tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29057146724015664682024-03-13T22:22:47.895-04:00blogginwomanThe voice of unreason.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.comBlogger133125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-78228281624531209222011-09-01T11:07:00.000-04:002011-09-01T11:47:41.379-04:00Holy....CrApoLa<div>
I've decided that starting school every year is much like getting your wisdom teeth pulled. It's painful, it hurts, you wish you'd never done it, you're going to look like a chipmunk for a week and there will most likely be an infection and a migraine, and it's painful. We've had all those symptoms except for the chipmunk face (unless you count how I look after I've been crying for an hour).<br />
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I think we are now into week 3 . And it feels like the infection is going to go on forever. We've already had 3 sick days that included 2 kids, and Isaac and Maya are trying hard to get sick again. (WHAT are they thinkin'?!) Eva has just been continually unhealthy. God bless her for her consistency.<br />
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It's Thursday and I almost feel like we will make it to Friday. If we can just get through tomorrow then we have a 3-day weekend to recover, and drink. And I'm not talking about the "replenishing fluids" kind of drinking.<br />
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I finally have a day where I don't absolutely HAVE to be anywhere until 1:45pm. Well, I do have a rather lengthy list of things that need to be done but it's stuff that can be put off till tomorrow like feed the dog and pay the mortgage. (the dog is a little chunky.)<br />
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This is probably the point where I go into all the gory details of the past few weeks but I'm not sure I can bring myself to do it - without ending up with chipmunk cheeks or another migraine. So I'm just going to give a quick list. I'm sure I'll expand upon the list at some point. (Might be in therapy though... )<br />
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Here's goes.....<br />
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Spend lots of money on back to school<br />
Anxiety attack - Isaac, not me<br />
depression - Eva, not me<br />
bunny killer - me<br />
Money,money...<br />
cell phone research for girls bday present<br />
Strong parental desire to kick a kid named Gordon<br />
Gordon gets in-school suspension<br />
Gordon's seat gets moved away from Eva<br />
Gordon gets moved to different classes - yay!<br />
More cell phone research<br />
volleyball tryouts<br />
Maya makes the team Eva does not<br />
More money<br />
totally upset - me<br />
anxiety attack - Isaac<br />
Migraine<br />
Migraine<br />
Migraine<br />
Cramps (you knew that was coming)<br />
Isaac starts to get sick<br />
Anxiety attack - Isaac.... ok, me too<br />
Eva starts to get sick</div>
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Still trying to get over the bunny-icide</div>
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Lots of crying - me<br />
Isaac misses school<br />
Sleepover with 10 teenage girls<br />
Spill my guts and life saga to CHRP sisters, thank you sistas!</div>
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Eva home sick<br />
Maya not feeling great but I won't let her stay home</div>
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Eva home sick again <br />
Take Eva to the doctor so they can tell me she has a cold</div>
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More crying - me<br />
Tim out of town<br />
1st volleyball game on their birthday, Eva goes - what a trooper, I tear up</div>
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Isaac feels like he has a fever<br />
Tim out of town, (it was only 2 days, felt like a week)</div>
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More crying - probably Tim this time</div>
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Wrecked my van - oh wait, that was in July<br />
More cell phone research<br />
Birthday shopping (yes, AFTER their birthday)<br />
MORE cell phone research - would be easier to buy a &$%*! rocket ship, yes their birthday is over!<br />
Still haven't purchased the *^&%$#!!! cell phones!</div>
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All kids at school, not feeling great and not happy about it</div>
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Hey but I'm at home alone and look, I'm blogging! woohoo! - Don't ask me about the bunny incident. I'm not ready to discuss it.<br />
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This is Isaac on his sick day. Perhaps hoping his Thor helmet would give him a power boost.<br />
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Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-23135769483100424372011-05-06T10:34:00.030-04:002011-05-06T14:26:11.121-04:00Our Last First CommunicantIsaac had his First Communion this past weekend. It was a big deal. He had been dreaming of this day for weeks, no months, maybe even years. It is kind of a coming of age thing especially being the youngest in our family. I know how much he was looking forward to it because almost every Sunday, during mass, for the past nine months he has been asking "Can I take it today?", knowing full well the answer was going to be "no, not today". I guess he was hoping I would just look at him one of those times and say "Sure, why not? I won't tell the Pope." It didn't happen that way.<br /><br />So on Sunday April 30 Isaac willingly dressed in his Sunday best (sans the "tuxedo" he was worried he would have to wear) with his hair properly styled, (the more straight up the bangs the better, it's like 80's hair all over again) and posed for a few pictures before the ceremony.<div><br />Learning the art of shoe shining from his dad.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HXS0HoESZmo/TcQRnM7dZHI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/-rn-WqEDZfA/s1600/IMG_0001.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HXS0HoESZmo/TcQRnM7dZHI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/-rn-WqEDZfA/s400/IMG_0001.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603623201538925682" /></a><br /><br />Getting dressed....<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ezt9_5kAV1o/TcQRQASGCRI/AAAAAAAAA1A/ws_WYK8Qmw0/s1600/IMG_0007.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 318px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ezt9_5kAV1o/TcQRQASGCRI/AAAAAAAAA1A/ws_WYK8Qmw0/s400/IMG_0007.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603622803007211794" /></a><br /><br />Realizing his mom was taking a picture of him while his dad was tucking his shirt in his pants.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-00nmGD3j7fw/TcQRaSP4yKI/AAAAAAAAA1I/URq2TjBsEr0/s1600/IMG_0009.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-00nmGD3j7fw/TcQRaSP4yKI/AAAAAAAAA1I/URq2TjBsEr0/s1600/IMG_0009.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-00nmGD3j7fw/TcQRaSP4yKI/AAAAAAAAA1I/URq2TjBsEr0/s400/IMG_0009.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603622979628484770" /></a><br /></div><div>Getting that clip-on just right.</div><div><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-965k0Ae0zRk/TcQRjkLt3QI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/QbCeViJDPS4/s1600/IMG_0010.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-965k0Ae0zRk/TcQRjkLt3QI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/QbCeViJDPS4/s400/IMG_0010.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603623139061652738" /></a><br /></div><div>Doing whatever it is that dad is doing...</div><div><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IZLvtQDekBA/TcQR3zwUPoI/AAAAAAAAA1g/HWemotTRKT8/s1600/IMG_0011.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IZLvtQDekBA/TcQR3zwUPoI/AAAAAAAAA1g/HWemotTRKT8/s400/IMG_0011.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603623486839078530" /></a><br /></div><div>We went outside for some more "official" photographs. Here's our first attempt...</div><div><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--PLV8J2lidY/TcQR-TTyIRI/AAAAAAAAA1o/SQMrex7c3IQ/s1600/IMG_0016.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--PLV8J2lidY/TcQR-TTyIRI/AAAAAAAAA1o/SQMrex7c3IQ/s400/IMG_0016.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603623598388551954" /></a><br /><br />Then Isaac jumped right in and came up with some more interesting poses...</div><div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XHrR1RdWOoM/TcQSORQMc4I/AAAAAAAAA14/Js0eEAiCAaw/s1600/IMG_0019.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XHrR1RdWOoM/TcQSORQMc4I/AAAAAAAAA14/Js0eEAiCAaw/s400/IMG_0019.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603623872714535810" /></a><br /></div><div><br />No, I did not pose him in this one either....<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1E642OGvJXw/TcQSTOzVGOI/AAAAAAAAA2A/NAytAkIUuPA/s1600/IMG_0021.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1E642OGvJXw/TcQSTOzVGOI/AAAAAAAAA2A/NAytAkIUuPA/s400/IMG_0021.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603623957955942626" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Definitely did not pose him in this one either.... had to bite my lip to keep a straight face...<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5IccRFdXECc/TcQSYRelaSI/AAAAAAAAA2I/dhc7W6j8nr8/s1600/IMG_0022.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5IccRFdXECc/TcQSYRelaSI/AAAAAAAAA2I/dhc7W6j8nr8/s400/IMG_0022.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603624044573583650" /></a><br /><br /><br />Now this one I did pose him in and he handled it like a true JCPenney model. It's a zinger baby!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R2hJYaklFKM/TcQSebVyxqI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/RqNQpIJNYAk/s1600/IMG_0024.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R2hJYaklFKM/TcQSebVyxqI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/RqNQpIJNYAk/s400/IMG_0024.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603624150300280482" /></a><br /></div><div>Congratulations Isaac!!<br /><br /><br /></div></div>Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-47035086004962847442011-03-07T10:01:00.004-05:002011-03-07T18:01:15.736-05:00Farts and ThunderstormsMaya had to have a set of 50 Squinkies (I prefer to call them Squonkies or Stinkies) which she ordered off the internet last week. Thirty bucks for 50 cutesy pencil toppers in the shapes of different animals, fairies and what-nots. This pack of 50 initiated the other two Squonkie minded individuals in our house to, and I quote "HAVE TO HAVE THEM IMMEDIATELY". Tim graciously (and because I told him to) took the kiddos to Target to acquire said Sponkies on Saturday. <br /><br />Now, my refusal to call them by their designated name probably stems from the fact the I cringe at the money they are spending (their own of course) on these little rubbery, marketing masterminded thingies that they may only be crazy about for the next week. But it has kept them busy for the whole weekend. And I must say they are very creative with their Spankies. For instance when we got up for school this morning and Isaac was watching tv and eating his breakfast I heard him say from the other room "thunderstorm!" So I looked at Tim with a questioning look on my face and asked if we are supposed to get storms today. He said "Yeah, they were playing with their Squonkies last night and Isaac passed gas. They decided that was like a thunderstorm to their Slinkies."Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-75873728990949021232011-02-26T11:35:00.007-05:002011-05-06T11:12:22.119-04:00Parent-texting and Percocet (a little heavy with female information in first few paragraphs - you'll get through it.)I'm sitting here trying to cure my hangover with a cup of decaf coffee. That's like trying to lose weight on a cheesecake diet. But whatever, maybe it will help.<br /><br />The week started off with both Eva and I starting our periods. This was Sunday morning right before Tim left for Vegas for the whole, ENTIRE, week. (It was a long one.) As we are driving to church Eva asks if I have any extra pads because she has yet to become responsible for her own monthly cycle. Seeing as how I was left a little vaklempt by Tim's leaving, I, at the tender age of 43, also was not responsible for my own monthly cycle. <br /><br />Ahh, but we muddled through our week OK. Eva was an ornery bugger. I even confronted her about her attitude by Wednesday because I was over it. She responded like she didn't know what I was talking about but with more attitude. So, I said, "THAT attitude, that one right THERE!" I should carry around a full length mirror with me so I could show her what I've been dealing with. The attitude was exacerbated by a big Social Studies test Tuesday which I wisely chose to just not pick that battle. There will be other social studies test to pass marginally. why should this one be any different?<br /><br />But as usual the week ended with a bang when I came down with a whopper of a headache. It had been bugging me a little on Wednesday, a little on Thursday, by Friday I was ODing on Tylenol and Advil to no avail. I was able to vegetate most of the day praying that immobility and by sheer lifeless determination the pain would abate. Nope. Nada. Wasn't going to happen so at precisely 3:15 I popped a Percocet. God made drug makers for a reason. I was walking around trying to not think about the pain and pretending I didn't have a headache and that wasn't working either. By then the kids were home and at first quite oblivious to my dire state despite the fact that I was a lovely shade of mint green, I was carrying around $25 worth of baggage under each eye and as Tim assuredly stated over the phone "Yeah, and I bet your hair is pretty bad too." Huh.<br /><br />It didn't stop Maya from asking if I'd made it to Kohl's to pick up the tennis shoes they were holding for her and why I wasn't on my way there. I responded with "I'm not feeling well Maya, look at this." As I pointed a finger to my face and covered it in a circling motion. She laughed. Obviously the visual worked.<br /><br />By 4:30 I gave up the "My head is really not splitting open, I'm just imagining it" charade and went to lay in my bed. I was feeling pretty desperate, desperate enough that I was considering calling my neighbors and asking what kinds of drugs they had in their cabinets. But I had enough sense to realize I was probably at my drug limit for the day. Or I had already far exceeded it. <br /><br />The next thing I remember is Maya waking me up at 5:30 and me pretending to be coherent. I thought "Hey, it doesn't hurt so bad" and also "I'm stoned out of my mind." Maya told me not to worry about dinner. If I had been more coherent I would have worried about that statement. But I wasn't more coherent, I was heavily intoxicated. Hallelujah!<br /><br />At 6:30 Maya announced dinner was ready and somehow I ambled my way to the kitchen where I found a table set with candlelight and a meal that included chicken fingers, corn and apple slices. I also found Isaac seated at the table with his head in his arm crying his little eyes out. It was perfect.<br /><br />Somehow I managed to lean down to Isaac and talk him off the ledge and balance myself without falling over. We sat down to eat and I immediately realized my stomach was not into this meal so I oohed and aahed over how great everything was took two bites of apple and excused myself so I could go briefly hug the toilet.<br /><br />I was trying so hard not to scare the kids because I remember all too well when my mom was having terrible headaches (coinky-dink? I don't think so) and she just looked miserable and how I would worry. So the kids would come back one by one and check on me and I would muster up, what I thought, was some semblance of normalcy and reassure them that I was feeling much better and send them on their way. I think however I sounded something like this: "Smommy's feelin' smuch better..er. I'm fline."<br /><br />I believe I spoke with Tim once or twice that evening and he coined the term "parent-texting". He had been texting the kids what to cook and how to do it. At 9:00 all three of them came in and I said they should probably go to bed and they announced that dad had said they could stay up until 9:30. Technology is an amazing thing. So they all hoped in bed with me and we read for 40 minutes - me, with my eyes closed.<br /><br />I woke up on Saturday morning wondering "did that really happen and did someone blow out those candles?" Apparently it all did.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-22515602716849759992010-10-08T08:00:00.002-04:002010-10-08T10:48:16.400-04:00Aye, Aye, Aye...Aye, aye, aye. Why did I think it would be a good idea to take all my kids to the doctor AT THE SAME TIME. I think if I point out the fact that Eva and Maya are 13 year old girls and Isaac is a 7 year old boy you might say to me "MICHELLE, WHY DID YOU TAKE ALL YOUR KIDS TO THE DOCTOR AT THE SAME TIME?" <br /><br />In my defense... I'm just slow, I guess. And ok, it sounded like a timesaver. <br /><br />So Isaac learned a new word yesterday - breast. This surprised me because unfortunately he is way to familiar with girl parts... and... things. Then I realized something. Perhaps we haven't used the correct terminology around our house. So I pointed to my own... um, breasts, and then said "You know them as boobs." <br /><br />I could see the light bulb going off in his head.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-73287023638775480122010-10-07T14:43:00.004-04:002010-10-07T15:04:06.053-04:00A Gloriously Bad Mom MomentI'm pretty sure I live with the Odd Couple. Unfortunately I not only live with them but I chauffeur them around as well. The other night as we were leaving a volleyball game Eva (Oscar) and Maya (Felix) began to argue about some meaningless, pointless piece of information. I instantly jumped in to put a stop to it and told Maya (Felix) to be quiet and keep her opinion to herself as she was nitpicking. Maya (Felix) replied with "Mom I can't help it that I'm technical." I stifled a laugh (and a groan) and explained that picking something into miniscule pieces was beyond "technical" and it was going to drive me crazy.<br /><br />And this happens ALL THE TIME now. It's worse in confined spaces. I now go out to the garage and do a few deep breathing techniques before I can get in my van to go pick up Eva and Maya. And Isaac (Dennis the Menace) is just as bad by the way. I didn't know there could be three sides to every story. And if he's not arguing with them he's arguing with me.<br /><br />All of this vocal debating has put me in a whole different mind set. I told my mom yesterday that all the kids had a doctors appointment in the afternoon and shots would be given. Usually these appointments make me nervous and apprehensive because my empathy level runs a little high when my kids are going to experience any kind of pain. But yesterday I said to my mom "They're getting shots, all of them, HA!" <br /><br />I bet the Beav's mom never said that.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-60396598744224633902010-09-13T10:31:00.003-04:002010-09-13T10:48:04.789-04:00Some-teenAhh. Monday. When I say "ahh" I really mean "ack it's Monday". We had a good weekend though. Friday night Tim took the kids to a high school football game. Saturday we worked around the house (very little) and ran errands in the afternoon. Sunday morning I let Tim take the kids to religious education then Target and then to the Y to play volleyball. How could it not be a great weekend?!!? I was sans kids for a good 40% of it.<br /><br />Lately it's like living with triplets. Sure Maya and Eva are 13 and Isaac is only 7 but together they all equal "some-teen". Living with triplets who are "some-teen" is like living with the Bickersons. It's gotten to the point where the thought of getting in a confined space like the van with all of them makes a bead of sweat appear on my upper lip. It reminds me of the dog when she gets in the car, she gets nervous and she drools and starts licking her chops. I should just leave a sweat towel in the car for both of us.<br /><br />Tim and I often pretend we are closing the invisible sound proof shield between the front and the back of the van. It doesn't work. Yelling over and over that you can't punch buggy someone on any car you want (ok, I might have started that one) gets really old after a while. <br /><br />I hear the ages 13 to 16 are the hardest of the teen years. But what if one of them is seven? How does that work? I need a light at the end of this tunnel. Some-teen could go on forever. Ack.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-47142747018346092462010-09-10T10:58:00.006-04:002010-09-13T10:30:34.656-04:00Cleanliness, Godliness or PMS?I decided this morning that I would get some cleaning done at home. I usually try to leave some basic things for the kids to do on Saturdays so they can earn their allowance and I can pretend like I'm not the maid, but I'm too fed up with it all. I just want it clean, minus the arguments, griping, and the foot stomping joy of attempting to raise well adjusted children.<br /><br />I tell myself before I begin anything that I will not, I repeat NOT (and I totally almost mean it) clean the kids' rooms. First of all I could spend all day cleaning two bedrooms and second that would be my whole day. (That second one may sound <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">a lot</span> like the first. It is.)<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516402796085442722" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/TI4zHaqk-KI/AAAAAAAAA0g/fd-HsR-gR_4/s320/100_2183.JPG" /><br />They just cleaned this room 6 days ago. SIX DAYS AGO IT WAS CLEAN. It's the dressers completely covered in stuff that drive me crazy. Half of it is trash and half of it looks like trash. So maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe expecting to be able to see the tops of dressers that belong to two 13 year old girls is just asking too much. Maybe I have PMS. ( <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ok</span>, skip the maybe, but really, isn't that completely beside the point?)<br /><br />So I may get some grief about posting a photo of their room on my blog. I've already got my pithy little comment prepared. Something like "Well, when I'm living in your house and I don't clean up my mess then you can take a picture of it and post it on your blog." <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">HAH</span>! I was pretty freaking satisfied when I thought that one up! And ahead of time too. But then I envisioned myself old and feeble with no bladder control, living with one of them.<br /><br />I'm going to have to sock more away for the old people's home.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-29942332111978420822010-09-07T15:16:00.009-04:002010-09-07T20:02:32.114-04:00The Start of SchoolThis year the beginning of school has felt more like a tactical mission in military defense than the back to school tradition of educating three young minds. It's been 3+ weeks since school began and everyday (even on the weekends) I have hoped for a pair of those bullet deflecting gold cuffs that Wonder Woman used to fend off her evil nemeses so that I too may ward off evil ... things. Imagining myself in gold cuffs and a flying eagle bustier has done nothing to help in dealing with our many (mis)adventures(nor has it particularly helped with my body image since I know I can't fill out Linda Carter's wings), but maybe venting will. So here's the short list. I'm just using single words right now to get it all out. Maybe someday I'll expound upon them a little:<br /><br />handstand<br />broken arm<br />volleyball tryouts<br />cast<br />(unfortunately the above are in chronological order)<br />recast <br />money<br />pay-to-play sports<br />13<br />13<br />plumber<br />money<br />air conditioner<br />money, money, money (I know, I cheated)<br />insurance donut<br />fever<br />fever<br />fever<br />missed school<br />ADD<br />missed homework<br />teacher conference<br />therapy<br />damn insurance donutMichelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-16728928256721931922010-07-01T18:03:00.004-04:002010-07-01T18:43:14.885-04:00The Non-Dinner DinnerMy kids haven't seen the side of a vegetable in weeks. Any side. Not even from a distance. I know that when a vegetable finally appears on their plates it will be like seeing E.T. for the first time. Wide eyes followed by boisterous and repetitive (repetitive) verbal complaints. This siting will be followed by teeth clenching and eye ticks. (That'd be me.)<br /><br />It wasn't an intentional omission. I am admittedly a slight health food fanatic. And when I say "fanatic" I don't really mean that. What I mean is I prefer a day doesn't go by without at least one vegetable slipping between the lips of my offspring. But our summer schedule hasn't given me much leeway in preparing a square meal since it seems we are more often than not at a swim meet. Most of our meals lately have consisted of some form of either melted cheese (nachos, pretzels and cheese, cheese on a hot dog) and some form of hot dog (hot dog, hot dog with coney sauce, hot dog with coney sauce and cheese, the aforementioned hot dog with cheese and corn dog). When we are at home my reflexes often bring me to the jar of spaghetti sauce in the cupboard and whatever I can find to put underneath it. I do believe however that spaghetti sauce could in some instances be considered a serving of vegetables. I really don't know that, I'm just kinda hoping. I'm also kinda hoping that ketchup and pickle relish fall in that same "almost a vegetable so you shouldn't feel like a guilty mom" category. You know that category. It's right next to the "I just ate my kids M&M sundae because I thought he wasn't going to eat it and then he wanted it" category.<br /><br />But then there's this other small factor and that is that the cook has totally lost her desire or just plain will to cook (probably due from a lack of greens and an excess of caffeine). So any night that we are at home I ponder for hours about the "non-dinner" I'm going to create for dinner. Last night it was ham or roast beef sandwiches (which I didn't have to "cook" by the way, Tim did it). Tonight it's hot dogs and tuna melts for the adults. (Which by the way also contains some celery along with the nutritious pickle relish.)<br /><br />Usually after a spell of "non-cooking" I gain back the desire to cook or at least the desire to eat something that doesn't come straight out of a box or plastic wrapper. But I'm honestly not feeling it. And I happen to be pretty in tune with my feelings, especially the non-cooking ones.<br /><br />Tomorrow's menu: ham wrapped around a hot dog covered in cheese with a side of ketchup and pickle relish. Mmmmm....yum!Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-23408529343309587442010-01-25T16:21:00.004-05:002010-01-25T16:58:59.182-05:00Eh.I'm not cooking chicken tonight. I'm cooking salmon. No chopping involved. It's thrilling.<br /><br />It's a gray day today. Except now we have a little bit of snow on the ground. So if I were to take a picture right now it would look like a black and white photograph. Very, very depressing. That's why I have a lovely new background. Isn't it refreshing? It's like spring. It's fresh and springish. Springish freshness. Green and fresh and, eh, I'm still depressed.<br /><br />I might as well go cook some chicken.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-31245277103977818822009-11-24T18:23:00.005-05:002009-11-24T18:59:57.727-05:00ChurkeyWhy chicken does it to me I'll never understand. It always brings me to my knees. I haven't written a thing in over a month and I find myself in the kitchen chopping up a couple of chunky chicken breasts feeling the need to vent my chicken chopping frustrations. I think it's moments of desperation like these when you reach down deep inside yourself take a good look at your life and realize there is something missing - an automatic chicken chopper.<br /><br />Now I have a purpose. (Motherhood aside and all that.) I need to come up with a prototype for a chicken chopper. Something that chops chicken, removes the fat and makes it all pretty in half, no, a quarter of the time it takes to manually cut up a chicken breast with a big knife a cutting board and a bad attitude.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Hmmmmm</span>...... I'm not even sure where to begin. You know this is one of those random times when I wish my husband was a butcher. It doesn't happen as often as when I wish he was a firefighter, but that's a blog for another day...<br /><br />This all might stem from the fact that I'm about to host my first Thanksgiving. Yes, it's true I'm forty... something and I've never cooked a turkey. You can look at that two ways 1) wow, what a lazy butt never having cooked the big turkey meal or 2) wow, she managed to not cook the big turkey meal until she was forty-something, impressive I should take lessons from her. I prefer 2.<br /><br />When I mention this to people they must see the fear in my eyes because they all tell me it will be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ok</span>. And I just nod my head in agreement saying yeah, my mom is coaching me. Tim has picked up on my tension. (That's like saying Tim noticed that brick with turkey gizzards attached that I threw at his head the other day) and has pretty much taken over the turkey preparation. Actually there's no pretty much about it so far it's his baby, uh, turkey and I've decided I'm going to keep my nose out of it and let him take his turkey and run with it. ( I just like to picture that image in my head...)<br /><br />So no, he's not a chef or a cook or a butcher or a firefighter for that matter but this Thanksgiving he'll be joining the ranks of turkey cooks across America and I will still be a turkey virgin. (Haven't used that word in ..... oh, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">never mind</span>.)Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-5652749131080148712009-10-06T03:21:00.000-04:002009-10-06T03:22:18.965-04:00Is It Cold in Here?I used to have dreams all the time where I was topless. It wasn't like a dream where you are suddenly naked in a crowd of people it was much more subtle than that. I would be going out somewhere with friends and I would just decide that my outfit that evening was going to be a topless one. It was like "should I wear the black shirt or the brown shirt, Oh! I'll just wear the NUDE shirt." And so I would go out with my friends feeling quite the fashionista. I might get a little chilly and then I might realize no one else had the same color of shirt on as I did, if-you-know-what-I-mean. People would kind of stare and not in a "wow, look at those" kinda way. More of a "oh.... dear" kinda way. And then it would dawn on me that I was ok, a little embarassed by my fashion choice and, ironically, freezing my ta-tas off.<br /><br />So I went to the gynecologist earlier last week. (This is where all of you male readers are jumping ship after my nudie ta-tas story.) I saw the nurse practitioner and I must say I had never been completely felt up in a less amount of time. I often see different nurse practitioners and I've found them all to be incredibly effecient but this lady had a gift. When I told Tim how fast she was he said "wow, that's faster than me." Kinda had to agree with him there.<br /><br />So I knew when she said "ok, get dressed and I'll be right back" that I had to be quick. Like an idiot I started to dress by the order my clothes were laid on the chair. Underwear.... jeans.... knock on the door and in walks my nurse practitioner. So I act casual because while I'm not wearing a stitch of clothing on my top she had just been there, if-you-know-what-I-mean, so no big deal right? Well, as she hands me a flyer that has to do with, believe it or not, breast health, I start to get a little unsure of my semi-nakedity. I think it was when I put my hands on my hips in an attempt to suggest "yeah I'm half naked but I'm ok with that" that I realized, this really isn't right.<br /><br />Fortunately because of her speedracer ability the whole incident didn't last long although honestly it felt like 10 minutes of my 15 minute appointment. She told me to "have a great day!" on her way to her next appointment as I'm casually trying to put my bra on in front of her. I think I might have even stopped and gave her a finger wave. I don't know I was feeling a little dizzy by then.<br /><br />So what I guess I'm saying here is don't put your clothes on in the order they are laying on the chair after your yearly exam. It is possible that dreams really can come true.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-72726703623933193462009-09-24T17:13:00.004-04:002009-09-24T17:36:03.988-04:00Beef... It's What's For DinnerI should be cooking chicken right now instead I'm here, blogging. I got the chicken out of the freezer, placed it in a microwave safe dish, defrosted it for 6 minutes and then left it. That was an hour and a half ago. I can't seem to get back to the chicken. I'm having a chicken aversion tonight. Go away chickie, chickie. <br /><br />Not that I don't like chicken. I do. Chicken is tasty. I even like real chickens. Chickens are hilarious. This blog is starting to feel like a deja vu. I need to let the chicken go....<br /><br />So things have been relatively calm in the Johnson household lately. I guess that's why I'm blogging less. I'm not in need of as much writing therapy. I think we've all finally adjusted to being back in school. My mom always said it takes two weeks to adjust to being out of school and two weeks to adjust being back in school. It has taken us, let's see.... I'm counting.... hold on..... 6 weeks. I think that's a record on the slow to change category of family dysfunction. <br /><br />But we're finally here so I'm not going to complain. Well I might. Ok, here I go... <br /><br />No, no, no. I'm not going there. Hey! Good news! Dancing with The Stars is back. Have you seen Maks? I have. Have you DVR'd Maks and played it over and over again? I have. Have you paused when there's a good shot of his pecs? I have. Have you tried to dance along with Maks pretending to be his partner in short shorts and a tank top? Ok, you need therapy. That's over the top.<br /><br />Ok, I've wasted some time and liberated my Maks libido at the same time so now I'm heading back to the kitchen. I'm really not feeling like chicken anymore though. Wonder if I have some beef...Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-9465438038530699962009-09-15T20:00:00.009-04:002009-09-15T20:24:52.510-04:00The Seven Stages of GriefSometimes life deals you a lethal blow and you have to adjust, learn to live with it, change your old normal to a new normal. Well, I think Olive can relate. In a desperate attempt to control my increasingly psychotic dog when we are on walks I have purchased a Gentle Lead. Since I couldn't find the harness style I got the one that slips over her snout. Now, mind you, this doesn't hurt her and she can bark, chew, lick (unfortunately) with the Gentle Lead on.<br /><br />It's going to take a while to adjust to the feeling so I've compiled a short visual journal in this process.<br /><br />Stage 1.....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAsGAscPOI/AAAAAAAAAzY/bcLmr370eCY/s1600-h/P9150022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAsGAscPOI/AAAAAAAAAzY/bcLmr370eCY/s400/P9150022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381850036484979938" border="0" /></a>Denial<br /><br />Stage 2...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAs6d39v4I/AAAAAAAAAzo/WJOl7n4IvE8/s1600-h/P9150025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAs6d39v4I/AAAAAAAAAzo/WJOl7n4IvE8/s400/P9150025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381850937671139202" border="0" /></a>Depression.... No she's not sleeping (faker).<br /><br /><br />Stage 3...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAtUCgnW6I/AAAAAAAAAzw/XsgCS74sj00/s1600-h/P9150028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAtUCgnW6I/AAAAAAAAAzw/XsgCS74sj00/s400/P9150028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381851377002044322" border="0" /></a>Acceptance???<br /><br />Stage 4....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAuJ9DrahI/AAAAAAAAAz4/E8EgPKFb7fQ/s1600-h/P9150027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAuJ9DrahI/AAAAAAAAAz4/E8EgPKFb7fQ/s400/P9150027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381852303251434002" border="0" /></a>"She can't make me go outside and she probably can't even see me behind this shoe."<br /><br />Stage 5...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAscrP4jnI/AAAAAAAAAzg/2kmzSY4yDaI/s1600-h/P9150029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAscrP4jnI/AAAAAAAAAzg/2kmzSY4yDaI/s400/P9150029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381850425865047666" border="0" /></a>Denial in the yard...<br /><br /><br />Stage 6...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAuzoSgq_I/AAAAAAAAA0A/GaBrbPjFVqw/s1600-h/P9150030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SrAuzoSgq_I/AAAAAAAAA0A/GaBrbPjFVqw/s400/P9150030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381853019231005682" border="0" /></a>"Maybe I can squeeze myself under this gate, rip this thing off my head and go live in the woods with Lassie."<br /><br />I realize there's suppose to be a 7th stage but frankly I don't think we're going to get there.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-73115716458879329942009-09-03T17:12:00.004-04:002009-09-04T08:12:34.966-04:00Birthday BashWell, the girls' birthday came and went. It was a full week of celebrating the 12 year mark. As a surprise for their birthday I redecorated their room. This was a bit of a challenge to pull off. The Saturday before their birthday Tim and I painted their room which they knew about. We painted the ceiling white (it was blue) and the walls a lovely shade of cream. Maya asked if that was it, just beige walls. I told her they were cream walls and maybe we'd get some colorful throw pillows or something. She looked at me like I was a pathetic excuse for a decorator.<br /><br />So Monday night Tim helped me hang curtains and shelves in their room while they slept out in the family room. I locked the doors to their room Tuesday morning and said they couldn't go in because I had caulked and it smelled really bad. This was a fabulous excuse because they don't know what caulk is and they weren't really that interested so they didn't ask. I spent the day putting up wall stickers and dusting and rearranging and hanging up their ribbons and pictures on cork board a complete makeover with a zebra print rug. It took me all day. But of course I still couldn't let them in their room until Tim got home for the big reveal. Maya began getting suspicious but amazingly we pulled it off. At 7:00 we had the big reveal but we forgot to yell "move that bus!". Oh well...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqD9OS_Zc0I/AAAAAAAAAyY/RETDaHqQLGs/s1600-h/P9030003.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqD9OS_Zc0I/AAAAAAAAAyY/RETDaHqQLGs/s400/P9030003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377576377138115394" border="0" /></a>This is the only angle I can show you because their beds haven't been made since reveal day.<br /><br />Then that same night Tim took them to Target to buy a Wii with their birthday money and money they had been saving. All that excitement carried us until Friday when we sat down for Maya's requested birthday dinner of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Eva's was spaghetti and meatballs which we served at their party Saturday night. By the way KFC means Klean and Food-Free Colon to me from now on. I tried to tell myself how it's good to sometimes cleanse the colon even if it is 3:00am. Anyway... Tim's sisters Robin (and her daughter Emma) and Susan (and her fiancee Tom) came over to celebrate with us and Robin and Em brought all their fun Wii games. They brought their dance mat and I have an injury. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.<br /><br />The Audience...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqD_Lz9y08I/AAAAAAAAAyg/r3Obf3-tsoo/s1600-h/P8280020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqD_Lz9y08I/AAAAAAAAAyg/r3Obf3-tsoo/s400/P8280020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377578533473407938" border="0" /></a><br />Of course, Emma ended up spending the night and the kids spent most of the day wrangling some kind of secure ticketed entry into our birthday party Saturday night...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqEA1ErlXEI/AAAAAAAAAy4/MFYEr_wbGrc/s1600-h/P8290011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqEA1ErlXEI/AAAAAAAAAy4/MFYEr_wbGrc/s400/P8290011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377580341846694978" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqEAfoh38VI/AAAAAAAAAyw/SaRHIRzKEng/s1600-h/P8290014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqEAfoh38VI/AAAAAAAAAyw/SaRHIRzKEng/s400/P8290014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377579973512524114" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqEDhUJX8LI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/HzFcFG_U7kA/s1600-h/P8290016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqEDhUJX8LI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/HzFcFG_U7kA/s400/P8290016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377583300935676082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqD_140ayhI/AAAAAAAAAyo/XYgyeCJRScA/s1600-h/P8290002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqD_140ayhI/AAAAAAAAAyo/XYgyeCJRScA/s400/P8290002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377579256330766866" border="0" /></a>It's amazing what you can do with jump ropes and Post-It notes.<br /><br />The party was a hit. The girls had great fun and got some very nice presents (which I keep threatening to send back if they don't write their thank you notes.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqECvotdQmI/AAAAAAAAAzA/L6NHJnJgdQQ/s1600-h/P8290028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fzU10Z7bSqE/SqECvotdQmI/AAAAAAAAAzA/L6NHJnJgdQQ/s400/P8290028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377582447462269538" border="0" /></a><br />Sunday morning we got everybody up (mostly on time) for church to be followed by religious education. On the way to church I cut right to the chase and told them that they would be going to religious education directly after church and there would be ( and I quote) "under no circumstances a side trip to grab donuts. And if anyone puts up a fuss or asks for a donut at the end of mass I'm going to slug you. Understood?!" And then this is where Tim leans over from the driver's seat and whispers in my ear "by the way, it's their birthday." So, I immediately turn around and yell "Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" And for some reason they all looked at me like my hair was on fire and they were utterly completely speechless.<br /><br />I wish I had a picture of that.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-22216989259927631412009-08-24T19:21:00.003-04:002009-08-24T19:49:21.554-04:006 Days and CountingI had an idea to do a countdown to Maya and Eva's twelfth birthday which is coming up - in 6 days. Twelve is freaking me out a little bit and I thought this might help on the acceptance level. I guess in my head I see "twelve" as "SIXTEEN". I know that makes no sense but in my brain it does because ever since I told Tim "in just four years they will be sixteen!" I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I'm adding four to everything. Isaac is really 10 (aacckk!!), I'm really 33 (it was worth a shot). No, actually that makes me almost 46!! OMG I'm freaking myself out. That makes me closer to 50 than 40 and then I really am middle aged. Right now I think that other people think I'm middle aged but I know I'm really not. (It's complicated, but it all works out in my head.)<br /><br />Where was I? Now that I'm almost 46 it's getting harder to keep my brain cells functioning. Oh yeah, enough about me, so the girls are turning twelve in 6 six day and 16 in 6 days and four years. I think I'll just call it twelveteen. And I'm going to stick with 33.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-80591841679129299782009-08-20T16:34:00.003-04:002009-08-20T17:02:41.759-04:00College BoundSomebody needs to let go of the camp songs. And when I say somebody I mean me. Summer is over, it's time to move on. <br /><br />My nephew (and Godson) went off to college yesterday. He's the oldest grandchild on my side of the family so this a momentous occasion. His mom sent me pictures of them setting him up in his dorm room at Ball State. It all brought a tear to my eye. I would swear on my right eye that it was just a couple of years ago that I was babysitting Sam and buying him loud obnoxious birthday toys that would drive his parents crazy. How did this happen? How did 18 years go by in the blink of an eye?<br /><br />I look at my kids all the time and wonder how we got here. (Sometimes I wonder why we're here but mostly I wonder how.) With Maya and Eva's 12<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> birthday approaching I find myself sometimes stopping, thinking and then freaking out. Last night I told Tim that in just 4 short years his daughters will be DRIVING. (That almost killed the mood...) It's at times like this when I have these realizations that I consider not feeding my children. Maybe we could just slow this whole growing up process down a little bit. I won't explain the birds and bees, I'll stop buying them new clothes for a year and we'll go live in the country, on a commune, without... anything.<br /><br />But then 4 o'clock rolls around on a weekday and my house is impaled with loud children who are really good at doing everything but what they are supposed to be doing and destroying any calm and order or cleanliness that I have gained in the past 7.5 hours.<br /><br />College here we come.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-49539100697759376392009-08-17T15:16:00.003-04:002009-08-17T15:38:36.757-04:00Wheeeeeeee......Whewwowwhee!! Or whew-wow-whee. That's a new word I just made up to express my feelings after the first week of school. That means. Whew -I'm glad it's over, wow- that was a long week, and whee- as in wheeeeeee. (It's more of a expelling of my breath after I'd been holding it for a week.)<br /><br />Before I get into all that I would just like to tell me friend Yoan (notice the extra-anemone, er, anonymity, or anonymousity.) I'm sorry to see you go, but I understand your dilemna. I think it's a smart move Scoan. (That one was Tim's suggestion.) I think it's best if I don't say anything more about leather "scapps" and matching "scests" made out of placemats. Oh yeah, and scogs. I think you know you'll be missed. We scove you - scotally.<br /><br />I feel like the first week of school could best be described as "the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat." I'm not sure anyone was victorious but It's over and it hurt.<br /><br />Seventy percent of the week was great. That must have been the 70% when they were actually at school. There was just that small percentage of incidents like Eva coming to the realization that she was in fact going to have to do homework after the second day of school. For some reason being in the sixth grade now I thought she would know this. I'm not sure why I thought that since I'm still telling her to brush her teeth every morning - and night. After about 20 minutes of an emotional breakdown (I'm talking about Eva, mine was much later and a little longer) she got over it and got it done. The next morning as she's heading out to the bus she yells at me "and mom, pray that I don't have any homework!" So I yell back "Eva, YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE HOMEWORK! PRAYING ISN'T GOING TO CHANGE THAT!" She wasn't quite sure how to take that.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-29647168816195342662009-08-06T20:54:00.006-04:002009-08-06T21:35:08.128-04:00Potty Frustrations Part IISo I'm not done with the whole interrupted bathroom time thing. I realized in the shower yesterday (this is where I do all of my best thinking, you'd think I'd be cleaner, or maybe filthy, I don't know) that Tim doesn't have the same problem with finding his private time in the bathroom.<br /><br />And you know what? Tim will spend 30 minutes or more on the commode with NO INTERRUPTIONS!!! When I realized this I was ready to conduct a study. The "why does the mom always get the short-end of the dirty stick that was scraped off the bottom of someone's shoe with doggie poo poo on it" study. I think you know what I'm saying.<br /><br />But I don't have to because it was a long shower and I have it figured out. The truth is (and this is very ironic so hold on to your seats) Tim needs no privacy therefore he gets all the alone time he needs when he's meditating on the john. Let me break it down for you.<br /><br />Tim has always been fine with opening the door and inviting the kids in while he's in his personal library. He doesn't know the meaning of the word modesty. He considers boxers shorts never mind the fact that they are shorts with a big hole in the front where a person's weiner could fall out. I've expressed to him my concern of his johnson junior making an appearance say, at his parents house one morning. But this is a whole other blog topic.<br /><br />But he has a secret weapon. His shit stinks. (I'm sorry, I try to keep the "potty" words off my blog.) Yes, it stinks bad. So bad that he would invite Isaac in when he was just a toddler and I (yes, me) would have to go in and literally save Isaac because he was GAGGING. No, I'm not making that up. I threatened Tim with charging him with child abuse because it certainly qualified as cruel and unusual punishment. <br /><br />So the kids steer clear of the bathroom if Tim is in there. And Tim always leaves the door open a crack so we all know who's in there and there might even be a little something wafting through the crack. (Ha, I said crack.)<br /><br />Now the thought has occured to me that Tim might not appreciate this blog very much but I figure he's had approximately 3650 hours of private reading time and I've had nil. So we're almost even.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-14263450222310913892009-08-04T21:15:00.004-04:002009-08-04T21:56:41.635-04:00Lazy, Hazy Days of SummerOk. I'm on a lot of people's $#@! list. I can take it. Just don't tell me I have clown feet. That's low. Also true, but still really low.<br /><br />I've been a little busy and obviously I've neglected my blog. I think to say I've been psycho, out-of-mind, who's going to come do the laundry?! busy would be more accurate. If I can get the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher the same day we had that breakfast then I'm doing ok. Lately I haven't been doing ok. There have been a few days when I've come home and wondered what breakfast was on the dishes because it was becoming unrecognizable.<br /><br />But the kids have had a great summer. Ok, an awesome summer if I do say so myself. They have participated in every activity possible that was either free or so cheap I couldn't pass it up. Isaac has particularly enjoyed car camp. That was where he road in the back of the van all summer to Maya and Eva's various activities. I however have developed car lag. That's where after 5 hours of driving to 8 different locations I either need a nap or a smoke. I have a nice napping habit now. I also have a habit of waking up every morning at 4am which makes me wonder if smoking is really that bad for you. <br /><br />I think we've all gained some insights this summer. The girls are enjoying more sports activities and building a little confidence. Maybe even a little muscle. Isaac is O.C.D. about "working". Actually he's just O.C.D. but this is his big focus now. The boy has to have a job, preferably one that involves either money, writing, telling someone what they are doing wrong or heating up hot pretzels. And really he just generally wants to boss people around. I've had to remind him several times this summer who the boss really is in our house. He looks at me like I'm telling him a bad joke. And I can tell he's just humoring me by not arguing with me. So I'm not really sure who the boss is here but I'm pretending it's me.<br /><br />And finally I've learned a most insightful lesson. That no matter how old your kids are they still can't leave you alone in the bathroom for five minutes. I have endured 2 months of interrupted potty time before I realized that there was a pattern. How can a person be in a locked bathroom for five minutes and all three of her children NEED to talk to her through the door with the fan running (it's suppose to be a deterrent, I don't really NEED a fan.) twice, each? How is that possible? And are they thinking of questions to ask me with the most possible syllables so that I will either come to the door so that I can hear them or so that I'll just say "yes". "Mooommmmm! Can blu blah bleet-blue-blah with cah-bleh-glah-blue-glah at big-a-boog-bah-blah?" <br /><br />I've edited my answer from the beginning of summer which was "Hold on a minute, I'll be out in a sec." To "Go Away! Leave me alone." But this last week of summer always sends me over the edge so I'm sure by Sunday I'll be saying "If you knock on that bleeping door one more time I'm going to remove all of your bleeping appendages from your bleeping body and you'll never go blu-blah bleet-blue-blah with cah-bleh-glah-blue-glah again!!" <br /><br />That seems fair.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-38035115144031794712009-07-10T13:06:00.004-04:002009-07-10T14:45:54.253-04:00Camp SurvivorsWell, looks like everyone here survived camp week. We picked Maya and Eva up about an hour ago and they don't look too exhausted. Isaac seems happy (at this point) to have his companions back. Our cousin Emma is over telling Maya and Eva they really need to make compromises on their stories they are telling of camp as there is more bickering going on about who is going to say what than actual story telling. I couldn't agree with her more. Wow, it really was so much quieter while they were gone.<br /><br />Now that I have all my little chickens back I'm ready to tuck them in and sleep soundly without falling asleep worrying about their carsickness, sunburns and anxiety disorders. Unfortunately it's 1:10 in the afternoon so I'm going to have to keep my eyes open a few more hours and listen to camp stories. This is where the ability to fall asleep with my eyes open would really come in handy.<br /><br />I'm sure if I look back on the week there are some lessons I've learned from our first camp experience. One would be to know when camp actually is so you're not freaking out the night before trying to pack. Another one would be that sending your kids away for camp for the first time is not that much unlike sending them off to their first day of kindergarten - be forewarned. <br /><br />I think the biggest lesson I've learned this week is that it doesn't matter how many kids you have because one kid is going to fill up your time just as well as three especially if his name is Isaac Johnson.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-87252873919094051362009-07-07T09:26:00.004-04:002009-07-07T20:35:22.434-04:00Camp AdvilI think we've all calmed down now. I think it was about 11:30am yesterday that I got over my camp anxiety.<br /><br />My friend Beth (who is at camp with Maya and Eva) called me this morning to say they appear to be having a great time. I'm just going to go with that. At this point I have to go with it because my head feels like it's going to explode from the combination of yesterday's stress and monthly hormone surges. I'm pretty sure someone ran over me with a car last night while I was sleeping. It's at times like these when you remember just how stressful parenting can be and also why you hold on to those prescription painkillers.<br /><br />Isaac and I were like nomads today. We actually went to the girls' tennis practice yesterday without them because we didn't know what else to do with ourselves. <br /><br />Today I tried to take him on a bunch of errands and realized it doesn't matter if you have 3 kids or 1, they still don't want to run a bunch of errands.<br /><br />I managed to get a few things done before Isaac's legs got so tired he just couldn't walk anymore. Fortunately they have those really big carts at Home Depot with seats in them. Isaac sat in one seat with his feet propped on the other while I pushed the 8 foot long cart through the store with a 10 ounce bottle of Miracle Gro in it. And, you know, it's not like you can go to Home Depot and just go down one aisle. I had to check out everything. Who knows? I might need an entirely new kitchen next week.<br /><br />Tonight Tim and I took Isaac and Olive to the park. I walked Olive around a football field twice to wear her out. And Isaac managed to run around the playground for an entire hour without the aid of a behemoth shopping cart.<br /><br />But now my flowers are happily fed, my dog is tired and Isaac is propping his feet up on the sofa to watch a movie before bed. And me, well, there's always plenty of Advil.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-26153368966285451932009-07-06T09:36:00.003-04:002009-07-06T10:01:40.024-04:00Anxiety CampOh what have I done? I just sent Maya and Eva off to camp for a week. Oh what have I done? I'm repeating myself. They've never gone to camp by themselves ( by themselves except with each other of course). And I've compounded my anxiety because I completely forgot about camp until last night at 8:00pm. <br /><br />Needless to say I was a little freaked out at having to get them ready to go at the last minute. Tim helped by telling me "ok, you're a little stressed out..." I responded by walking away and not kicking him in the nuts. <br /><br />They were both excited although Eva was a little nervous. This is not unlike Eva as she's my anxious one. She's also the one that doesn't like to eat outside because of the bugs, gets nauseous if she gets too hot or has to ride in a car for more than an hour and I just put her on a bus packed like a sardine with 55 other kids for a two hour drive to southern Indiana. What the hell was I thinking?!! <br /><br />Ok, maybe I'm overreacting here. Somebody please tell me I'm overreacting because right now I'm nauseous and my head is beginning to ache.Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905714672401566468.post-55134721073003492482009-07-01T13:25:00.002-04:002009-07-01T16:38:48.129-04:00Ahhhhh.....We're home. Actually we got home Sunday night. It was nice to be back after being gone for 11 days. Now it's Wednesday and it's not as nice because I still haven't unpacked my suitcase and I am feeling an overwhelming urge to either call Merry Maids or just set a pile of laundry on fire. <br /><br />I just have to thank Bobby and Mary Jay for their wonderful hospitality. I don't know how they do it but I certainly appreciate that they do. Can't wait to see the video from the talent show. Plenty of blackmail material for the future.<br /><br />And I also want to thank Tim's parents for entertaining us for a week. Oh, how we love the beach and being able to just hang out with you guys. It's great that the kids could get to know their "white grandparents" a little better. You know it's important that they know both of their heritages. White-haired or black-haired. We are united into one family, all equal despite the color of our hair. We are well, white.<br /><br />More to come.....Michelle Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858277472311297923noreply@blogger.com0