One Foot In

I thought. This day. Would never come.  And well, it did. And I'm flaming mad about it.  I've tried not to be, even tried gearing myself up for it, but now that it's here I just feel a whole lot of grouchy.  Kind of like Eeyore even.  It is my birthday--that birthday that everyone dreads because you instantly go from care free twenty something to thirty and well, thirty.  Just plain thirty.  Ew, what a dirty word.
Really, I don't know how to BE thirty.  I've never even learned how to knit!  I don't own a single doily, and nobody is complimenting my baking skills.  Maybe that was Eeyore's problem, maybe he was just thirty and upset about it.  I never saw Eeyore use a doily or even a coaster, and we all know he couldn't knit or he wouldn't have kept losing that darn tail of his!
The most frustrating thing about this is I'm turning thirty alone.  My electric muffin doesn't turn the big *cough* three-oh until next month so I have to hear about how old I am for the next thirty two days. That's right, I'm a cougar. A lady in her thirties after that hot catch in his twenties.  ACK! Being thirty means I can call myself a cougar!!! Noooooooooooooooooooooo!
Say it isn't so!
But it is.
I'm old.

I guess it's only fitting that thirty rhymes so easily with old wrinkly lady.



It doesn't?
Well it might as well.

There better be cake today.

You're turning Violet, Violet!

Ahem. I'm pregnant. In case you didn't know. And this is the first pregnancy out of 4 that I have actually fronted the money for a maternity swimsuit. Usually I think it's a waste, but since we purchased a year pass at the rec center, there was no waiting from my kids until I was back to a svelte frame. (right?) And, as it turns out, they do allow giant blueberries in the pool so there ya go.

We went last week. Picture baywatch, (any of those blondes gliding down the beach plus a cute little half-basketball belly) running to save children from the whale that had beached herself and is flailing to get back in the water. That's me. Not the baywatch blonde--that was the pregnant girl who got in the water right before me in her cute little Down East swimwear. I was the beached whale. Well, technically not beached yet, I hadn't slipped or anything before entering the pool, but my balance can't be trusted lately so I always have a plan. Not that I would be flailing around like flipper had I fallen and beached myself on the pool tiles; please! If this situation arose I had already planned my course of action to include waiting patiently for one to three nice gentlemen to come rescue me by rolling me over onto my side so that I could roll to my hands and knees and then get one knee up and push off of that into a squat-stand then full-stand position like a normal classy pregnant woman.

I almost ordered a blue suit. Ha! But realized feeling like a buoyant blueberry was enough. With my short sausage legs, and the waffle in my step I felt like looking the part of grandma's best homemade breakfast walking into the pool was a little much. So black and white polka-dots it was. You know, like free Willey.

I have around 6ish weeks left. 6 more weeks to weigh down one side of the pool, so we are going again tonight. It's nice because once in the pool you feel lighter than air rather than full of air/people so it's a good way to spend the last pregnancy weeks I suppose. I'm just looking forward to being able to see my cute baby, and also my feet again without feeling like I am actually retaining a whole dang pool.

But I feel comforted because everything I read about tells me that pregnancy is a beautiful thing--so I guess that means I'm still hot. And even though I might cry over the milk being all gone from the fridge when I am severely craving cereal, my husband is still happy to rush to the gas station to grab me some. Or maybe he just has a thing for blue fruit.

Stuffed Pink

What would you do if you found out your best friend had the stuffin's kicked out of him?

You would abandon him and find a new and cuddlier best friend, right?

Exactly--at least that's what Jack-boy has done.

He and his pink bear have been pretty tight for as long as he was able to toddle. Not wanting my son to get the stuffins' kicked out of him when he reaches kindergarten, I even once tried to replace the bear with a more acceptable brown bear. He did okay for about 6 months, until his sister found the "pink puppy" as Jack had named him and gave it back. It was a wonderful reunion. Most mornings we found Jack followed closely by pink puppy with a leash around his neck and being dragged across all sorts of surfaces, both wet and dry. It was pure love.

Today, I had to wash pink puppy after an unfortunate encounter with our slobbery k9. When he came out of the drier he looked like this:

I tried to set him up to welcome Jack after he got out of his shower, but he sadly just slumped flat like this:

Thinking Jack would be devastated, I thought the best route was to pretend it didn't happen and hide any evidence that pink puppy's insides were now very much on his outsides. Jack hugged his best buddy once:

Then, realizing his pal had been overdone, very non-dramatically just replaced him with this:

I wish there were a happier end to this toy story. Really, really, do. But then again, I guess brown puppy works just as well.

Man vs. Widow

My husband is a stinking hero. He is, and he doesn't even try to be. It's just in his nature--he was born this way so after a day of busting the bad guys, he just goes and takes a nap like it was no big deal. Or, NBD for you young'n texters.

If anyone recalls his mouse-pants-dance, my knight-in-shining-under-armor, or the day I posted on FB about him saving my face from an attack by a big hairy black spider, you know how fabulous he is at rescuing his damsel. Well, this day was no different.

Back story: We had a huge (this time no exaggeration) black widow make camp outside our back door in her equally huge web. The web was several feet long and place just above the top of our back door so when I placed my dogs food dish outside and stood up I was darn-near face to face with the evil non-insect.

Realizing I was alone (no knight at home) I knew I was going to have to take care of this on my own so I backed slowly inside so I could grab everything I needed. Thankfully all went well and I was able to reach the phone to contact the Knight and alert him to the battle that awaited him when he got home. Phew!

He gets home, and attacks like Legolas charging into Mordor(slightly less hair, just as handsome in action). The widow had no chance.

Fast forward two days, the widow is back! Same place, new huge web, different black widow. What does this mean? He came at it angry this time. This widow showed no fear. The spider, who spread out is about the size of my palm, thought nothing of Pete's size and slowly lowered herself halfway out of her web. She then swung herself out of his way and then came back straight at him just a swingin'! This black widow came within an inch of my knight, barely missed, then came back swinging for round two! Now, this is the time where if I were in battle I would throw my weapons, call for a retreat and move the family to Idaho. Not my man. He saw it through to the end. For I minute, I wasn't sure who would survive when the battle ended up underneath the deck, but when the victor emerged, it was Pete. I think he raised his arms and flexed his bicep a little bit in celebration. A Hero once again.

Clearly, this story may not be over so Idaho has not been ruled out. However, if you have a recommendation for a great pest control company we would be happy to consider it.

Looth Tooth

At the very end of first grade she has finally lost her first tooth. She is so excited because apparently she was THE ONLY one in the WHOLE FIRST GRADE who hadn't lost a tooth yet! My oh my, how embarrassing.

When Mom's Away. . .

Dad will confuse a quiet house with one where everyone is doing what they should be--like sleeping.

Custom Toilets by Jack! On order now!

Yes, it's sharpie. And no this wasn't the only place he expressed his artistic abilites. He let loose down the hallway, into the master bedroom where we found several sharpie spirals and roads across every wall. He wandered into his bedroom where he markered almost every surface of his bedroom, ending, of course, with his own body.

Can I just say I LOVE Magic Erasers?!!

Beauty Rest

My gentle princesses, after a long day on vacation, lay sweetly down for a long peaceful slumber:

In one bed we have the graceful Princess Sydney:







In another the poised and gentle Princess Skye:







And notice who actually wins the Beauty Rest contest--The Jack.

Our No Video-cation

I have no video footage of my son from age zero up until now—age 2 ½. If we’re being honest, I don’t have any video footage of my second daughter for the last half of her 5 year life either. I am afraid that my children will hate me for this when they grow up.

In an effort to get more than a Christmas card during their grown up years, I made a (justifiable) impulse buy as I walked passed the electronics counter at Wal Mart: a shiny new video camera—small enough to fit in my purse and carried with me wherever we went. Now, not only will I have video footage of my kids dance recitals and kindy graduations, but I will also pick up scenes of them running happily through the sprinklers or laughing on the park swings (at least, that’s what the advertisement showed).

I get home with the camera and immediately try it out in the kitchen. My son is of course cute no matter what he is doing, so I shot a few minutes of him chomping his waffle. We could work on the laughing/swinging combo later.

Later that week, we follow my husband out of town on a work trip. I have yet to buy a purse so the camera proudly rides along in my puffy coat pocket. The ride up there gets warm, so when we make it to the hotel room and the kids are having a blast turning on and off the fireplace and jumping on the beds, I realize that the video camera is in the car with my shedded coat. I make up for this by getting back in time to snap footage of my daughter watching T.V.

The next day we head to an arcade/climbing gym where the kids run wild laughing and having a good time. As they laugh, I remember the camera is sitting back on the hotel room kitchen table—so I wouldn’t forget it on my way out the door. I make up for this by getting a good shot of them tiredly playing a game of cards in the hotel room.

Later that night, my husband takes the girls swimming in the hotel pool. I follow them down—video camera in hand—and my girls jump right in. My five-year-old is just learning to swim across the pool and is in the middle of a crazy-cute dog paddle when I whip out my video camera. I aim it just right to capture this epic milestone in my daughter’s life. I push the big red record button and it doesn’t turn on. It’s dead.

So far, I have footage of my son chowing down a waffle, my daughter zoning in front of the t.v., and a not-so-mean game of cards. This was looking less like a vacation and more like a particularly long wait in the doctor’s office.

We left the next morning, so I made up for this by forgetting the whole darn camera when we checked out of our room. I am now anxiously awaiting my first Christmas card.

Our No Video-cation

I have no video footage of my son from age zero up until now—age 2 ½. If we’re being honest, I don’t have any video footage of my second daughter for the last half of her 5 year life either. I am afraid that my children will hate me for this when they grow up.

In an effort to get more than a Christmas card during their grown up years, I made a (justifiable) impulse buy as I walked passed the electronics counter at Wal Mart: a shiny new video camera—small enough to fit in my purse and carried with me wherever we went. Now, not only will I have video footage of my kids dance recitals and kindy graduations, but I will also pick up scenes of them running happily through the sprinklers or laughing on the park swings (at least, that’s what the advertisement showed).

I get home with the camera and immediately try it out in the kitchen. My son is of course cute no matter what he is doing, so I shot a few minutes of him chomping his waffle. We could work on the laughing/swinging combo later.

Later that week, we follow my husband out of town on a work trip. I have yet to buy a purse so the camera proudly rides along in my puffy coat pocket. The ride up there gets warm, so when we make it to the hotel room and the kids are having a blast turning on and off the fireplace and jumping on the beds, I realize that the video camera is in the car with my shedded coat. I make up for this by getting back in time to snap footage of my daughter watching T.V.

The next day we head to an arcade/climbing gym where the kids run wild laughing and having a good time. As they laugh, I remember the camera is sitting back on the hotel room kitchen table—so I wouldn’t forget it on my way out the door. I make up for this by getting a good shot of them tiredly playing a game of cards in the hotel room.

Later that night, my husband takes the girls swimming in the hotel pool. I follow them down—video camera in hand—and my girls jump right in. My five-year-old is just learning to swim across the pool and is in the middle of a crazy-cute dog paddle when I whip out my video camera. I aim it just right to capture this epic milestone in my daughter’s life. I push the big red record button and it doesn’t turn on. It’s dead.

So far, I have footage of my son chowing down a waffle, my daughter zoning in front of the t.v., and a not-so-mean game of cards. This was looking less like a vacation and more like a particularly long wait in the doctor’s office.

We left the next morning, so I made up for this by forgetting the whole darn camera when we checked out of our room. I am now anxiously awaiting my first Christmas card.

Power Packed Breakfast

After finishing my shower, I open the bathroom door to this:



Hmm, I guess someone is thirsty. So I head out to the kitchen area which suddenly smells of fresh baked peanut butter cookies. Normally, this is a welcome scent, but considering I am the only one in the house tall enough to reach the oven knobs, today it just leaves me perplexed. I get to the kitchen where I discover this outside the open pantry door:



At this point I'm trying to remember if I served any of my children peanut butter dipped fingers this morning, and I conclude that I didn't. I turn back to the living room to see this on my couch:



Peanut butter finger prints. They lead to a (literally) bouncing boy who has evidence all across the back of his shirt. It's hard to see in the picture, but trust me, it's there on the bottom:




Turning around I see his front is much more detailed than behind. A peanut schmear starts at his face and ends somewhere around the bottom of his right side.






It may be true that I have yet to learn the importance of showering before my kids wake up, but at least I have taught them the importance of a protein packed breakfast.

My Daughter the Narcissist

We did Sydney's birthday party today. We took the girls to see Tangled. 7 little girls and a Jack boy. It was a lot of fun + a lot of potty breaks :)
When going over the pictures of her party, I learned something new about Sydney. She is quite narcissistic. It seems the only requirement to being Sydney's friend is you must look exactly like her:


I've never seen so many blonde haired blue eyed beauties in one room! Thanks to all the little girls for coming it was so much fun!

Refreshing!

I just caught Jack drinking toilet water.

As in, he pulled a jumbo McDonalds cup out of the garbage, dipped it in, and was going to town on it.

I freaked, so he spilled it everywhere. I called my Mom to see if she had any advice for keeping him from getting sick. She recommended getting him to drink something else. I had to tell her I already offered him fresh, clean water but he informed me: "no, I all done".

So she suggested giving him something acidic like orange juice. We have none. The only sweet drink we have on hand is Pepsi. Needless to say, my son is now shirtless (his sleeved were full of toilet water), relaxing in his booster seat in the kitchen-one bare foot resting on the countertop, one-handing his cup of caffeinated soda.

I hope he learned his lesson.