How Long Gone?

It hasn't quite been 6 months since the last post, but close enough. Thanks to Mike C for missing me!

Well, things here in Friedmopolis are as crazy as ever with Lennie either at school or studying 18 hours a day... Every day... For the last half year. How is it that some people can survive on 5-6 hours of sleep? For me, anything less than 8 1/2 and I'm like a creature from the Thriller video. But he's goal-oriented and focused. He wants all A's. I want 8 1/2 hours of sleep and a cookie.

Anyhoo, these paintings are how I've passed the long lonely hours. Sorry Ella, you're cute and all but you can't even say the word, "Milk." Our conversations aren't as stimulating as I'd like. But when I say you're cute, I really mean it. Now practice, "Mmmmmiiiiiillllk"


Seahorses, 36x36. So much fun to paint this one!

Lennie's portrait, 24x36. Much more labor intensive, but there is a plus side. Lennie is totally humiliated by the fact there is a portrait of himself hanging in our living room. Next time, I am going to transpose his face onto a centaur (just like Alex Rodriquez's girlfriend claims he has in his house) and title it, "Oh Mighty Beast."

This last one is just me playing with pretty colors (36x48). This one has so much paint on it that I might have been high on the fumes -but hopefully the brain damage was minimal. But really, who can tell?

I hope everyone who still occasionally checks in to see if I'm alive is surviving their own busy Decembers. Have a great Holiday Season!

Mommy, Daddy, and the evil MBA

I'm being crushed to death by business school. Wait a damn second, I'm not even in business school. Well then, I must be getting crushed to death in the the black hole left after my husband imploded during his first semester of business school.

Once upon a time, there was a nice little family where the mommy stayed home with the babies and the daddy came home at a reasonable hour after work. In this story, the daddy only had to go away every weekend for 20 games a year and 3 fucking horrible training camp weeks in the summer. The mommy could almost handle it, and the babies were good. Alas, something foul drew nearer.

As summer once again approached, instead of going away for 3 fucking horrible weeks, the daddy stayed home. The mommy was happy, until...the evil time sucking giant, MBA, curled his suffocating fingers around the daddy's neck, threw him into his pressure cooker, and turned up the fire. The daddy was trapped in the pressure cooker and all his time was being sucked away by the evil MBA. The mommy didn't know what to do. How could she get the daddy back? She could hear him mumbling about Statistics and Probability from inside the pressure cooker, but she couldn't reach him to set him free. (Meanwhile, the babies have taken over the home. And in order to fill the void left by the absence of their daddy, they have begun smacking each other to pass the time.)

The mommy had almost given up when she heard the daddy shout from inside the pressure cooker, "It's only for 6 months! After the first two quarters, it gets much easier!" The mommy was filled with a renewed sense of hope, until she realized that the daddy was muttering to himself about Statistics again and seemed to be banging his head on the inside of the pressure cooker's wall.

For now, all the mommy can do is to use her lightest child as a shield against the other two, and hope that the daddy can find some way out of the pressure cooker soon.

Is the daddy's goose cooked?
Will the mommy be crushed by the parental void?
Will the babies take over in "Lord of the Flies" fashion for good?

Stay tuned...I'm sure I'll have time to tell you the end of the story in another ohh...6 months or so.

Ain't No Woman Like the One I've Got

3 posts in 2 days? I clearly have way too much time on my hands this morning. The one perk about having a sick baby is that they sleep a lot. I'm an awful mother.

Anyhoo, just for the hell of it, I decided to google my own name to see what came up. Happily, I saw the first link was to my art website that I started earlier this year. I'm working on my third painting so far. Some are incomplete, all are for sale. Ahem...

But as I scrolled down the google search I came across this:

Click on it to look closer, because I am too dumb to figure out how to zoom it.

Just to clarify for those of you who don't know me well, I married this guy:

He's pretty much the opposite of small, pretty, and feminine. And he lacks the long smooth hair the other writer admires.

I would like to say however, that had I been born gay, I probably would go for the small pretty type too. And if I happened to be a gay penguin, I would prefer the short fuzzy, egg hatching type. Mazel Tov, little penguins.

Biltmore House

The following is a handy little update on our mountain trip, written by my adorable husband to his family:

Hello Family. A vacation update.

Delete if sleepy because this will most likely put you over the top. We went to the Biltmore Estate today. It was absolutely gorgeous. The tour of the Biltmore Castle took about 2 hours. Then we spent another three hours walking around the breathtaking gardens and forest.

The kids were amazing. Sayde and Connor walked all day without complaining at all. We arrived at Biltmore around 11 and didn't leave the grounds until after 6. Ella, on the other hand was surprisingly stubborn. She did not nap at all and I had to carry her in the baby bjorn for 7 hours. She will hopefully sleep until Friday.

We ended the trip at the Biltmore Winery. It was a small winery but Katie and I found some nice bottles of wine. For dinner I found the #1 rated kid friendly restaurant in Asheville. It was in the heart of the city. Unfortunately I did not check the menu. After being seated we discovered that it was an international vegetarian restaurant. Katie and I loved it, Connor was not convinced that "tofu sloppy joe's" really was hamburger meat....

When asked what their favorite part of the day was, Connor replied "The Dead Moose." We should thank the taxidermist. Love to all.

Or why you should just use dental floss

The other night, I was scarfing down my dinner in a big hurry because I was running late. As I rushed out the door, I did a quick "do I have anything in my teeth?" grimace into the mirror. Let's just say it's a good thing I did. I had a big honkin piece of something stuck right between my two front teeth. If I didn't bite all my nails off after watching 7 DVR'd episodes of a 'Ghost Hunters' marathon, I might have been able to get it out. By the way, I am addicted to that show now. If you've never seen it, it's basically a bunch of Roto Rooter guys (yes, they're plumbers - I suppose they are used to seeing a lot of creepy shit. HA! Did you see what I did there? You love it.) who go to places that people think are haunted with all their scientific equipment and try to catch evidence of paranormal activity. I love this show. Stop laughing.

Lennie is especially thrilled when he's trying to read The Wall Street Journal or The Economist or one of his finance textbooks, and I'm watching Ghost Hunters and I keep pausing and rewinding to see the ghost they caught on video, and shouting, "LENNIE, you HAVE to watch this!" And, he'll peer over the top of his newspaper in the Dick Cheneyist way possible, and say "Mmmmhmm." And, I'm all like "Did you see the ghost? Here, watch it again." But the key to any good marriage is balance: I now know more about finance reports, valuation and devaluation, opportunity potential, asset management, etc than I ever really wanted to, and most of my "lessons" come while I'm cooking dinner and balancing a cranky baby on my hip, or reading a book, or trying to watch Ghost Hunters.

But, back to the point. So, my stubby chewed-off nails didn't work, I only pushed the wad of food wad deeper. I tried to force a stream of spit through my teeth to push the food wad out , but only succeeding in spitting all over the mirror, and then, a stroke of genius: I have long hair, hmmm. Hair is kind of like floss... it just might work. So, as disgusting as it may be, I was desperate, I was late, so I flossed with my hair. It would have been a great plan if only my hair hadn't snapped in half and curled up like gift wrap ribbon.

Pop Quiz Time:
Q: What's worse than having a wad of food stuck between your two front teeth?
A: Having a black curly hair stuck between your two front teeth.

I'm being poisoned

We have had such beautiful weather here in North Carolina the last few days, that Lennie and I decided to go to an outdoor mall to just walk around and enjoy the first beads of spring sweat. It was beautiful - that is, until a dark cloud cast a shadow on the day...I'll explain in a bit. We I decided to take a peek at this cute little gift shop/jewelry store and as exciting as it was to him, my lovely husband agreed to go in with me. We gradually made our way to the back of the store and were just strolling around when Lennie said, "I think I'll take Ella over to the fountain while you're looking around." So, out he goes and I continue to browse, until:

The following is the exact phone-text sequence that followed Lennie leaving the store:

Me: U just ripped one in here BAD!
Lennie: Who me?
Me: OH MY GOD

The worst part was he dropped one right in front of the jewelry section so I couldn't even look at any of it. I think it was sabotage. It was a slow-spreader, and I had to make my way out of the grips of the stench. It was foul, and I tried not to walk away too fast as to not make myself seem guilty. As I tried to casually stroll away while holding my breath, I took a test breath to see if I was clear. NOPE. Good God, this thing has some acreage. I walked farther and took another test breath. Sweet Jesus. Time to leave the store immediately.

As I emerged into the blessedly fresh air, I spotted Lennie across the street, smiling. He smirked his way over to me, and while we were laughing and I mentioned someday I am going to have emphezema because of him, he started walking a few feet behind me. That's exactly when a strong breeze blew his latest creation right up to me. Please, for the love of all things precious, will somebody mail me a gasmask? My life depends on it.

Hershey and Smuckers, no no no

Thanks for all the well wishes! Little Ella finally seems to be on the upswing. We took her to the doctor on Saturday and it turns out she has bronchitis. I swear, this time of year I just want to pack everyone up and go live on a 1000 acre ranch somewhere, where the only viruses that can find us are viruses that can crash my husband's Blackberry.
Ok, instead of blogging, I really need to be running off the chocolate bar dipped in peanut butter I ate for second dinner last night...and possibly again tonight. Damn you, Lennie, for buying 32 Hershey bars from BJ's. I know you called to ask me if I really wanted you to buy thirty two chocolate bars, and I said, "No problem, I have willpower when it comes to chocolate," but as it turns out, I don't. And, I blame you. After 14 years together, you should know these things.

Mama said Knock You Out

Yes, that's right. Lennie and I spent this weekend in Tampa, where we collected seashells on the beach, went running, went to the movies together, and I got into a fistfight. But, more on that later. We also went to (get ready because I'm going to sing it:) The Suuuuperbowl La La La Laaaaaa! Since Lennie is still technically on the Browns' roster, and those days are rapidly coming to an end, I figured it would be my only chance for a long long time - if ever - to go see the Superbowl, la la la la. Plus, we haven't been away together without kids since Sayde was 13 months old. So, even though the Red Bitch was in town, we had a great time doing all the stuff you take for granted when you don't have kids, aka, peeing without an audience.





Oh, by the way, if you are ever in North Redington Beach, swing by The Frog Pond for breakfast. Holy Yum. After Lennie and I snarfed down an omelet the size of France, and a fruit plate that rivals the Chiquita Banana lady's hat, we were off to the game. We got there plenty early (5 hours early) so that we could walk around the NFL Experience, and get price gouged. We waited on a 10 minute line just to get IN to the *tent* store, and once inside, we discovered not only was it 1,000 degrees, but the acceptable price for a sweatshirt is apparently hundreds of dollars. So, empty handed except for a $10 beer (which was worth every penny), we wandered over to the stadium.

Our seats were about 2 rows from the very top, so we ambled up up up the ramp and walked along the concourse looking for our section. Whoops, you can't get to this section from this side of the stadium, so back down down down the ramp we went on our way to the opposite side.

If you have ever been to Raymond James Stadium, or watched a Tampa Bay Bucaneers' game on TV, you will be familiar with the pirate ship, which sits in one of the endzones:




It's pretty cool, except for one little oversight by the designers. In order to get from one side of the stadium to the other, 72,000 people have to squeeze through a concourse that suddenly shrinks down to about 10 feet wide in one section. Needless to say, this creates a bit of a logjam.



Here's where the fistfight occurred. Now, let me just preface this by saying that I abhor confrontation. I am typically a mild mannered suburban mom who smiles and waves at people while I putter around town in my minivan. However, I have now learned that I have a darker side and can suddenly turn into a screaming lunatic at a moment's notice. Lennie and I were inching our way through wall to wall bodies, smiling at the people trying to squeeze through and bonding over how much it sucked, when it happened: I felt a hand on my butt. "Ok," I thought, "It's really crowded. It could be an accident." Then, the mystery hand squeezed my butt... twice. Without a thought in my head, I whipped around to face the man directly behind me.

"How dare you," I snarled.


He immediately put both hands in the air and said, "It wasn't me." Guilty. And that's about the time when I LOST MY SHIT.

Here's me, face to face with Mr. Grabby, placing my right hand on his douchebag neck and shoving as hard as I can (which I'm pretty proud to say caused him to stumble back a few feet) and screaming, "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!"

A circle cleared around us, and a lot of people began yelling. That's when Lennie jumped in and I think pulled me out of the way so he could have some words with the disgusting pervert. The rest of it was kind of a blur...I hear rage tends to do that. After spending a few minutes convulsing with adrenaline, I decided to not let it ruin the game for me. But, I am still hoping the pervert got hit by a bus later that day.

After the unexpected discovery of a backbone, I also stood up for myself when someone cut in front of me in line to buy a t-shirt. I know, it was a big day for me. We also got to see The Boss, which was pretty awesome. Plus, the actual game was not too shabby either.

Minus one moment of guttural furor, the weekend was beautiful. Many thanks to Poppy, La La and D for watching the kids for us while we were away. We had such a good time, in fact, that we decided to expand our family. Meet "Prime" and "Sally".




We thought Sally was dead for a while. As it turns out, she is only shy.

Isn't it Ironic?

Definition of "missed opportunity": When a woman puts the kids to bed, cleans the bedroom, dons silk lingerie, lights candles, and comes downstairs at 9:00 pm only to find husband has fallen asleep on the couch. Woman tries to wake husband up, but to no avail.

Next day, woman gets her period. Not just a little 'ah what the hell we can just put a towel down' period - NO - more like 'recently stopped breastfeeding and now hormones are making up for approximately 17 period-free months by trying to cram the sum of all periods into one 5 day span'. No towel will do the job here, not even a ShamWOW. Husband spends week kicking himself and cursing womankind.

Insane, got no brain.

As Sayde and I were walking out the door last night to go to Tae Kwon Do, I yelled to Lennie, "Peace Out, Yo!" Here is the conversation that followed:

Sayde: "Yeah! Peace Out, HO!"

Me: "No! Not Peace Out, HO. Peace Out, YO!"

Sayde: "Peace Out. YO HO!"

Me: "Close enough. You're insane in the membrane."

Sayde: "Yeah. I'm insane in the breadbrain."

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This morning, on the way to Connor's preschool, I "jokingly" told Lennie he put too much Splenda in my coffee. This joke is only funny to me, since the day before, I "jokingly" told him he didn't put enough Splenda in my coffee. So, he "jokingly" told me that he was going to kill me. As I laughed and said, "That's not nice," a curious wee voice drifted towards us from the backseat, "Daddy? Why are you going to kill Mommy?"

Great. Good job, Lennie. I can only imagine what he told his teachers today at school.

The obvious solution? From now on, I'll just make my own damn coffee.

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Me: "Hey Sayde, what's the Spanish word for beach?"

Sayde: "I don't know."

Me: "La Playa."

Sayde: "La Playa."

Me: "Connor," (who was standing next to me during the above conversation) "What's the Spanish word for beach?"

Connor: "Beacho."

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Dr. Zibbs wrote a list of his favorite (and not so favorite) comedians, which got me thinking about this skit about Nursery Rhymes from Ricky Gervais. Everytime I start giggling, Lennie shakes his head in pity. I swear, if you laugh, I will not judge you.

Ass. It's what's for dinner.

After the never-ending road trip, we are back in North Carolina, just in time to escape the unseasonably warm temperatures that have moved into the North East. I am feeling pretty badly for one member of our traveling party in particular, my little sister's boyfriend. Oh, you poor poor guy. Not only did you have to ride in the back of the minivan with 2 kids and 1 occasionally livid baby, but you had to keep our snoring and gassy dog on your lap because there wasn't a single square inch of space to spare.

There was one other member of the carpool who was gassy, and while I'm not naming names, it's been an ongoing problem since that person has lost 75 pounds recently. In this person's efforts to remain anonymous, he repeatedly refused to open the car windows after dropping bombs. I can only assume the logic being that this person knew we would identify him as the culprit if he rolled down a window moments before the stench hit. Either that, or this person enjoys his own brand. Instead, he continued to deny that it was his ass gas, and stubbornly kept the windows rolled tightly up so that we could all marinate in the aroma of tomorrow's shit-to-be.

After my eyes began to water in the wake of one especially potent sneak attack, I rode the rest of the 11 hour trip with my window cracked. This had an unfortunate side effect. While it's true that the open window helped, it also served to suck the farts right towards my head. It was as if I held the checkered flags and the farts had to go whizzing by me first before they could cross through the threshold of the window and fly out into the night air. So, while I breathed in less of each particular fart because it was traveling too quickly, I also breathed in more total farts because they came from all corners of the minivan to fly out of my window. However, I figured a quick whiff of ass-stank is better than my skin melting off my bones in an undisturbed mushroom cloud of fart.

My little sister's boyfriend was too polite to crack his window and thereby admit he had noticed the stench being emitted by a certain passenger. He spent a large amount of time texting SOS signals on his cell phone before finally slipping into a coma. Today, I noticed the little lines he must have scratched into the wall in order to keep track of the hours he spent as a captive in minivan road trip hell.

So, what'd you get?

Sorry about my slackiness this week. While usually you can chalk it up to sheer laziness, this week I actually have an excuse, NO INTERNET ACCESS!! My worst nightmare come true. I heard this survey on the radio the other day, "Would you rather live the rest of your life with no internet or no sex?" Going a week with no internet really sucks, and I'll leave it at that.

We've been spending our holiday up in New Jersey shuffling back and forth between my parents' and Lennie's parents' houses for Christmas and Hanukkah. Surprisingly, Ella has been very pleasant and happy to show off her raspberry-blowing skills, and Sayde and Connor have, for the most part, been on exceptionally good behavior. Thank you, Santa, how did you know that's just what I wanted? Lennie, all on his own, went out and bought me 12 art lessons. When I was a kid, I was pretty good, but those dreams died out around the same time I realized I'm not really going to be The President of the United States. But, he knows I always regretted not at least trying, so thanks, Len. It's the best gift of my life (besides the 3 sperms that later became our children.) I also got a new camera, so move the fuck over, Ansel Adams, here I come.

I am so far behind on reading everyone elses' blogs I don't think I will ever catch up. But, I'm going to give it one hell of a try once we get back to North Carolina, and after I finish the last book in the Twilight series, which I had to slink into the 'Teen' section at Barnes & Noble to buy, and which my 12 year old niece is also reading. I like to challenge my mind by reading books at a 7th grade level.

So, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanza, and Festivus for the rest of us. I hope you have a great holiday.

PS, the Limoncello was fabulously disgusting, especially when mixed with champagne. Maybe that's why I feel like the bottom of a shoe today.

Your little cherub is an obnoxious ass

Some people should just not be allowed to have children. There's got to be a way to sort them out before they unleash their spawn on the world. I met the most ANNOYING kid in the world the other night. I think he was on a covert mission to slip over to our family's table, gain trust as one of our children, and then destroy us from the inside.

This kid would just not leave us alone. We were sitting together, eating our dinner, when here comes Stupid Haircut Kid out of nowhere. He pulled up a chair, while eating a box of NERDS for dinner, and started talking to Lennie. We were all kind of like "Where the hell are this kid's parents?" Uninvited, he picked up Connor's beloved Transformers and began to play. Lennie asked him, in the most restrained voice I've ever heard, to please be gentle with the toy. Next thing you know, the kid fucking broke off a piece.

Then he tried to hug Lennie.

The sadistic side of me actually enjoyed watching Lennie's "fight or flight" response play out on his face. It wasn't hard to tell he was debating between picking this kid up by the scruff of his neck and booting his ass back to his own table, or just gathering our kids, baby and toys and running away hoping he won't pursue. I say, mace first, then run.

Lennie said, "Ok, Pal, time to go back to your own table." Except, his Mom had gotten up to go to the bathroom. She just left her Stupid Haircut Kid with a bunch of strangers and expected us to watch him for her. Here's a tip, lady: Don't leave your kid with a strange family; it could be my family and I could be contemplating macing your kid.

The Mom was gone for a good 10 minutes and the whole time, this kid was trying to snuggle Lennie and taking toys out of Connor's hand, and we did our best to instill order, but he's not our kid so we can't beat him.

When Stupid Haircut Kid's Mom finally wandered over to our table, the kid told her that he broke the Transformer. Her response? "Oh yeah, those things break all the time."

Let's just say it's a good thing Lennie doesn't pack heat like Plaxico Burress, because he'd be turning himself in today too. I think our silence and avoidance of eye contact, coupled with our clenched jaws, would have cued most people on to the fact that we are not enjoying her son's company, but not this Mom. She just went back to her table. Lennie had to physically pick up the kid's chair and move it back to his table before she got the point. Then, she seemed offended.

Now help me, there has just got to be a way to filter these people out. A questionnaire or something they could fill out so we'll all KNOW, that for the good of civilization, this one must not breed. We could even make it easy: TRUE/FALSE

Some questions could be:
1. A box of NERDS can be dinner. True/False

2. It's OK to leave your kid with strangers while you go to the bathroom for an hour. True/False

3. It's cool to give your kid a haircut that would make a Yeti cringe. True/False

4. Breaking other kids' toys is the toys' fault. True/False

5. When someone is restraining themselves from macing your kid, it's a good idea for your kid to attempt to sit on their lap. True/False

It's a simple system, too many True's and it's off to the clinic we go. Tra la la la laaa.

If you were a tiny baby still inside an egg, I'd eat you up

How could it be possible to eat so much food on Thanksgiving that a person is "Beyond stuffed", and then day after, to eat so many leftovers that a person feels "Like I'm going to explode" and still lose 5 pounds in 3 days?

A while back I told you that Lennie was on a mission to drop his football weight now that his playing days are supposedly in the past. (If I was a more attentive blogger, I'd provide a link.)

Ok, I caved. Here's the link. I was complaining that he lost something like 18 pounds in a week and a half or something like that. Yeah, well stretch that out a bit longer, and dude has lost 75 pounds in 2 1/2 months. What the hell?

Now, he is a totally different man, and I sort of feel (at certain not-to-be-mentioned times) like I am cheating on old Lennie with new Lennie. Granted, he worked his ass off, literally. But to lose 5 pounds over Thanksgiving weekend? I'm going with tapeworm on this one.

Here's a side by side comparison of the transformation:

Football days Lennie (9/08)............... Nowadays Lennie (11/08)

And, no he did not decide to change careers and become a Scottish golfer. He just looks cute in that hat. And while I miss those arms, there is a bright spot in this new deal: six pack abs.

If you were wondering about me by the way - aww how sweet, thanks for asking - I'm racing along at a speedy 2 pounds a month since Ella's arrival. Don't be jealous.

Oh yes, you may be wondering what's with the title of this post? These are the things my children tell each other while playing board games. We should totally not play board games anymore.

Remember that time I almost killed you?

So this week, Ella taught herself how to suck her thumb and OH MY GOD. Why didn't she figure this out as a fetus? What a difference it has made now that she has a way to calm herself down. She is an all-natural child who hates pacifiers and is enraged by bottles, so the discovery of her thumb fits in perfectly with her organic preferences. This, combined with the little bit of baby food she is eating now, and retirement is on the horizon for my poor tired boobs. They're so excited, they're already heading South for winter.

Anyway, in the car on the way home from Aunt La La's house last night, Ella did not appreciate being in her carseat. And, by unappreciative, I mean she was red faced, toes pointed, fists out, eyes clenched, SCREAMING. Rolling down the windows and driving at high speeds did nothing, and for some reason she could not find her thumb. This prompted back seat Mommy Sayde to shout "SUCK IT, ELLA, SUCK IT! SUCK IT, ELLA, SUCK IT!"

On a totally unrelated topic, I've been "shushed". Yesterday, for the first time ever, we had a photographer come to the house to take a family picture. And while we were discussing what options we might want, Lennie said we were not interested in Christmas cards. As I began to interject that yes, we are interested in Christmas cards, he gave me the old shusharoo gesture with his hands...twice. Fuck. Now I have to go to prision for murder.

Today if you asked Lenie why I have matching zits on each side of my forehead, he'd say they are Devil Horns.

In other news, it is my birthday today.

Time for Some New Tricks

The last few days, Sayde has been complaining about various ailments: my arm is broken, my tummy hurts, my forehead hurts, my ear, floods, plagues, locusts. I think secretly, she is pissed that Connor had a birthday party and got a lot of attention, and her birthday isn't for another month.
So, last night after she sat up in bed *SCREAMING* that her tummy hurt, again, I went up. Without saying a word I got into bed right behind her, put her little head on my lap and stroked her hair. She immediately quieted down, and closed her eyes. (I remember an evening in my childhood where my Grandma sat by my bed and stroked my hair, I kept dreading the moment she would inevitably stop, but she never did. I must have fallen asleep first.) So we stayed that way for a long long time until finally I eased myself out of her bed, kissed her forehead, and quietly slipped out of her room, and right into Ella's to give her one last nighttime meal before going to bed myself.

Not even one minute later, she burst out of the room *SCREAMING* that her ear hurt. This time Lennie went up and I could hear him giving the Calm-Down Spiel that works oh so well with both Sayde and I. "Take a deep breath! You're being ridiculous! Sayde, this is not how we behave! Calm down!" Shockingly, the screaming continued.

As soon as I was done feeding Ella, I went to the medicine cabinet, got the Children's Tylenol and found Sayde sitting up in bed, alone. At that same moment that she was sipping her Tylenol, Lennie walked in with a little cup of Children's Motrin. Except, his cup was filled with water. He was trying to trick an almost 6 year old into believing that a cup of water was cherry-flavored Motrin. We locked eyes, and for a moment, it was extremely hard not to burst into laughter.

When we left Sayde's room, all I could do was poke him in the ribs and say, "Really?"

As it turned out, neither the Tylenol nor the faux Motrin worked because shortly after this, Sayde climbed into bed with us. But I just had to laugh at the Stupid Parent Tricks that Daddy resorted to last night.

Keep the Crazy to a drip

I have never been much of a planner. I trust that eventually, most of the important things I need to do will get done, and the ones that slip through the cracks usually stay forgotten (at least by me). It doesn't matter to me if the grocery shopping gets done today or tomorrow, as long as we have food for tonight. Lennie is my polar opposite when it comes to this, however. He craves a plan. He starts forming mental to do lists the moment his eyes crack open in the morning, which he will then revise 4,000 times during the course of the day.

For example, we were out running errands the other afternoon, ahem, early voting was included *cough* OBAMA *cough*. Lennie started verbally hemorrhaging plans while we were in the car.

"OK, we could do the voting now, then we could do a quick grocery shopping, then pick up Connor, and be back in time for Sayde's bus. Then you can cook dinner and I'll talk her to Tae Kwon Do. Or, we could vote now, I'll drop you off to do the grocery shopping and I'll go get Connor by myself and meet you back at the store, and then we could go back, wait for the bus and go to the State Fair tonight. Or, we could do the State Fair tomorrow night because Sayde really needs to go to Tae Kwon Do one more time this week. Or, you could go get Connor, and I'll do the shopping. And you could take Sayde and I'll cook. What are we having?"

After the words, "OK," my eyes glaze over and I start to drool. Thankfully, he never notices that my head is lolling around on top of my neck as long as I occasionally mutter, "Whatever, doesn't matter to me."

I really think that this type of tuning out tolerance is a major key to a successful marriage. You've got to let your spouse get their crazy out bit by bit before it explodes all over the place. Kind of like when the phone rings and I'm closer to it but don't make any motions to pick it up. Lennie just rolls his eyes and answers it. A little drip of crazy is easier to mop up than the whole freaking vat dumped out at once.

This has nothing to do with my story, but Friday was a milestone for Sayde. It was the first time I ever heard her say she ever said, "Crap". I'm so proud. I told her to put her Tae Kwon Do uniform on inside the house rather than in the yard and she snapped, "Well that's a lot of crap." So we had the talk about what words are not OK to say (which is kind of funny coming from me, but someday when she goes to college, I'll tell her she's not allowed to toke up either so the hypocrisy will at least be consistent) Proudly, I made it until first grade before I told my mom that the "School lunch tasted like shit."

I swear I didn't do it

Although I am kind of glad someone did. This, my friends, is all that remains of our Butler and her Hell Demon Spawn.

Don't hate me, animal lovers. For all my talk, I really am a big softy at heart. I'm the person who had a slight nervous breakdown after running over a squirrel, remember? The only living things I really get excited about killing are mosquitoes (and gnats....and flies...and fruit flies) mostly because it takes some luck to catch a mosquito red handed sucking on your arm, and I have mad skills with the dish towel vs fly scenario. Oh, and there was that time that the humongous Bumblebee flew inside the screened porch and I trapped it inside the plastic keg cup with full intentions of releasing it outside. But then I couldn't slip the newspaper over the opening of the cup quick enough because every time I tilted the cup, the giant Bumblebee was right there ready to attack me and buzzing really menacingly. And my panic was growing as I could feel the surprisingly heavy Bumblebee throwing itself against the cup like it was trying to burst through the plastic. And so I started screaming, "LENNIE HELP ME! GET THE RAID, GET THE RAID!" And Lennie came running out into the backyard with a can of Raid, aimed it directly into the cup, and right through the screen, sprayed the shit out of that Bumblebee. I was ecstatic. BOOYA, Humans win again! But that feeling was short-lived as the buzzing got weaker and weaker, and the Bumblebee didn't seem to be hurling itself at the cup anymore. Then, I just felt like a big human piece of crap stomping all over nature. Yet, I can sleep at night because it was either the Bumblebee or me, and that's how nature is. But, I digress.

In the case of the Butler, I'm not even guilty by proxy. I didn't call the Pest Control guys, ask Lennie to call them, nor did I instruct them to squash the Butler once they got here. However, I admit that I now have a small crush on Dan from the Pest Control company for his bravery and the panache with which he wields his big long stick (insert big stick joke here).

And since Susan was sadistic thoughtful enough to provide a link to a website which gave me all sorts of useful information on our Butler (a Golden Garden spider, I now know), I will sleep easier knowing that the Hell Demon Spawn will not be growing in that egg sac all winter long and "dispersing" in the spring.

So, while I have mixed feelings about the actual squashing of the Butler, I can't deny it: I'm glad she's dead. And, I'm really glad her babies are dead. And, I'm really really glad it wasn't me.

I hate you, Hell Demon

While walking around the neighborhood last week, Lennie snapped a picture of this hell demon living in our neighbors' yard. He came home and said he saw a spider that "Looks like a cartoon drawing of a spider. Like someone drew a spider to look as pissed and scary as possible." He said it was big too, like the size of my palm big. And now the fucker is living in close proximity to our property. One more reason to convert to from mild to severe Agoraphobia and never leave my house again.


And just for fun, here's a little photo I shot of our butler. She lives above our front door and greets all our guests. Shit, judging by the size of her, she may be able to take your coat and fix you a drink - Bloody Mary I would guess.

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The photo is blurry because there is no way in hell I would ever get close enough to get a good picture. But, do you notice anything? Our butler looks eerily like the hell demon from next door. And let's zoom out for a moment and look at the whole picture, shall we? This is how I know our butler is a "she".



Fuck. That egg sac is the size of a golf ball. Time to fill Connor's water gun with bleach. Although then I run a real risk of my butler turning on me, jumping down and doing this to me:

So, let us review our options.

(a) try and squirt bleach at the butler and her hell demon spawn and risk being attacked, biten, poisoned, paralyzed, mummified, hung upsidedown and immobile, and then slowly eaten alive.

(b) do nothing and then live in a house swarming with baby hell demons

(c) move. Considering the risks, I think moving is the only viable option.

Midmorning update:

My astute bloggy friend, Karen, noticed that the butler is fucking smiling at me.

Holy Shit, Karen, you're right. I did a little tooling around with my picture of the butler so you can all see what Karen saw. Now, I hate that little fucker even more (the butler, not Karen - she's cool). I'm foreseeing the high pitched shriek of a mother and her hell demon babies squealing in the bleach bath they're about to get. Nobody smiles at me and gets away with it.

Mountain Cabin

I have to preface this post by saying that I am a suburbanite through and through. I was raised in the suburbs of New York City, and have been living in suburbs ever since. This lifestyle has prepared me for one thing and one thing only: living in suburbs. So, I had to laugh at Lennie when he began packing things like compasses, pocket knives, a year's supply of food, a crank radio (just in case there is a nuclear war, he says. Right, because if all the TV stations get blown up, I'm suuure the radio stations will still be on air). My log cabin essentials? An ipod, smores ingredients, and a bottle of wine; and my only regret about this weekend is that I only brought one bottle of wine.

So, this soft suburbanite didn't start her trip off on a very good note when the minivan crushed a squirrel as we were pulling out of our subdivision. :( This is the first animal I've ever hit with a car (I don't count suicidal toads). This squirrel obviously was not suicidal because it was carrying an acorn during it's ill-fated road crossing. Searching for food=desire to live. I flinched as I looked in the rear view mirror and saw the acorn rolling across the street and the poor squirrel flopping around.
Me: "IT'S STILL ALIVE! IT'S SUFFERING"
Lennie: "Hit it again! You have to put it out of it's misery!"
Me, bursting into tears: "I can't."

So I climbed out of the car and stood on the side of the road while Lennie backed the minivan over the dying squirrel, twice.

When I got back in, Sayde was frantic. "What did we hit?" She demanded to know. "Daddy says it was a rock, but I KNOW it was an animal. Why is Mommy crying?"
"It was a rock," I mumbled.
"YOU'RE LYING!" She screamed.

I handled that well, don't you think? And so our vacation began.
We later parlayed this little experience into a lesson with the moral being: see what happens when you don't look both ways before you cross the street?


After a few hours in the car, we arrived in Blowing Rock, NC. "Beautiful" is the best word to describe it. It is a gorgeous little mountain town with a great Main Street. There was a huge public park with a playground for the kids to burn off some energy, and lots of cute coffee shops for Lennie and I to get some energy. We had a really peaceful afternoon exploring the shops and galleries.

As evening begin to set it, we figured we'd better start heading to the cabin so we'd have plenty of time to find it while there was still daylight. We punched the address into the trusty navigator and headed off. As we drove further and further from Blowing Rock, the sun sank lower in the sky, and my anxiety crept up. "How far away is this cabin?" I wondered. We spent a good amount of time slowing winding our way up a mountain on narrow roads with no guard rails, and then even higher up the mountain, on dirt roads. At the top of the mountain our navigation system said in her honey sweet voice, "Turn Right." Only there was no right turn to be found. "Where the fuck are we?" I asked politely.
"Don't get ridiculous." Lennie said. You would think after 7 seven years of marriage, that Lennie would know that this statement only increases my ridiculousness tenfold. We whipped out the printed version of the directions that the leasing company gave us, and it turns out we were on the wrong fucking mountain. So, I eased the minivan back down the mountain, now in complete darkness, and that utterly biting silence that comes after you and your spouse both realize at the same time that the other one is a total moron.

A half an hour later, on top of a different mountain, and through more white-knuckle dirt roads, we pulled into the gravel driveway. Lennie went in first to make sure there were no bears, squatters, or mental patients with hook for hands waiting inside to eat us, and then the kids and I followed. We walked in and I was very relieved to see this:







A quaint and cozy cabin in the woods. Although, the kids were pretty pissed off about the deer head above the fireplace, the turkey tail next to the fireplace, the quail-type bird on the other side of the fireplace, and the trout over the door. "Mean people live here" I think was the quote. I was so happy to be in a house, there could have been a baby seal mounted on the wall and I would have thought, "How cute."

The next morning, we woke up and walked out onto the deck to see this:






Completely gorgeous. We decided to explore and went for a walk up the dirt road, when several large dogs began barking and running towards us. So we high-tailed our asses back down the dirt road and went for a drive instead. Crossing over one of the dirt roads, was a large black animal which I at first glance thought was a bear, and then it turned and I realized by it's tail and the way it moved, that it was a very very large cat. Are mountain lions black? I have no fucking clue, but I remember telling Lennie that instead of a compass and a radio, he should have brought a gun.




We ended up having a really fun couple of days and the best part is we're still alive.

These are the wildflowers Lennie gathered on his morning walk. Awwww.