toilet terrorist

It goes without saying that cleaning the toilet's the worst. There are few things that beat its germ-ridden disgustingness. But it's that much more horrifying when a urine bandit lives amongst you. You know this villain, it's the mysterious anti-hero who's super powers include getting urine ALL OVER the toilet. Everywhere.

Like up on the rim under the seat itself. On the underside of the seat. On that back part where the seat screws into the bowl. Down the sides of the bowl where the toilet connects to the floor. Even, miraculously, horrifyingly on the f'ing wall next to the toilet.

I used to think my husband was the pee bandit. Now I'm not so sure. Granted, he's got the equipment that would best lend itself to the bandit's trademark leavings.... But now that we're living with a larger number of toilets at our disposable, I'm thinking Superdoodle's the culprit. Her bathroom terrorism has been known to reach epic proportions.

At times she can even get poop on the toilet's rim. Yes. Poop. I don't know how she does it. Just that she does, and it freaks me out. Her butt's so little and that opening is so open. It's come to the point that I've had to hold toilet lectures a la my father circa 1986, complete with wiping re-training and apparatus mount and dismount techniques.

So far, it's not working.

hold up

Don't you hate it sometimes when you get what you want, and then you're like, Oh wait, did I really want that?

reasons i hate summer tv programming

• American Gladiators: Really? Does the world really need this? I didn't like this show when it was on in the 80s. Additionally, I resent the fact that the show's promos capitalize on pseudo patriotism, like your a bad American if you hate these 'roided out freaks and the wussies who challenge them.


• TV's Most Outrageous Moments: First of all, I take issue with NBC running back to back episodes. Second, what's with the "INSTANT REPLAYS" for every, SINGLE freakin' clip. GAWD! In watching the show for 4 minutes I realized that the creators don't actually understand what the word "outrageous" means. In actuality, it should be entitled TV's Most Staged Moments. Boo.


• The Moment of Truth: I have nothing really to say about this show because I've never seen it, but that has to tell you something about how crappy this show actually is because I will watch anything. TV whore, remember?


• NBA Playoffs and/or Finals: Sports on tv sucks. They should only be allowed to air games on special sports related channels, such as ESPN or ESPN2 or whatever.

already

The girls have been home less than an hour and already T has had fit and stormed upstairs, shrieking and squawking, D has reverted back to baby talk and I am missing my quiet house.

yikes

Mitchell's face looks a LOT like this guy's today (minus the gauged ears and whiteness and non-receding hairline). He can barely open his mouth. When I asked him how he felt, he said, "Fine" through clenched teeth. When I asked him if he wanted some prescription grade ibuprofen, he refused (duh, why'd I even ask?). When I asked him if he had a dental appointment, he just looked at me with that dull, dead-eyed shark look he gets when I ask him a question he's not ever going to answer.

Anyone wanna take bets on how long it takes him to get to a dentist? I'm counting on at least a week, probably more like 2.

dammit

I wasn't backing Clinton just because she's a woman. I was happy that a woman of her caliber had risen through the political ranks to have a chance at running for president. I was excited to imagine what her presidency might be like. I believed in her health care platform as well as her plans for education. I think she was savvy enough to manage foreign policy and socially conscious enough to deal with our domestic issues head on. She's certainly strong enough to be a world leader. She's more than smart enough.

And maybe she didn't have the greatest hair or the keenest fashion sense. Or the best marriage. Or have typical maternal tendencies that caused her to say, "Sorry" a lot and cry or end every statement as if it were a question. But that's what I liked about her. She was strong and no nonsense and intelligent. And I think she'd have made a kick ass president.

things i want to go away

• Super-competitive moms: I don't care if your kid gets honor roll in the third grade. It's the 3rd fucking grade.
• Huggers: Hello, Goodbye, Glad to see you, I like your new rug...None of these situations call for us to hug.
• Cicadas and waterbugs: I'm sick of fishing your corpses out of my pool. Learn from your ancestors already.
• Pushy neighbors: I don't want to join your church, take care of your kids, or form any other sort of intimate emotional bond.
• The phrase "I'm bored; there's nothing to do.": Thank GOD summer's only 7 weeks long. My children wouldn't survive 3 months.
• Let's-do-it-together moms: I like to do things on my own. If I get eaten by a coyote on my solo morning walk, that's my problem. There's no need for us to get our husbands the same gift for Father's Day; that's just weird. Have an original thought for once.
• Backhanded compliments: Be like me, just say nothing.

the good life

Remember hanging out in trees, pretending to be explorers or astronauts or monkeys? Your biggest worry being not to "fall into the hot lava". Yelling and screaming and playing until your ma called or one of you fell and scraped something.

why i heart the doodlebug

• Answers to "DooDoo" without batting an eye


• Junior wordsmith: crafting gems like "my privacy" and "the hot pee pee"


• Enjoys a constant state of ashiness


• Routinely concocts brilliant ensembles such as jeans with mini-skirts and short-shorts with tank tops and knee high boots


• Fav at-home outfit: underpants, the rattier the better


• Consumes iceberg lettuce as if it were ambrosia


• Crazy big chiclet teeth


• Ability to go from calm to foaming at the mouth lunatic in about 4 seconds for no reason other than she can


• Will pick her nose in public if necessary (and, trust me, it frequently is)


• Transforms into a small, space heater while sleeping


• Won't hug or kiss you if she doesn't feel like it and doesn't care if it hurts your feelings


• Quick to tell you about yourself

construction sucks

I live in a new development, so it makes sense that the presence of construction and its workers are still prevalent. They are, in fact, everywhere. Duh. I get that. But there's something about waking every morning to ranchero music, pounding hammers and loud construction-man chatter that makes me hostile. Perhaps if we could eliminate the blaring ethnic music and crude conversation that drifts over the fence at 5:16 am most mornings, I would be less hostile. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I would still be bitching about the hammers (I'm a realist, you know). But with just the hammers, they'd simply be doing their jobs, and how can I find fault with that? Well, I could but my complaints would then be just the hateful, selfish cursing of strangers. Considering that our house was recently in the same state, I am shocked our neighbors talk to us at all.

why i heart bad words

I have always enjoyed using foul language. I come from a long line of profaners. Adult language was frequently present in our household. So it's no wonder I L-O-V-E belting out a few choice words periodically...Okay. Daily. For whatever reason. Whatever the occasion. I could be happy, irritated, content, amused, mad, indifferent. Whatever. I am a firm believer that there are certain feelings and/or moments that call for bad language. I just seem to experience a lot of these feeling and/or moments in my daily life. I know. It's shocking. Appalling, really. I, a former ENGLISH teacher, should be able to communicate without the use of such language. It's base and demonstrates one's poor breeding and education. Only people who are unable to suitably express themselves linguistically utilize profanity. It boils down to I don't care. Peppering my phrases with a random "fuck" or "shithouse" doesn't make me a bad person. I simply enjoy colorful phrases. And maybe I also enjoy the reaction some have to said bad language, but we all have our crosses to bear, right?

purge

Finally got rid of the random boxes cluttering the guest room.

Highlights of the purge:

• Finding the matches to 3 pairs (yes, three) of Taylor's shoes


• Discovering old, partially eaten sandwich at the bottom of one of the boxes (I blame the girls and yes, it was still in a snap and seal baggie)


• Tossing at least 40 pairs of Mitchell's old underpants without his knowledge


• Being able to walk through the guest room again without the use of a machete

summer begins

Yea for summer!

old lady acne

Thirty-five and still zit ridden. How is it that I have more pimple problems now than when I was 17? I don't care if every thirty-something mom is dealing with it. There's something truly horrific about having to face each morning with graying hair, crow's feet, sagging shaboobies AND freakin' whiteheads. Time is a cruel mistress.

male sensibility

There are many inherent differences between men and women (duh). One of the most glaring being a man's unwillingness, nay...inability to take medication when the situation calls for it. Clearly it's much more sensible to drag ass around the house, irritating all who come in contact with you because you won't do something as simple as taking an couple of freakin' ibuprofen. Of course I can see how you'd rather be up most of the night groaning in pain and shifting around heavily in the bed, keeping whoever else is trying to get a good night's sleep awake with your ailments. Only a crazy person would rather take something that would relieve the pain then remain inert on the couch after having decided to stay home from work (fantastic), periodically moaning in discomfort. I can see how all of that suffering is far superior to simply popping a couple of pills and going about your business like a normal human being.

doodlebug

Watched E.T. with Doodlebug this afternoon. She was completely enthralled by the magic of it, chattering the entire time. As far as she's concerned, E.T. is real somewhere living his life after having visited the planet Earth. He still thinks of Elliot but is happy to be home. She has asked me about a million questions, all completely unanswerable.

She makes me recall what it was to believe in a fantasy that completely, that happily. Those were good times.

celebrity circus

Have you heard of this? It's allegedly part of NBC's All-American Summer. Nice catch phrase, right? Unless you're some crazy fascist, you'll be tuned in....

The one preview I've seen opens with some massive weight lifter dude going round and round in this man sized steel hamster wheel. Cut away to Christopher Knight attempting to mimic said weight lifter dude and then eating linoleum... HARD. Must I tell you I laugh aloud whenever this promo airs? There's nothing better than D List celebs shamelessly pimping themselves out for a paycheck.

Ahh... Summer's almost here.

that aint right

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Europe's been paying $8 a liter for years, decades maybe. I know all that. But this is AMERICA. Land of the Free. Home of the Cheap Petrol. The country were every citizen over the age of 8 drives her own fully loaded SUV.

What is this world coming to?

i'm not gonna lie

I am anxiously awaiting the cycle 10 season finale of ANTM (America's Next Top Model for all you who are clueless). I am breathless with anticipation to see the girls stomping it out at whatever random runway fashion show Tyra has managed to throw together. I can only imagine the ensemble Ms. Jay will be donning(keep your fingers crossed for stilettos and hot pants). And I'm positive Tyra will somehow manage to include a few completely bizarre and contrived photos from "past" shoots.

My excitement is bittersweet however. For with the finale comes the end of the season. Sob! Until next year ANTM. I'll just have to fill my tv time with So You Think You Can Dance and movies I never got to see in the theater from Netflix.

why i love brad pitt

Just finished watching Ocean's Thirteen. Seeing this reminds me of how delicious I find Brad Pitt. Me and a billion other men and women, I know. But COME ON! He's amazing. How can a person be that yummy? And why couldn't he have lived next door to me during my teen years? Now would be fine too. I promise I would only admire him from a distance. Angelina would never suspect a thing. I'd just look at him. I swear.

helper mom

So today was the second in a row that I volunteered in my kids' school library. I have no idea what prompted this. We were in there one day last week, and all of a sudden I'm asking the librarian lady does she need any help with end of the year stuff. What was I thinking? I have no idea. So now that's what I've done from 12:30 to 2:15 pm for the last 2 days.

It's interesting being back in a school atmosphere. It's comforting and a little disturbing to discover that no matter where you go, most schools are EXACTLY the same. People bitch about admin, the teacher next door, why they are the only one that does anything, ever... and on and on and on... Having been there done that, I completely understand the pathology. I do think it's strange, however, what teachers and staff will say in front of their community stakeholders (sorry, ed leadership verbage coming back to me).

I would think you'd want to "put your best foot forward" so to speak... I'm just thanking my lucky stars (again) that I'm not in that place A-N-Y-M-O-R-E.

cake

Today I volunteered at the girls' school library. Nothing big. Just mindless reshelving of returned library books. While I toiled, the librarian chilled. Answered a few calls. Ran a few errands. Engaged in some chatting with some of the more "with it" mom volunteers. And dealt with one extremely passive-aggressive 2nd grader. Granted she was also required to check in some 100 returned books during the 2 and a half hours I was there, but other than that. Librarian-ism is awesome! Why didn't I get my certificate in that instead of teaching? If I had, maybe I'd still be working in schools....

wtf

Believe it or not, this is the view from behind my steering wheel at 11:18 am on a half day. Where am I going? you may wonder. Surely this is traffic downtown somewhere... Nope... this is the freakin' parking lot of the girls' school. WTF.

All semblance of common sense is discarded as soon as parents drive into the lot. It's cut throat competition to be the first to get to the parent pick up area. Never mind that their dare devil maneuvers needlessly hem up the more sensible of us for minutes on end as they swerve and dive from line to line. Horns honk. Unpleasantries are exchanged. Drivers glare. Parents, tired of waiting, abandon their cars in search of their students. This causes the rest of us to curse them for gumming up the works even further. I sit behind the wheel and curse, wishing ill on all those causing catastrophe.

construction workers

These guys must be super bored and/or lonely to react the way they do to any random female walking past. It doesn't matter if you're a 100, snaggle-toothed, one leg and a kick stand; they will drop whatever they're doing to ogle you while making those weird here-kitty noises. (You know what I'm talking about, someplace between a hiss and a whistle.) It doesn't matter if you try to scurry past unnoticed; the hammering ceases as soon as they spot you and here come the cat-calls. It helps to blast your iPod, drowning out all lewd foreign phrases. I personally employ the method of the cold glare. It doesn't stop them, but it prevents me from feeling like a 15 year old girl again. Sometimes I'm tempted to flip the bird, but common sense typically prevails and I refrain.

my life

I realize I've got time on my hands that a lot of people don't. I'm not driving into work anymore (Thanks, Caroline). The girls' school is about 3 minutes away from the house. Both my kids are in school from 7:30 to 2:15 (Thank You, Jesus).

I make a lot of smoothies, much to my brother's chagrin (for whatever reason he hates this, thus I make it a point to call or text him each time I fire up the blender). I clean the house (wood floors and a dirt filled back yard don't make for clean floors and have I mentioned the girls' penchant for getting poop on the toilet seat? Weird.). I read Naomi's, Lizzy's and Rachel's blogs. I do actual work (it's data season, you know). I watch a ton of bad television programming (I am so excited for Shut Up and DANCE! to start again). And I shop for house crap.

I just ordered this adorable, round rug for our downstairs bathroom from anthropologie.com.

Isn't she sweet? I can't wait til she gets here.

the waterhole

The hole has been plastered and finished. The girls couldn't wait to "swim" despite 70 degree temperatures and wind gusts of 30 mph. I don't even have to tell you that they've taken a dip each day after school.

Injuries thus far include:

• tummy plaster burn from sliding like a seal from shallow to deep ends
• three stubbed toes from running on deck
• mysterious bug bite obtained while sunbathing after swimming
• "sprained" ankle incurred from horsing around

Undoubtedly there will be many more to follow.

why I heart our new neighborhood

i may need that later

Did anyone watch Dr. Phil today? Okay. Yes. I watch Dr. Phil along with all the other trashy television to which I'm addicted. TV whore, remember? Anyway. Dr. Phil. Did you see this? Today good ol' Mr. McGraw counseled a family of hoarders. It was A-MAZING. For real. I've never seen anything like it. I couldn't take my eyes of the screen.

So this absolutely makes me feel like I am the most hygenic, organized, clutter-free being around. This show was a definite housewife/caretaker confidence builder.

reasons not to unpack

• I need to catch up on all those Days of Our Lives episodes I have Tivo-ed.


• What is a guest room for, if not the storage of 35 unpacked boxes?


• 28 of those boxes contain crap that's not even mine, so why should I be the poor soul who has to dig through their dusty contents?


• GPS Assessment & Evaluation requires my super sharp statistical analysis skills.


• The downstairs needs swiffering.


• I just bought 3 new trashy novels and must begin reading immediately.


• Who will look after the children?


• America's Next Top Model is on tonight.


• My brows need a serious once over.


• I just can't be bothered.

ewwww

I'm the first to admit that I have a lot of time on my hands. Thus I often find myself watching tv fare that is questionable at best (think the view, regis & kelly, rock of love...need I say more?). So you won't be surprised when I tell you I'm a Today show regular.

Although today, I was not able to watch my regular allotment of Matt and Ann due to their guest host. It was HORRIBLE. First of all, the woman is married to George W. Blech. Second, she behaves like an automaton. Seriously. Have you seen this woman in action? Horrifying. And while, yes her lipstick was flawless. Her ability to read the teleprompter and make pithy banter was abysmal. If you missed it, you were lucky.

everybody loves a fair

You've gotta love the fair. I know I do. There's nothing like blowing a hundred plus bucks to entertain your family with rickety rides, rigged carnival games and heart attack inducing fried treats. It's not just mind-blowing fun though; the fair's got rules.

Always bring your baby to the fair. The younger the better. Babies love the loud noises, seizure-inducing strobe lights and clouds of cigarette smoke. Their strollers are especially good for lugging around all your carnival crap. Fill it up. The baby will make room.

Always wear your most revealing going-out boobie shirt to the fair. If you've got 8 inches of cleavage, flaunt it. It doesn't matter if the temperature is below 60 degrees. Break out your breasts and give the male carnies something to ogle. They work long hours. They deserve a shot of your shaboobies.

Couples should always plan to make out while standing in the center of the midway. The sloppier the better. Dueling tongues and liters of saliva are key.

Natural eyebrows are OUT while attending the fair. Women should definitely shave their natural brows completely off and draw on better ones. The thinner the better. Oh. Fair eyebrows are always either sharpie black or burnt orange. Please make a note of it.

Older men should always wear their favorite sports team outfit to the fair. If you love the Bears, prove it. You should be head to toe navy and orange; the more team logos the better.

Parents should always allow their tween girls to roam the fair sans parental supervision. However, before abandoning prepubescent youth, encourage them to dress up like mini-tramps. This includes full face make up, super tight short shorts and aforementioned boobie shirts (minus the cleavage). Be sure to drop them off prior to fair opening and do not pick them up until well after the fair grounds have closed for the night.

Always blow a month's wages at the fair. Your family deserves to be fully entertained. What does it matter if the kids will eat nothing but government cheese and grape drink for the weeks following your night of enchanment? Their stomaches are small; they'll be fine subsisting on 500 calories a day for awhile.

If you have 10 or fewer teeth in your mouth, you LOVE the fair. This is your home away from home, and you should spend as much time as possible wandering up and down the midway while drinking malt beverages from plastic cups, scoring meth from the booth operators.

weird thing I like

I love TV. I really love reality TV. For those of you who don't know, VH1 has some really great, super disgusting reality television going on. It is ah-mazing.


One particularly delectable TV morsel was Rock of Love II. Have you seen this? It's spectacular. Bret Michaels flips me out. Have you seen this guy lately? Completely fabulous. I particularly enjoyed the old rocker dude eyeliner and stoner headband. Sweet.


And while every episode was filled with some ridiculously plastic, voluptuous 20 something wildly making out with oldie but goodie B.M., I was mesmerized.

I cannot help it. I am a TV whore. I will watch anything. Even if it's filled with alien-like women prostituting themselves for the 5 minutes of fame being the girlfriend of an 80's heavy metal front man gives them. Congrats to the happy couple.

As Bret would say, "Me likie."

random thing I like

One of my favorite movies ever has been playing on STARZ this month, and I've watched it about 11 times. Aliens, circa. 1986, was a movie that freaked me out pretty dang good. Yes I did see it in the theater even though I was 13 at the time. My mother didn't believe in censorship. My brother and I were privy to a lot of cinema that was by all accounts much too gory and/or adult for us at a young age because of this (Thanks, MJ). There are many reasons why I love this movie, but Bill Paxton's Private Hudson is primary. He is hilarious in this. My favorite part of the whole movie is when Hudson freaks after the plane has crashed, generating some AMAZING spit strings.

come on in

It's come to my attention (Thanks, Rachel)that I have failed to give a substantial visual update of our current residence.

Here's the kitchen. Note fridge already covered in papers and magnets and crap.

Here's the "nook". Isn't my new-to-me hutch cute? Big shout out to GG for providing the super cool denim place mats.

Family room and new olive drab sectional a la Mitchell.

Living room which is freshly painted but still filled with random crap and no furniture. I expect it to remain in this state for the next 2 to 3 years.

Upstairs loft aka the girls' room. Note super chic pink princess window covering. Jealous?

This is D's room. Notice T's black and white pillow? They are having difficulty sleeping apart.

T's room. Notice she did not get the metal bed set she was pining for.
-ps. My grandma is freaking out at all the unmade beds. =)

Our back yard is still a hazard, although it has seen progress.

being neighborly

So it's 1:34 Tuesday afternoon when my cell rings as I'm talking to my brother. Glance at the display-see it's my neighbor & hit "Ignore". It rings twice more; I throw it under a cushion. I have no idea what possessed me, but I return her call. This is how I end up picking up her kid from school & watching him until she gets home "about 3". I don't have to tell you that everything about this kid drives me C-R-A-Z-Y. I know. I'm mean. I'm a bitch. Yeah. I get that. First, it takes him about 3 minutes to get into the car, not because he's worried about coming home with a virtual STRANGER...He's worried about whether or not I've got the dog in the car. After a lot of half-hearted cajoling, he finally gets in. Then it starts, WHY IS YOUR CAR SMALL? WHY DOES IT TAKE THE GIRLS SO LONG? WHY IS IT MESSY IN HERE? WHY AREN'T YOU AT WORK? YOU ALWAYS WEAR YOUR HAIR LIKE THAT. I sit in silence. I have no words. None that wouldn't come out brusque and cold. Mother always said, "If you don't have anything nice to say..." Did I mention that my neighbor promised to return by 3 pm? By 5 o'clock, I am losing it. Think sweating for no reason and that feeling that your head is going to rocket off your shoulders from the negative energy your thoughts are generating. Kids are running around, complaining about things they have no business complaining about and asking for dinner. By now, I'm convinced that this woman has run off and left her child with me to raise forever. I have visions of having to turn the space under the stairs into a spare bedroom for our new "son." There's no sign of the husband. It's beginning to turn dusk. WTF. I begin to think I should be looking up the number for CPS, so they can pick up this abandoned child. The thoughts that race through my head as I continue to furiously clean my kitchen are murderous to say the least. I envision exactly how I'm going to tell this woman off when and if she finally returns. You'd better believe I'm going to tell her all about herself and her audacity, leaving her kid with some crazy woman for hours on end. She has no idea who I am. I could be a lunatic. Her kid could be locked in a box right now for all she knows. On one of my many rant-filled calls to Mitchell, he gives me the old "That's-what-you-get-for-talking-to-people" speech. I vow to be cold and detached from this point on. I hang up on his laughter. It's almost 6 by the time my neighbor returns home to collect her child. I do not tell her off. I feign concern at her predicament and make the appropriate sympathetic noises as she retells her tale. Now I'm wishing we'd built someplace less populated.

bffs we are not

For whatever reason, it seems that I am often involved in the instant friendship phenomenon. This is strange to me as I would not describe myself as a particularly warm and inviting individual. Hilarious? Yes. Kind and nurturing? Not so much.

I am the first to admit that I have intimacy issues. I don't want to talk about feelings. With anyone. Ever. I believe it is completely unnecessary for women to discuss the intimate details of their cycles while working out or bonding over lunch. I don't want to hug and kiss friends hello or goodbye or just cause. Don't sit too close to me on the couch. It makes me feel freaky. I'd rather you didn't gaze at me silently when you should be watching TV or reading or doing anything other than just looking at me. I will not suddenly stop, grab your shoulder and meaningfully confess, "I'm so glad we've become close." It just won't happen.

I'm the person who works out with her iPod blasting, not making eye contact. I didn't come to chat with strangers. I don't need to converse with you just because we're both sweating on the treadmill while gasping for breath. Please don't think I need a walking partner just because we are neighbors and you see me leave each morning. I'd rather you didn't invite yourself. I already know everything I'd like to about you; we don't need quality time.

Please don't invite yourself to dinner. Or assume that we are the type of super-friendly neighbors that happily child swap. I can barely tolerate my own children some days; I certainly don't want to hang out with yours. We are not close enough for you to simply waltz into my house, calling out, "Hey! What're you up to?" If I didn't answer your phone call, that's not a signal that you should just pop over to see what's got me so busy.

I realize this sounds bad. I can imagine the furrowed brows and tsk-tsking of all you who disagree. But every one's different. It takes all kinds. And I'm just not that kind of people.

things i do not aspire to be

• classroom teacher
• employee of the month
• member of the religious right
• neighborhood cool mom
• famous
• perfect wife
• perfect mother
• perfect anything

mini-guests

Since moving to our new pad, there has been an advent of little, mini-visitors--I guess most would call them neighbor kids. Anywho. There have been a number of them. All wanting food, some throwing rocks and even a couple who have injured themselves in my semi-finished pool hole and then tracked mud and blood through the house on my new floors (did that sound unsympathetic?). It's not that I hate them. I really don't. I just don't want them in my house. At all. Ever. Is that wrong?

it takes time

It starts as a pretty shell. Built of things selected a lifetime ago.

Add furniture and ceiling fans, new plates and glasses.

Each morning begins in wonder. Becoming familiar with new surroundings.

Slowly it happens. Things find a place.

Clothes are hung in closets, shoes strewn across the floor.

Paint makes it personal.

Add pictures and art, some knick knacks and rugs.

Slowly it happens. The house envisioned,

The plans made begin to take shape.

Eventually it happens, a little more each day.

A house becomes a home.

car-tastrophe averted

Yesterday while chatting (okay, so what if we were aggressively trading jabs and insults) away with my bro, T shoves my cell in my face, "Dad wants to talk to you." I finally get to his call only to discover that he is broken down on the side of the road in TOWN. This isn't the first time Mitchell's vehicle (used to be mine way back B.C.)has taken a dump on him. But this is the first time it will take me over 50 minutes to retrieve him. Vomit. Pile the kids into the car and make the trek. As usual the girls are going ballistic in the back seat the entire ride. And yes, I eventually resort to reaching my arm into the back seat and swinging it wildly back and forth, determined to hit anything that squeals. Of course this does no good. By the time I find Mitchell, I'm disgruntled. Pull up behind my lovely husband, who is sitting in the car looking equally disgruntled.

"Have you called the emergency roadside thingy?" "No. We have to get the car off the road." I look around. The car has stopped on a soft, gravel shoulder. The nearest parking lot or empty lot is a good 800 ft uphill. "How are you and I going to get the car off the road? Did you call for a tow truck?" I'm starting to get that crazed, anxious feeling. "I don't want to call a tow if it's just the battery. We just need to get it off the road, otherwise it'll get towed."

At this point, I'm getting hostile so I stay silent. I look at my clueless spouse with an expression I hope is pleasant, and if not that, than at least hostility-free. After a lot of muttering, he finally comes to the conclusion that YES we will have to call a tow truck. He makes the call and informs me that it will take at least an hour. I barely stop the words from springing out of mouth. Why didn't you call after you called me. I don't get it. So now, we're on the side of a Friday at 6 pm traffic-laden road with two kids who are fighting to the death in the back seat of our only functioning vehicle. In order to keep me from sacrificing myself by jumping into traffic, Mitchell suggests I take the girls to Target until the truck comes. I leave rubber as I cross 3 lanes of traffic to make it into the turning lane heading toward Target. After a somewhat less horrible hour of cruising the lanes of my favorite superstore, Mitchell calls for me to retrieve him. I check out, as usual the $100 Target rule applies. The next hour and a half is spent running back and forth between the parking lot at Ross and Checker trying to figure out why the car has died. Eventually we abandon the car and drive home. I'm immediately trying to figure out how we're going to manage another car payment. There goes all of our disposable income for the next 5 years. Thankfully, my dad takes mercy on us and drives down to help Mitchell figure out the problem. After about 35 minutes, he has fixed the problem and the little silver bullet is fully operational again. Thank the LORD.

another acquisition

This pretty, pink posy has replaced my old nano. I have been coveting one for quite some time, but my realization that Caroline had a cool, new iPod and I didn't spurred me to action. My brother will undoubtedly be disgusted by my reckless materialism, but it was a need I could no longer ignore.

Yea for me!

touch me not

Please don't hug me. Not hello or good bye. No "How ya doin'?" hugs or "So good to see you". I don't want to stand with you clasped to my breast or vice versa.

Please don't pat my back as you invade my space. No comforting squeezes while your chin is propped on my shoulder. No lingering embraces. No rubbing of arms.

Didn't we just meet? How did I miss that we grown this close?

It's not that I'm not happy to see you. Just no hugs. Please. No hugs.

woo hoo

Here's to the end of another spring break. Driving a backseat full of tearful girls to school, I hummed a happy tune contemplating all I would do once I was finally home sans children. Granted it wasn't as glorious as I'd imagined what with all the toilet cleaning, window washing (thanks pool people) and laundry, but it was done without any once telling me they were dying from boredness or hunger. I love year round school.

tooting my own horn...

And Emeril's too.

Having just returned from New Orleans, I had a hankering for some etouffee. After a little searching, I landed on Food Network's page and good ol'Emeril. I found Crawfish Etouffee, and while I did substitute shrimp for crawfish (those little baby lobster-looking guys are not too easy to find in the desert), it was pretty freakin good.

Brandie Crocker, indeed!

newly acquired

Isn't she gorgeous? She's just arrived.

I am extremely excited to flutter around my kitchen with her.

where i've been

Mississippi River ... This was my first glance. Can you tell there was 90% humidity?

This is on the River Front Trolly after a few drinks. I'm not usually this friendly.

Drinking in the afternoon at a place called Mulate's. Good food; great Bloody Mary's!

Caroline cruisin the streets of N.O.

Excited at the prospect of 4 days of adult company and meals without kids.

In a room waiting for a session to begin, Caroline & Marti begin comparing crusty heels.

Highlights of the Journey:

• Getting about 50 minutes of sleep Thursday night then getting up at 2:30 am to make our 5 am flight
• Enjoying an adult beverage at just about every meal (yes, even brunch once)
• Witnessing Marti & Caroline just a little bit tipsy after an evening of fun
• Walking about 500 miles on extremely poorly maintained N.O. sidewalks & streets
• Eating zydeco meat pies & crawfish etouffee (DEEE-licious!)
• Watching the hotel housekeeper just remake the beds after telling her we were checking out
• Paying for an airport shuttle in advance, waiting over an hour for said shuttle to show up, being told be airport shuttle dispatcher that our shuttle wasn't going to show and that she'd "advise us to call a cab"
  

why i hate the phone company

• 4 separate service calls to our house & phones still don't work properly
• Paying for call-waiting and caller id but it's not currently working
• Needlessly delayed installation of satellite tv by 8 days (Nevermind the tv guy screwed up and didn't actually have to delay installing service, the lack of phone service caused said tv doofus to delay installation)
• Random loose telephone wires dangling from a hole on the side of the house that should be attached but are not
• Changed voice mailbox code without giving us the default code so callers currently receive the following message: "The mailbox number you have dialed is currently full and not accepting messages...." (so what if I'm too lazy to call phone company to get code)

retraction

It has come to my attention that I misrepresented somewhat our new pool.

This is an actual image of our new swimming hole.

I apologize for any expectations that were raised under false pretenses.

red galoshes

I hate this commercial for a few reasons, but the number 1 being the fact that the little girl wearing ridiculous red galoshes steps into her birthday cake with a roomful of adoring adults crowded around applauding her actions.

Is this really the epitome of AMERICAN LIVING? PUKE.

hold on there, pool man

I'm pulling out of my garage this morning at 7:56 and notice a back hoe, a raggedy contractor's truck and several contractor-looking dudes cruising in and out of my side yard gate.

Umm...Hello?

Oh. Hey, ma'am. (Really?)

Can I help you guys? (Of course I realize they're here to work on the pool, but shouldn't they have volunteered that info?)

Yeah. The pool....Working on the pool...

With this, he stumbles back through the front yard, disappearing through the gate. Really?



Highlights of the Pool Man's Visit:

• Watching the tall, skinny one chain smoke while jack-hammering, using an aerosol paint can, operating back hoe, and observing the other dudes install pool plumbing


• Appropriation of cool, banana boat-style, straw hat worker left in side yard


• Having retired neighbor hanging over back fence shouting at pool worker dudes


• Listening to them drill, scrape and hammer into the side of my freshly stuccoed & painted house as if they were trying to come through the wall


• 200 cigarette butts left in back yard after their departure

finally

Okay. It's finally happened. We have moved. In fact, we've been here for a week and a day now. AMAZING. I L-O-V-E it for realsies. We have no furniture yet (mattresses, a couch and a forlorn loveseat are the sum total), but I can't help but wake up smiling each morning, listening to the coyotes make wierd howly-yipping noises outside my window. Yea for me!