. I said this after I made his lunch, got him dressed, brushed his hair and thin removed the toast crumbs on his cheeks by licking his face.

Ok, I'm not really a licker. Olive is a licker. I don't like to be licked. Tim enjoys being licked. (It's amazing that we're still married.) Turns out other people are ok with being licked too. Tim informed me that several people that we had over this weekend (I won't mention any names although they are related to Tim, not me) just let Olive lick them. I am appalled people. I cannot see how you can just sit there and be licked. It is beyond me.

Olive destroyed a small stuffed purple fish the other day. Now I'm going to have to reattach a fin and reinsert some stuffing so Isaac doesn't have to live with only 49 stuffed animals instead of 50. I asked him if this was an important fish. Evidently by the look he gave this is an important fish. I think his name is "purple fish".
Yes, all is well....

Fly Me To The Moon

Yeah, that's right baby. Fly me to the moon and leave me there for an extended stay. Life is too dramatic down here with my children basking in the light of the full moon. Yes, I said FULL MOON.


If those two words didn't strike fear into your heart then you are neither a parent nor a teacher or you just haven't made the correlation yet. And it's not just the day of the full moon either, it's three days before when it all starts, climaxing at about 8:30pm on full moon day when your 3 year old is doing kamikaze trapeze stunts on his bed while you are very calmly reading Go Dog! Go! Ask me how I know.


My kids began howling at 4pm on Friday. By Friday at 9:00pm I was having visions of boxing their heads together. By Saturday afternoon I was ready to strangle them. Fortunately for them we were at Target and I didn't want any witnesses. I had taken Maya and Eva shopping to spend some of that birthday money that's been burning a hole in their brand new wallets. We made it to three different places. And we all made it home together in one piece. (Well, with one injury but it wasn't my fault, well it was but not intentionally my fault. Eva shouldn't have stuck her hand out the car window after telling me to roll it up. It's was the 112th time I'd heard "mom" that day and my synapses were starting to misfire. She's OK. Not nearly as bad as when I slammed her hand in the van door....)


Where was I? Oh yeah, still alive, made it home safe and sound and Eva announces that it was the best day of her whole life. (Guess she forgot about the pain in her right hand.) That's a pretty good day. Eva does tend toward the dramatic but three stores and three new items later, throw a full moon in the mix... best day ever.


Lying in bed Saturday night I was perplexed as to why I was feeling like hopping on a rocket and leaving Earth's orbit for an extra long weekend. It's not like it's summertime and I'm with my kids 24/7. Surely I cand handle a whole weekend? But I couldn't. I reasoned with God that he really didn't want me to go to church with my family when I had visions of slouchy, whiny kids bickering with each other and hanging all over me in the pews. Fortunately he agreed and told me to take the morning off. I think He said "stay home and clean something, you'll feel better." And I did, and I did. God is amazing. I love God. I hope that statement makes up for the fact that I didn't go to church. But I digress..


It was Sunday morning during my exorcism, I mean cleaning spree, that it occurred to me that there was a FULL MOON that was going to happen very soon. Ah-hah! I'm not losing my mind! Well, maybe I am but at least there's a good reason for it.


I'm glad to say that today my children spent most of the day in school. When the girls got home there was an American Girl Doll magazine for them to peruse. They still had some bday money left but they were going to have to do some extra work to earn the rest and no the American Girl Doll would not show up at their doorstep tomorrow morning. And just before my eyes, there it was. It was suddenly the worst day ever in the whole history of time. Get me an Advil.


Later, as I'm cleaning the kitchen Isaac came to me with his sad face in place. He told me he couldn't get his window curtain up in his room. I told him I'd be there in a minute. Evidently I wasn't fast enough because he came back with his sad face in place and now he had a mini chalkboard that he had drawn a sad face on which he held up for me to see along with his original sad face. Wham! There it was. Double pouty face. What's a mom to do? No words were spoken. So I said "it's the curtain isn't it?" He just nodded, concentrating on keeping the sad face. Whoa the drama.


The moon is going to peak tonight and tomorrow will be another day. We'll have to wait and see what's on the lunch menu before we'll now if it's worth living through or not.

You Make Me Feel Like A Natural wo-MAN

For some reason the world feels like a better place when you can open your back door on a sunny day and let the breeze in. Ahhhhh..... It's a good day to be alive...it's a good day to be (mostly) a woman.

I visited the endocrinologist today. The endocrinologist isn't so bad. I've never had to remove my pants or get felt up in any "sensitive" areas at an endocrinology appointment. We had a discussion about my slightly twisted hormone levels. It was a good visit all things considered. Is it just me or do ALL endocrinologists originate from some Slavic country? I had a little trouble understanding her sometimes except when she said "You skinny." Well, yeah, I got that. And I couldn't really deny it either. It doesn't go along with my personal diagnosis of PCOS (which basically means I'm slowly turning into a man) which also means I should be at least 50 lbs over weight. I'm not. "You got lots of hair?" (You have to use a turkish accent when you're reading this.) Well, yeah I do. I'm not sure she believed that either because she kept looking me up and down for some tell-tale sign of my impending maleness. I shave OK? I shave it all. Daily. Everywhere. All over. She was looking me up and down with such a disgusted look on her face I started to laugh. Evidently they don't teach certain things in medical school in Turkey like how to not look at a patient like they are the gum on the bottom of your shoe.

I considered telling her that I weigh more than some of my uncles (and my feet are bigger too, perhaps that is why she kept staring at them.) and that I started removing the hair from my upper lip before my brother did who is 3 years older than me and looks like he's related to Cheech AND Chong. But I figured she wouldn't buy it. It's true however. I come from very little people on my mom's side. And my brother Jim and my brother Phil and I are the only ones who got the uni brow gene out of over 20 grandchildren. When I attend a bridal or baby shower in my mom's family I feel like a giant at 5 feet 4 inches. I'm always a little worried that if I lose my balance my lengthy arms might take 4 or 5 small Italian women with me. It's a scary thought. I'm not sure how I'd get them all back upright without someone getting hurt.

The appointment ended with a decision to get my estrogen levels checked. What a revelation! And you know, of all the other doctors I've seen about this over the years no one, not a one person has suggested that. I like this doctor. She made me laugh. She was also almost as hairy as I am. And maybe we can reverse my impending sexual transformation.

And now I must go pluck.

Isaac Is So Goooood Looookin'

It's true. And he knows it. He called me on Tuesday from Tim's cell phone after he got his hair cut and said "Mom, I look good." When I came home he was all Mr. Hotstuff not talking to me until I acknowledged his good-lookingness. Then he was all "yeah, can't help it." And I was like all "where did this kid come from?"

So Isaac and I talked for quite a while on the cell phone that Tuesday night. I was frantically walking around a bookstore trying to find a book for Eva with both girls in tow and get home by bedtime. The orginal reason he called was to ask me what the state dinosaur was. I had no idea what he was talking about. This frustrated him greatly but fortunately for both of us he didn't come right out and call me stupid. He did ask if I was hot. I thought I misheard him. The conversation went something like this:

"Are you hot mom?"

"Is your father putting you up to this?"

"Mom, are you hot?"

"No, I'm not hot."

"MOM, ARE YOU HOT?"

"YES I'M HOT!!!" (Yes, I'm standing inthe middle of the bookstore.)

"Ok, then maybe you should come home now."

Somewhere between the planets of Mars and Neptune that conversation makes perfect sense.

Today he had to look good for his school picture. Ironically at 7:10 this morning he didn't look so good. He looked like he'd pulled an all-nighter. Perhaps he stayed up late thinking about Match Box cars, things that could be turned into swords and T-Rexs. By 8:00 he looked good. We'd done the necessary 5 year old lookin' good routine: wipe off the cinnamon sugar from cheeks, brush some teeth, flatten some Alfalfa sprouts on the top of his head with a wet brush. Good to go. Loooookin' Goooood.

Mother Pucker

No it's not a typo. It's my new favorite phrase.

After our Olympic fiasco on Saturday Tim and I sat down at the kitchen table and started a list of names for his sister Susan's pepper peppers. No, I didn't studder. They are peppers (like salt and pepper) made from hot peppers like jalapenos. (Yeah, it took me a minute too.) Susan has several different kinds of hot peppers (six different colors) that she's turning into peppers. It was six o'clock in the evening after the big birthday bash and Tim and I were staring at each other from across the kitchen table wondering how we were going to stay awake till 8pm. It seemed like the perfect time to get creative. Susan had already come up with one name, Dante's Dust, very cool, elegant and catchy. We were having trouble with cool and elegant so we just went for catchy: Twisted Blister, Witches Twitch, In Heat, OMG from the Garden of Eatin', Eve's Very Bad Day also from the Garden of Eatin', Cocoa Conniption (for the chocolate colored pepper)and Holistic Heat. Those were some of the ones I came up with.

It turns out that men will buy a hot sauce, for example, because of a name that says what it will do to you, and not in a good way. Evidently the quicker the hot sauce comes back out the hotter (and better) it is. Some of Tim's names: At First Blister, Butt Blister, Buns of Heat, and Green Skids.

Men are disgusting.

On Monday we were just chillin' at the lake house feeling the effects of sleeping at the lake house and being again on the edge of delirium we decided to put our heads together with Tim's sisters Robin, Tam and Susan, and see what other names we could come up with. (The great thing about the lake house is that our kids have their cousins to play with so we didn't have to worry about being overheard. In fact the only time I heard from my kids was when they were hungry. And then I just pointed to the kitchen and said "peanut butter sandwich". What a beautiful thing. I did realize Sunday morning that Isaac's breakfast consisted of fruit snacks, a granola bar and some caramels he snuck out of the kitchen drawer. If you can just relinquish proper nutrition for a couple days the lake house can be very relaxing. ) Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the kids were busy so we had creative freedom.

So we came up with a few others: Butt Pucker (Tim's favorite) Hairy Navel (for the peach colored pepper), and let's get right to the point: Colon Cleanse. And it just went downhill from there until Tam came up with Mother Pucker and that was it, that was the mother of all pepper peppers, Mother Pucker.

So it's my new favorite phrase. Tim warned me last night that I need to be careful so I'm mostly just saying it in my head and, when I can, to him. (It's amazing how many times you can work that phrase into your day to day chit chat.) Too many little ears around to hear. And let's face it if there were a priest standing next to me I'm not going to say Mother Pucker and then say "Hey father, I didn't say the "F" word you know?"

With my new favorite phrase in place Tim decided there must be a cuss gene and that I have it. If you know me you might be surprised to hear this because I don't generally throw around the f-bomb or any other such words for that matter. But if I spend a weekend with my best friend I inevitably come back talkin' like a sailor, no doubt about it. It's like I need a twelve step program when I get home. Then there's the real test of the cusser's gene. Whack your head getting out of the van, stub your pinkie toe on a dresser and phrases fly out of your mouth that a marine couldn't put together and then you know - you have the cuss gene. Like any addiction it's hard to hide it from you kids. It was why Eva started saying "shit" at the tender age of two. Now that they're older I say "just ignore that", and " you didn't hear that" and "if I ever hear you speak those words then you're in a shitload of trouble." Well, mother pucker, you see my dilemma.

Olympic Glory

You've probably enjoyed the spectacle of the greatest event in sports over the last few weeks, the glory of the Olympic Games. I know my whole family has tried to see as much as we can. The gymnastics, the swimming, the volleyball, the male swimmers swimming in their Speedos, the field and track events, the male swimmers jumping up and down in their Speedos, bad minton, ping pong, those darn speedy guys in their darn speedy Speedos. Whew. While watching one of the swimming events one of my sister-in-laws said "wow, he's got nice form". I looked up expecting to see some really good swimming since all of Tim's sisters were swimmers in high school but he was just standing on the deck, shaking out his big muscles, in his Speedo. He did have nice form.


Phew! Where was I? Oh yeah, Olympics. It's kinda sad seeing the closing ceremonies and knowing the summer olympics are done for the next four years. So we decided to extend the events at our house. Sans Speedos.


On Saturday we had the Johnson Olympic birthday bash. Maya and Eva celebrated their 11th birthdays with 7 of their closest buds and relatives at our first (and last) annual Olympic games. Isaac was in charge of the Olympic theme song which we heard over and over and over. He also graced us with his scary kung fu-like dance. There was the running of the torch, which consisted of running around the swingset in our backyard enough times so that everyone who wanted to could carry the torch, the medal ceremony which included us (trying) to sing the national anthem (because the medals stand was dominated by US athletes don't you know, except for Isaac who was team Italia that day) and many "athletic events" which included the water balloon toss, the water balloon relay, and let's bust the water balloons on our heads. Refreshments were served in the form of several mini-cupcakes in the shape and colors of the Olympic rings. I'm just going to have to give myself a pat on the back for that one. But right now the best part of these Olympic games are that they're over. Whew! Now, that's Olympic glory.

Yes, I'm Still Here - Don't Freak

Yes, I'm still here after those last two blogs. And yes, this is my blog. Don't freak and start clicking on your mouse like you've lost control of your index finger. There aren't any naked pictures of women that are going to start flashing in front of your 3 year old. I wouldn't do that to you. Although it'd be funny. Happened to me once. I was looking for the American Girl Doll Magazine website. I typed in pre-teen girls magazine...

I'm trying out a new look. What do you think? I think the photos are easier to see on a white background and green is my favorite color. It looks like my title might be surrounded by a lime tree but you can't always have everything your way. Could be apples I guess but either way I'd rather not associate myself with fruit.

So after last week I'm trying to just slow down today before my kids get off the bus. Here are two thoughts I'm reflecting on today as I'm avoiding piles of dirty laundry, ignoring my dirty house and contemplating the amount of homework arriving shortly:

• Women in polygamist marriages have something figured out. Sure they have 12 kids between them but they share the workload and they don't have to sleep with their husband every night. I'm thinking there's gotta be a full day off in there somewhere.
  

And..

• Nudists don't have laundry.

Have a good Monday.

Single Mom Wonder Woman!!

I was just starting to think everything was going to be ok. Then Tim left town. Why is it that when you start to see the silver lining a big bolt of lightning smacks you in the head and fries your hair? Or, when you think things could only get worse and suddenly a rainbow appears and your hopes for future sanity return to only be taken away again? Why?! Why?! Why?! I think it's called life. Or maybe it's just called parenthood. I'm eleven years into this and I still haven't adjusted to it. So, I guess, this is why people do drugs.

I was finally starting to see the payoff yesterday afternoon of having kids in school all day. I had a good day with my friend Beth. She made us lunch and we spent the afternoon at the art museum. It was great. It was relaxing, it was fun, it was even inspiring. This was the first day since school started that I didn't spend filling out forms and catching up on dishes and laundry. Then the kids got off the bus at 4:00. At first there was a sense of "I can handle this". No 32 senseless questions that I'll repeat the answers to 3 times each is going to send ME over the edge. I'm on top of things now. I deflected all complaints and inquiries like Wonder Woman with her gold cuffs. ZAP! ZOWIE!! ZABING! An hour later (ZAP! ZABING!) I said, "Just get in the car we're going to swim clinic". I don't even think I had to scream it. So, we went to the swim clinic and Maya and Eva swam for an hour why I tried to entertain Isaac and chat with other moms. Bad idea. Well, Isaac had a melt down after about 20 minutes because things weren't going his way. I was adjusting my gold cuffs thinking "I'm handling this like a TV mom" and "Good girl!" I knew he was tired and disappointed. I tried to work with him. I knew it would all be ok because of my new found patience and inner wisdom (and my imaginary gold cuffs) but he was barely hanging on to sanity. After 10 minutes of me trying to appease him without getting upset or slinging him over my shoulder and carrying him out to the car I finally said to him "YOU'RE CRAZY!". After I said that I thought "did I just call my five year old crazy?" Wow, I did. Freakin' piece of crap cheap gold cuffs.

Things went downhill from there. We got home and I was trying to do homework with Maya and keep Isaac and Eva happy by letting them play outside when they should have been getting ready for bed. Neighbor kids were playing in our backyard spraying my mosquito repellent on the bugs and not on their bodies. (Don't they have bug spray at their house they can waste?) Someones cat wanted in MY fence while Olive was going berserk and the cat was hissing at Olive. I told the kids to go home and dragged my dog inside. As I'm trying to figure out the difference between Third Person Limited and Third Person Omniscient (don't tell me I have it figured out now) kids started screaming to Maya (who's supposed to be working on her homework) from outside somewhere in the front yard because the cat is now in our backyard. I opened up the front door and said "I DON"T CARE! GO HOME!" (You'd think fewer kids would come around wouldn't you?) Olive's having a doggie conniption. Isaac is afraid the cat will crawl through some hole in the floor and bite him. Eva and Maya want to keep the cat but they don't dare say this because that eye twitch in my left eye is back. But I persevere. I get Isaac in the shower, set up a quick movie, feed them all a healthy snack of Oreo cookies (hold the milk), get them all in bed, read Rolie Polie Olie twice, tell Maya (who can't handle less than an "A") "No, I can't study with you anymore, you're good." Then I lay on my bed trying to not to have a stroke.

And then Tim comes home.

By this time random words are flashing through my brain like "smoke" and "adjustment in medication" and "beer, lots and lots of beer." I can't seem to put a cohesive sentence together that doesn't start with "I hate you" or "Why didn't you keep your freakin' sperm to yourself?" So I choose not to say anything at all. I can start to feel the synapses misfiring and all I can think is "schmickelt" and "phhlatbatt". I'm pretty sure Tim's talking to me but all I hear is "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr".

I'm sorry I didn't speak to you last night honey, this is why you have to read the blog.

Tada!!

It was just two days ago my mom was commenting on how my kids know how to pop the perfect smile for the camera. Not a big shocker with my photography background. It's one of two things I've mastered as a mom. (The other would be hiding in the bathroom at bedtime.) Point a camera in their face and say "hey" - and tada! It's a perfect picture smile. And now, look at my dog! (top left) It took a couple tries but she gave me a definite "look" for the camera. Look at that cute pootchie, pootchie, poo!!! (Eva's cute too but she's been around a lot longer.)

This picture was taken last night as the final photo in Eva's ME project which was due today. Nothing like waiting till the last minute. Which is exactly what Tim did last night when he tried to buy several gift cards on his way out of town for a conference tomorrow. (Just stay with me here.) It wouldn't have been such a big deal if I'd KNOWN he was going to spend over $300 in gift cards at a Kroger in Greenfield. Had I KNOWN this I wouldn't have told the credit card company to decline the charge when they called me at 8:00pm in the middle of homework, snacks, bedtime and general squirrelling about. (I pictured a druggie buying $300 of Fritos and Funyuns mind you.) It's ok when I wait till the last minute Tim, but it's not ok when you do it. Especially when it causes me gastrointestinal problems.

Now, that I've gotten myself in trouble... I'd just like to say getting three kids on the bus at the same time every morning is a test from God. And it's one that I'm going to fail as well. If the objective is to just get them on the bus, bruised and battered with their self-esteem at an all time low, then I'll pass.

So, here's how it goes. First I let Olive out. Then I spend the next half hour poking kids till they get up, then eventually I drag Eva out of bed, fix three different breakfasts, cut the "skin" off toast, let Isaac put his own cinnamon/sugar on his toast (this requires me to do a Marty Feldman - one eye on the toast the other on what I'm doing). Let Olive in. Go over two different menus for lunch and then inevitably make three different lunches. Remove Little People from Olive's teeth and let her out. Stand over the girls so they actually put their clothes on and not just lie lifeless on their beds. Let Olive and a big stick in. Brush hair, do hair and re-brush Isaac's teeth. Clean up the dog pee on the floor. (!?!?!?!) Dose out meds, some before breakfast, some during breakfast, some on the way out the door. Remove a Webkins from Olive's mouth. Write bad checks for lunch money. Remove a Little People from Olive's mouth, again. And I do this all while holding down my left eyelid which began twitching last night when I THOUGHT I just had my credit card number stolen. As the kids head out the door I grab three knives from the knife drawer and juggle them in the air just to top off the morning. And then I pull out the band-aids and we all head out the door to catch the bus.

Tada!

Angst, Stirrups, Piercings and Copayments

I think this title would be a good chapter title in my book. I'll get right on that.

The kids are home from school. Hence, the angst. Eva wasn't home 5 minutes before we had tears over homework. Help me out here. I don't know what to do?! I understand that she needs a break and wants to go out and play but I KNOW that we'll be up till 10 o'clock with tears trying to get it done. I called her teacher and left a message. My plan is to cry on the phone to her (and her other two teachers) to not give my daughter anymore homework for the rest of the year. Whew! I feel so much better now that I have a plan.

Maya seems to be doing fine with the new school. Maya is a fairly easy going kid and doesn't have much trouble with anything in particular. When she's sixteen she'll run off with the lead singer from some garage punk band and acquire many piercings and we'll all be really surprised. But right now she's not much trouble and (the Johnson requirement of an "easy" child) requires few co-payments.

Isaac has always required many co-payments. God love him. He's his own man though despite his various physical perplexities. He seems to be in his zone as far as school goes. He did say on the second day that some boy called him a baby. I responded by saying "It's ok honey, tell me his name and I'll kick his ass." (Ok, not really but my tongue was bloody from biting it.) I let his teacher know what was going on and she called to let me know there was another boy trying to pick on him at recess. This is when I realized sending a boy to school is much different than sending a girl to school. His school years are going to be challenging in a different way. In a "he's only 3ft and 32 lbs. and 5 inches shorter than everyone" kinda way. It might be time for some Tae-Kwon-Do and some growth hormones.

Speaking of hormones I went to the gynecologist today. (Like me segue?) I told my sister Colleen on the phone about my upcoming appointment and she responded by saying "oh, I'm sorry." And you know, that's really all you want to hear when you go to the girl doctor. You just want a little empathy from someone who knows about stirrups and a cold metal speculum. (This blog is not for the squeamish.) She meant it and I knew she meant it. That's probably why I threatened to cut Tim's yahoos off last night when I told him about my appointment. There just was no sympathy. I guess he really can't help it being a man and all. It try not to hold that against him. That's why there should be a male equivalent to a gynecological exam. To promote more harmony in our marriages. Someone needs to invent that. Include the stirrups, angst and shoot throw in a piercing or two!! But hold off on the co-payment please.

Only 179 Days To Go

I guess it would be about the second day of school when I realize we have to do this thing for 179 more days. Don't get me wrong, it's exciting sending your kids off to school to be home ALONE for hours for the first time ever in your life. Or at least the first time in approximately 11 years. (Ok, that may be a bit of an exaggeration but you get the picture.) Hey wait, that's not really an exaggeration. To be home alone for six straight hours could only possible happen if my entire family left town without me and that has never happened. Anyway, what for the love of God was I talking about? Oh yeah...This morning I remembered it's NOT exciting getting them up in the morning and on the bus. It's even less exciting now that I'm doing it in triplet.

Everyone got up at 7am. More or less. Maya more, Eva and Isaac less. It was 7:10am when I went to extract Isaac from his bed that I realized we have another Eva on our hands. He was understandably exhausted after his first half-day of school. I stared at him for a minute sleeping so soundly and was wondering if I was going to have to resuscitate him he was so asleep. Tonight I'm thinking I'll have him in bed by 7:30pm. The promise of sausage and syrup got his eyes open with just a little bit of (very familiar) whining. Ok, maybe 7:00pm. It took him 45 minutes to eat his breakfast. By Thursday we'll be getting up at 6:30am and going to sleep at 5:30pm.

The girls were their usually squirrelly selves. If they just did it - got up and got dressed and ate their breakfasts, they could get up and out of the house in 30 minutes. But being part rodent instills the need to flop on their beds in only their skivvies and flop on each other for 30 minutes every morning. Fortunately Isaac was in the family room getting dressed so he wasn't involved in this morning's flopping. Flopping about is contagious you know, I'll have to watch out for that.

And soon there will be homework. Forget soon, we'll probably have homework tonight. Doing homework with Eva always brings me to my knees. It's a reminder to me of why people drink and smoke. I'd be happy with just one vice every night we have to do homework together. A little heavy drinking one night and heavy smoking the other. You know, the thought occurred to me this morning that at the end of this year I'm just going to ask the principal "Who gives the least homework? We'd like that teacher next year please." Eva never gets that teacher. I want that teacher damn it.

As Good As It Gets

Well, it appears as though the earth is still spinning on it's axis. As far as I can tell anyway. For a minute there it felt like we were careening off into a black hole. It was precisely 8:45a.m. when I felt it. The same time Isaac walked into his kindergarten class.

You know, I was doing just fine. I was good. Tim and I got him on the bus without so much as a tear from any of us. Plenty of smiles, a little anxiety. Then I left Tim to get the girls on the bus and I went to Isaac's school to help with bus duty. Everything was a little chaotic and while I was lining up kindergartners with their teachers Isaac came up behind me and grabbed my legs. There were tears glistening in his eyes and his frown was trying not to tremble. But I was OK. I was still good. He obviously was not but I had to keep us altogether and save face. I got him to his teacher along with another little girl who was showing the same signs of first dayness. I took his picture and like the good boy of a photographer he is he forgot about everything else and smiled for the camera.

Good. He was good. I was still good. We were all good.

Then everyone started to walk into the school and I looked around ready to help with all those confused little people and realized none of the other parents were going in. The sidewalks were clearing and my heart started firing off signals to my brain...not good, not good, this is NOT GOOD. I looked around at the other parents and they were all just chatting with each other on the sidewalk and smiling. I had my smile in place but the earth was spinning a little faster (I could feel the wind pick up). Words started popping in my head like "are we just going to let them go?!" and "don't they need our help?!" and "WAIT! HE'S LEAVING!!!" But I squelched them all because I knew deep down in my heart.... I was insane.

"Good" was being sucked away by that vortex of a black hole and the earth was picking up speed. I thought I was PREPARED, I had spilled my tears a week before over EVERYTHING. Isaac was beginning school and the girls were going to 5th grade and moving on to the intermediate school. I had cried for the days that were gone and the days ahead that would make our family forever "different". I had done my emotional homework. I was all caught up. How was this sneaking up on me?! I had gotten a puppy for chrissakes!!!

It was because of my almost 41 years of life experience that I didn't burst into tears and start running in circles screaming "MY BABY IS GONE, MY BABY IS GONE!" Instead I held my smile in place and slowly walked to my car, putting one foot in front of the other until almost all thoughts of hysteria had passed.

I did it. Isaac did too. He was going to be OK. And I was still good. Well....mostly.

We Love Ya Olive!

She's here. Our new dog. Four month old Olive is an Australian Cattle Dog and Beagle mix and something else that has webbed feet. Maybe duck. She's cuter than snot and sick as a well, a dog. We picked her up yesterday from the vet where she was transferred from animal control. They said she was dehydrated and needed antibiotics. She has a cough and a runny nose and unfortunately she didn't come with a copay, we had to shell out the entire amount. She sounds like she's trying to hack up a furball every 30 minutes or so. Last night I wanted to give her one of Isaac's breathing treatments for asthma.

Right now we're thinking her middle name might be Oyl. But it's still up in the air. We really won't know her middle name until the first time I yell at her. Olive Ann! Olive Marie! I'm not sure I can yell Olive Oyl and mean it. Guess it depends on how much trouble she's in.

At this point she is a very chillin' kinda dog. I'm thinking that's the illness and that will all change shortly, about the time the kids are back in school and I'm going to have to keep her busy. My sister told me that her husband asked her why I was getting a dog and she replied "Well, when the girls were going to kindergarten she had Isaac so now Isaac is going to kindergarten so she needed a dog." At first I thought this was less the accurate but after thinking about it a little she might have a point.

By the way Tim, I really shouldn't get a job because Olive is just a pup and she's going to need a full-time mom.

Love ya Olive!

Poo-Poo Pants and Olive

Well, I get to keep my pants on for another day, another doctors appointment. I would consider this a good day except for the fact that I get to keep my pants on because I feel like poo-poo and therefore I'm not going to my gynecologist appointment this morning. However, there's that poo-poo part that's really deterring from my good day. I wonder if the gynecologist knows that he's going to have a good day since I'm not going to hack all over him. Maybe someone should call and tell him.

I got this cold on Friday and I must say I haven't had a cold this bad since I was pregnant. If you've ever been pregnant and had a cold you know it's worse than any other illness you've ever endured. If that sounds dramatic it's because well, it is. For some reason the amount of mucus you produce is enough for a small village when you have pregnancy hormones surging through your body. If you haven't gotten a cold while you're pregnant then there's a 50% chance that you're a man. If that's the case then I feel you should be injected with estrogen and progesterone and then a cold virus. It's only fair. Let me know how you're doing.

I do have good news to share. We have a new member joining our family starting tomorrow. Her name is Olive and she's a Australian cattle dog and beagle mix. She's four months old and she looks a bit like a mistake. I'm guessing the owners of the cattle dog and beagle probably thought she was a mistake too - but whatever. She's cute and very sweet and we'll be picking her up tomorrow from the vet after she gets her girl goods gone. So today we will be spending the day cleaning our rooms and picking up every little toy and gem and car and piece of plastic that has no name or home and getting rid of it!! Well, not really getting rid of EVERYTHING (I have a dream...) but some things. And then we'll have a discussion on dog care and rules we need to follow and by Saturday all those rules will be forgotten, but at least I will have given my lungs a good workout.

I finally picked up my prescription for my strange rash yesterday and it cost $150. Yeah that's dineros, dollares, all for a rash. I'm thinking I'll put this under my eyes as well because for that price it should get rid of wrinkles too. Shoot for that price I'll be sticking it on every skin anomaly my kids have. It's like the dad from My Big Fat Greek Wedding and his Windex. Wonder if Olive has a skin condition...

Well this whole blog attitude has got me thinking it's time for a shower and some coffee and maybe a mimosa. I'm kidding!! I never drink before 10am. Especially when I'm under-the-weather. I always wait till at least 10:30.

Dog Days of Summer

I finally broke down and started looking for a dog. The kids have no idea because, well, that would be insane. I've pretty much consumed my entire week shuffling my kids off on various people so I could dog hunt. I've been to the same shelter 3, no maybe 4 times and animal control just as many. I've also been with 4 different people. There are big dogs and little dogs and cute dogs and down right freaky dogs. There are some perfectly lovely family pets out there but I haven't felt the "you're my dog" feeling. I've felt the "I don't know what's going to happen to you and you really need a home feeling", but that's different. Maybe I'm expecting too much but you know, I don't want to get my family in a situation with a dog we can't live with. And let's face it, this dog HAS to be interesting because I'll be blogging all about it. So it's in all of you're best interests that I wait for the right dog.

What's funny is that I have several dog names picked out already. It's like I'm five months along. What's even funnier is that I'm not going to tell you what they are because you might influence my decision or worse find my dog and steal my dog name.

No, really, I'm not telling.

There has been alot going on other than just my neurotic dog hunt. Isaac is worried about college. He was watching an episode of Drake and Josh (teen show on Disney channel) and he came into the kitchen to tell me that he didn't want to go to college because there are bullies there and maybe he'll be a teacher so he doesn't have to worry about the bullies. I told him he was really too young to worry about college, he had a good 12 to 13 years before he went (even Drake and Josh are only in high school) and that he didn't have to worry about bullies just yet. He seemed not at all appeased by this but he went back in to finish his show. He came back five minutes later and looked up at me with sad eyes and said "I'm really worried about college." (Really should have studied that family tree a little harder before we procreated.) So, I told him we would just focus on kindergarten for now and not worry. He thinks I don't understand. I know this because he looks at me like "you really don't get this do you?" I really hope there aren't any bullies in kindergarten.

The girls are getting pumped about school I think. Well, Maya's getting pumped, Eva might just be getting anxious. (Is there an in-utero anti-anxiety pill?) I picked up new backpacks and got some good deals on second-hand clothes for all of them. And I came home without a penny in my pocket. I sometimes wonder why I don't just take our checkbook and throw it out the door everytime Tim gets paid. It would probably be an improvement in our money management style.

Went to the dermatologist on Wednesday to get my funky rashes checked out. Yeah, I know, more than you wanted to know. But I was happy to say it was not a bad visit to the doctor. I of course, judge a good visit as one where I get to keep my pants on. So now you know that my funk was not in a more ah, personal place. Next week I have another doctor appointment and it won't be a "good" one. Hey,you win some, you lose some. The dermatologist took a small biopsy from my arm. He punched a little tiny chunk out and then put one stitch in. It didn't bother me at first, it didn't even hurt. But now I'd like it back. I'm not sure why - I just feel like a piece of me is missing. Probably because it is. Sure, it's a piece of funked out skin but it's my funked out skin! Maybe I need to meditate more, or just some.

I think it's obvious that I need a little furball in my life so I have something else to worry about other than my missing epidermis. Maybe I'll get two dogs and then I could just throw my credit cards out in the front yard too!