John Boys

I pee. Like, a lot. I am not sure if it is bladder brainwash from when I was growing up, or what. You know, "Go pee-pee before we leave" or when on vacation, "We are stopping for gas. Go in and pee. You don't have to? Well, try anyway..." It could also be the fact that I had three ginormous babies that did some squishing to my organs (8 lb, 4 oz, 8 1/2 lbs, and the whopper that was 9 lbs, 11 oz). At any rate, I can tell you where bathrooms are in any store, restaurant, play area, friend's home in Y County. I have even had to make pit stops in porta-pots here and there. And those things make me want absolutely puke.

I swear to you, I can pee "just before" I walk out the door, drive 30 minutes, and be like, "Aw, hell, gotta go again." Make no mistake, I have no problem with holding it...no dribbling here...but I just have super-functioning kidneys.

That being said, I would not want to do a big fat sneeze when holding a full bladder. That could be catastrophic. Or hilarious. Depending on where I am when it happens. Haha, I said "Depend".

At any rate, so, OK, I have two little boys. One big boy, of course, who can go potty alone, and has for many years, but two littles that still have to go in the Ladies Room with me. When the biggest kid was little, I was a single mom and when he got too old (in his mind) to go into the Ladies' Room, I remember standing in the doorway of the Mens Room, holding the door open with my foot and announcing loudly, "Austin, I am RIGHT HERE. Are you OK? Aust, I am STILL HERE, OK?" (Translation- "Any potential pedophiles, be on alert. Do not even THINK of messing with that kid there. Momma Lion is at the door. Oh, and sorry to any of you fellers just trying to get your pee on, having to listen to a woman's voice bouncing off the tiles. Shy bladders will have to 1. wait, or 2. go pee in the parking lot.")

Anyway, the littles are nowhere near being ready to go to the Mens' Room solo, so they come in with me. Usually, I go in a stall and have them stand right outside the door, with their shoes peeking under where I can see them, but if the bathroom is crowded, they have to come in the stall with me. Yep, pretty crowded, and you hear me saying the following:

1. Do not touch ANYTHING. No, not that, or that. Please, will you just put your hands in your pockets???

2. I will flush it with my foot. Do not touch the flusher. Thanks anyway, but I will handle it.

3. Leave that metal box alone. (Ladies, you know what I am saying. Ick.)

I had both littles in a crowded bathroom recently, and we packed into a stall. I was doing the hover and my youngest loudly proclaims for all to hear, "Hahahahahahaha! Mom, you are peeing out of your BUTT! Hahahahahaha!" To which I hear snickers and giggles. So I try to quietly explain that a) it is not actually coming from my butt, and b) GET OUT from behind there!

Then he says, "Oh, so it must be from your BA-JINE-AH! Hahahahahahaha!"

Heavens to mergatroid. I wanted to get the heck out of there, but I had to make the Walk of Shame to the sink. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

It made me recall a story one of my best friends told me about her daughter coming into a stall with her and announcing to all in the bathroom, "Mommy, you have a REALLY BIG VAGINA!" Yikes. I suppose peeing from the butt is a little better than that. But not much.

Maybe it is time to stand guard at the Mens' Room after all.

Thrift Store Thursday

So, my intention was to do a holiday-themed TST, but upon checking out the holiday decorations available for purchase from my local TS, I found it to be sorely lacking.  This leads me to believe that either 1.  Very few people are donating holiday decorations, or 2. Someone, or someoneS bought most of the available Christmas cheer.

I lean more toward #2, only because I have seen many outdoor holiday displays around town that make me wonder/afraid of what it looks like inside.  You know, craptastic displays like this one...

Nonetheless, I was able to find a few interesting pieces for your enjoyment.  I suppose they could be bought and given as Christmas/Chanuka/Kwanzaa/Festivus/Winter Solstice/WhatTheFrickEver gifts, so let's say we are sticking with the theme.  Pretend with me, much like we pretend that I actually create these posts on Thursdays.

OMG.  The perfect gift for my sister-in-law.  Provided, of course, she changes her name to Brandon Edward Reams.  Oh, and that date at the bottom.  I am sure she would be cool with shaving ten-ish years off of her birthday.  I do think she will like the lovely bluebird with the broken-looking neck.  Or is he constipated?  Jury is still out.

Or maybe this vag-inspired picture? Seriously, I am not the only one that sees this...right?

How would you like this cheery fellow looking at you from atop your armoir?  My fear of clowns doesn't seem quite so irrational right now, does it?  (Frickin A...really.  Who puts this in their house and calls it good???)

For that special someone.  You know, when you want to say, hey, I'm wild about you.  So much so that I bought you this shitty wooden gorilla.

AHHHH!  A TRIBBLE!  Oh, just a wig. Eww....

Know anyone who just bought a house and needs a sofa?  Or in this case, a SofaKing Ugly?

But this gift....  This one is super-special.  This says hey baby, you rock my world.  Or else it says, hey, did you know your friend was a freaky pervert?

(I just have to preface this with a "good Lord.")

It is especially awesome if the recipients name is Kermit.  As in, "Hey Kermit, big boy, come and get it, baby."

Or you could just do gift cards and cash.  If you want to keep your friends for another year.

Making up for it

OK, to make up for my crybabylittlebitch post from yesterday, I present you with this, courtesty of YouTube.

OMGigglinGertie, how cute is this kid? And how does he know all the words to this song? (OK, maybe just he and I sing it that way, but still...)

I like it, I love it, I want some more of it.

If I could live one day all over again...

...it sure as hell wouldn't be this one.

Warning. Piss and moan post, dead ahead.

As sucktastic days go, on a scale of one to ten, where ten is complete and utter catastrophe, chaos, and mayhem, and one being, oh, say a broken nail, today rated a solid 5. All things considered, it wasn't the worst of days, but bruddah, it was no picnic, either.

1. Rain. Cold, crappy rain. All stinkin' day long.

Hello, December? Um, where the frick is my snow?

2. At grocery store (after running in from said cold rain), only about halfway through and the celly rings. 'Tis the hubs. "How close are you to being done?"

"Uh, only about halfway."

"The Christmas tree fell over and there are ornaments, glass, and water everywhere. I am standing here holding it upright and need you to help me."

So, I park the cart up front, tell a girl in customer service that I will be right back, and can I leave my cart there? Sure, she says. I rush home to find a hella mess. This is one gargantuan tree. When they say "the bigger they are, the harder they fall", they ain't playin' around.

**Pause P&M session to say YAY! None of the ornaments my mom made me over the years when I was growing up broke. All were intact, which is no small miracle, as they are all ceramic! Not to mention the best part...the tree did not fall on anyone. **

Resume Pissing and Moaning...

3. Returned to grocery store (p.s., called and told them I would not be back any time soon, and to please put back the refrigerated items, only to be told that the CS girl did not relay my message to hold cart, and all items were placed back on shelves. Sheesh.) I am in the meat section looking for ham hocks, which I have no blessed idea what they are supposed to look like. Who eats this crap? Apparently we need them for ham and bean soup, that Dave was making (supposedly, but more on that later...) OK, in the meat section, and suddenly some random woman is going, "Hellooooo, Hellooooooo, HELLLOOOOOO!" and waving her hands in front of my face like I am some idiot. All with this totally exasperated look on her face. Apparently, she wanted my attention, no? And apparently, I was ignoring her, or MAYBE I AM DEAF IN MY RIGHT EAR? How about that idea, lady? Her big hairy deal question, "What is today's date?" I was flabbergasted at the rudeness and managed to mumble out "The thirteenth, I think." I looked for that broad all over the store for the rest of my shopping trip so I could give her a frosty explanation as to why I did not answer her when she needed my attention for the oh-so-important date so she could decide whether or not she wanted to buy whatever meat she was considering. At least, I think I would have said something. Probably not, but in my head, I gave her an earful.

4. Regarding the aforementioned bean soup, hubs had to run an errand (yes, important, but still...) and left me to do all the chopping of veggies and putting together of the soup. I hate onions, and had to chop a bunch of them. Bleh. The ham hocks are just grody looking and I did not want to even handle them for the time it took me to plop them in the broth. (Then again, I have some issues with handling raw meat.) Point being, if I was doing the cooking tonight, it would have been something simpler that had ingredients I actually LIKE.

I know. I am being a big whiny babypants.

*Sigh.

It's Miller time, friends. Multiple Miller time.

Tomorra...is anotha day!

This is what you get...

When you dick around at the polls and "Ha ha! I wrote myself in!" on an elected position.

Yes, that is my jokey-joker husband who is now an elected official with a whopping one vote. Needless to say, we scrambled to figure out exactly what a "Minority Inspector" was expected to do once we got this notice today. I was so hoping that it would involve something like having to speak in public, or do some such embarrassing thing. I am twisted like that, and make no mistake, he would wish the same on me, should the shoe be on the other foot. Alas, it appears that he only has to show up at the poll in our district when there is an election. I guess he helps oversee things (?) I am still not totally sure. Once it became clear that it would not be anything that would give me reason to poke fun at him, I sort of lost interest in the research. Bummer.

Lest you think he does not take voting seriously, this man never misses an election. He votes in local races as well as national ones. He is very patriotic and takes seriously his right to vote. And now he can surely show his pride in serving his district.

AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Sucka!

Sketch Artist

The littlest kid's newest accessories are pad and pen. He alternates from being Joe/Steve from Blue's Clue's to a waiter from some sadistic restaurant. I say "sadistic" because when Chase the Waiter asks you what you want to order, and you respond, they NEVER have it.

"OK, what you want?"

"How about a pizza?"

"Ohhhh....no pizza."

"OK, then, how about grilled cheese?"

"Ohhhh, we have no grilled cheese. We have cheeseboogers."

"Cheesebooger, then."

(scribble, scribble.)

"What else?"

"Uhhhh....salad?"

"Nope! No salad!"

"What do you have?"

"Well, we have french fries."

"Are you sure? OK, then, I will take that. And you tell me what you have to drink so I don't have to guess."

"Sprite. Just Sprite. In a can."

(scribble, scribble.)

So, 15 minutes later when he wants to know what I want to order (again), you would think it would be easy; cheesebooger, french fries, and Sprite...in a can. But nooooo. Now, they are magically all out of all of those things, and the guessing game begins again.

But yesterday, he was intently watching me blow dry my hair, and once in a while would put his pen to paper...then, stop, look intently, and draw again....another pause, look, and another addition to the paper.... I realized he must be drawing me. When I finished, he proudly proclaimed, "Look here, Mommy! I drawed YOU!"

And I must say, the resemblance is striking.

I think he has a great future ahead of him as a police sketch artist.

Mama's Holiday Wish Meme

Mama’s Holiday Wish List Meme

TodaysMama and Provo Craft are giving away a sleighful of gifts this holiday season and to enter I’m sharing this meme with you.

1. What 5 items are on your holiday wish list this year? Anything sparkly! A new Amy Burhoe ring, Land's End GC, new dishes from Crate and Barrel, new rug from C&B. (Luckily, my darling MIL works there...woot!)

Oh, and if I can have a #6, I shall add some tasty Alexander Skarsgard.

Have. Mercy.

2. What is your favorite handmade gift you have received? Probably a doll my mom made when I was a kid. It was a Miss Hannigan (Annie) doll, and she was a hoot...dressed in a negligee, beads, and feather boa. It was ahhhh-suuuuuuum!

3. What handmade gift have you always wanted to tackle? I have always wanted to learn to knit and make scarves and all kinds of cozy, cute things. The closest I have come is a latch-hook kit. Hey, it has yarn, right?

4. What was the best Christmas gift you received as a child? Hands down- the dollhouse my granddad made for me and my sister. Wish I still had that badboy. I loved it.

5. What items are on your kid’s wish list this year? Since I normally keep them from watching channels with commercials, when they do see one, THAT is what they want. It changes minute to minute, commercial to commercial. Unless it is something dolly or pink, 'cause "Ewww. Dat's for guuuuurls."

6. What is your favorite holiday food? My sweet potato souffle. It rocks my socks.

7. What will you be hand-crafting for the holidays? The boys and I made ornaments for their tree. We will do a few more Christmas-y crafts and that will be about it. Nothing that I will craft and give as gifts...I want to actually KEEP my friends.

8. What is your favorite holiday movie? White Christmas. I actually cry at the end. I can really be a big fat sentimental dork during the holidays. Oh, and the goofball in me has to love Will Ferrell's "Elf". I just like to smile. Smiling's my favorite!

9. Favorite holiday song? Oh Holy Night (I think I totally kick on the Gloooo-oooo-oooo-ooooo-ria! part. I actually don't.)

10. Favorite holiday pastime? I love snuggling on the sofa with a good book, next to the Christmas tree, with some soft Christmas music playing. Delish.

Crowd Control

...and by "crowd", I mean two hellions...uh, boys. And lest you think that only three or more is a crowd, I invite you to come on by the H household on days when those two are really crankin'. I assure you, it is a crowd. Some days it is a two-Lexapro kind of day. Washed down with a shot of Jack. But I think I have the solution. At least for the next couple of months, anyway...


This...

is my latest purchase. Oh, wait, I did not buy this. No siree, I sure didn't. It "showed up", "magically" from "The North Pole." That, my friends, is my story, and I am sticking to it...all in the name of behavior modification, AKA Crowd Control.

You see, Santa sent a little helper to watch over the littles.

No, no, not THAT guy. This one...

You see, according to the story, this elf watches over those in the house and reports back to Santa every night about everyones' behavior. He then magically flies back to the house and hides in a different place. The fun is then in the morning when you look for where your elf is.

Well, that is the fun for the littles. The fun for me is getting to say, "Oooh, I sure hope the elf doesn't tell Santa about you jumping on the furniture..." And the cute factor of them whispering their Christmas list so that the elf can pass it on to Santa? That's good stuff, too.

First order of business, after unwrapping the package from Santa...

...was to name the little booger. My suggestions of Stool Pigeon, Dime Dropper, and Rat Fink were met with, "uh, what?", so big brother Austin suggested Hermie. Chase then said he wanted to name him Elf-is (Get it? Elfis - Elvis...?) to which I had to laugh/give him a big ass high five. Thank you, thank you verr much...

So, he has a first and last name. Hunter says that "of COURSE, elves don't have MIDDLE names...DUH" so there it stands. Hermie Elfis. I may sneak a little sequined cape on him at some point. A jumpsuit and paunch belly may just be a bit much.

So far, so good. Looks like introducing a little paranoia into their lives is a good thing. Well, for me anyway. And we all know it is all about me. Right?

1 up

Halloween is over, bring on Christmas! Ok, well, technically, Thanksgiving, and THEN Christmas, but do we really count Thanksgiving? I can tell you that my kids don't. I was explaining the fact that November brings Thanksgiving, to which, Hunter said, "What do we do on Thanksgiving?" How exciting to be able to reply, "Well, we all get together and EAT! Woooo!"

This was met by a blank stare and a kid who was obviously waiting for either the rest of the story or a punchline. "What do we eat?"

"Turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes..."

"Bleh. Can I just eat chicken nuggets?"

"Yeah, I suppose..."

"Then what do we do?"

"Well, we usually go for a walk, the guys watch some football or take a little snooze..."

"Oh. That sounds not very exciting."

He calls 'em like he sees 'em, to which I have no choice but reply, "I suppose you're right."

All he wants to know is when is our Disney trip, how many days until Christmas, and does Santa REALLY see him all the time? Like, even when he is peeing, or dropping a deuce?

I am hoping with the passing of Halloween, the littlest kid's obsession with his Super Mario costume can get wrapped up. He insists on wearing it outside to play. Oh, and complete with mustache. He was getting the overalls all muddy the other day, so I had him change into regular clothes, but he insisted on keeping the mustache painted on. I feel quite sure the UPS guy who made a delivery to our house that day now firmly believes that hormones in milk are causing our kids to experience early puberty.

Thrift Store Thursday

Q. Will I ever actually post this on a Thursday...?
A. Not bloody likely.


The thrift store, this week, had crap-a-plenty, and I have to tell you, I am more bold than I used to be taking pictures of the fecal matter they are selling. I used to try and be stealth about it (although the camera on my phone gives a resounding CA-LICK! when I snap a pic...) Now, I just don't care. I snap away. Ok, so I am not so bold. I still don't make eye contact with people. What am I going to say? "Hey, I am taking pictures of the ugly shiz-nit you are in here buying because I like to make fun of it on my blog...?" Nope. I think I have mentioned before that I am not looking for a beatdown in the name of a giggle.


Here is what I found this week...


Now, here in PA, I have seen Amish bread, Amish furniture, Amish buggies...but until this day, I had yet to see Amish blown-out egg people thingies.


And someone thought these were just so CLEVER! that they went to the trouble of putting them in little display boxes. Please, oh, please, let this be a Girl Scout project. I don't want to imagine a grown person actually making these things...and displaying them in his/her home.






OK, seriously? Did someone actually GO all the way to Hawaii and buy this? On purpose? The one testicle hanging there is just...sad. Droopy and sad. I have seen testicles like this in my past. Not pretty. Not pretty at all.



Lookit. Proof positive that drag queens celebrate the holidays....


Thanksgiving...




And Christmas.





I am not sure the last time I saw a hummingbird at the beach, but maybe I just have not been paying attention.



This crap was just scary. Check out the Amityville Horror eyes. Nothing says quaint country decor like a possessed goose.

No new ugly furniture to display. Well, there was a grotesque orange and brown plaid number, but there was someone sitting on it and I couldn't whip my balls out to ask him to get up. I feel quite sure it will be there next week. Stay tuned.

Things I have said so far today...

"I don't care if he is a human bridge. Do not hit your brother in the junk."

"I said no more cookies. This does not translate to smuggle them in your underpants."

"The cat is having a nervous breakdown. She does not want you to listen to her heart with Daddy's stethoscope."

"I am not sure where bugs' penises are."

"Yes, some birds have penises."

"Yes, poop comes from your anus."

"Yes, bugs have anuses as well."

"If you don't want him to toot on you, don't burp on him."

And it is not even 1 p.m. yet.

As you can see, a lot of coversation around here centers around things below the belt. The joy of boys.

It is Day Two of the PA Monsoon, and my kids are suffering from serious Cabin Fever. I am so bugged out by the thought of H1N1 germs that I am not even venturing out to Tumble Town or Chuck E Cheese. So, we are hunkering down here at Casa H.

I think forts of many sheets are in order. That ought to keep the natives from getting too restless.

At least for the next, oh 10 minutes or so.

New Kid In Town

As I was searching for the lullaby CD last night, Hunter came rushing out of the boys' room with a very urgent look on his face. The conversation went pretty much like this:

"Mom, mom, oh my gosh, mom... Chase said a BADWORD." (Note that "bad" and "word" are always smooshed together and said in a most serious, bass tone.)

"Really. Well, what did he say?"

"Mom, I can't say it. Then I would be saying a BADWORD."

"OK, just this once, you can say it, just so you tell me." (Oh, pleaseGodpleaseGodpleaseGod don't let it be the F-word...)

"OK, if you really want to know...but I am not happy about saying a BADWORD, you know."

"Yes, but take one for the team so that Mommy knows what Chase said. I promise, it's OK."

(Big breath...) "Chase said (pause for dramatic effect...and whisper...) shut up."

"Chase DYLAN! Did you just say the words shut up?"

(Chase) "My name is not Chase. I am Upside-Down Kid."

Good Lord, a naughty alter-ego. This kid is trying to drive me completely mad. Mad, I say. "Ok, Upside-Down Kid, did you say a BADWORD?"

"Yep. I sure did. But Chase didn't." Big smile.

Split personality, or just extremely, deviously, brilliantly crafty? Mmmmmm....I wonder.

Do they make a Preschool for the Criminally Insane?

Love, Kindergarten Style

Apparently, the middle kid is involved in some kind of 5 year old love triangle.

You see, he had a mission when he started Kindergarten this year. He was out to "find a girl to marry." The first day brought no luck, but the second day, he jumped into the van at Parent Pickup to tell me he found the girl of his dreams. I asked what her name was and he said, "I don't know."

The next day he jumps in the van at Parent Pickup to tell me he found out his True Love's name and it is Morgan. I asked if she was in his class, and he said, no, that he talks to her at PP. So that means that they get, what, 5 minutes a day to talk? (I have since found out that "sometimes" they are on the playground together at the same time, so I guess we can add another 15 minutes every so often to that time...)

I asked him what she looked like and he said, "I don't know."

I asked what color hair she has and he said, "I don't know."

I asked why he wanted to marry her and he said, "Because I asked her and she said yes."

The boy doesn't have very high standards. Apparently, all it takes to win his heart is to say "yes" when he proposes.

Today he came home to tell me that Jake used to be Morgan's best friend, but Morgan told Jake on the playground today that he is no longer the carrier of that title, because now she is Hunter's best friend.

So, Jake challenged Hunter to a fight.

*sigh...*

And Jake said he didn't care and didn't want to be Morgan's friend ANYWAY, SO THERE! and this made Morgan cry.

Which threw Hunter into Knight in Shining Armor mode. Can't resist a damsel in distress.

But I told him that he needed to tell Jake that they could all be friends, and that there would be no such duel, no matter how fair the maiden.

Hunter said he would just put up a force field and block Jake from fighting with him. Good luck with that, kid. Let me know how that worked once you pick your arse up out of the dirt where Jake knocks you.

I said that if Jake really wanted to fight, that he needed to tell the teacher. Let her handle it. He still was not happy with that solution, so I pulled out the big guns and told him that fighting would put him on the red light. Make no mistake, it is a big fat deal to be on the red light. Hunter stays on green and is very proud of that. He comes home to tell me in whispered tones of so-and-so, who got in trouble today and "...was on the....YELLOW light...!" Yikes.

So, hopefully, this scared him into just narc-ing out this Jake character to the teacher if there is any trouble a-brewin'.

Oh, this boy....the girls already are playing him like a fiddle...

Thrift Store Thursday

It's that time again...Thrift Store Thursday! (Yes, and I am doing it on a Friday once again. But Thrift Store Friday just doesn't have the same ring to it. So, let's play a little game called Every Time I Post One of These Threads, Let's Pretend It Is Freakin' Thursday. K? Thx.)

This was my WTF? moment.

These sofas were lime green and bright yellow. And they were selling them for ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY DOLLARS. That's right. And that is criminal. Criminal, I say.

I may go back and get this bobble-head teacher creature. Not for the teachers my boys have this year, for they are oh-so-very delightful. But we all had one of "those" teachers some time in our lives...one that was deserving of a gift as heinous as this...*cough*Mrs. Ortiz*cough*

Missed? With what, my car? Now, I had a piano growing up. And I skipped lessons because they were BORING as all get-out. But I wouldn't exactly say I "missed" them.

"Duuuuude...look at the liiiiiight... It's like, so bright and junk. Hehehehehe......"

From the similar look on his face, it appears that she passed the pipe to this right jolly old elf. And he is bogarting it. We all knew a guy like this in school. Come on, man, it's puff, puff, pass...


...and so, apparently, are crappy crafts.



This...

is one pissed-off looking lamb. I am guessing it is because he is so poorly painted. Either that, or it is because of the white afro.

I wish I had the stones to have taken a picture of a woman that I saw as I was leaving the store. She looked to be about 250-plus pounds, was sporting what looked suspiciously like prison tattoos, and was wearing a shirt that said "Keep Off". But I wasn't looking for a beatdown today. Trust me, it was some funny shiznit.

Another open letter...

...to a celebrity.

Not unlike my letter way back when to The Hotness, Joaquin Phoenix, this one goes out to...

Kanye West.

Dearest Kanye,

You are a complete tool.


I know, I know...you've heard it from everyone at this point, even the POTUS, who, I must say, has a tendency to make a little sense when he has his guard down. Of course, immediately following calling you a "jackass", he began to backpedal on the comment, but he said it. Yes, he did. Of course, one of my friends pointed out to me that he just jumped on the Kanye-bashing bandwagon, which should give us more reason to dislike him... something to consider.


But I still think you are a tool. No backpedaling here, baby. You stepped all over a moment by a noob singer who will never get that "first award" moment back. Way to go. And add to the classlessness, you don't even give her a personal apology until she calls you out on "The Cackling Hens", er, I mean "The View". Shhhh.....do you hear that? It is the sound of your career coming to a screeching halt. I think this, added to the spectacle you made of yourself during the Hurricane Katrina telethon has given people their fill of your nonsense. If I was your mother, I would jerk a knot in your tail. Drink less, rap and produce more, and Shut. The. Hell. Up. Nobody cares about your contrived conspiracy theories or your opinions. Do what you are famous for, and put a lid on it. Tightly.





And if that doesn't work out, I am sure Handy Manny is hiring. Looks like there is room to fit one more in the box.

Irrational fears

OK, so I have a couple.

One of which is bacon. Not eating it, mind you. Not even handling it raw (which I hate to do with raw chicken...I gag and come close to dry-heaving. Yes, seriously...) My fear with bacon is cooking the stuff. I rarely order it when I am out for breakfast, either, because I like my bacon *thisclose* to being totally burnt. Just the way I like my roasted marshmallows. Nobody ever gets it just right.

I am always afraid I am going to get spit and popped on, and I always, always freaking do. But once in a while I get a hankering for eggs and bacon, and I will break out the pre-cooked bacon so I can avoid the hot grease spitting at me. But I was out. And I had a craving. And I learned my lesson, once again.

See what happened tonight?

Shut UP. Yes there is a mark there. It got me. The evil bacon grease got me. And when it did, I screamed like a big sissy, causing the boys to come running in to the kitchen to see what horrible tragedy had befallen me. Even the cat came in. And I swear I saw her roll her eyes at me.

But I ended up with my nummy dinner.

Oh, and my second irrational fear? Clowns. Go ahead and laugh. Then read "It" and hop on my little bandwagon.

Woof...? Please...?

The middle kid's new obsession is obtaining a dog. I am not sure where this came from...maybe from antagonizing my sister's dog, Abby, while we were (taking over) visiting her house this summer. I dunno, but the whole, "I reaaaaaaaaaally want a dog, mom...What about a dog, mom...? Wouldn't having a dog totally rock, mom?" thing is on my very last good nerve. I have put him off by saying, "well, maybe some day..." (while actually meaning hell to the no) but it is not pacifying the kid.

I am so not a dog person. I mean, I like my neph-and niece-dogs, Ernie and Lilly. Very cute, very furry, and very not at my house. All plusses in my book. I know if we got a dog, it would be another thing for me to take care of, and we all know my record with critters...*cough*fish killer*cough*.

So, I said that maybe he should just talk to Daddy about it, to which he said, "But talking is so boring." I asked what he meant and he said, "Daddy talks a lot.' Well-said, young squire. Yes, Daddy is a talker, and really likes to explain and (go on and on) share...

So, I said, "Well, we really should let Daddy say how he feels about it, since we are all part of the family and it should be a decision we all make.

And the kid wrapped it up with,"But, mom, you are in charge, anyway."

And I bought him a bag of Starburst and let him stay up late tonight. That kid is a rockstar in my book.

Thrift Store Thursday

I know, I know, it's Friday...but this actually happened yesterday and it has taken me a day to FINALLY figure out how to transfer pics from my Blackberry to my computer.

Yesterday, I headed to the local thrift store (don't want to say the name, but let's just say it rhymes with Shmalvation Shmarmy...) to drop off a box of stuff that should not have made the move to the new house. After dropping off the box o' crap (AKA Dave's stuff that I don't think he needs), I decided to go inside and take a look around. And, brother, am I glad I did. I found so many things to tell you about. It was kind of funny trying to take pictures with my phone on the DL and not look like a complete tool. Pictures say a thousand words, so let's start at the beginning...

Did you know they sell lingerie at thrift stores? Am I the only one who finds that so...wrong? I spotted this lady checking out the brassieres and (ick) garter belts.

Her next stop was at the bathing suit rack, but I was afraid she would see me taking pics of her and pull a blade on me, so I didn't get another one. But really, bathing suits and lingerie? Is there even enough bleach on the planet to get me to consider going there?

Then I stumbled upon this gem.

Yes, that is a candle with bottlecaps embedded in the wax. Note that the tag is still on it, so whoever was the lucky recipient of this gift got rid of it without even lighting it first. Decorating FAIL. WW Vern Yip D?

I think I found the Three Ugliest Chairs in the Continental United States. And if any of your furniture even remotely resembles this, I am sorry. Not for making fun of it, but just sorry. For you.

My camera phone did not really capture the extreme heinousness of the one chair on the far right. It was a lovely combination of doo-doo brown and "I ate too many candy corn and puked" orange.

On to the lovely and oh-so-Klassy bridal well.

Why yes, that appears to be a laundry basket at the bottom.

Clever, no?

No.

Why do I get the feeling that the wedding reception was held in someone's garage and involved a couple of kegs of Old Milwaukee?

I am thinking of making this a regular thing. I may head into the aforementioned thrift shop from time to time, just to see what divine things they are attempting to sell. Maybe next trip will be to, oh, Shmoodwill.

The Big K

Today the middle kid started Kindergarten. The oldest kid graduated from high school last year and I thought, "Hey, that was fun. Let's do it all over again." Riiiiight.

Hunter was so excited today. All day yesterday and this morning, I was so nervous that I couldn't eat (I know! Right? Crazy talk.) And woke up at 6 am today. I kept it together until I pulled away from the school and had myself a little cry-time. Not sure why, though. The kid went to preschool for the last two years and I didn't get all verklempt over it. Today, though, I was "that" mom. The Boo-Frickety-Hoo, My Little Baby Started Kindergarten Nutso mom.

He had a great day, though. He was all excited when I picked him up and proclaimed that they actually "...let me play on the playground! And I made a new friend, but I forget her name. I will ask her again tomorrow. I hope I remember this time, oh, and I had fruit chews for a snack, but nothing to drink, just the fruit chews... Oh, my teacher was nice, and did I tell you I made a new friend? I can't remember her name, but I know her face..." So I guess the big K was a hit. Maybe I can keep my junk together at the drop-off line tomorrow.

Then the littlest kid starts preschool next week.

I may need to be medicated for that.

I fought the ivy...and I won.

Getting settled into this house is a chore. I am not complaining, though. Just sayin'. And I swear I have organizing ADD. I will go into a room, look at the boxes and think, "ok, I will unpack one, and then take this downstairs, and look at how this would look on that wall, and oh, I want to paint (whatever) color on the wall, and I wonder if I can find a picture to match this or bring out the color in that..." And I get nothing done. I cannot, cannot, cannot focus with so much going on around me.

Despite it all, I am getting 'er done.

It has rained for the last couple of days, and Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun came out today, so I figured I would get some crap done in the yard. The previous owner let things go out there, so there is loads of work to be done. One of which is a mound of ivy growing up and around the outside light in the yard. I figure that tamed, it will look great, but right now, it is jungle-ish looking. I went to tackle the ivy, trusty shears in hand, and got to work. I was sweating my bawlz off, and yanking on a particularly stubborn vine and very into my task at hand. I yanked and yanked...pulled and grunted, shouted "Come on, you bitch!" at which point, the vine gave, I fell on my butt, and looked up to see a neighbor couple walking their dog, right in front of my house.

Yep. This crap only happens to me.

Welcome to the neighborhood to me. They just kind of smiled and beat feet out of there. Not sure if it was to laugh at me falling on my arse, or to get away from the potty-mouthed nutbag yelling at the vines of ivy.

So I come in the house, figuring I need a break and proceed to take the little cup of water that I had the fish in (I was going to clean his bowl this morning, but again, organizing ADD...) dumped him into the sink, and refilled the glass, intending to drink out of it. Distracted again, did not drink, but came back to it in a few minutes and thought,"Uh, where is Gilbert?"

Panic, panic, panic. Bear in mind, this is a Betta we are talking about, but still...

I look in the sink, and there he is, and he is pretty dang still. Great. (And I am gagging in the back of my mind, thinking how close I came to drinking from his cup. Barf.)

I scooped him up and he started flopping around, so I dumped him into his glass (refilled with distilled water, not my cold H2O). He seems to be none the worse for the wear, after a few seconds of floating on his side at the bottom of the glass.

What a day. I think I need to shower up and relax. I have done my allotted damage for the day.

Tick, tock, goes the clock...

The middle kid has a new obsession. For some reason, at any given time, day or night, he wants to know what time it is.

And it can make a body crazy.

I wonder if he wants to be sure to see Wapner. You know, Wapner is on at four. Defintely four.

And Kmart sucks. But I digress.

So I finally broke down and just bought him a watch. I was going to get him a regular watch, you know, for the learning opportunity of being able to tell time. Then I thought, hell no. He does not count by 5's yet, and all a regular watch would do is become another opportunity for him to ask, ad nauseum, "Mom, Mooooooom! What time is it on my watch?"

(PS, he just told me it is currently 10:59. In case you were wondering.)

So we went with the digital. Super-cool Spiderman watch, with nice big numbers, easy to read. HALLELUJAH!

And we had to get the littlest kid a watch, too. His is a very dapper Lightning McQueen model. Ka-chow!

Hunter was all excited, had me put the watch on his wrist, told me what time it was (yay!) and then asked me to take it off. WHAT? You gotta be yanking my chain, kid.

So, now it sits my purse. Great.

And he would like you to know it is now 11:03. In case you need to be somewhere or take some medication. He is pretty thoughtful like that.

It's a family affair

On a two-week Southern excursion, so the posts may be sparse "a while" (that was a shout out to my PA peeps, youse will get that...and the "youse", too!)

Went to my cousin's here in NC for some most excellent grub and even excellent-er company and conversation. She also has a rockin' cement pond, of which, the small ones enjoyed partaking of...

The boys had a blast and were nowhere near ready to leave at the end of the day. It was fan-freaking-tastic to see my girls and get caught up, chit-chat, and pass on the latest family gossip. My family kind of rocks. Be jealous. No, really. Do.

Here is a pic of all of us in the pool... After a few glasses of fruit-infused wine and summer beer... Not to say anyone was excessive, but *cough*lushes*cough*

That's my sister, me, my boobs, and cousins Jill, Jennie, and Maggie. And I know what you are saying, and yes, I agree. This picture convinced me of the need to purchase a new bathing suit. Holy crap on a cracker, can my boobs look any more ginormous? They look like they are in another zip code in this picture. I hate shopping for bathing suits, for the love of God. Pretty much I will pull a couple of suits off the rack, try them on, and if they are not completely heinous- SALE! I don't play around too much with trying on several swimsuits. It is depressing and a somewhat grotesque experience.

It is hotter than the hinges of Hades here in Naw Cack-a-lackie, but we are hoping to get to the train museum in the next couple of days. (Ok, the sawed-off kid is hoping, anyway.) I am going to make my little niece go, too. I plan to bribe with the promise of ice cream. If I have to, I will pull out the big guns. That's right. A Cheerwine Slush.

If you haven't had one, I am sorry for ya. They are a little styrofoam cup o' Heaven. Think Slurpee, but much betta.

Off to kick some ass in Wii bowling. No mercy for Gram.

Box it up for me

My life, these days, consists of boxes. Big boxes, medium boxes (no, thanks, don't need the small boxes...) Where can we get boxes? What places have the best boxes? What places have crappy boxes? Hubs calling around town, ("Hey, can you hold some boxes aside for me?") I am overwhelmed with cardboard.

And it makes me absolutely MENTAL (moreso than normal) to live in chaos. Boxes everywhere=chaos to me. I cannot get away from them.

Boxes in the dining room...

Boxes in the basement...

And boxes that are empty and need to be filled with our crap...

We are starting the move in t-minus two days. That is two...dos...deux. I am so overwhelmed by packing that I handle it this way...

As you can imagine, being on my arse is getting me nowhere fast.

Oh, and the movers come on the 2nd. That is the absolute last day to get everything out of here. That is only five days away.

Soooooo, tomorrow is "Get Serious About Packing Already Day" in the H household. I have two small recruits who, when they ask their every day question, "Mommy, what fun place are we going to today?" are in for a sad shock. I am putting them to work. But I will try to make it fun for them (ok, so it is mainly for me). We will put on some loud music, shake our groove thangs, and throw stuff in boxes. I might even label them if I am feeling really organized.

I am excited about the new house. The getting there, not so much.