It all makes sense to me. . .

I thought this was so much fun, not even a year ago, we've decided to do it again!  Because I clearly enjoy placing a cheese grater to my forehead and rubbing vigorously. 
But this time will be different.  Or at least that's what we tell ourselves.  It's so much fun being delusional. 

So we went through all the boxes in the garage that we packed last time, if by packed you mean stood with a shovel and flung random crap in hopes some of it landed in a box.  Hubby thought it would be a good idea to go through it all so we don't move unnecessary things again, and I thought it would be a good idea to nag Hubby about why he keeps bills from ten years ago.  I guess he could technically argue that I still have notes from junior high but you see, my hoarding makes sense, his doesn't.  Mine is sentimental while his is just mental.  It's all there in the "women's marriage handbook: a guide to why he's crazy and you're not."  Because marriage is all about compromise and maintaining a healthy perspective and lots of apologizing and what better way to practice apologizing than creating plenty of opportunities to argue? 

Then I ran into something that Hubby says makes me crazy and for some reason everyone agrees. 

When I was a kid I had a cat that was the end all of all cats.  The greatest cat ever.  So when she died when I was 15 I did what any rational person would do.  I kept her tail.  The taxidermist took out the bone and made it all nice, you know, like when people keep a raccoon tail or rabbits foot.  Only I don't think hers brings me any good luck.  It does however bring up really good conversation.  Mostly the kind where people reevaluate why they are friends with me. 

In my defense, Hubby knew about the cat tail before he married me so that has to put him into some sort of demented category too right?  Or he was just willing to overlook my quirk and label it "adorably odd" then while now it's just "creepy". 

I think he should tread lightly because I'm planning on outliving him and he just may end up permanently reading the news paper at the kitchen table.

And this is why people should never move.  My craziness was neatly packed away in some tissue paper in a box all sad and lonely but is now out and ready to party.

"Everytime you fight a baby kitten dies"

Or at least that's what I told my kids.

The arguing has gone down at least 20%.

Inquisitive much?

Living with Dylan is never boring.  These are typical questions he asks on a daily basis:

"What artist should I research next?" 
"If you could choose between having a bald eagle or a sand fish, which would you pick?"
"Why can't I own an African dart frog?  They're only poisonous in the jungle." 
"Can I save up my money for a python?"
"What would I have to do right now to someday be in the CIA?"
"Can I be an architect and in the NFL?"

"What should I draw next, a pirate ship or world war three?"

"Where would I go to get a patent?  A kid can be an inventor right?"
"Can I submit my ideas for a video game online?"
"How can I be in a movie?"
"Can you show me how to cook?"
"You know what I really wish I had right now?  A homing pigeon."

So the most recent one was "What is your least favorite letter of the alphabet?"

I. Have. No. Idea. 

I have honesty never thought about this. 

He responded with "Mine is Q.  It could easily be replaced with a k and a w." 

And that is why he will succeed in everything he does.  Because he questions the value of unnecessary letters in the alphabet.  Or should I say kwestions them.  And I hope he always does.

Craziness runs in the family

First things first, the air is fixed.  Now I can stop whining and eating glass after glass of ice.  As if.  Crack is called ice for a reason. 

So, I have some random OCD issues, I blame a lot of them on my upbringing passed down from my grandma and mom.  Mostly because it's fun to blame others for my quirkiness. 

One of these issues is locking the car doors over and over while I'm driving.  Do I think they have somehow magically unlocked from 2 minutes and 37 seconds ago?  Logically no, but in my crazy OCD mind, yes, yes they could have. 

Once when I was in college, around 19 years old, I was sitting in the passenger side chatting it up with my friend while waiting at a red light.  This was a retro car, the locks were not automatic so you had to manually push them down.  As I sat there involved in conversation I was watching a guy, mid twenties, walk towards the car.  I kept expecting him to veer away and past us but he was making a B-line right for my door.  When I fully realized he was going to try to get in, I screamed for my friend to lock her door and hit my lock right as he grabbed the handle and tried violently to get in.  We ran the red light. 

Since this encounter I have this thing about locking the doors. 

Yesterday I was sitting at a gas station waiting to merge into traffic with my Dylan in the car.  We were deeply involved in a discussion about which letter of the alphabet is his least favorite, a whole other blog entry, believe me, when I notice a big guy coming toward our car.  He was easily 6' 5".  I immediately locked the doors which were actually unlocked because we had just gotten in, right as he stops at my door, bends down and proceeds to readjust his hat using the reflection from my window. 

And then I had a heart attack.

So while people can talk me out of some of my issues, like if I turn one way I have to turn the opposite to "unwind" myself, the car door is not one of them.

Granted, I don't think that locking the doors when I see a grasshopper will actually keep it from getting in, *coughmomcough*, I do believe the big glass windshield does that job pretty well.  The point is, these things don't really have to make sense and most often don't. 

And that's ok. 

Crazy hot lady needs a fan

I've mentioned before that I get some pretty weird texts from Hubby.  Yesterday it was this:  "The air conditioning unit just exploded".

Now, when I think of "exploded" I think fire, death, pandemonium, gnashing of teeth.  So I was a little unnerved when he didn't text back right away to explain this.  When he did finally respond, he said no, it was more like a big water balloon popping.  Well.  That's less dramatic and a totally different visual.  And it turns out he wasn't responding because he was on the phone with a lot of people regarding said air conditioning unit and could I please cut him some slack.  Fine, fine.

So being that it's Phoenix and June, it's already somewhat warm outside.  If you call 104 warm.  And compared to 115 it is.  We're just getting started. 

But I'm always cold so I called Hubby crazy when he wanted us to sleep somewhere else last night.  Pah-leeeez.  I can handle sleeping in the heat!  Only I woke up around 1am stripping off all articles of clothing and trying not to swear.  And it turns out my dreams get really strange when I'm hot.  Who knew.  Because I'm rarely hot.  Just ask my kids what item I tote from room to room and they'll tell you it's my heating pad.  I bundle up when going to see a movie, no matter what time of year, and my hands are like ice all the time.

So this "sleeping being unbearable" thing is new to me. It makes me want to shave my outside cat. He has to be dying right? He would thank me, I'm sure. Heck, I might shave my own head. They better fix it today or there's no telling what I might do. Everyone might wake up naked and bald tomorrow.  But. . . a little cooler.

P.S.

Be really careful when googling the word "hot".  Just sayin.

My girl

Is almost 12

Luke, that is my corn.

These are just plain awesome.  I mean, in the grand scheme of awesomeness, it pretty much doesn't get better than this.  Unless they were chocolate coated and then, duh. Who doesn't need light saber corn holders?  And to think, I've been using. . . my hands!  The horror.  Sometimes we just don't know what we're missing until the internet tells us. 

Deep breath and count to ten

I turned over to adjust my covers the other day and was very startled to encounter a strange man in my bed.  He looked vaguely familiar and then I realized why.  I'm married to that guy. 

It's been kinda crazy with travel around here.  I went to Oklahoma for five days and then Hubby has been going everywhere for a gazillion days.  Oregon, camping with the kids, Atlanta.  I've seen him for a bit in between but, guys, I miss him. 

What I don't miss is the kids fighting.  Hubby gets to exhaust them up in the mountains for a few days.  I just don't get why they would rather hang out with mean mom than nice mom.  Nice mom bakes cookies and plays games and laughs a lot and mean mom yells about having a headache and IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, STOP FIGHTING!!  They laughed and laughed when I screamed said that, saying they hadn't heard that one before.  So good to know I'm getting through to them.  Obviously.

So when I got home from grocery shopping with the three of them, oh help me Lord above, I lovingly informed Hubby that they don't pull the same crap with him as they do with me.  But then I learned that he just uses different tactics.  Instead of yelling he carries the wooden spoon in his back pocket.  But in my defense he does have the "dad voice".  He rarely has to use the spoon, for anyone out there having a heart attack that we beat our kids.  Don't be silly.  Only when they need it.

Recently Hubby was on a conference call and the kids decided that arguing over some insignificant trivial nothing was appropriate, so Hubby muted the call and proceeded to explain to them why it was not appropriate IN A VERY LOUD VOICE.  Only to discover the call wasn't muted.  Oops. 
I'm told that someday they will be best friends.  It better be true because it's what I'm clinging to to get me through this phase.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some recharging to do so they can have nice mom when they get back.  Trust me, she's way more fun and a lot less sarcastic.