Mitt Supports Wearing Your Pajamas

It's happened again.  I hid something from the children only to find I've actually hidden it from myself.  This time it's something I desperately need in two days.  Everyone else on the East Coast will need one too.   Which is why the stores are hiding them too.  At least this is what I believe.  I think Target employees have a great sense of humor.  I think they've removed all of the water, flashlights, lanterns, and batteries from the store shelves and replaced them with...wait for it... hidden cameras.  Then the employees hide in the back room and giggle at the panic stricken faces as crazed customers realize that everything.is.gone.  Including their own sense of decency as they swat at babies and old ladies diving for the last package of C batteries.  A's are better anyway. 


I tried to hide behind Grady at the bus stop this morning.  It didn't work.  He's very small.  And he moves around too much.  It was pajama day at Lil's school.  All the kids at the bus stop had on their pajamas.  Grady told the other parents that his mommy and daddy don't wear pajamas.  Not that this was news to anyone.  How the hell else would you produce three babies in three and a half years?  I told you A's work better.  Someone buy these people some freakin' pajamas!  Apparently there's a new tax break coming for those who promise to wear pajamas to bed.  I can't believe we never thought of it ourselves.  Control your births.  Wear pajamas.


Lillian and Dempsey have the stinkiest feet in the family.  When Dempsey kicks off his shoes in the van, I smell it before I hear the shoes hit the floor and I hide when it's time for Lillian to get her socks and shoes on.  Which is why, earlier this week, Lil set off to the bus stop with Grady's socks that read, boys rule. We had a sock swap at the street corner.  She didn't get why I made her switch that day.  Or why today, I was so excited that she was wearing pajamas.  I will make sure she gets that tax break well into her 30's. 


Oh Sandy.  You wet, wild, make us tremble, kind of woman.  Stop letting those Target employees have so much fun at work.  They already have a J.O.B. don't let them have fun too.  And put on some PJ's please.  Mitt will thank you.  As for me?  I'm in hiding.

He's definitely hiding something.

Hide from swords.  Especially wooden ones.

Hide all pool noodles at summer's end.  One word.  Destruction.

Hide when the karate show begins.

My Faces of Filth and the Destruction of My American Girl Dream

While millions of little girls out there are creating their Christmas lists to include various American Girl dolls, and all the paraphernalia that comes with them, this big girl is wishing to be an American Girl.  If only for one day.  I would like to borrow her soft-as-snow outfit and snowy earmuffs.  I will bathe in her fresh & clean shower with two bubbly curtains and pink sponge.  Who doesn't love a pink sponge?  Then I will crawl into the elegant wooden bed with four turned posts and a lace canopy.  My bedspread is a wool blend, embroidered with delicate flowers.  The bed will have a tufted mattress and a soft pillow.  When I awake, I will jet off to the grocery store in my sky-blue 1974 Volkswagen Beetle that plays five 70's songs, has rolling wheels, a hood and trunk that open, a working horn and headlights, seat belts, a permanently lowered canvas top, and an engine that runs at the push of a button.  It will also come with a "Save the Eagles" car wash sign.  Just in case I have time to run a car wash.  After I return with my supplies, I will make preserves on my cookstove.  My stove is equipped with four pretend cook areas (since I really only ever pretend to cook anyway), a faux-marbleized top for making meals, canning, and other chores.  Forgetting about the other chores, I will put on my butterfly garden PJ's, and slippers with wings, and climb back into my elegant wooden bed.  I will call myself Ivy, and rename my friends Julie, McKenna, and Kit.  All for only a mere $703.  If I have to buy my friends, that will cost an additional $315.  Take that Santa.

Oh, and I almost forgot, I would like to have all the flooring in our home replaced with that fluffy white carpet that all the toddlers play on in the Pottery Barn catalog.  Thank you.  That is all.

My family is filthy.  My American Girl image and fluffy white carpet will only last for one day. Then, the day after Christmas, everyone will stop calling me Ivy.  The dog, guinea pigs, or one of the various children will crap, pee, and/or vomit on my fluffy white carpet and I will take off with McKenna in my sky-blue 1974 Volkswagen Beetle.  Sorry Julie and Kit.  McKenna's a cheaper date.  She's also a gymnast and I just really adore her leggings.  Save the eagles.

Credits
All italicized excerpts in the first paragraph are taken from the American Girl doll catalog.  I could never come up with those descriptions on my own.  The only descriptive words I have for my clothing, bed, shower, van, and stove are used, sleep able, soap scummed and hairy, not all door locks work, and black.  Thank you.  That is all.

My Faces of Filth
Disclaimer:  While all faces may not appear filthy, I assure you, filth was involved before and after each photo was taken.

 

 

 

Caged, A Tale of Guinea Pigs and Bacon

The triple threat are getting guinea pigs for Christmas.  I must admit I'm more excited than they are.  Only because they don't know about it yet of course.  We don't spend a lot of money on Christmas gifts.  We've discovered that our children prefer empty boxes.  For now.   I found a guinea pig rescue and showed my mom website photos of available pets. The plan is to adopt two females.  Today, mom mentioned that my step-dad, Butch, offered to give us their dog crate.  The cage that fits their lab.  For our guinea pigs.  Hmmm. Won't they escape? The holes will be too big.  Butch is hilarious and quite the prankster, my mom is well aware of this.  But she was very serious when she explained the offering.  She said the crate may be tall,  but the length and width would be the perfect size for the two darlings.  Um, but we'll need to put the cage on top of the kids' dresser so Finn won't eat them.  I'm not sure a large dog crate will fit on the dresser.  Won't people talk about us?  More than they already do?  This seems a bit excessive.  Not that a husband, three kids, a dog, and two guinea pigs isn't.  But still.  Butch has more questions.  What will you do when you travel?  Will the dog sitter feed them too?  All questions my mom and I were pondering...as we contemplated the dog cage.  For the guinea pigs.  And the need for a guinea pig chaperon.  At all times.   

Tonight, I got this text from my mom

Mom:  Lol, lol, butch thought all along I said pigs!!!  he even told brian u were getting pigs 4 the kids.  tells me he wld never had suggested the dog cage 4 two guineas!  Ha ha ha

Pigs.  For Christmas.  My own family thinks I'm crazy.  If I ever buy a pig, or two, it will be for consumption purposes only.  Bacon rocks.  I did hear there will be a bacon shortage in 2013.  Everyone will want to be my friend.

When Finn was a mere three months old, we bought our first home.  Without a fence.  We had to wait two months for the fence to be installed.  I couldn't bear the idea of our precious pup being locked in a tiny crate all day.  I needed something bigger.   Something she could run in.  Sean was active duty military and traveling over seas.  No contact.  No one to run my idea by.  I suppose I could have asked Butch.  But he would have offered me a guinea pig cage.  He's like that.   So instead, I went to the pet store and bought this... 

Finn's crate

 

Photo Source

 

 

I couldn't wait for Finn to try it out. Now I just needed someone to set it up. My friend Joe reluctantly agreed. Not that he didn't want to help. I say reluctantly because I wanted him to set it up in our basement.  It reached the ceiling.  And touched the walls.  Blocking access to the  sliding glass door.  Finn couldn't get outside for doody time.  But I fixed that problem.  I laid linoleum.  And set up newspaper.  She had her own bathroom.  And bedroom.  And living room.  I don't think I'll ever live this one down.  My own personal dog fighting ring.  I think Joe was mostly reluctant because he thought he'd be arrested.  For aiding and abetting. 

 

Now that I'm so much wiser in my old age, I plan to buy a cage intended for guinea pigs...not a dog crate, or a boxing ring.  One that is made for inside, versus outside.  I will hide the little dears at my friend Lynda's house until Christmas Eve.  I haven't exactly run this by Lynda yet.  Lynda, are you reading this?  Will you host our pigs for a couple of nights?  Then on Christmas morning, Sean and I will unveil the gift.  The triple threat will be thrilled for one minute and thirteen seconds.  Then they will set those suckers free.  Finn will eat them.  The kids will play with the cage.   Squeak.  Oink.  Woof.  That's guineapigpigdog speak for what the hell was I thinking?   I'm pretty sure this was all Butch's idea.  Happy Birthday Jesus.  Now where's the bacon?

 

 

 

Toilet seat cover turned necklace.  Thank you Wawa.  Christmas shopping done.

 



We don't bother buying chairs either.

Discovery

I've discovered that I adore thirty four.  Years old.  I never want to go back.  To my younger years.  Sure, maybe I didn't have the gray hairs, or the pouch that forms underneath a c-section scar.  Or the sun spots on my face.  Or the loose skin on my under arms and knees.  But I was dumb then.  I thought I was smart.  I think I was in a way.  I knew a lot about statistics, and Spanish, and Social Work theories.  But I knew nothing about life.  And now I know something.  Not everything.  I never will.  But something.  More than I knew then.  Now that I'm thirty four.

I have a toddler.  And a preschooler.  And a school aged child.  A husband.  And a mortgage.  A smile on my face.  Every day.  If I should frown,  I think of Kiddie City.  And I turn that frown... upside down.  Because I can.  I remember Kiddie City.  Because I'm thirty four.   And I know that a smile a day, keeps the crazies away.  It's something I've discovered.

I've discovered what makes a real good friend, a real good time, and a real good meal.  I know what makes me laugh.  And what makes me laugh hysterically.  I know that I want to be around people who laugh a lot.  I tell Lillian to follow those people on the playground.  I've discovered the freedom of giving up control.  And embracing life.  It's out of my control.

I'm still a work in progress.  When I wake up to discover my bedside cup of water full of bloated Froot Loops and the plastic ice cube remains of a boo boo bear, I sometimes want to not be thirty four.  I do not adore you. 

I want to be twenty four
With the world of wonder at my door 
But then I remember, all the life lessons learned around age twenty four 
And I'm so thankful to not go through that anymore

Sometimes all the calls for mom drive me insane.  But then I feel so lucky, for there are some that will never hear that name.  I get to see that look of awe, as sugar laden cereal turns milk into a rainbow.  That look of adoration as boo boo bear miraculously heals an injury that only mom can see.  And then, it feels like I've discovered the world.  Exactly how it's supposed to be. 




Grady...convinced to discover the tunnel, and find the baseball... all Lil's influence. 

 

The baseball...discovered



Discovered... a mom's moment of peace.  As both boys discover sleep on the trail.

A new way to avoid discovery.  The dinosaur camouflage.

No Class

So when the neighbor showed up in his wife beater and silk boxer shorts at the bus stop the other day, I just had to open my big, fat mouth to my facebook peeps.  I couldn't control myself.  It made me think of Sean and his mullet cam when we used to go to pumpkin' chunkin'.   I thought I should have a bus stop cam.  I would start out each morning camming myself.  Like this morning,  when I arrived at Grady's preschool with my shirt on inside out.  I noticed it an hour later while using a public restroom.  Then later, while using another public restroom ( I pee a lot, thanks babies), I realized that yes, I had correctly turned it to the right side, but now it was on backwards.

Tonight, as I was sitting at the dining room table, I heard our front, storm door open.  Thinking it was Sean, I got up and opened the door.  I saw a 5th grade boy with his dad, and his dog.  They were handing out fliers for movie night in the other cul-de-sac.  I happened to be bra less, as usual... not much work for a bra to do here...thanks milk sucking babies.  My top half was adorned in a see through wife beater... just trying to fit in.  My shorts, sort of covering my bottom half, were only appropriate for sleeping.  The dad asked how old the kids were.  I had to think about it.  I remembered.  He asked me if I was the babysitter.  I should have said yes.  And blamed my inappropriate attire on Miss Rachael.  Sorry Miss Rachael.  But I didn't.  I took the compliment.  I think he might have had a slutty mom cam.   I probably snagged the starring role on his facebook status tonight.  Damn facebook.

Lillian was home from school today.  With a fever.  I can't even say she was sick.  She ran around like just like it was any other day.  But I'm a rule follower.  Fever = no school.  I was just happy I didn't have to go to the bus stop.  Who knows what sort of wardrobe malfunction may have occured.

We went to Michael's craft store this afternoon.  The place is so filthy I didn't feel bad about spreading Lil's germs.  I peed there too.  I had changed shirts by this time.  I'd chosen one that was much easier to distinguish inside out, from right side in, and backwards from forwards.  Customers were just happy to see that I was wearing a bra and had on acceptable bottoms.  No slutty mom material here folks.  Please move on.  And don't mind the sick kid testing out all the star shaped lollipops on abnormally long sticks.  You really shouldn't be buying those for your children anyway.  They'd look inappropriate sucking on them.

On the way to Michael's, I told the kids we were buying crafts for Lillian's religion class at church.  The following conversation is just an example of what happens daily in our lives.  No one truely understand what the hell the other person is saying.  Ever.

Lil           Crafts?  For my class?  I love crafts!
Grady     We're getting CRABS?  I love crabs!
Lil           No Grady, CRAFTS!
Grady     Yeah!  Crabs!  I'm hungry.  We eat them in the store?
Lil           Grady, You can not have crabs!
Grady     Mooom!  Lil said I can't have any crabs!
Lil           Grady, it's for my class!
Grady     For your CRAFTS?  Why do you get crafts?  I want to do crafts!
Dempsey Mom. You have no class.
Mom       Shut up Dempsey

Okay, so Dempsey and I really didn't take part in the conversation.  But I'm sure he was thinking that.  He screamed all sorts of things at me while in Michael's .  We left the store with no crafts, no crabs, and no class.  Obviously.

Lillian declared "I'm only going to be eating liquids today since my throat hurts and chocolate is a liquid."

 A fellow customer exclaimed "Wow, ice cream at 9:30am."  As she checked her watch... and purchased a dozen donuts.

The sugar kicked in.  Lil told me she wanted to "scare some people up" in Rite Aid.