I'm all about the beard.

So I heard in November that men were not shaving for like colon cancer or something.  I think.

Solidarity for manliness. 

Well my man is ahead of the curve in that he's had his beard for quite a while now.  Going on like two years or something.  I'm trying really hard not to jinx it here.  Not that I believe in that but if I did I don't want to accidentally do that by writing about it and then have him be all "Meh, I don't like the beard" and then I would get really stabby and it would not end well. 

You see when he shaves he becomes someone I don't recognize and I can't sleep with someone I don't recognize.  I don't sleep with strangers because, obviously. 

Only he doesn't understand how my mind can get amnesia over facial hair being gone but I'm sorry, I can't control how my mind works. 

It's like I go to sleep and forget for a blissful seven hours and then have that unfortunate lapse in memory for three seconds when I turn for the morning greeting, open my eyes, and suddenly I'm reminded of the clean shaven face and I scream in slow motion NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! as I back away from whoever this strange man is in my bed while I frantically search my memory for who could have kidnapped hubby and replaced him with a pretty spot on look-a-like but you are not fooling me beardless guy!

See.  No control of that.

In the end he needs to realize that he just looks down right good in it and the beard is hot and if there were something on me that he liked that much you better believe it would stay.

Colon cancer or not.

Even though I'm totally against colon cancer and think it should die.

shopping, shmopping

So, Christmas is next week and I have no shopping done and the internet keeps reminding me of this in really big shouty caps and bright red judgy letters. 

But my question is, internet, do you even remember what we got our kids last year?  Yeah, I thought not. 

And what you don't remember is sitting in the garage not getting used. 

So, this year they are getting {one} thing from us. 

It will be awesome and just what they asked for but one thing because in the end when all the other presents from grandparents and aunts and uncles and friends add up what we are left with is a pile of things that will eventually end up in the garage with all the other things.

And I'm not saying that buying gifts for your kids is in any way wrong, we've just gone overboard for many, many years. 

So this year we're taking a step back.  And our bank account is taking a sigh of relief. 

Stop yelling at me internet!  I know what I'm doing! 

{Pttss.  Don't worry Zoe.  You have exactly zero things and I plan to remedy that.  I mean every cat needs a hat right?  Obviously.} 

loss

Looking at my last post in light of recent events in Connecticut, it seems just plain petty.  And even though {I hope} you all know that I'm just being silly on this blog, if being slightly annoyed in the parent pick up line is the only thing I have to worry about at my child's school then I count myself very fortunate. 

My heart breaks for those parents who lost a child as I cannot fathom losing one of mine.  And I know that there are so many words being said so mine will mingle with those being tossed around in the sea of trite things people say when a loved one is lost. 

My only hope is that through this tragedy there will be some who will seek Jesus.  Actually I hope many will seek him. 

And that they will let him be like warm salve to dry aching wounds. 

And when my heart wants to cry out and question "why" he reminds me that we live in a fallen world with free will and that this is not my home. 

And everyday I will cherish the time he lets me be mom to three amazing kids. 

A post wherin I vent about random crap that probably shouldn't bother me. But does.

At an early age we are taught certain social norms. 

One of these norms is "stand in line".  We have added to that "don't cut in line", "stay in line", "don't place hold" and so on. 

And it's not like I'm against this rule in general.  In fact, just try to cut me off on the highway or better yet while waiting in the return isle at Wal-Mart.  It's a side of me I'm trying to tame.  But there is one place that I fight against this part of our society with every fiber of my being. 

Daymon's parent pick up line. 

I'm telling you, given the choice of that line and shaving my legs with a chainsaw, pass the box of band aids. 

Most of you may be thinking that the parent pick up line is equivalent to kittens licking you.  I agree, if those kittens then smirk manically right before they sink little baby needle sharp teeth into you. 

First of all they start lining up at 2:00.  His school gets out at 2:40.  Why is this necessary?  Like, at all?  Because if you don't you will get completely hosed.  But this is where commitment comes in to play.  How willing are you to sit there in the hot Arizona sun and bake for forty minutes just to be one of the elite first in line?

Second there are the few special crazies who have their "spots" and apparently you don't mess with them.  Because they have like marked them with their pee or something.  I have witnessed two very large men get out of their cars and yell in each others faces over this.  Lame. 

There are a couple of large trees that line one of the areas and provide some shade.  IF you are fortunate enough to get one of these coveted spaces before anyone else these people simply don't pull forward.  They just sit there and make people go around them because obviously shade is more important than basic human decency. 

Third, there is a merging lane and no one seems to be able to figure out.  I go.  You go.  I go.  You go.  Not really that complicated in my mind and yet.  It's more like You, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you for the love of all things purple please let me go before my brain implodes! 

I've tried coming in from the other side where the merging takes place and I had a woman get out of her car and yell at me saying I couldn't be there.  I do not get it.  I think she was just mad she didn't think of it first.

Do you see the field there?  Daymon has on many occasion spotted me from across the field and taken it upon himself to relieve me of the line and to just walk across that small-ish field to the car.  I have absolutely no problem with this at all.  When you get to the front there is no one out there monitoring who goes home with who anyway so it's not like he's being signed out.  However, this bothers other parents for some reason.  Not teachers, just parents.  So a few have taken it upon themselves to "chat" with him about it.  I do not take kindly to this.  So I tell them "I've got it, he's fine, if you have something to say please say it to me, not him."  Insert super smiley grin from ear to ear.  They usually just glare and walk off. 

Okay, so I have vented.  Now let me tell you about Dylan's parent pick up line.

It's freaking fantastic.

His school is literally next door so I'm not sure where the disconnect is but here's my theory.

I think that all the parents like me who have had or do have kids in elementary school and are so completely driven out of their minds by the "normal" parent pick up line that a mass unifying happened combining all of our mutual loathing of "I saw it first, it's mine!" mentality that we all just sort of freaked out and went all "Lord of the Flies" on middle school pick up. 

There is no rhyme.  There is no reason. 

You show up alert and ready for action.  You don't mess around and it's pretty much a free for all.  You see an opening you take it.  Like now.  I know you need your kid, you know I need my kid, let's work together and make it happen.  Yes, I cut you off, and possibly three other people to do it, but tomorrow you'll cut me off and I won't hate you for it.  Everyone smiles and waves, often right before an awesome maneuver of pure driving genius, and then we get our kid and move on with our day. 

It kind of restores my faith in humanity.  In that maybe we're not all complete morons. 

Maybe next everyone will be able to figure out the four way stop.  But I know that's asking a lot. 

Hubby was gone, I didn't blog. Or do anything else for that matter.

Hubby just got back last night from Cairo. 

Which means I've spent pretty much two weeks with my kids agreeing that indeed coco puffs are acceptable for dinner and becoming a little too intimate with Netflix. 

I just sort of fall into this odd state of "whatever-ness" mixed in with mad cleaning/projects when he travels.

Some days we don't change out of our jammies and we eat pancakes and eggs for dinner because hubby thinks it's an abomination to eat breakfast foods any other time of day but that's just simply ridiculous.  Everyone knows those things taste better at night.   After doing a whole lot of nothing all day.
Other days I make them clean up large quantities of dog poop in the back yard.  While saying things like "Oh you want to complain about this?  Okay, let's just put your list next to my list and see who does more around here."
It can be a very confusing time for them.

On a side note Zoe was trapped in the garage overnight and I know she pooped in there because I could smell it I just couldn't find it but then it stopped smelling.  So I guess...problem solved!

Do you even remember a time when I didn't discuss poop on my blog?  Me neither.

But the thing is, when hubby is around he kind of forces me through association to be social. 

It really is a lot of fun living with me.  I alternate between being a hermit, not to be confused with being a hobbit, and then wanting all my friends around me at once.  Like in a high concentrated dose where I get all jittery on their awesomeness and then can't sleep all night because I replay every possibly stupid thing I said. 

You should feel very bad for hubby. 

He gets to listen to me get all teary about how I don't want to go out because the thought of people is just too much and in the next sentence I'm upset about why doesn't anyone call and invite us out tonight?  What's wrong with us?  Don't they like us? 

Seriously, give him a hug the next time you see him.

It's probably good he only goes for two weeks at a time because that way moss doesn't start to grow on me.  And the kids get better food.  There are only so many times you can give your kids pizza before CPS gets involved. 

Although I'm pretty sure Costco wouldn't be allowed to sell it if it weren't food and they seem okay to me and besides someday they'll go off to college and have a really good head start on how to survive for at least two weeks on Ramen noodles and Progresso soup.  They may even help save other lives.

It's the least I can do.

If you send me to get it, it's at your own risk

There are some things I know a lot about.

Like all the season's of The Biggest Loser and Breaking Bad and why the toilet paper should always go under the back or how to sneak out of a sleeping baby's room {ninja level 5} or the best way to pedestrian stalk to get good parking but in such a way they don't know they're being stalked or simply: zombies.  Because obviously. 

But there are some things I know practically nothing about and one of those is alcohol.  So when hubby asked me to get him cervezas at the store recently I said sure. 

Only when I got to the check out line I realized I had forgotten them and the woman helping me could tell I needed something so she offered to continue with my order while I ran to grab one more thing. 

I hurried over to the alcohol area with all the other winos and stood in front of the beer and looked and looked and looked.  And could not find any cervezas.  At all.  I considered asking the people around me but finally just decided to grab something I had seen him drink before and hurried back.

Me when I got home:  Look I know you said cervezas but I couldn't find any so I grabbed this.  And believe me, I looked.

Hubby:  *quinty eye stare* You do realize that "cervazas" just means "beer" in Spanish right?

Me:  I hate you right now.

So we can agree that not only do I not know anything about beer I also don't know anything about Spanish. 

And probably way too much about zombies.

I'm not saying it's hubby's fault that my kid sleeps like a rock. But it's totally his fault.

One night there was a girl and this girl, let's call her Sheila, mostly because that's her name, was dreaming blissfully when an unbelievably loud noise began to shake the house. 

Now, I do not use the word "unbelievably" or "loud" loosely in this context.  I do not exaggerate for effect.  I'm pretty sure, had I taken a poll the next morning, the neighbors would have said that they too were pulled from blissful dreams.

At first I thought it was someone trying to break into our house, but then I realized it was coming from inside our house. 
It was hubby banging on Dylan's door. 

Now it didn't start out as banging apparently.  Or so I'm told.

It started out as him trying to find the iPad and when he went to see if it was in Dylan's room, his door was locked.  So hubby knocked.  But our child was asleep so he knocked a little louder.  Didn't work, so he knocked louder.  Until low and behold in crescendos into a full on battle with the door and hubby literally yelling Dylan's name and him sleeping through it. 

I even joined in because I was envisioning someone had gone through his window and kidnapped him. 
Finally after about 15 minutes total of this a very sleepy Dylan opened his door and looked at us both like we were crazy, climbed back into bed and went right back to sleep. 

The next morning I woke up to find Dylan's door firmly planted in our room where it could not keep us out in any way, shape or form. 

Dylan:  why don't I have a door?

Me:  do you have no memory of last night?

Dylan : *shrugs shoulders* kinda, not really.

In his defense, hubby once slept through a fire alarm going off in his dorms.  When our babies were babies he would wake up in the corner of the room with me yelling "The baby!  Pick up the baby and give him to me!"  Or he would wake up in the kitchen with a bottle in his hand in front of the microwave and figure it out from there.  Hubby is a coma sleeper too.

Now I have two.  Fantastic.

On the upside, he got a glimps into what it's like to wake one up.

They must have way better dreams than I do.

My blood is a fickle mistress

If there's one thing I hate more than improper highway merging or unflushed toilets it's spending money on things I don't need, so last week when I felt horrid I really didn't want to go to the ER because I didn't want to fork over the copay.  I finally gave in and went to the urgent care because they're cheaper.  Or I'm cheaper.  I think ultimatly what we learn here is that I'm rediculous but that's the moral of the story and comes at the end.  I'm just saving you time. 

The urgent care peeps didn't find anything "abnormal" with my syptoms:  heart beating out of my chest, shortness of breath, dizzyness, headache. 

They did do a CBC and some blood work to check my thyroid but I'm not thin because I have hyperthyroid I'm thin because I don't eat sugar or junk food.  The doc was looking at the wrong issue.  I left feeling very frustrated.  I felt like nothing had been resolved, I still felt crappy, had wasted time and money and was nowhere closer to knowing why.  Awesome. 

On Monday morning I got a call from that urgent care doctor telling me that my CBC was back and that I was severly anemic and needed to hang up and go to the ER for a blood transfusion.  He continued to say that he only sees results that low when he has a patient who is in kidney failure or has cancer. 
That's when all my symptoms clicked.  My heart was working really hard to get the oxygen through my system and that's why I was so light headed and short of breath and thus the headache. 

So miss cheapy pants got to spend money on the urgent care AND the ER!  Serves me right. 

They're still trying to figure out why I'm so anemic, seeing as how I'm not bleeding internally and on the upside I don't have cancer and I'm not in kidney failure! 

They think it could be that my body doesn't absorb iron.  It's like "I am way too good for you iron, eww, get away from me" and then iron just sulks and doesn't even try anymore. 

I'm trying to arange a meeting where iron and my blood don't know the other are going to be there and then there's really good music and so the other doesn't want to leave so they both stay and they say it's for the music and the chips and salsa but they both know the real reason.  They both know. 

I'll keep you updated on how it goes.  It could be magical. 

I wonder if this would work with Zoe

Is it wrong that this held my attention for as long as it did?
http://cat-bounce.com/

My happiness level just went up like 486 degrees. 

I'm glad we could share in this moment together.

We fight on

For a kid, going to school should consist of the anticipation of lunch because this time mom probably remembered to put your favorite fruit snacks in. 

It should be full of races to the swing sets at recess to try out your new shoes that you're also hoping to keep kind of clean.

It should be flashes of laughter with the teacher as she/he explains something new and you get it and they rejoice with you. 

It should be exchanging knowing glances with the kid next you as you both get the right math answer and race to raise your hands first. 

It should never be a knot sitting in the bottom of your stomach. 

For some kids this is exactly what it is. 

I was one of them.

Oh the social part was awesome.  I was all in for that. 

But the rest made me want to cry.  Daily.

And I truly began to think of myself as stupid.  I accepted that word for myself and let it in.  Let it fester and grow until it ate a hole in my brain too big to let anything else in. 

That little word did unimaginable damage to my psyche and self worth. 
That word grew into an ugly disgusting monster that would sit on my shoulder and whisper into my ear all the horrible things I thought about myself until I shrank so small in the classroom I eventulaly became invisible. 

It all came to a head when my high school counselor told me one day as a senior "Maybe college isn't for you". 

I was crushed.  I had never thought about not going to college. 

That day I decided I would prove her wrong.  I now have two degrees.  But more importantly I know that I am not stupid.  And that didn't come from books.  It came from Jesus.

I have a child who thinks he is stupid.  And it breaks my heart beyond words.  I refuse to let that awful word detroy my child.  I refuse to let him accept it.  I am fighting on my knees and in school offices and things will change. 

Some kids look in the mirror and see Superman.  Some kids see nothing worth saving. 

I see a mom who will stop at nothing to prove to her child that through Christ all things are possible. 

And that word will not be a part of our vocabulary. 

Maybe they have get out of jail free cards to go with those nice shiny gifts. If they don't someone sucks at PR.

As hubby and I were in Wal-Mart looking for Daymon's birthday present I hear this over the intercom:

"We will be giving away free knives to every customer over the age of 21 in two minutes in the seafood section.  Please join us for your free knife today!"  So I call hubby to find out where he is because he was by the kids bikes and he's all "I'm on my way to get my free knife.  Why.  Shouldn't I be?" 

And I was all "Well my first three thoughts were 1) they are seriously giving away free knives to people in Wal-Mart?  Are they completely crazy?  and 2) this guy is the absolute worst at giving overhead announcements, they need to fire him immediately and 3) I honestly don't know that I was aware that Wal-Mart had a seafood department, interesting."

And then I looked over my shoulder for the next hour as I contemplated how many unstable stabby people there were around me.

At least on any other day I'm only guessing they have knives with them.

The stories in my head I hope we can all act out one day in a play and then get pasta after

Aliya: Mom can we chat?

Me: Sure!  Is this about the awesome dinner I made last night? Because they say wine burns off and...

Aliya: Um...no...while it was amazing, I was wanting to talk about something else.  Something a little closer to your heart.

Me:  Is this an intervention to ask me stop watching Malcolm in the Middle?  Because I'm in way too deep now and I've connected with the characters on a personal level and...

Aliya: Mom...no...it's the way you sort of sometimes make up things we say on your blog. 

Me:  *blink. blink.*

Aliya:  Okay, now I know that it's shocking, it's just that we've noticed that you sometimes add a word here or there to spice it up and it's...annoying.

Me:  I have no idea what you're talking about.

Aliya:  Like this.  We're not actually having this conversation right now.  You're making it up. 

Me:  Okay, in my defense, sometimes you use a weird word in real life and I have to put in a...hmmm...let's just say, a word that flows better.

Abraham Lincoln:  I completely agree.  It has to flow.

Aliya:  Seriously?!  Now you have Abe Lincoln in here? 

Me:  Don't discount him.  He's very smart.

Aliya: Okay, mom, but sometimes it's embarrassing the stories you decide to tell and you really need to ask us first.  Stop letting him show his ax to me.  He wasn't really a vampire hunter you know.

Me:  Or was he?  One of life's great mysteries.

Aliya:  No!  Not a mystery at all!  That was a fake book, not real, he cannot even be here right now.

Me:  *whispering*  I believe you're here Abe.

Abe:  Her skin is awfully white...

Aliya:  Come over here and so help me....

Me:  Okay you two, Abe put the ax away, Aliya I think the real issue here is that you want to hunt vampires too and you feel left out.

Aliya:  What?  No.  That doesn't even make sense.  THIS.  This is what I'm talking about.  Just making up random crap and not making sense and sometimes you talk about poop mom.  On your blog.  That's just weird.

Me:  You know who doesn't poop?  Vampires.

Abe:  Totally!  High five! 

Aliya:  Abraham Lincoln would never say 'totally' like that in a sentence and he would never high five you.  This interventions has been a fail. 

Me:  If by 'fail' you mean 'awesome'.  Because then yes, it has been a fail.  Blogging rocks. 

The poop box

I wouldn't say I'm an expert on kitty litter boxes, but I would say I posses a clear understanding on how they are meant to work, which is the poop is supposed to go inside the box.  This isn't just me right?

So why does Zoe want my house to be smelly and ugly? 

We seem to be at a stand off, her and I, on this issue.  She wants to fling and mess make and I want no sign of a cat except cute Instagrams of her and Dusty snuggling on the couch and sweet purring cuteness on my feet as I get ready in the morning. 

And I would make her go outside to do her biz-ness but I'm afraid she'll be snatched up or knocked up, the later being worse.  And right now we don't have the moo-lah to get surgery on her lady parts.

Although hubby is all "Birth!  Kitty birth is so magical for our kids to experience!"  That would mean more kitty litter being flung recklessly about with little thought of the person cleaning it up!  It's as if she's trying to cause my brain to hemorrhage. 

So I put it in the boy's bathroom because, well not to be all stereo typical, but duh, it's the boy's bathroom, and I'm just being honest here.  It's already gross.  But now it's gotten to the point where they won't even go in there.  And that's saying something.  So I donned the rubber gloves and strapped on the gas mask and cleaned the crap out of that bathroom until that thing shined to high heaven and would have made even a grandmother proud. 

But.  Back to square one. 

So then I came up with a genius idea.  To put it under the sink.  Only....you have to remember to leave the cabinet door open or else....she will poop in the bathtub. 

I'm not saying the plan was fool proof. 

It was barely a plan. 

Who keeps putting me in charge of ideas around here?!

HAVE POO.  WILL FLING IT.

Daymon is ten!

Today my {baby}is TEN years old!!  He is amazing in every way.  Sensitive beyond comprehension, sweet until it hurts, the first to ask "Mom how can I help you?" Crazy funny, the best at making kung fu fighting sounds and killer on the dance floor.  This kid rocks.  He even came out three weeks early so I didn't have to suffer the whole last month.  Sweet and sensitive even in the womb.  And above all, he loves Jesus more than me.  That is the best gift a mom could ask for.  Happy Birthday my sweet angel!!  I love you beyond words!!

Okay mom, DONE with the pics now.  Eating.  Bacon.  

I'll take my pulitzer now please

While my sister and I were out to lunch recently we were discussing very important things like the oil shortage and the economy and health care and how an alien totally invaded the body of Charlize Theron's character in the movie Prometheus so she had to climb into a machine that apparently could do like any surgery that you type into it.  So she has it perform a cesarean section on her and pull out the alien "baby" only now she's trapped in the tube with it and it's all squirmy and screamy and murdery.  And then we were all like "Oh my gosh, we should totally have one of those machines and we could give ourselves tummy tucks anytime we wanted!"  Amarite? 

This is why I am not a doctor. 

And also, this is why God gave us sisters.  To high five our awesome ideas.  Because seriously right?

Give me some words too

Okay, so here's a little tid bit about me.

Texting is my love language.

Or at least one of them.

So when I write a nice long heart felt text and get "k" in return, it makes me want to punch something. 

I try to be understanding, I truly do.  I go through the list of possibilities in my head.

"Maybe they left their phone at home.  Maybe it's on vibrate and they don't hear it.  Maybe they're in the middle of a really important meeting and that's why it's been four hours since I've heard back.  Perhaps their thumbs were broken in a freak door slamming accident."  One can dream.

But when I see, for example, daughter texting like mad with her friends, I know that she is indeed capable of texting more than four characters at a time. 

But then she does this:

Me:  Is your friend still there?

Aliya: No

Me:  Do you think she had a good time?  Are peeps eating my snacks from last night? 

Aliya: Yeah.  Yeah.

Me:  You, little miss, write the shortest texts ever.  At least to me. Turd bucket.

Aliya: Well I am very sorry for my laziness and for causing you any inconvenience. Please accept my
apology. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?  Would you rather I send you lengthy texts like these more often?

Me: Oh yes! Thank you! I feel so loved now! I'm doing the traditional dance of glee that the high landers do in the Netherlands. You bring me such joy. I'm glad you sprang from my loins dear child :)

Aliya: Weirdo. 

But you see, at least she's texting me more than two words.  Ahh, weirdo like a fox!

And when hubby didn't text me back after five hours I had no choice but to send him this:

Well I can only assume you have been captured by creatures from another planet and they have taken you back to their capsule where they will perform hideous experiments on you after a rousing game of scrabble.  Everyone knows space creatures love scrabble.  Of course you lost because they are mind readers.  They are not above cheating. It was nice knowing you.  We had a good run. 

He was eventually able to prove that he was not captured by creatures from space and replaced with a look a like, by knowing my favorite coffee drink combo.  A grande iced skinny carmel machiato.  Any man willing to remember that for me is a keeper. 

Still, five whole hours. 

I was kind of hoping his thumbs were broken.  I mean if there were no aliens at least give me that. 

Oooooooohhhhhh, you thought you were a good mom? You're so cute. {pat pat on my little head}

Can I just say that right exactly when I'm having one of those "I don't suck at this mom thing" days I get a reminder on my phone that two of my kids have a dentist appointment at 4:10.

So at 4:10 I will begin the parental shame spiral that starts with "Mom, will you come here for a quick second?  {Super sweet sparkly smile}  I just need you to take a peek at this right here.  {Points with sharp poky stick at what I can only assume is a germ infested hot bed of NOT BRUSHED TEETH}  It looks like they're not brushing twice a day." 

Now let me think about this for a moment. 

Two boys.  Who run around the house wielding boxing gloves and randomly saying things like "Mom does this look infected to you?"  Or "When does this expire 'cuz I want to eat it.  Actually I don't care, I'll eat it anyway." 

So.....no, they barely brush ONCE a day when I yell up the stairs as they race to see who gets to the top first and usually as I'm hugging them goodnight one, if not both, respond "When did you tell me to brush my teeth?" 

So, um, that would be a big fat no on the brushing twice a day thing.

And then the hygienist found a lovely popcorn kernel and my offspring decides to declare "That's SO weird!  I haven't had popcorn in two days!" 

That is when I decided to crawl under my chair in shame and die. 

And all the while Dylan is super excited about how cool his chair is and talking about how we should have one as a family and how he feels like a king in it and then turns to the hygienist and actually says "I think from now on I would like to be reffered to as Sir Dylan".  AND SHE DID. 

This is of course while both boys are wearing sparkly blue sunglasses shaped like stars so they're eyes don't sting from the harsh lights that reveal all the nasty that is thier mouth.

So then after each cleaning I become the brushing nazi for like two months and I'm all OMG, GO BRUSH YOUR TEETH!!  I DON'T CARE IF YOU DID IT AN HOUR AGO, GERMS ARE GROWING AND CAVITIES ARE FORMING AND PEOPLE I SEE TWO TIMES A YEAR WILL THINK I'M A BAD MOM AND JUDGE ME, GO BRUSH AGAIN!!! 

And then life takes over and I find myself becoming more relaxed and what the heck and before I know it it's Lord of the Flies in my house and kids are running around in their underwear eating yogurt without a spoon straight from the container and someone actually says "Can you buy me a new toothbrush, 'cuz I haven't seen mine in like a week." 

But at least they both got a token, because honestly doesn't that just make it all worth it?? One bouncy ball, one rubber pig and one deflated mom ego later and we'll see ya in six months!

Because next time will be "different". 

And by "different" I mean "you guys learned how to wipe your own butts just fine, how did that not transfer over to proper teeth brushing??"  

My cape has sparkles on it.

I have a super power.

And not a lame one like flying or shooting lightning bolts from my hands.

I can find anything. 

Seriously.

Just ask my family.

I have denied this power for years upon years and it's just recently that I'm beginning to accept my fate. 

Because I kid you not when I say that if it is lost, I will find it. 

And it's beyond freaking annoying.  You have no idea. 

I know, with great power comes great responsibility, but you guys, it's just too much!

It's getting to the point that I'm expected to find things that have been lost for years through three moves. 

And I can. 

It's down right freaky.

I just feel...so alone in the world.  Is there anyone else out there like me?

I've heard stories of other moms who can do the same thing. 

I need to know that I'm not alone, that there are others.  That this "gift" is not really the curse I believe it to be.

I must go. 

There is a missing video game cord.  And I don't even play video games.  Do you see my plight? 

We have two seasons in Arizona. Hot and warm.

I am desperately craving all things fall.

Yesterday hubby and I were out on our Friday date and as we sat eating lunch he asked me over his insanely large Q-doba burrito what I wanted to do next.

"Well what I want to do is go stand in the middle of Pier 1 and just breathe in the smell of fall and soak up as much of it as possible until it seeps from my pores.  What we should do is go look for a new washing machine." 

I simply adore that man for setting aside what I can only assume is his passion for clean clothes to whisk me away to the nearest Pier 1 where we romped in The Land of Fall and the store associates looked on like we were crazy people.  He "ate" from the gigantic spoon that is larger than me and we sat in every single chair and couch and fluffed the pillows.  We smelled all the candles and admired all the tea sets {mostly me} and his eyes didn't glaze over when I made him stand there and listen as I gushed over a set of coffee cups that, as the associate put it, "I can't live without". 

It was fantastically, perfectly fall and it made my day.

And then reality hit when the door opened and we remembered that it's 97 degrees at the end of September in Arizona and we still had to go hunt for a washing machine, but for like an hour we had fall.

And an orange owl I named Fred that can be yours for a mere $48.00.  What a steal! 

The battle

It sat there between us like a heavy weight in the room pulling down any joy there might have been.

He glared at me, a challenge in his eyes.  Did I really want to do this? 

The answer was yes, I did. 

I swung my foot easily back and forth as if to convey a light hearted mood I didn't actually feel. 

We could do this the easy way or the hard way. 

"So, outside or in"? 

Again that squinty eyed glare, clearly a battle was brooding under that mop of dark brown hair and those gray eyes. 

I reached for it.  I would not give in and he would do this my way. 

The camera was heavy in my hands as I stood and said "Okay then, outside it is". 

A loud sigh escaped his lips as he just sat there, a lump on the floor, unmoving in protest. 

Kryptonite is what I actually possessed disguised as a camera and he is superman. 

Or a younger fraction of a version.

Perhaps he is descended from one of those tribes that believes I am actually stealing a piece of his soul when I take his picture. 

Or possibly he enjoys the war. 

I can feel it rising up and I try to stop it but it just comes out before I'm able to comprehend what I'm about to say.

"Come on, please let me take some pictures of you, I'll let you have a sleepover or we'll get ice cream or both." 

A slight smile plays at the corners of his lips. 

He is cracking me. 

Did I just bribe him?  Dang it.

I can feel my power slipping away.

"Or you could just listen to me because I'm your mother and when I say to do something, I mean it". 

The smile is gone and he slumps into the floor even more as if that's somehow possible. 

"Look, I have all these great pictures of your brother and sister and like, barely any of you.  People are going to think I love them more.  Is that what you want?"

He rolls onto his belly and buries his face into the carpet.  "I don't care what people think, I hate taking pictures!" 

"But you're so handsome and the light is perfect and if you'll just cooperate for like ten minutes it will be over." 

He peeks at me with one eye.  "You hate getting your picture taken too." 

We are at a stalemate, this lanky boy and I. 

I can feel my heels digging in.  The harder he pulls in one direction, the more I want to yank in the other. 

I have to rethink my strategy.

"You know, for someone who's always telling me about how they want to be famous you're really not good at this part of it." 

He stops tapping his foot against the floor. 

"That's right.  People who are famous have to sit for hours in photo shoots and change clothes numerous times and pose anyway the photographer wants.  All the time.  It's part of the deal." 

He gives me a wary look. 

I'll never know if he gave in because of my excellent negotiating skills or to get me off his back.

But what I do know is that if this child is ever famous he will be downright sensational at eluding the paparazzi.  He'll be like big foot or the lachness monster or a sober Lisnday Lohan.  We've all heard stories but we've never actually seen them. 

And then as if the metaphorical clouds parted and let the sun shine through, he gave in and let me snap a couple quick photos.

I guess it's just all part of what makes him him.

A little misinterpretation

Moving is so exhausting.  And completely yucky in every way, except I do enjoy redecorating.  That's fun. 

But I have no idea where anything is and my kids keep asking where things are and I just give them a blank look or mildly freak out and wave my arms about the plethora of boxes and say "Gee, well it could be in this box or this box or this box. . . " and then they get the hint and realize that my head might actually start producing steam from my ears so they walk away. 

I'm such a nice mom.

I make up for it in hugs.  And goldfish crackers.  No matter how old they get they still love themselves some goldfish crackers. 

But moving does produce some weird conversations.

I was obsessing about finding the shower curtain rod for the boy's bathroom, because if I could do nothing else, I could at least put up a stinking shower curtain and no matter where I looked I couldn't find it.  I had texted hubby about it a couple of times and finally gave up.  Later I called him because I was trying to unhook the trailer that was attached to my car via a hitch.  I was halfway through the process and needed help because I couldn't get it off.  Instead of releasing, it was lifting the entire car off the ground. 

Me:  I'm doing everything you did, it won't come loose.
Hubby: Just twist to the right.
Me:  I am, but it's not coming off, I'm afraid I can't go either direction.
Hubby: I walked out of a meeting to talk to you, I need to go.
Me:  But I have to go pick up Daymon!  I need help!
Hubby: I'll help you later, don't worry about it.

I stood there looking at the phone, utterly confused and finally got the hitch back to where it should be so I could drive away and texted hubby about whether or not I should drive with it on to my work thing later that day.

Hubby:  With what on?
Me:  The trailer.

He then called me and we had this convo.

Hubby:  I thought you were talking about the curtain rod that whole time!
Me:  No!  I was talking about the trailer hitch! 
Hubby:  Holy crap!  You had it half way off? 
Me:  Yeah, I was a little confused as to why you would "help me later".  And by the way I would never pull you out of a meeting to help me with a shower curtain rod.  I'm not that pathetic.
Hubby:  You seemed a little frantic over something so small, it's all making sense now. 

So just so you all know.  I may be odd and a tad eccentric but I will never make my curtain rod problems your curtain rod problems. 

Unless I'm impaled by one. 

The end.

If the sign said "Free anteaters" would you get one of those too? Probably.

Because hubby and I are such, I don't know, free spirits you might say, we just randomly stop and turn around when we see signs on the street for free kittens.

We momentarily forget that our youngest child is allergic and we just go right ahead and fall in love with a little girl kitty.

Her name is Zoe.

She's awesome.

And kind of magical in that Daymon only had issues with allergies for one day.  

It's like it was meant to be.

And my kids are totally big enough to bat her away in the middle of the night if she decides to get all murdery and tries to smother them.  

Cats can be super sneaky like that. 

Say what?

I remember when my kids were really little, I thought I would stop saying strange things when they were big.

That has not been the case.

"No you cannot slide down the stairs on a sled."

"If you shoot your brother one more time so help me. . . "

"Yes I do normally pay seven dollars for a 'stick' of this makeup stuff."

"The whole 'showering on a regular basis' thing was not a joke so I don't care that you showered last Tuesday.  Do it again."

"Will you please stop introducing me as your 'legal gaurdian'?"

"I don't care if you saw it in a movie, we are not going to buy an alligator."

"Sorry, you cannot got to college to become a ninja."

"The entire box of cereal is gone?  I just bought it yesterday!" 

"Please tell me before we're driving to school that you volunteered to bring food."

"Oh my gosh, you can't put silverware in the microwave!" 

"Tell me if your tights get a hole, using black duct tape on them is not really the best method of fixing them."

"You are way too big to sit in the back of the grocery cart, get out." 

"We just got a new kitten, no you can't have a rat too."

"Shoving everything in the closet doesn't count as cleaning your room."

And my favorite.

"As cool as it would be, we can't put a zip line from the second floor to the living room."

I knew I wasn't taking crazy pills! At least not about this.

So yeah, we moved and stuff and things are everywhere and I can't find anything and blah, blah, blah but there are way more important matters to discuss here people. 

I am a migraine sufferer {not to be confused with surfer} and back in December my neurologist put me on Topamax.  Now this drug I take daily and it has a long list of side effects but I only have a few.  Now some might argue that the few I do get should trouble me but alas they do not.  That's right.  Alas. 

My hands and feet randomly go numb and I can get overly tired quicker than the average person should.  But when compared to pain rated 8 out of 10 every day, I will take numbness hands down.  At least I think they're down.  I can't feel them.  Kidding. 

But some people have horrid side effects on this drug and can't take it all.  Like they forget how to speak.  So comparatively I'm doing great! 

Except.

For about six months now I've been saying things like "Gee I'm shedding a lot".  {Yes I use words like alas and gee in everyday sentences.  Nerd.}  Or, "Check out how much hair I can get when I run my fingers through my hair" or "Hmm, feels like I'm losing a lot of hair lately".  But then it turned to "Um, I think I'm losing all my hair.  Seriously"  or "I don't think this is normal to lose this much hair everyday".  Only no one seemed to really be hearing me.  That or my hair problems don't really rate high on the scale of things other people worry about. 

I have always had really thick hair, as in I used to complain like some kind of idiot about how thick it was.  Oh poor me.  Well that was before.  I have like half left.  I kept trying to figure out what the culprit could be once I really decided that it wasn't just in my imagination.  I even looked at my medication side effects list but it wasn't listed. 

So I finally researched online and sure enough, it's apparently a huge problem.  Well crap.  The good news for me is that it will grow back but really??  Hair loss?  And I have a hard time believing that my neurologist didn't know about this little hiccup.  So I stopped taking the stupid medicine and call me vain but I really like my hair and don't especially want to go bald thank you very much. 

And honestly I'm nervous about starting another medication that could potentially have other or worse side effects. 

But at least I feel vindicated.  I knew I was losing all my hair and that I wasn't crazy! 

Too bad I was right. 

No pinochio nose here

I finally got some pictures of the kids' trip to Colorado and Missouri! 

I know, I know.  But hey, at least I have actual proof that they did go and that I didn't, I don't know, stuff them in the closet and feed them from under the door for two weeks.  So there is that. 



My Aunt Rhonda and Uncle Tim's ranch in Colorado




Aunt Rhonda!



I thought this was a river when I was a kid.  This picture kind of ruins peices of my childhood.



That dog rocks.  Seriously.



I'm pretty sure Dylan is saying "Good people of the creek, I implore you to cross before I venture over."




Cousin Talon helping them build a dam.  Because he's cool like that.





Mamaw keeping a watchful eye. 





Skipping rocks.





This picture right here sums up my Dylan's personality completely.  The dirt, the face, the tree, the shorts hiked up and he doesn't even notice.  I give you...my child.




Sweet Chloe :)  My neices are so beautiful!




Daymon knows how to pose for a picture.  Like a boss.




Sweet Laney :)  See, beautiful!




Yay cousisns!





Not so sure about this horse thing.




"I was born to ride!  Now where are the pesants with my cool refreshing drink?"




Awwwww!




Reading clues for the scavenger hunt my SIL and mom and brother made up for them!




How fun!




My sister Sheri with the girls, look at those pretty faces!




All the kids!  Dylan, Laney, Aliya holding Jett, Chloe, Elijah, Isaac and Daymon.




Fianlly, a decent picture! 

 Thank you Mike and Sarah for letting my kids come and stay and destroy and plunder and pilage for days on end.  I know it wasn't easy so I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Truly.  I love you guys.  And my kids had a wonderful time and adore your children and miss them dearly.  And if I'm being honest my boys miss your video games and their Uncle Monkey most.  Because nobody rocks the video games like Uncle Monkey. 

And mom, seriously, you are simply the bomb.  Hands down.  And always will be.  There is not enough thanks in the world for all the love you show your grand babies and unfortunatly you set the bar really high, so good luck with that.  For next time I mean.

Okay, I have to go because there is like dust in the air or something and it's making my eyes water.  Ahem. 

Packing is, what is word, lame.

So....this.

And this.

Oh and this.

But that was after trying this.

And unfortunately it didn't work.  Like at all.  What the?

It seemed to work perfectly fine for that Jennie in the bottle when I was little on that show. 

So I stumbled around for a while longer in this.

Until he kept getting underfoot and I realized he was crying out for attention.

I think he likes it.

Did she seriously just put a hair band on my head?

And this.

Okay, I can see you out there, are you going to keep letting her put human clothes on me like some kind of idiot?! Get over here and help me!  Honestly, I can't bite her, she feeds me.

And this.

Okay, now she's put underwear on me!  For the love of all that's decent! My thing is gone! I can't even get to it! Where did it go!  This is wrong on so many levels!  Someone call animal protective services!

This is so humiliating.  I have to just go lie down.  I can't even. . . 

My life is so degrading.  

You guys, I've found my calling!  No, I need more exclamation points here.  I found my calling!!!! 

I could totally start a business dressing up people's pets and making them feel more loved and valued and a respected member of the family. 

I think we can all see that this day has been a complete success and that packing pales in comparison to my dogs complete happiness. 

I feel so fulfilled.