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?