I predict the holidays are going to kill me, as Halloween has left me severely handicapped.

Happy Halloween, friends!

There has been much anticipation for this particular holiday, which has (for us) resulted in the completion of a successful Scavenger Hunt and beautiful weather for trick-or-treating.  Also, while we were busy with Halloween-themed activities this weekend, a gang of hooligans managed to enter my house and do a happy rain dance with every single item we own. 

Oh wait.

That was us.

I will have it clean in time for Christmas, at which point those naughty elves will just tear it all to hell again.  As I mentioned to someone this weekend, cleaning my house only to have it destroyed by my children in 3 minutes flat, is one of the most emotionally devastating experiences of my entire life.  And it happens EVERY.  SINGLE.  DAY. 

For the first time in forever, I actually dressed up this year.  As a witch.  Keep your comments to yourself, blogworld.  A funky witch, not a slutty witch.  As there were very few pictures taken this weekend, I will try to get a good shot of my hat tomorrow, because I LOVES it.  I bought one at a Halloween store and did a little *modifying*.  So.  If you are up for it and looking for a classic costume, head to your local Halloween store TOMORROW (Monday) because everything will be on sale.  And if you are in the mood to pick up a slutty German beer girl/Alice in Wonderland/ Indian/ Nurse, well, I'm sure you can find a great deal on those *costumes* too.  I will share my idea when I have a better photo.

Also.  I spent a solid hour hot rolling my hair and teasing the crap out of it with intense amounts of hair spray.  Only to have several people tell me it looked GREAT.  Not sure what to think about that, but apparently, I can wear big hair and stirrup pants and be TOTALLY fashionable these days.  

Ready for Thanksgiving?  25 days and counting.  GO!

Today, I am a WEALTH of knowledge.

(Today's fun Halloween activity:  Coloring our "monster" table cloth before lunch)



Blogworld. 

Today I am RICH in knowledge. 

Which I shall now impart to you. 

No really, you're welcome. 

Lessons learned on this, the 28th of October, 2010: 

The life span of your average garden toad in captivity is 3 years, 2 months and 1 week.  We were asked this question A LOT in the past three years, ever since a babysitter decided to catch us a toad, and today we learned the answer.  This thing has lived in our kitchen for 3 years and 2 months longer that expected (we were a *tad* off on our initial estimation).  Apparently, it is a BAD year for pets in the Denckhoff household.  RIP, Frizzle.  And I am so, SO SORRY if this had anything to do with a lack of food, water or stimulation.

The body CAN exist on Diet Coke and candy corn alone.  But I have had a massive headache for...4.5 days.  So I am definitely surviving at a fairly poor quality of life. 

It is near IMPOSSIBLE not to get pee and/or toilet water on a boy's Jedi costume during bathroom breaks.  Sitting or standing, it doesn't matter.  Best Jedi mind-trick ever?  Evaporating pee from one's bladder. 

We went to our church's harvest party tonight, and I learned two things:  They had a swimming pool of hot chocolate apparently, based on the evidence that is all over G's WHITE princess Leia costume.  Which I scrubbed down by hand, because this thing is so synthetic, I am pretty sure it will burst into flames simply by touching hot water.   Also.  That game for young kids, where you use a fishing pole to throw a line over a piece of cardboard, and someone clips a treat onto it?  Most. Dangerous. Game. Of.  All. Time.

Darth Vader might be the worst costume choice for young L (her pick, of course).  She is visually impaired and that mask aint doing her any favors.  It is an exercise in complete blindness, in the dark.  Parenting fail.  But!  I did allow her to pick out her own costume, and therefore encouraged her individuality?  Parenting WIN!  This, right here, is why parenting is impossible...you try to raise children to make their own choices, and it becomes life threatening when the walk straight into the fire pit/busy street/pool of hot chocolate they didn't see. 

Friends, tomorrow we move on to a classroom Halloween party, a birthday party, the final planning details of a scavenger hunt for 130 people and the making of a witch costume.  L will be attending 1-2 of these events as a completely blind Darth Vader, I am hoping Big J the Jedi doesn't have to pee all day and I am PRAYING for the general health of our only living pets, the robo hamsters. 

Is it Halloween yet?

Rethinking my parenting philosophy.

Just a warning.  This feels like one of those posts where I want to drop a big f-bomb right up front and then continue on with an angry onslaught of complaining.   Halloween *might* be kicking my ass in a large metal cage, and only one of us is leaving alive. 

I had plans to do fun Halloween-y type stuff everyday this week.  Except that there are 723 events happening ALL THE TIME.   Which all kind of catch me off guard, because you might remember, I don't utilize a very effective schedule system.    So sometimes, instead of fun crafts or sandwiches shaped like ghosts, we have mac-and-cheese in Halloween shapes.  And you know what?  The kids dig it.  It's really me that's into all the fussy stuff.

I know that TOTALLY shocks you.  But it's true.  If I never bought another polka dot-themed clothing item and decided to do ALL of my kid shopping at the official Star Wars website?  Kid heaven.

Sometimes, I think I am not so suited to being a Mom.  I can adequately *act* the part, but I truly lack the heart of someone who gives willingly, unconditionally.  They are the loves of my life, and I would do anything for them--as long as that doesn't entail dressing them in clothing with large cartoon characters.   Right?

I have a lot of really stupid rules.  That cause me MUCH stress to break.   I have ideas and expectations that I cling to with EVERY OUNCE OF MY SOUL, and yet they are completely irrelevant to life and raising decent human beings.   The worst parts of me are almost impossible to kill and they are SO prevalent in the way I parent.  Drat.

Because, I'm pretty sure I am teaching my kids that I love them unconditionally, so long as they:  behave, speak softly, say thank you, never spill milk and make cute crafts.  It seems that I love to take the "child" out of my children.  You know, less screaming, less mess, less hideous cartoon clothing.  

Hmmm. 

I'm not quite sure where I end and they officially begin.  As people.  Who make their own decisions and have their own opinions.  I know this job means teaching them independence, but I'm working on the part that showers them in love and encouragement when their choices differ from mine. 

However, I would say chance are pretty good that I will speak love to them this weekend by letting them eat candy for dinner.   And wear Star Wars themed clothing (costumes) for 4 days straight. 

How's your Halloween week???

If I sever an actual head and hang it from my ceiling, can I consider that a Halloween craft?

So.  I'm not quite all over Halloween this year.  Out of sheer distraction, I think, because I have never been so overcome by the desire to scare the crap out of my children.  I now understand the fascination with Halloween...because once you have older kids, it starts to be LOADS of fun.  Unlike our previous 7 years, when just the sight of the scary statues at Sam's Club made my children kind of frantic. 

So.  I have 659 projects going on this week.  With actual deadlines.  And it is the WORST TIME EVER for me to take on something random.  But that's just how my brain works.  It was obviously wired wrong at birth. 

Last week, I was overcome with the desire to buy black glitter.  And make Halloween silhouettes and cover them in it.  On bright paper backgrounds!  I found all of the Halloween images on line, and did a little tweaking.  I hand drew the spider, because none were quite what I wanted, but copied and traced the cat and crow.  Next, a little watered-down glue and a heavy shaking of black glitter.  Done and done.

Except.  My "glittering" could probably use some help.  Not sure what the best way to adhere glitter to paper is?  But watered down glue isn't it.  I should have gone with Mod-Podge, probably.  But that tends to make the paper curl a bit, so I was going for a less heavy substance.  If anyone has any thoughts, please share!

Also, I had these frames lying around from garage sales, and I spray painted them black.  Trying to get the glitter critters into their frames without trapping random glitter bits between the glass and the picture?  That will make you CRAZY.  I recommend you just let it go and tell people your kids made them.  And then, they'll be all like "oh-that's-so-awesome-your-kid-knows-how-to-properly-handle-glue-and-glitter-without-digesting-it" and they won't notice all the random glitter bits that make you want to bang your head against a wall for 2 hours straight.  Just saying. 

I have plans to hang these, somewhere.  Who knows.  That would require finding a spot and begging my husband to do it.  Before I lose my focus.  Unlikely. 

Happy Halloween-week, blogworld. 

So easy, even a Japanese monkey can do it.

Alrighty, friends.  You might recall that last year I was asked to be a part of a fun holiday event at our church, where I "taught" a workshop on children's craft ideas? 

I use the term "taught" lightly.  If that's what you can call getting all sweaty-and-red-in-the-face-while-constantly-blubbering-on-about-Mod-Podge-and-such. 

Yeah, that.

Well.  We're gonna try it AGAIN.  With more deodorant. 

This year, I decided to take on an adult theme.  Not porn, I mean age-appropriate crafting (Perverts).  Because you know me, I get bored easily.  I need to mix it up a bit.  And also, I've concentrated mostly on adult type stuff lately (again NOT porn), so that's where my head is.  Unless you want to let your kid etch glass with the chemicals that will burn your skin right off?  In that case, I will give you lots of hazardous options.  Officially, my workshop will be teaching a variety of handmade gifts. 

I don't have a final list of projects.  Because, that's how I ROLL.  Deal. 

But I'm thinking about this (they are small initial charms):



Probably these.  Because they are SO easy, I could teach this to a Japanese monkey. 



Potentially, we'll have a go at silhouettes. 



And the ever popular glass etching:

So here's the info:

Heart for the Holidays

A Christmas Event for Women

Saturday, November 6th

8:30 a.m.--1:30 p.m.

Community Covenant Church

Kirkwood, MO

If you are interested, let me know and I will get you the info (leave a comment, or email me at sdenckhoff@savoyproperties.com).  My workshop is HANDS ON because I hate to hear myself talk.  In fact, it gives me hives.  So we will be working and there is a GOOD chance that I will burn myself with a glue gun and chemically peel my fingerprints clear off my hands.  Don't miss that kind of comic entertainment.  Also, the other gals hosting classes?  A-mazing.  Beth Bohlman is teaching her famous chocolate pretzel rods AND six different cookie variations that use THE SAME DOUGH.   That alone is going to revolutionize my Christmas.  And my ass.  If someone could teach a class on the optical illusion of lycra and loose fitting clothing?  I'd be ALL OVER IT.

I promise, it is really fun.  I actually ENJOYED it last year, and the thought of  speaking makes me want to cuss loudly.  It's not lame.  You know how sometimes you hate to commit to something ON A SATURDAY that is lame?  I totally get that.  But this is a good time.  And also, if you can get your hands on a monkey, I will attempt to teach it to make fabric roses. 

Bring it, Christmas. 

Best. Idea. Ever.

My four kids go to THREE different schools.  Ri-di-culous. 

Most days, this isn't such a big deal.  The schedules line up, and we carpool, so on a daily basis it's manageable.  My zeal for holiday parties generally tends to land me at 23 events on the same day...usually one week before Christmas...which is also coincidentally the twin's birthday.   I don't need a calendar, I need common sense.  But other than that we are o-kay. 

And yet, in the last month, I have been confronted many-a-time, with the real reason it is a GIGANTIC disaster to have kids in multiple schools. 

Fundraising.

Oh boy.  This is like my nightmare of all nightmares.  Having to ask people to give me money. 

I *think* that asking for a kidney might be worse.  Maybe. 

Listen, I TOTALLY believe in the cause.  When it comes to the SCHOOLS.  Because this week?  We were also asked to fundraise for our swimming team.  You know, the one we pay 10 billion dollars to be a part of?  Seriously, this one kind of makes my blood boil, because it is incredibly expensive to belong to the team AND they took an entire practice to host the "Swim-a-thon" where each kid swims as many laps as they can, for money.   Which means it was a whole day of practice that G received no instruction.  I really must have ZERO idea of how many millions of dollars it takes to run a swimming program.

Now, Little J's preschool?  No fundraising. 

Big J & L's school?  Two fund-raisers within the first 8 weeks.  One of them involved selling entertainment books, which isn't so bad, EXCEPT that they sent the books home and we were told to return what we didn't sell.  People. I have library books from 1999 still sitting on our shelves.  Me not so good with RETURNING.  Or deadlines in general.  Or asking people to buy stuff.  You see my dilemma. 

G's school?  One fundraiser to date.  We actually didn't sell anything.  Mostly because, I don't know if you realize this yet or not, but  I SUCK AT FUNDRAISING.  Yes, I am a loser.  But we do give to our schools, and I am not the biggest fan of the catalog sale.  I can personally only buy so many rolls of wrapping paper--and the school doesn't get to  keep that money, they only receive a portion of it.  Which is fine for us to give directly, but our neighbor that we see twice a year is *probably* not going to write a check directly to our school.  Even though they are spending $10 on wrapping paper they might never use. 

I know there is a reason that school's don't sell pizza anymore.  But I'm sort of craving an EASY sell.  ONE item.  That everyone will buy, if it costs less than $10.  Seriously, I think even a vegan-without-teeth would buy a pizza for the kids. 

But then I had the BEST idea ever.  Mike thinks its stupid, but generally we tend to disagree until I slip a roofie in his Coke, and then he thinks I am AMAZING until he passes out for 32 hours straight.

So.  My thought is to turn our Christmas party into a fundraiser this year. 

Think disco ball.  Polyester.  Aqua Net.   

Dance-athon.

Yup.  You take pledges for the number of minutes you can consecutively dance.  Possibly, there will be *obstacles* and shots and food challenges every 30 minutes.  WHILE DANCING.  Maybe some choreography?  A few location changes?  But you  must NEVER stop dancing or I will gut you like a pig.  Just kidding!  It's for the kids!  Maybe the winner will get to pick a school to benefit? 

And possibly, there will be an admission price for spectators to watch and laugh and throw produce?  Yessssss.

Don't even act like it wouldn't be awesome.  And hy-sterical.  That's the kind of entertainment I would GLADLY pay money for. 

A deadly accurate picture of what I look like when medicated.

OMG.  This is EXACTLY why I don't take allergy or cold medicine.

EXACTLY.

Pardon the video quality, but Collette Reardon was not meant to be watched in High-Def. 

Happy Weekend, friends!!  I am going to go on record and say that this has been the BEST FALL EVER.  If you consider this fall, because really, it feels like mild summer. 

Enjoy it!

Today I had to multi-task on so many levels, my brain hurts.

Whatever test it is that you pass when you can administer first aid, while experiencing five EXTREME climate changes, while having what sounds like a mega-phone in your actual eardrum, while driving 3-5 seemingly coked-up addicts to a location you are unfamiliar with? 

Whatever test that is, I passed.  If by "passed" you mean barely survived with partial hearing in tact.  Delivering the seemingly coked-up addicts (aka, 2nd graders), alive but not sober, to their field trip.  Lordy.

Did I mention they are fluent in all poop-speak and it's origins?  No?  Well, that's important. 

They weren't evil or violent or anything.  They weren't necessarily disobedient, as they would actually acknowledge my requests to stay seated and NOT use their seat belts as neckties.  For at least 45 seconds at a time.  I feel in their hearts that they wanted to be STILL!  But someone done went and laced their lunch with speed AND a generous side dish of cocaine, I think.  Silly!!

There was only one recorded incident of biting.  Over a Strawberry Shortcake figurine, go figure.  It seems that each boy was in a power struggle to shove it up his nose.  In the end, she was inappropriately assaulted by all three, I believe. 

Parents of 2nd Grade boys:  How do you raise sons without the hourly use of duct tape and sedatives? 

I need to know this.  I only have two years. 

Once S.S. had been sufficiently nose raped, the offenders BEGGED for me to roll down my windows.  Disposal of evidence, I believe.  Um, no.  Here is where we moved on to the heavy fondling of:  the DVD screen, the DVD remote, headphones, window shades, the trash bag and the rear thermostat.  Thank you, Honda, for putting temperature controls in the back seat.    

Fifteen minutes total drive time.

It was awesome.

And kind of manic.

And REALLY loud.

They assured me that they NEVER run out of energy.  If you harness it, I *believe* one might be able to power 14 LARGE cities, or possibly create the next boy band.  The world is a better place, either way.   

Let me introduce you to my new hobby.

Apple picking 2010 was a great success!!  Which is more than I can say for 2009, when you might recall, one of my children laid on the side of a rural road and later proceeded to blow chunks of...apple.  None of that here.

And let me tell you.

Our local apple orchard?  It's free to get in on weekdays, after 3:00 p.m.   Which might sound like a TOTALLY lame idea, considering it's a 5 hour drive.  Just kidding.  It's 45 minutes, but I have no tolerance for driving distances over 15 minutes.  Because I get carsick, making it an impossibility to check facebook or play Words With Friends in that time. 

Now.  The temps in these parts have been unseasonably warm, as of late.  Apparently, that means that apples rot right on the trees.  Not a lot of selection left, just enough for us to buy 20 pounds of apples.  Not kidding.  And guess what???  I don't even cook with apples and I kind of hate apple pie.  And mostly applesauce makes me gag!  But son-of-a-gun, I am going to make something, or my kids are going to eat apples until Christmas.  And I would put money on the fact that I will buy canning supplies, simply to lose my interest in this project 12 minutes after beginning it.  Yesssssssssssssss.

Let me also note:  I have this Amish fantasy of having a picture taken in a pumpkin field.  But ya know what??  Pumpkin fields are not pretty.  Mostly it's just a large area of vine-like weeks with a pumpkin here and there.  And you know what else?  Those pumpkins have already been severed from their vine, no *picking* involved.  That is NOT what the Amish would do. 

But the kids had a gay ol' time, and at the end of 2 hours, they were sufficiently covered in a film of gravel dust.  Success. 

I will regale you with tales of my apple-cooking adventures next week.  Any guesses on how much $$ I can spend on randomly ridiculous baking/canning supplies???? 

Where yo' monkeys at?

What makes me happy today: 

Paul Frank monkey socks. 

Exposed atop my tall boots. 

During, what I like to call, J.Crew weather...

you know, the kind of temperatures that make it possible to pair your daisy dukes

with your knee-high boots. 

I realize this blog has been a *bit*  heavy in fashion commentary...

What can I say?  There's A LOT of material to work with this season.

Two years ago, if we had worn half of the stuff they are selling right now,

We would have been mobbed by people with torches. 

Happy Fall, friends!

We are off to pick apples tomorrow...in near 80 degree temps.

Please pray against bees.

Should I wear my jeggings?????

Peace out.

She is EXACTLY the girl I hoped she would be.

Every day, I ask my almost 8-year-old daughter the same question.  It's not purposeful, but it is important to me.  When I think about her day, I want to know who she played with.


Do any of you do this?


For a while (think many years) she would say "no one" and give me ZERO details.  It sent me into a panic until I learned it wasn't true.  Apparently, this is a response that lots of kids give their psycho parents, and G's teachers assured me she was happy.


And she was happy.  But I guess I don't always trust happy? 


G has always been a quiet girl.  Shy.  Quick to make friends if others pursue her, but never one to introduce herself to a stranger.  She is kind, but reserved.  I've watched her be excluded from things.   I've watched her struggle to include others.  And mostly I have tried to figure out how to teach her to love others well.  I am 2.3% there.


Years ago, when I watched one of her best friends choose to play with another, more outgoing girl, I was REALLY tempted to tell her to jump in there and play with them!!  But then I realized that G wasn't upset.  She just did something else.  On her own.  She was okay with it.  
This year, my darling daughter is evolving.  It's hard to explain, but there is a confidence to her.  She is talkative with other children.  Much more likely to make a new friend on a simple trip to the park.  Certainly my desire to teach her love isn't the catalyst for this; most days I feel like I tear her down more than I build her up.  This of course is not my plan.


A lot of G's best friends are not her age.  Some don't go to her school.  Some are boys.  I suppose that if I was being honest, I would say that her friends are not what I would have expected?  Not in a disappointed kind of way, but more in the sense that I can't always figure this kid out.


Let me also say, I am completely against popularity cliques.  And snotty, mean girls.  So when I say that her friends are not what I expected, I should probably also say that G has never been highly opinionated, or independent, which I sometimes think makes her a target to simply follow bad behaviors. 

I would have never guessed that my shy girl would be so confident and relaxed in her friendships.  And if you think she is too young to experience friend anxiety?  You would be WRONG, this begins in preschool. 


But she really loves the friends who love her well.  And she is loyal to them. 


Now L.  She is more likely to ditch all of her friends if they don't want to feed earthworms to our mini-hamsters.  That child is going to be suspended for smoking in 5th grade, I am fairly certain.  My girls, they are so, SO very different.  But also the best of friends. 

But you know what?  I think that's what happens when our world becomes to crazy for playdates.  G & L have formed quite a bond.  But that bond is easily broken when someone new enters the picture, and L seems a little too baby-ish (or wild) to tag along.  I really think it's a good thing that I am slightly paralyzed by time lately.  Any attempts by me to *help* G in the friendship department would surely ruin her. 

And I guess, at the end of the day, I like to know who she plays with, so I can attempt to understand how they are handling G's heart.  Which is, apparently, very well.  And I don't know if it will last forever, but I HOPE that she will always been the girl with the quiet spirit who stands by her friends, even when they are different from her. 

Raising girls is emotionally overwhelming, ya know? 

How this year's theme of ridiculous clothing names DOES NOT guarantee satisfaction.

What we have here is the sequel to "The Great Blue Bathing-suit Debacle."

Known to my husband, as "The time his wife bought that friggin-whacked-out-old-lady-suit from Target." 

Friends, that bathing suit was the inside joke of my ENTIRE summer.  Particularly when total strangers (ALWAYS women) would feel compelled to tell me how much they liked my suit.  Did one of you pay random strangers to do that?  Because that's fantastic.  And kind of creepy.  Because now I know people are looking at me in my small, blue fat suit.

Bathing suits are SO stupid.  But definitely not as ridiculous as when the Duggars wear those full-length dresses made out of bathing suit material.  I guess you just can't win this one. 

But anyway, when these random (paid) strangers tell me they like my suit and I BURST into laughter and follow it up with an explanation of how much my husband HATES it, they tend to think two things:

I have been drinking.  A lot.

And, my husband is a douche.

Neither is true. Okay, well that first one is true if you factor in my last weekend, or anytime I am invited to a Cardinal's game in seats that provide free food and alcohol.  But my husband is not a feminine hygiene product.  In fact, in all the years I have known him,that bathing suit is the FIRST piece of my clothing he had a highly allergic reaction to.   And if I haven't mentioned it before, I wore OVERALLS on our first date. 

However. 

It appears that he is growing a skin rash at the thought of these purple boots.  Excuse me, BOOTIES.  Which might be the dumbest name since jeggings. 

I want these to work.  But I tried them with the jeggings and wasn't sold.  And then I tried them with the rolled leg, slouchy jeans.  Meh.  Not me.  I'm in love with the idea, but not the actual BOOTIE.  And I have thoughts that a thick pair of black tights and a cute skirt would do it?  But let's face it, that is going NOWHERE fast.  Maybe it's the peep toe?  Possibly a BOOTIE with a covered toe would be better?  Or it's just time for me to realize I am all-growns-up and throw on a pair of high waisted pleated jeans and loafers? 

Yup.  I am cutting my losses and returning them to Target, where I shall surely exchange them for:  An item of girl's clothing with a polka dot theme, 3 bags of candy corn and possibly a t-shirt with a vintage advertising mascot.

Neon is just a few weeks away if the people at the Gap don't kick their nasty drug habit.

You guys.

I TOTALLY called it.  Remember how I was all, "Gag-me-with-a-spoon-stirrup-pants-are-baaaaaack-at-the-Gap"????  What did I say would happen next?????

It's Hammer time. 

On clearance this week and everything.  That's weird???  I totally thought that women would LOVE to wear pants that allows the crotch seam to hang in close proximity to the knees. 

WTF, Gap??????? 

In related news.  I REALLY want these shoes to work.  REALLY.  But I'm not quite there. 

If I still *trusted* the fashion advice of the Gap, then I would wear them with my jeggings.  But lately, the Gap is smoking crack, so I am unsure.  And I tried them on together, but the jeggings seem to freak out a bit at the ankle.  And then I'm not sure if I'm supposed to try to tuck them in?  Or let them slouch?  Or tight roll them and glue gun them in place?  I don't know!

I feel that I am at a fashion crossroads.  You know, you either embrace new stuff or you get stuck.  Not saying that you have to follow every trend out there, but that's how one might be tempted to wear Keds in 2010.   Yup, they were awesome and comfy.  But the world has moved on to at least 7 other shoes that are 1.) more comfy, and 2.) more ugly (reference the Croc). 

Also noted:  Progress can slap you with a big fat case of the uglies, too.  Once, I went to have my hair cut and gave the stylist free reign to do whatever would look good (verses being stuck in a rut)? 

And she gave me a mullet.  I had to wear half of my hair pulled up for at least 3 months, or else people would randomly throw me cans of Natty Light.  She tried to tell me it was SOOOOO cosmopolitan.  Apparently, I missed the year that Appalachia hit the runways.

Now everybody.  Go get yourself a pair of the MC Hammer diaper pants and break-it-down. This has definite Halloween possibilities.

I have found the bacterial equivalent of the Taliban; and their plans for mass destruction were not pretty.

So this week, I noticed that something smelled in the mini-van.

What's new, right?

You all remember the chocolate-cheese debacle?  The one that resulted from me leaving a mostly-full McDonald's chocolate milk in the van for 5 days?

Well, this smelt...different.  Sweeter than gross.  Or gross disguised with sweet?  Maybe a terrible fungus with a raspberry garnish?  It was definitely coming from the back of the car, because let's face it, I might drink on occasion, but my children act drunk. All.  The. Time.

Chance are they:  sneezed something, spilled something, vomited something, *hid* something, pooped something, licked something.  You pick.  I live by the "don't ask, don't tell" policy. 

Because of the "sweet" after taste this thing was leaving in my nostrils, I *mistakenly* thought it was the two pound bag of candy corn sitting in my door (excuse me, it  is currently a .25 pound bag of candy corn).  I thought the candy corn might be releasing a gas when heated by the sun?

Negative.

Mike drove my car  last night and I SWORE I cleaned the whole thing out last week after the chocolate-cheese mess.  Which led to the lego-melting-in-my-vacuum-cleaner disaster.  He had his doubts, because of the fine-ground layer of cheerios on the floor (small, drunk people, remember)??  He decided to investigate.

And that is when he moved one of the captain's chairs forward.

Whoa, buddy.  When I said *cleaned*, I meant all visible areas. I mean, that's how you lose fingers, by releasing all of those amoebas that have grown teeth and weaponry.  They LIVE under those chairs and perform military style drills, regularly.  And they may or may not be creating nuclear weapons from old dairy chunks.

Because under said chair?  Was CHOCOLATE MILK #2 (now 12 days old) and spilled all over the floor mats.

Hmmm.  Found it. 

Small, drunk people are no longer allowed the privilege of a McDonald's binge in my car. 

I have a theory that Bruno Mars can cure addiction.

Quick story:  When Big J was in the NICU, and his little premature brain couldn't handle sleeping and breathing at the same time, his doctors HOOKED HIM UP with a straight I.V. of caffeine.  


Sign. me.  up. 


I am about 10 days in to what feels like a Nazi regime that only allows for one Diet Coke a day.  With lots of loop holes.  I still get a 32-ouncer before my bible study on Thursday mornings AND before soccer games on Saturdays.  And also before church on Sunday.  Throw me a bone here, people.  Phase one includes the annihilation of spontaneous runs to 7-11 at any ol' time of the day.  Gone is (most of) my free will.  Now it's just ONE tiny Diet Coke can per weekday (minus Thursday, and during shopping outings to Sam's Club). 


And water.  Ick.  Bleh. 


In all honesty, my ONE Diet Coke feels like the legal "medical" dose of heroine that's being given to an addict that's trying to quit.  It is NEVER enough.  Lindsey Lohan?  I totally get you, girl.  And I always *hoard* my daily Coke until late afternoon when my brain is absolutely failing to make any sense of the world.  For example:  requests by my children to play with the creme brule torch, weed whacker, Dad's golf clubs, straight bleach and a table saw (simultaneously) would most likely be granted.  So long as there is no arguing.  I have my standards for parenting, and in the absence of caffeine, I judge myself effective so long as there is no bickering.


Bickering causes aneurisms. 


You know, I was a real Coke drinker, until I gained that 65+ pounds in my pregnancy with G.  And when those pounds didn't *magically* follow G out the rabbit hole, well, I did some Weight Watchers.  And cried myself to sleep for a month, because Coke was no longer in the calorie budget.  At that point, I really hated the taste of Diet, but what's a fat new mom to do?? 


What I'm most concerned about is the aspartame, or whatever the stuff is that causes cancer in lab rats.  That stuff.  Which I realize makes me sound like I eat organic?  Um, no.  I'm full of preservatives, and I cook my vegetables in plastic bags in the microwave.  Yup, I am a hot mess of carcinogens.   So I'm trying to eliminate ONE of the many red flags that make me a prime candidate for spontaneous human combustion.


Which means I could go back to regular Coke?  And guarantee myself a solid case of the sugars (translation:  diabetes). 


The only thing that I have found that helps?


That Bruno Mars song.  Just the Way You Are.  LOVE it so much.  Like, SO much.  It is single-handedly responsible for my mood-regulation, as I hit repeat every time I feel a caffeine flash about to turn me green and muscle-y.  It works to, for 3.5 minutes.  Which is why L has learned all the words to that song in just 2 days. 


But I don't know if it's *acceptable* for me to like Bruno Mars? 


I am 34.  And I feel peer pressure to like artists like Michael Buble and Coldplay?  Like that one time in college when a date asked me who my favorite band OF ALL TIME was and I said Bon Jovi?  And he looked at me like I just gave birth to a baby who left it's 65-pound twin in my belly? 


Yep.  I QUICKLY corrected and said the  Indigo Girls.  Dave Matthews, Freddy Jones, The Samples--any of those would have been acceptable in Indiana during the years of 1994-1998.  Even though Bon Jovi is HANDS DOWN the best band of.  all.  time. 


What was I saying?


I don't even know anymore.  Cue Bruno Mars.  And tomorrow I will regale you with tales of what sweat glands and moldy cheese would smell like if they created a baby. 

Superhero tales of how my body processes alcohol.

Ohmyygod, blogworld.  Let me explain that last post.


It appears that I have been unintentionally drinking.  The kind where you mistake alcohol for water. 


Which led, amongst other things, to the "forceful holding" of a dwarf hamster.  Turns out my fine motor skills are still in tact, but those rat babies won't just crawl in my hand and let me frickin pet them, so WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO????  Forcefully grab them and smile and drool, whilst trying to hold them *firmly* and not rupture their kidneys.  That's what.  I consider this feat similar (in precision and talent) to performing laproscopic surgery, while annibriated.  Which means, of course, that I am A-MA-ZING.


But the drinking has also resulted in the winning of an annual golf competition.  Having my husband as a partner always makes me feel like a rock star because he eliminates the part of my game that takes 12 shots to hit the green.  And beside the hamster assault, is it REALLY all that bad?????


I probably knew there was a problem when I went to the bathroom at 7:45 p.m., and couldn't quite stand without swaying. But did I mention that we won a golf competition?  What with me drinking a margarita, two shots, and a beer, all before dinner????


Did you think it stopped there?  Because I also had two glasses of wine PLUS two glasses of champagne that somehow, magically, appeared.  All of it making me feel like I am radiating AWE-some (that's for you, Dana).  But it temporarily robbed me of the ability to pronounce any word containing the letter "s".  That's normal, right?????


Did I also mention I am on a DIET???   And that I limited my calorie intake to account for last night's dinner of foods that do not consist of splenda and preservatives?    Which means, I ate water yesterday, AND I ran 4 miles.  And that when I came home looking for a food to soak up the non-digested booze, all I found was fat-free hot dogs and almonds???  Frickin almonds.  Yup, been there, done that.  Almonds leave weird, chunky, residual gunk in my teeth.  You know, when consumed before bed and minus teeth brushing.  And combined with licking a hamster.  Check. 


And if I wasn't wasted, I would have gotten in my car (that looks like it could have been involved in vehicular manslaughter), and driven right up to the 24-hour  Dunkin Donuts that just opened up the street.  Yes, I tried to convince my husband to do it.  Because we don't own any food with fat (and yet I still gain .80 pounds per week).  He refuses on principle.  He is LAME. 


He also wouldn't get me another glass of chardonnay.  And he DOES NOT want to *hold* a hamster.  I even offered to catch it. 

?????????????? 

Who DOESN'T want to hold a hamster? 


On the plus side. I had a REALLY great time tonight.  I talked really loudly.  And the Girl Scouts came up 20 times.  I think the whole massage debacle may have been explained in great detail.  Lordy.  I might have some *issues*.

{Edited to note:  75% of this post was written last night.  And then I remained in bed until 1 p.m. today.  BAD, bad news.  It appears that my tolerance has taken a BIG hit since 1998.   Hubby handled all children AND prevented me the great anguish of eating 15 donuts at midnight.  He is not lame, he is like the Dali Lama, I think.  And also, it's a really good thing that I didn't find the 2-pound bag of candy corn *hiding* in my car door}.

Imneverdrinkingeveragain.

Little J follows the philosophy of Sir Mix A-Lot.

In case you missed it, Little J is an ass man. 

As documented by his preschool teachers. 

Wow.

The terms by which I would become a cannibal.

New, fun, EASY thing.  Fabric roses.  They've been around since the caveman days, I DID NOT invent these.  I didn't even come up with the idea of putting them on shoes, that came from this blog post (link here).  These are, in fact, the shoes that began my 23 hour love affair with the Target website and ended with a pair of jeggings.  They are awesomely comfy, but I am pretty sure they were meant to be house slippers.  But you should know that I really don't care. 

Anyhoo.  I put regular old hair clips (alligator clips might be their proper term) on the back of these, and that's how I clipped them on to the shoe.  I can't say with certainty that they won't fall off the shoe...but I'm not willing to commit to a single flower color by glue-gunning it down.  Quite the conundrum, I'm not sure how I'm going to live with myself. 

But you know me.  Couldn't stop at just one fabric flower.  Had to make 12,368.  Just kidding, I stopped at 5, mostly because I was trying to round out this red/brown/blue color palate.  Me likey.  But I have plans to multiply these things like rabbits, and I have Halloween on my mind, so.....

You can expect to see more of these little babies in the future. 

But right now I am going to drag 3 kids to a Halloween store.  I am overcome with the need to buy/ make a witch's hat.  Like, if I don't find that freakin' hat tonight, I might sprout fur and eat some villagers.  Ever feel like that?  No?  Guess it's just me. 

Later.

{Edited to note:  I DID NOT find that witch's hat.  I did find a fabric store and the items I need to make one.  And this, folks, is how crazy is born.  I need a new project about as much as I need the criminal charges that would come with actually eating a human.}

My mothering abilities and common sense in general have taken a hit this week.

Life is moving fast lately, people.  And I am down to ONE, measly, 12-ounce can of Diet Coke.  Per.  Day.  Mostly because I fear cancer, and have finally convinced myself that drinking upwards of 60 ounces of Diet Coke a day can only lead to abnormal tumor growth in places like my pancreas.

This leaves me feeling as if I am *ineffectively* chasing my life down the highway in one of those WEIRD tiny cars that looks like a go-cart.  You know what I mean.  I am moving kind of slow, and it looks AWKWARD. 

All this to say, that I am really not doing life very well these days.  And here is the proof:

I left my purse in the cart at the grocery store for *almost* 24 hours this week, before I even realized it was missing.  Hell, I don't even know if I left it in the cart--I could have placed it in the yogurt case for all I remember.  But I called, and it was there.  Mystery solved.  I am VERY dumb.

I didn't realize that Big J was LEFT handed.  Mostly because I just shove him in his dark, black box the second he gets home from school, so how would I know that??  Kidding.  I always *thought* he was right handed.  Turns out, I was wrong.  About almost everything he does.  And this *might* be why he has had some fine-motor issues. 

Earlier this week, G was throwing a hissy fit because our car smelled like vomit.  Suck it up, I said, our car ALWAYS smells like vomit.  Probably from that time a year ago that you VOMITED.   So then, a couple of days later, I noticed that it did, in fact, smell as if an intestine full of  liver had curled up and died in our car.  And that would be when I found the 5-day-old McDonald's chocolate milk.  Which had solidified into chocolate cheese. 

After the cheese-making incident, I decided it might be time to sanitize the car.  I used our small, hand-held Dirt Devil to vacuum the carpet, and *accidentally* sucked up an awkward shaped Lego.  Five seconds later, I smelled something burning (which was like potpourri, next to the chocolate-cheese-vomit fiasco).  I opted to just stop the cleaning process until that Lego spontaneously evaporates. 

Coincidentally, there was a weird burning smell issue with our normal sized vacuum cleaner.  And I managed to ignore it for at least a year, before Mike finally took it in to be fixed.  Problem solved with a $4 something-or-other.  You might be learning that I AVOID fixing things.  And cleaning.

On my SECOND trip to the grocery store this week, I forgot the groceries in my car.  For 3 hours.  The chicken I bought was still mildly cold, so I think I might have barely escaped disaster. 

You are probably best not to leave any children or pets in my care until my caffeine levels even out a bit.  Be warned. 

My current physical state, displayed on a t-shirt.

We are getting into the Halloween spirit around here.  Which means funny skeletons on shirts.  It seems like EVERY piece of boys clothing has a skull and crossbones on it these days, and I am less than thrilled with those images of death.  But a funny lookin' bone head with button eyes?  I am all over that. 

I am thinking about doing ones for the girls with hairbows on their...um.....skulls.  But who knows.  My brain has already fast-forwarded to the next 13 projects, so maybe not. 

This is going to be a weenie post.  Because here is the sequence of events that have comprised my day:

Wake up at 7:36.  That's 36 minutes too late.

Brush 2 out of 4 children's teeth.  Tie three pairs of shoes.  Verbally talk them through the dressing process (again).  Find a new shirt for Little J, because he is a monster-sized 4 year old. 

Drop 3 kids off at school (#4 is with Dad).

Run.

Shower.

Drive by Shop-n-Save to retrieve my purse.  Which I left there yesterday.  I will be doing another post this week on my AWE-some observation skillz.

Run to Hobby Lobby.  Duh. 

Pick up 3 kids.

Lunch for 3 kids.

Play with 3 kids.  Including the building of a race car track, which is the equivalent of rocket science for me.

Appointment at ENT for L.  Suckage of ear gunk and discussion of chronic ear issues.

Drop L off at soccer practice.

Home to meet G, start dinner (hot dogs and french fries).

Pick up L at soccer practice.

Shove food in G and dress her for swim practice.

Shower for L, 30 minute lubrication process for Little J's eczema.

Sesame Street before bed.

Mommy throws herself a party that includes cold french fries and a Lean Cuisine.  Woo-woo!!


Anyhoo.  Days like this make me fee CRAZY.  Just knowing I have one thing on top of the next is like suffocating me with a wet blanket.  Mentally, I know it all works.  But the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-jeggings part of me hates having no room for error or creativity.  On days like today, all I think, at any given moment is, "YOU ARE FRICKIN LATE, MOVE IT LADY." 

So if you happen to catch me on one of these days, and it appears that I am already 12 sentences in to a conversation I started all on my own?  Well, it's because some crazy bi-atch is yelling at me in my brain, and talking all frantic seems to help.  'Kay?

Getting over my phobia of the 80's and my hatred of terrible clothing names.

Blogworld, this weekend I bought something very reminiscent of The Jean Warehouse, circa 1988.  As you might imagine, I am somewhat leary of this purchase, as it SO closely resembles something I would have worn in middle school.  And those were NOT good years.  However.  If I can just avoid giving myself an unnaturally tight perm and braces, I think we'll be okay.

May I introduce the JEGGING.

Jeans + leggings, if your new to this sort of thing.  Let me tell you, I have owned A LOT of denim with questionable lycra content, so I myself am not new to this party.  My post child-bearing ass and hips?  I fear they are like a sheltered college freshman at a frat party.  All over the freakin place. 

So I went to Target SPECIFICALLY to try on jeggings.  I originally tried to order these from the privacy of my own home, but it turns out that Target sells 842 kinds of jeggings and making that kind of choice is just too mentally challenging for me. 

It took me 30 MINUTES to locate a pair of jeggings (I told you, mentally challenged).  Even though there was a large tag attached to it that said...wait for it...JEGGINGS.  This is because the jeggings and the skinny jeans were mating in the same display area and I was all kinds of confused.  Because they look EXACTLY the same.  And by nature, I am drawn to the skinny jean.  But I was seeking JEGGINGS.  But I wanted the SKINNY JEANS.  Mostly because they didn't have a stupid name. 

I found one pair.  I kind of hated the color.  But not as much as I hated the black pair with the metal pointy studs.  Ick.  It was my size, but I was CONVINCED I would need to go up 2-4 sizes, so as not to be indecent.  This was lining up to be all kinds of wrong and potentially, a little emotionally abusive.  Just before trying them on, I realized there wasn't a real zipper, just the appearance of one, which made it HIGHLY UNLIKELY that these babies would be able to slip past my knees.  Awesome.

But wait. 

They just hopped right on over....EVERYTHING.  Like I stretched them wide, and when I let go, the jeggings formed a perfect seal against my skin.  Gasp!

Blood flow, good.

Oxygenation, good. 

All systems a go!

And in that moment I was wearing the tightest pair of jeans I have ever owned, with a FLEXIBLE waist band.  Pure genius.  Someone invented comfy pants for faux-skinny people.  I love these things so much, I could cry. 

Because I own many a pair of skinny jeans, and while I like the look, I REALLY hate that they ride just low enough to dissect my baby skin sack.  That is just bloody awful.  But the jeggings people have obviously birthed humans, so they get it.  As a solution, they simply liquored up some denim and had it get freaky with A LOT of lycra.  Like, a lot. 

And then!  I wore them all day on Saturday, even to Big J's soccer game in the pouring rain.  And you know what?  They were the only part of me not soaking wet.  Which means that they are WAY synthetic and that the denim also got a little loose with some strange chemicals?  But that's even more awesome. 

But be on guard, people!

While I was perusing the Internet for images of JEGGINGS, I decided to look at what the Gap had to offer.  EGAD! 

WHY THE NEED TO REVISIT THE STIRRUP??? 

Too far, Gap.  Too far. 

And might I take this moment to predict the second coming of the MC Hammer pant.  For the love. 

Go get yourself some jeggings, ladies.  Shove them in some boots, and eat a few dozen Oreos.  They can HANDLE it! 

You're welcome. 

**And FYI, The Jean Warehouse was a REAL place where many years of wardrobe were purchased in the late 80's.  It was quite popular with residents of Hawaii.  A state that is dominated by Asians.  Just sayin. 

My proudest moment since Big J defied the odds of prematurity, and lived.

This kid scored his first soccer goal on Saturday.

WA-HOOO!!!!!

We fed him eggs.  This might be important, because Big J *turned the mutha out* on Saturday and kicked that ball up and down the field.  And if you will remember with me the tantrum/seizure that began our Soccer '10 season, then I think you'll agree this is HUGE. 

HUGE.

Also.  Big J doesn't necessarily have the best control over his gross motor skillz.  Blame his prematurity.  Or  his Asian-ness, because that is my go-to excuse for everything.  Oh relax, Asians, I am half of one of you.  But, we signed him up for soccer because he said he WANTED to play (prior to the snot river it inevitably caused) and because we knew it would be good for him to work on his coordination.

Coincidentally, Big J plays on a team that has not lost.  Mostly because there are some kindergarten boys that eat steroids and are FREAKY awesome at soccer.  And amidst this team, Big J decided to turn-it-frickin-on, at Saturday's game.  Like, he was ALWAYS next to that ball.  This was SO encouraging, because Mike and I have debated whether he could, in fact, actually see the ball.  Turns out, he can.  Bonus!

So he dribbled it down the field, sort of paused before the goal, and then gave it a soft little kick that landed it in the net.  Un-frickin-believable.  I haven't been this proud since he survived off of his ventilator. 

Kidding.

Not really.

He didn't really even know that he did anything SO amazing.  Until I told him 9,567 times.  I think he is on board now. 

Anyway.  Big J is the Forrest Gump of the soccer field.  In that, he is an extreme rule follower, but thus far, can only focus on the FIRST rule that you tell him.  This week, someone must have told him to NEVER LET THAT DAMN BALL OUT OF YOUR SIGHT.  

And well, he did it.  Here's to a kid that NEVER fails to surprise me. 

Where I prove that the reasons why I suck are WAY beyond my control.

I suck at blogging this week. 

Because this can't possibly be my fault, I have come up with a list of reasons for my suckage.  And they are (in no particular order):

Little J's eczema.  Which is like my 10th child, right after my ACTUAL four children, laundry, this here blog, my two rat-baby hamsters and the garden toad that will not die.  But seriously, the eczema is so needy it requires a 40 minute bath and lubing process EVERY night.  Or else Little J wakes up as a giant, bleeding scab.  Boo.


Apple Pie baking for kindergartners.  Who, coincidentally, are not fond of pie. 

Our first kindergarten play date.  Deep breaths, I think it went well.  I think our kids can be friends.  New school, new parents...it's like dating through my socially inappropriate 6-year-olds.

Sewing some stuff.  Including Halloween costumes.  Which I swore I would NEVER make again.  But have any of you actually purchased a costume lately????  $35 for thin polyester???  Apparently the Halloween costumes are all up in my grill this year, but come on... I am sure I can turn out 2 ill-fitting Darth Vader costumes for $15 (which really turns into $60) a piece. 

A pre-occupation with recreating that Smurfette costume.  And how it would be 1,000xs more awkward (and amazing).  But also, that a turquoise leotard/body suit and small white shorts on a 34-year old might be kind of stripper-esqe. Which means that adult Smurfette might be the perfect storm of smutty/awkward.  Hmmmm.

Shoe shopping on the Target website has easily robbed me of 15 hours this week.  I suppose that makes it a twin to Little J's eczema.  And then I actually went into the store and that was a big, BIG mistake.  One word:  Jeggings.  And before you judge, just know that I am a HUGE fan.  But that warrants its own post. 

Last Friday, our washing machine broke.  This is disastrous for the universe on many levels, but posed a serious problem for our entire weekend schedule and life in general.  It is a theory of mine that the laundry is staging a mutiny, but I am currently beating that wench back into submission before she eats every pair of underwear my kids own.   

And that folks, is my week.  Tomorrow we are off to soccer, dinner with friends, and a marathon for my hubby on Sunday!!