I Won't Say it's Far, But I Had To Grease The Wagon Twice Before I Hit The Main Road.

So, Texas. It's hot!! I. Mean. Hot! Like melting wax hot or as the kids might say, hot, lava hot. Hot as a billy goat in a pepper patch.  Hot as a stolen tamale. I might even attempt to fry an egg on the driveway just to see if it will cook. "Hey kids!  Breakfast is served!"

On our journey here we only had a few bumps along the way; one kid puking in the hotel parking lot when we arrived in Salem, VA (there was a lot of pink stuff that I suspect was from his large consumption of cherry licorice), a 4-car fender bender during Memphis rush-hour traffic (no one was hurt as we were the last car bumped in the accident so we left with only a teeny scratch), and then there was our arrival at the hotel in Memphis while bringing the cats inside, the cat carrier containing our big cat busted apart releasing Big Girl and prompting her to immediately dash away under a parked car where we luckily caught her moments later (we need to put that cat on a diet). There was junk food, boys peeing in gatorade bottles (one boy in particular. I think he was going for a record), sleeping (lots of sleeping), sore bottoms and tired eyes, some sibling bickering, bad singing (lots of bad singing) and last but not least there were many mutterings of "Are we there yet?" 

After making a stop in Denton and having a wonderful visit with Nana we made it here safe and sound, albeit we were tired and maybe not of sound mind, but safe. 

We are getting settled here in Texas. We still have a lot of boxes to go through drowning in them, in fact. Just finding space for everything is a challenge as we have about 45% of the space we had at the house in New England. Garage sale time! 

We do like our new home and cookie cutter neighborhood though. It's quiet and it has trees. I am currently submitting resumes and looking for work...some of the online forms are quite time consuming but with practice, practice, practice I am getting through it. 

The kids are good, bored at times as they haven't made any friends yet. It's a ghost town around here during the day as the locals must be indoors lying on a bed of ice to keep cool.  

NOT our dog or our ice! Not even our sidewalk. Ok, so I stole the picture.

The 2 older boys are in an elite sports camp a few mornings a week so I am hoping that they will find friends there. Spencer also goes to a youth group at the church, which he really likes. 

We go to the pool A LOT. Our favorite is one that has a few slides and a lily pad crossing in the pool. The kids like it and I can sit comfortably with a book...in the shade. 

Once the kids go back to school things will start to come together for us. Michael is set to start classes in the fall. Jokes aside, we are excited to be here and to start a new chapter in our family book. And extra bonus: we are just 7 minutes down the road from grandma and Mr. Bill. I haven't spotted a 'For Sale' sign in their yard yet so all's good. 

Oh! And this town has What-a-Burger and Rudy's BBQ!  Am so going to have to start running again if this keeps up. 

Miss our friends in New England!!

It's a Pasty Thing

The first time I experienced the joy of a pasty was when I was first dating Michael.  It was on one of our visits to Texas.  His Nana and my mother-in-law makes fabulous pasties.  Everyone seemed to be making a big deal of these pasties.  What the hell was a pasty!  I wondered.  As they explained them to me I responded with: "Like a pot pie?"   I am pretty sure that did not go over well as everyone seemed appalled, especially Michael. That was my first faux pau.  I am surprised he made the trip back to our home in California with me. 

When the pasty was set in front of me I had silently changed my mind from the idea of a pot pie to a calzone.  My second faux pau was attempting to eat the pasty with a fork.  I mean come on people!  I was using my manners!  When you first meet your boyfriends family shouldn't that be a priority?  To display good manners?  His family was kind and showed me the way, although I suspect I was not earning any brownie points there.  They take their pasties very seriously!  All I can tell you is that the pasty was delious!  Sooo good!  Even when eaten the wrong way.

Now that I am married to Michael and have been for 10 years I thought it was high time I learned how to make a pasty. I admit.  I was afraid.  It seemed an impossible task.  I could never measure up to the pasty gods.

So grab a beer, have a seat and go with me down pasty lane.  I
 am no Pioneer Woman but this might be fun!

The ingredients....

First, you must always wash your hands before cooking. Of course your untensils should be clean as well. Wiping your cutting knife on your jeans in-between ingredients does not mean it is clean, unless you live in the backwoods and your name is Billy Bob or Herbert "Cowboy" Coward. In that case, swipe away but stay on your side of the kitchen and please stay away from the children.

First, I attempted to make the dough. To make ten pasties it takes a lot of flour!  I decided to make the dough for five pasties instead of ten at once.  Seriously, I don't own a bowl large enough to make dough for all ten pasties at once.  That's almost a whole bag of flour!  Hey!  How do you like my hat?  Very chef-y like wouldn't ya say?

Things didn't go as planned.

I made this:

I could plaster the wall with this stuff.  After getting over the frustration of my error I ventured onward.  I went with portion control, only making one pasty dough ball at a time.  Went much easier.

Hubby helped by cutting all the meat. What a wonderful guy he is. And such nice hands.

I finished making the dough and placed the balls on a plate in the frig. Look at those perfect balls...

Then I took a 10 mile break...

Okay, so on to chopping vegetables, I was running out of time.  Pun intended.

Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop

Chop Chop  My arm is getting sore.  Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Maybe I should sit down.  Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop I think I need another beer Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop

Chop Chop Chop Chop This is a lot of chopping. Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Almost finished. Just have the rutabagas left Chop Chop Chop Chop....

Have you ever tried to cut into a rutabaga?  I would have used an ax if I owned one.  Instead, I came close to snapping off the blade of the barely qualified knife I did have. I think I saw my arm muscles tone up. 

Ahhhh all the chop, chop, chopping is finished.  Oh snap! (or insert your own expletive here).  By the time the chopping was complete it was almost six o'clock.  There was no way these pasties were going to be finished by the appointed dinner time.  The children would have declared mutiny on mommy if had moved forward with the plan of having pasties for Saturday night dinner.   After consulting with hubby we decided to cook the pasties for Sunday dinner.  For Saturday it was hot dogs, green beans and apple sauce. Hey, I am not up for mother of the year award here. I would settle for 'has four kids and only 5 gray hairs' award.

Oh, uhhh how did that pic get in here?

Day II:

I will admit that I did begin to say a little prayer at church that morning asking for pasties that were edible.  Then I thought better of it as God probably had more important things to deal with than my pasty fears.  Yes I was intimidated by pasties.  After that whole thing with the mushy flour mess I pictured rock hard pasty shells.  I feared I would have to serve them with a hammer and a chisel.  

The beginning of my first pasty.  The rolling went easy.  So far so good:

Putting it together:
If you are one of those people who get squirmy about raw meat...

look away now!

Here...I will give you time to flee...

My first pasty!!! 
It was quite large, but no holes in the dough!

Baking time!!
I put them in individual tins so they would all fit in the oven. 

Doesn't that look nice?

Hubby cuts into his.
I think I see anticipation in his eyes.

Then he helps Elijah with his.

Delicious!

I have made pastys and I didn't screw it up.  Am pretty proud.  Yay!  (Pats self on back)

So if you are ever invited to someone's house for this wonderful thing called a pasty you are in for a treat.  And remember, cut it in half, slap some butter on it, pick it up with your hand, take a bite and enjoy.  You  might even impress the host by requesting a beer to drink with your pasty.  Just whatever you do, do not compare it to a pot pie. 

It is NOT a pot pie!

Thank you to Nana and Chris for all of your helpful advice during this process.

And yes Chris the first pasty was huge and probably weighed 10 lbs! 

Burning down the house

I could probably come up with many titles for this blog but will refrain from sharing my thoughts on those. 

What I am about to share is a very serious issue.  It deals with fire safety.  And while it may amuse you as it did me....let us not forget the seriousness of playing with fire. Take note and do not as we do unless you have a fire extinquisher nearby. 

Last night after the children were all snug in their beds hubby and I enjoyed a few glasses of fine wine together.  Our ten year anniversay is fast approaching and we wanted to spend time together.  It's rare that we have those quiet moments together.   We lit candles while we talked and laughed about our interesting and wonderful life.

As the night grew late we moved our conversation to another room bringing the candles along.  I will skip over certain details as that, quite frankly is none of your beeswax! 

There was a moment when all hell broke loose.  That's when I heard Michaels voice:

"It's on fire!"  And he was not talking about our love.

A pillow had caught on fire from the lit candles. Michael attempted to smack the flames out and was getting nowhere.  There was a lot of exclaimations and cursing during those moments.  That damn pillow was was not made of fire resistant material.   We threw the flaming pillow into the bathtub, turning the water onto it extinquishing the fire. 

That was not it...

"Oh crap!  The curtains on fire!"  Michael yelled jumping over the bed to try and extinquish those flames.  While trying to put out the pillow the curtain had caught on fire.  The flames were not going out!  I ran back to the bathroom and grabbed a cup of water and threw water on the curtain putting out that fire.

You would think that was the end of it, but..............

When I turned back to the bathroom to bring the cup back into the bathroom I noticed that the shower curtain was on fire!  "Holy Crap! The shower curtains on fire!"  Again that damned pillow had spread another fire.  I began smacking the shower curtain to put out the flames, the burning material sticking to my hand leaving blisters. I finally put out the the flaming shower curtain.

At this point Michael and I were laughing our butts off.  We simply looked at each other with a "What the hell just happened?" expression and burst out laughing.   It was a wonder we didn't burn the house down. 
 

That NON- fire resistant pillow:

Guess that's why they call me Hotgirl.  :)

It's 9 degrees outside. Do you know where your kids are?

This morning, while walking lopsided towards me Sam declares that she has something sticking out of her butt.  That girl needs a change.  While changing her she informs me of what is her butt and what is her hoohoo and what comes out of each place.  I listen smiling, thinking how very cute she is and how I must start potty training her again.  I am hoping she is ready.  Could be that I wasn't ready.  It seems I forget the rules and tips for potty training with every child and I must read up on the subject to refresh my memory.  The first child took months to train. We conjoled him with a potty box, m&ms and various other treats to get him to go but of course it was on his terms that he finally got it.

The second and third child seemed to go smoother with only a few accidents.

They say girls are easier.  Not sure if that one is true.  At least not with Sam.  She is quite strong headed, but I think I can convince her.  It might take a few m&ms and treats...

SNOW!!

If you haven't noticed I changed the subject. 

The snow has been a blessing here in our new igloo....er home.  The hill out back is inviting to not just our kids but every kid in the neighborhood so making new friends has been easy for the boys, although there were a few bumps along the way.  Like the day some kids decided to block the entrance to the tennis court telling the boys they could not play in there.  Elijah being Elijah just walked right through the group not a care in the world and headed straight for the ice patch to slide on.  Gabe was not far behind.  They have not had any problems since.  Safety in numbers.

Yes I was watching from the window.  It's my mom duty.

A brief conversation with a 6 year old

"Mom I'm cold."

"Cover up then."

A minute passes

"Mom. I'm hot."

"Take off your covers. Go to sleep".

Another minute passes

"Mom, my butt itches"

"What?"

"My butt itches!"

"Then scratch it"

"It itches!"

"Go wipe"

"It's itchy!"

"What do you want me to do about it? I am not going to scratch your butt for you".

"My foot!"

"Oh. Well. Then scratch it. And go to sleep. It's late."

Elijah at Suzens

Deciding who has the biggest radish

Gabe picks a radish

Boys will be boys

Another example...

Classic

Some pics taken by Suz. Thanks!

It's Summer Somewhere

As everyone knows autumn is in full swing, at least in my neck of the woods or should I say neck of the zoo as I do live in a zoo here with my 4 lovely monkeys and very loving hubby.   

I have a very picky 5 year old boy.  He doesn't like anything that zips, buttons or snaps.  He insists on wearing only one particular brand of socks.  Of course he often runs out of clean socks as he throws the dirty ones into the shoe closet with his shoes and I don't find them until they have multiplied into 10 pairs and I have already washed the whites.  He is then forced to wear other socks which brings on another tug of war. 

And there is one more thing.

My soon to be 6 year old is doing it again.  At first I thought it was due to living for 3 years in the tropics, but am now convinced it must be something else.  He does not do well transitioning from summer to autumn.

Tuesday morning the temp was fifty eight degrees and raining.  The boy insisted on wearing shorts and a tee-shirt with no jacket.  I feared a call from his teacher inquiring why I allowed my child to leave the house wearing clothes only fit for those living in Florida.  I had flashbacks of my days as a youth in the winter months in the midwest, walking to school with wet hair, my ears beet red, freezing my butt off, but never putting on a hat as it would mess up my hair.  Maybe he has too many of my genes.

I thought I would fix the problem by taking all of his shorts out of his drawer and stowing them away.  He cried and sat on the floor as if waiting for me to replace them with new ones.  What?  You aren't going to let me wear shorts?  I explained to him that when the weather gets cooler he must put away his summer things and move into fall.  He seemed to understand.  I told him that when he is at home he can wear shorts. 

Yesterday it was again cool weather.  After returning from school the 5 year old ran upstairs then came back down standing before me in his underwear, looking at me as if I was supposed to understand.  I asked him why he was in his skivies. He reminded me that I had told him he could wear shorts at home.  I held to my statement and gave him shorts to wear.  He then ran barefooted to the back door, opened it and ran outside to play. 

I think he may be part polar bear.

I change my earlier statement.  I live with 3 monkeys, 1 polar bear and 1 loving husband.

The bug has landed

Today.

What a day.

I think the kids ate crabby for breakfast. Either that or there must be a crabby bug going around. One that makes kids extra cranky and defiant or bicker with each other more than usual. I think a nasty bug flew into the house this morning when I opened the door to bring out the trash. It then proceeded to bite a few of the children, although I won't know for sure how many until the older two get home from school.

"Okay guys! It's time to pick up the toys so we can read books! Come on! Let's clean up!" I said in a sing songy voice. It's supposed to make the kids think cleaning up is fun. It never really does. It's a scam.

"Ugh! Grrrrrr....growl.....whine.....whine....whine.....I don't waaaaant toooooo!" says my son as he crawls away from the lego mess. Even a little kind coaxing doesn't budge him. Extreme measures are in order. Sitting in a chair for 4 minutes is not punishment for him anymore.

"Get up and pick up those legos!" The tone in my voice is no longer the nice sing songy, but rather mommy-is-losing-her-patience voice. Still, he refuses to help pick up. With the day I have had he is pushing the wrong person.

Later, after the duplo lego storm of the century and just as my 1 year old daughter decides to climb up onto the kitchen table while I am fixing lunch, I hear a crash coming down the stairs. Something has spilled. As I scoop up Samantha I quickly go to investigate and find my son standing near the bottom of the stairs looking down at a once full bin of small legos spilled onto the stairs. He has a crushed looked on his face.

"Didn't I tell you that you could not bring the legos downstairs?" I ask him. He just looks at me. "Pick them up please." I take Sam and go into the kitchen lest I burn lunch.

I drop an egg in between the cabinet and the refrigerator.

I slam my shin on a small kids chair that Sam has pulled up to the counter and is standing on.

Meanwhile, Gabe is still 'picking' up. His method of picking up is to sit on the floor and look at all of the legos strewn about. I think my head is going to explode. If he doesn't get them picked up Sam is sure to get into them and that could be a problem as most anyone who has children knows that small legos are a choking hazard.

Even if a lego did make it past Sam's esophagus and into her stomach I surely did not want to take her to the ER. They may wonder what I am feeding these kids. The staff would probably greet me by name and ask if the quarter has dropped.

Flashback to that one Mother's day and the Elijah quarter... That Mother's Day

Naptime has come and is now nearing to a close. I can only hope that the bugs' venom or whatever it's called-has gone through their system.

If you don't hear from me for a while I am most likely drunk or locked up in a padded room.

Decadent Chocolate Eclair

Naptime...it's not just for kids.

Ten minute snoozers are perfect pick ups.

Eating 3 brownies is not.

I indulged. I should never have made those brown delights. I even slathered some left-over chocolate frosting on top. I have fallen and I cannot get up! Guess in my mind I believe that because I ran ten miles the other day that I can now eat anything I want.

Nope! Nada! No brain, that is not how it works.

The next step is to get rid of the fat. FAT BE GONE!! If only it were that easy.

Oh joy. I can hear the brownies in the other room. "Psst! come have another one! You have room in your tummy and we are oh so goooooood!"

Here.

Make these so I don't have to be the only one:

Decadent Chocolate Elair

1 box graham crackers
3 1/2 c. milk
2 sm. boxes French Vanilla instant pudding Mix
8 oz. Cool Whip

Chocolate Topping:
1c. Sugar
1/4 c. milk
1/3 c. cocoa
1 tsp. vanilla
1 stick margarine

Line bottom of 9x13-inch pan with whole graham crakers in single layer, set aside. To prepare pudding mixture, blend 2 boxes pudding mix with milk on low speed of mixer for about 2 minutes. Then fold in Cool Whip with a spoon. Spread 1/2 the pudding mixture on top of graham crackers, then place another layer of graham crackers on top of pudding. Then pour balance of pudding on 2nd layer of crackers. Cover with 3rd layer of crackers. TOPPING: Boil all ingredients together in saucepan over medium heat just long enough to remove lumps, stirring constantly. Let cool slightly and pour over top layer. Chill for 10 hours before serving. Serves 10 to 12.

Sam saying grace

Teasing. It's what's for breakfast, lunch and dinner

Why the red peppers?

A new diet? An attempt at prettying up this blog? A symbol for the color of my face during trying moments of the day?

No. No and no.

The teasing has come to an all time high in this house. Sure, the day has gotten much quieter now that two of my (rowdy) boys are now in school. Gabriel, the sole Haus boy in the house during the day spends much of his time teasing Jaxon, a two year old boy that I watch during the day. Oh, the fighting that goes on around here. I cannot leave the room for a moment, even to pee, which if you care to know I can do in seconds flat. A must-have skill in this house as one never knows when an emergency or loud scream will occur. TMI? Yeah, I know, but go with it. Allow me a pass. I am surrounded by children.

I have attempted to explain to the children why it is not nice to tease and that it hurts peoples feelings. I have put 'teasers' in time-out. I say 'teasers' because when the older boys get home from school my sweet Elijah starts on Gabriel and even Samantha. Teasing, it's what's for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

A family member recently sent us a box of books their kids no longer read. I found the perfect one in that box today. Almost as if it was there just for me to find.

Today for story time I read 'Tyrone the Horrible'. It's about Boland a little dino who gets teased every day by a T-Rex named Tyrone. Boland tries everything to get Tyrone to stop teasing him and to stop Tyrone from stealing Bolands lunch. Boland offers Tyrone ice cream, he tries ignoring Tyrone and even fights him, to no avail. Finally Boland makes a red hot pepper sandwich for his lunch. The next day Tyrone steals Bolands sandwich and eats it.

I copied the picture of Tyrone breathing fire and hung it on the wall as a reminder to the children that teasing is never a good thing. I am looking forward to reading this story to Elijah. I am almost tempted to buy red peppers and set them on the counter, just as an additional reminder. Talking may not convince them but visual clues just might. That could be considered cruel scare tactics.

Yeah. I am going to do it. *grabbing a pencil and writing hot red peppers on my grocery list*

Picture of the day

I think that any reading must be done while sitting cozy in a little box

Don't you?

100+10000=

Lately.

I am running....running. I see the light. It's there. In a size 6 running skort. Running....succeeding.

Today, a poop incident to rival any. Poop on the floor, poop on two year olds hands and legs. Maneuvering to get poopy kid into bathroom without his poopy hands touching anything while still trying to keep other kids from stepping in poop. This is done with careful precision and quick movements only a mother can appreciate. If I was Lucille Ball I would of had a clothes pin pinching my nostrils closed. It was that bad.

Not much has changed around here.

Running......

Two of my kids are in school now. My middle boy is now a kindergartner. I know I should be sad. I was, with the thought of him being independent of me and going off to school, but then I knew he had Spencer to ride the bus with. I knew that he knew he could count on Spence. I know like any good mother, I was expected to cry on his first day. I did not. Don't get me wrong, I worried like any good mother, but cry? No. That's not how I roll. I knew he would be great. He loves school. I suspect he prefers it over the oh so boring days spent at home playing 'little baby' games.

Running.....Oh crap! Is that a blister?....running...running..

Tonight at the local Harris Teeter, as I was browsing the hot dog section I spotted a sale on Hebrew National hot dogs. A steal at $2.00. As I was deciding on how many packages to buy a very loud and obnoxious sound erupted next to me and for an instant I thought I was in Walmart. I may have even heard the Twilight Zone theme song in my head.


I nonchalantly (yeah, right! nonchalantly) glance over to see a group of five people, seemingly young adults or very immature adults and one toddler boy. The child was sitting in the cart while his older brother or very immature and mean father was teasing him. I didn't hear the teasing, only the very loud "NOOOOOO!" coming from that child, but I understood from the mans gestures that teasing was occurring followed by the child yelling.

Every few seconds.

He just kept yelling! I held onto my wieners and quickly made my way down the coffee isle. Away. I had to get away. I could still hear the child's "NOOOOO!" Then the cart carrying the screaming child was being pushed down the coffee isle. My nerves were splintering. I can handle childrens many noises, and we all know they emit loud sounds. I could not take it. I moved to the next isle. The noise persisted so I decided to start my shopping in the refrigerator section and off I went 6 isles down. Quite faintly I could still hear the childs irritating cries. I was struck with a feeling of disbelief and irritation at the man provoking the child and wondered what kind of life that poor kid had.

At the check out the screaming persisted. I wondered how the mother could allow this to go on. It just wasn't normal. At least not where I come from. I kept thinking; what the hell is wrong with those people? Didn't they care that the boy was being harassed? Didn't they know that they were making a scene? I wanted to step in, but couldn't. I know. How selfish, but I did not want to get beat up in the parking lot.

I could still hear the child as I exited the store. Guess they thought they were in Walmart too.

Running...stretch, stretch....running on....

Tonight as I went to my bedroom to get ready for bed I found a hand made scroll and the math equation 100+10000= sitting on my side of the bed.

A scroll that only a child would make. The smell of crayons and notebook paper brought a sweet smile to my face. 100+10000=love. I wrote down 10100 but when he finds the answer in his lunch box tomorrow he will understand that it really means I love him.

100+10000=love

See, I don't have to cry. I have moments like these to make me smile.

Running

and

adding.

The Ooey Gooey Chocolate Chip Cookie Blog (with pics)

Despite the madness that is going around this house today like a bad case of rabies, I decided to try a fun, messy craft with the kids hoping it would take their minds off of each other and their snarling.

We made chocolate chip cookies with shaving cream, glue, brown paint, black paper and paper plates.

Gabe stirring it up!

Elijah with his usual goofy expression

Spencer. Wonder what he is thinking

The glop!

Putting the mixture on the paper plate.

Elijah spreading the gooey stuff around.

Walla! The finished product!

Cookie anyone?

As you can see, Gabriel is wearing his Happy Birthday hat in honor of his 4th birthday. After nap we are having REAL chocolate cupcakes. Mmmmm chocolate cup cakes.

I got this idea from a blogger I subscribe too. 'No Time for Flashcards'. Great site. She has the best ideas! If you have small children go check her out. She is on my sub list.

Tree Mud..The brief tale of how a woman became a mud beast.

Nert! Nert! Nert! Nert! The alarm clock is shrilling at me.

"Get up! Get up! Get up!" I told myself a dozen times this morning before forcing myself out of the comforts of my bed. It was still dark and quiet. Did I really have to wake the kids? I asked myself. Yes.

Get ready to go. Shower, shave, shave, no shampoo. Why even shower? I am going to be playing in the mud later. Do it anyway. Get dressed. Wake the kids. Last minute bag check. Last minute diaper bag check. Breakfast which gave me peanut butter butterflies. Why was I nervous? Dumb and not allowed. Load the kids in the van, drive through the desolate neighborhood. I get to friends house, drop kids off at friends house at 6:20 a.m. We are on our way.

It's race day. An 8k mudrun race day. I know. Shut up! Already about this mudrun. Or should I say 'Sand run?' I will try to keep my words to a minimum, but don't hold me to it. In fact, don't hold anything to me, I think sand is still embedded in my skin. I might be scratchy to the touch. Not making sense. Moving along now.......

We start on the 3rd wave. The beginning of the race is along the beach, on the sand. We run through the sand, water, around broken trees, and up sand dunes. We run through the woods, around more trees and over orange-painted roots. The first fifteen minutes I am not there, but then I get it. I am in the groove, am comfortable, am running smooth. Then more sand. Slows us down. So much sand.


We run through a mud puddle then more loose sand. We cross a creek in waist high water. I joke that I feel like a wildebeast crossing the river. I briefly, in a Discovery channel moment, look for a pair of crocodile eyes peering over the top of the water.

We traipse through sand, sand, sand! I climb over a wall. I would like to say that I resembled one of Charlies Angels as I shot over the top, but it was more like a Chris Farley moment as I hit the surface on my belly and rolled over to the other side. I think I even made a sound like a seal barking as I rolled off. Urf!

My shoes are heavy with sand, my once white socks are now black.

We wade through a waist high puddle of mud, make our way up and down sand hills and gasp a sigh of relief when we hit pavement. The end is the best. The end is my favorite part. I feel like a beast.

Upon cresting the final hill we slide down to the mud pit. I am in beastly bliss as I crawl through the mud. Mud splashes in my face, in my hair. I try to keep my shoulders and butt under the ropes that were hanging horizontally across the pit. I am a warrior! Grrrrr!

Okay, so maybe not a warrior but certainly I must have looked like Catherine Zeta Jones slithering under that rope as if they were laser beams. I am certain that I heard a few people calling 'Go Catherine!' It was a proud moment.

The mud stuck in my hair and trickled down my leg.

It stuck to me as I crossed the crowded finish line.

The mud was my mark of accomplishment, my badge of mudrun honor.

There were cheers for the finishers.

I made it. I am a mud-runner.

Until next year....

Get me a publisher!

It's been awhile. I have had other things going on. Like life and kids and such. It happens. I have been wandering about inside my head, not sure where the words had gone. I had things to say, to write, to speak. The words seem to evaporate like cotton candy on my tongue, but not as sweet.

Okay, enough of the gooble gobble.

Hubby is away again. It's just me and the monkeys. Yes, I call them monkeys. It is a term of endearment, most of the time.

The other day as the boys were upstairs washing up, brushing teeth, I heard a ruckus. The kind of ruckus that stops me from whatever task is at hand to go check it out and usually there is a task at hand. It goes with the territory. I had to investigate as my motherly instinct would lead me to do. Of course there is always a commotion when all 3 of the boys are together in one area, but this was the hullabaloo that broke the camels....er...mamas...back.

It was more than likely a shove here, a push there, someone took someone's toy. Whatever. These kids fight about what color cup they will have at dinner. "I want the red one! NO! I wanted that one!" Yada, yada, scream, scuttle and more screaming. I really should just buy all same colored cups. Less fights to deal with. Why can't we all just get along? And I go on....

Back to the zoo.....

There is much bickering as I arrive at the top stair. I cannot make out any of it. I demand that each boy meets me at the kitchen table. We shall have a round table discussion on their crisis or in our case a rectangle discussion.

We go around the table, each boy getting a turn to tell his side of the story. Houston, we have a problem.

The event went something like this:

One boy was washing his hands. The other arrived to also wash his hands. We do not have a double sink, so things get tight. The third boy arrived to pee. Apparently he felt the need to turn away from the toilet, point his wee-wee at this brother and proceed to pee on him. And the floor. And the wall. This created a chain reaction of yelling and giggling, then one boy shut the lights off, while the peed on boy closed the door, shutting the pee-er in the closed dark bathroom, fumbling with his shorts around his ankles. Serves him right I would say.


I shake my head at these childish, boyish antics and wonder why it is so that children must act in such ways. I will never know.

I asked my husband if this was normal, because I think it is not. Dear husband says that yes, it's normal. Hmmm. How long has he known these are the things that I am going to have to be faced with?

The things they don't tell you when you are pregnant. I could write a book.

This is about poop. You have been warned

No quarter yet. Elijah says I need to buy him some prunes so that he can poop out the quarter. Today after he ate a big lunch, he says to me: "All that food should have moved that quarter down." The kid is a riot.

I have decided to leave the quarter search up to my hubby. I donned the blue surgical gloves. I sorted through one of Elijahs BMs.


Not

Going

To

Do

That

Again.


I almost puked. Really, it's one thing to wipe a poopy butt, it's another to actually squish poop in your fingers. See? Gross right? Bleh!


I am really not up to the task of poop sorting. Seriously, don't they have some kind of poop sorting machine I could have borrowed from the hospital?

Anyone want a job? I know things are bad in the job market so if you know of anyone......

Okay, bad joke...whatever! It's not like I am a certain comedian wishing people dead. Boo-Yeah!

Hey! Look what I got today!

Who says Mother's Day ends on Sunday?

Seriously, (I say that a lot don't I? Seriously) all of this fruit will surely bring about a 'movement'.

Leave comments. I like that. :)

Any old day?

Mother's Day.

Another day?

Any old day?

Normal Mother's Day? What is that? A normal mother's day. I wonder as I glance down at my green heels. Mowing the grass while wearing flip flops is not recommened unless you want to resemble a leprachaun. Our mower is a beast! As I pushed the mower over the thick tall grass the mowing monster kept stalling. No one told me (until I spoke to hubby on the phone tonight) that one must set the mower wheels to high when first cutting tall grass/weeds. The neighbors have never seen that side of me and with my green feet they may have thought the Hulk had moved in next door.

Normal Mother's day?

Again, I ponder. Is it a dinner with the family, a vase of flowers, a spa package or a few quiet moments which only last until someone stumbles in with their pants at their ankles freaking out because they cannot pull up their pants due to their sweaty legs. It's been hot.

What is the point? Gift me everyday for the job of being a mom. Then I might not cry at odd times (all moms do that right?) when the shit hits the fan and I cannot take anymore of this madhouse. Then I might smile more often and not curse and kick at the lawn mower. Then again, I might cry anyway.

Give me a book and a quiet place so that my brain can recircuit and maybe then I won't forget to inform the lector scheduler at church that my husband won't be there to lector (he's out to sea) so that the priest won't have to leave the alter and retrieve the Holy book himself. Yep! *raising hand* that was me today at mass. A gaggle of restless kids and a moment frozen in time when I see the priest leave the alter and grab the book. As I bent down and picked up the bulletin I knew that my husbands name would be typed next to todays date. I wanted to shrink. I knew 'they' knew my screw up.

Normal Mother's Day?

After mowing the grass I managed to shower before Samantha woke from her nap. A few moments later Elijah comes to me in a complete and utter panic saying that he has a dime stuck in his throat. I stick my finger in and I almost get the coin, but only make matters worse when the 'dime' which was really a quarter went down his throat. He gagged, he made choking sounds, he puked. I called 911.

The EMTS arrive and by thenElijah has calmed down and is sitting on the floor with a puke bucket, still heaving up purplely yuck. Mom on the other hand is still shaking from the realization that she can't DO everything and her child could have choked. EMTs assess the situation and determine that Elijah is going to be fine, but needs an x-ray. When I cannot reach anyone to take the other kids while I go to the ER the EMTs decide to drive 5 year old Elijah over in the ambulance and I would follow. Of course I have to wake the baby, change her and get her ready before I can leave. With all of the kids. Elijah is okay, just has a quarter in his stomach and now mommy has to sift through feces for the next week until the poopy coin comes out. This is the same child who swallowd a dime last year. He might be saving for the future.

Normal Mother's Day? Yes. Indeed it is a normal mother's day.

A sweet homemade pipe cleaner flower in a handpainted paper vase, a folded in half piece of construction paper with drawings of me and the kids and scribble scratches like 'my mommy likes to eat popsicles' and 'I love you mommy' written on it and handed to me with a hug and a kiss.

How could I not stop off at Starbucks on the way home from church and get a Frap for me and marshmellow treats for the kids despite their misbehavior in church?


How can I have moments of doubt and despair over my job of raising kids when they are so pure, their little hearts bigger than the world?




How could I have breathed for so long without them?



Eh, I know. So very touching right?

These kids are getting to me.

The Aquafresh is spiked

I have come to believe that there must be something in the kids' toothpaste. It's spiked with some kind of mental inhibitor. It makes them act completely crazy and unlike anything I have seen prior to becoming a parent. I would say that there are suspicious substances in the water too because- geez! It seems everytime I turn around I am pregnant, but this is not about me being pregnant so many times, because I am NOT pregnant, merely stating a fact.

I am convinced that there IS something in the kids' toothpaste. It has to be the paste, because people just don't do the things my children do. It could be the genes and in that case I will blame my high-flying-Superman-jumping-from-dressers husband. HE started all of this. I am sure it doesn't help that he wrestle fights the boys, plays soccer in the house with them and plays 'steal the Best Friend' with them, which usually turns into a screaming match with Gabe at the forefront. After all it is his Best Friend that is being passed around like it's the last piece of chocolate cake at a kids birthday party.

I don't mind this madness when my husband is leading it as the boys do love it and someone has to do it. If I attempt a fraction of what hubby does with the boys I usually end up with a black bruise SOMEWHERE on my body or just simply wake the next morning with a killer back ache. I will stick to crafts, play dough and playing board games thank you.

The reason for this rant. Yes, there is a main point.

Yesterday was a doozy. It was discovered that two of my sons decided to pee in one of their toy bins. NOT just one boy, but two boys. Imagine how much pee that generates. Those kids can stand at the toilet for a full 30 seconds peeing. Thirty seconds is a long time when you consider the amount that would generate. Ewww!

It was, at the very least one of the nastiest things I have encountered since becoming a parent 7 years ago. I carried the bin into the tub wondering how I was to handle this. I could just carry the bin right outside to the trash can or make the boys clean each and every urine soaked toy. I let it rest for a moment or two so that I could collect myself. I dropped a few F-bombs in my head, along with a couple 'I can't F-ing believe its'. I think one F-bomb may have leaked out of my mouth. It was warranted. They peed in a toy bin!!!!!!!!!

It was also discovered that the 'deed' was done on Wednesday night while watching the movie 'Babe' in their room, which is a rarity. They don't often get to watch a movie in their room, but I was feeling a bit generous that day and decided to lift the ban for just one day. See what happens when I let my guard down for a moment? Piss happens.

After soaking in a urine bath for a few days the smell...oh boy! Well.... if you have ever walked up a public parking ramp stairway where bums and drunkards go to 'relieve' themselves then you know the stench I refer to. It was atrocious. I would say that it took me back to my twenty-something party days, but it didn't. It just verified that I live with a bunch of lunatics. I love my lunatics but they do make for a stressful life.

The two pissers were sent to their rooms for a while. They couldn't give me a good explanation for why they did what they did. I would accept the reason was that they just didn't want to miss a moment of the movie. I may never know why. Really, is there a good reason to pee in a box of toys?

The urine toys were soaked in very hot soapy water then transferred to a bleach bath where they are now.


I cannot make this stuff up.

Cleaning? Phsst! I can do that.....later

My husband is having friends over Friday. Just a couple guys, he says. And beer. What a great combination. Does that mean I have to take care of the kids on Saturday? I have things to do! Grocerys to buy, a pedicure to have, ironing to do.

Oh how selfish of me. bleh, whatever!

Friday. That's tomorrow. I have been calm thus far.

We do have 4 children and I haven't the time to dust. There must be seven layers of dust on our furniture. If you ever come to my home please leave your white gloves at the door otherwise I might have to kick you out. With a foot.

Friday.

Guests.

I am not ready, yet I remain calm. What can I do? I will gather up all of the crap laying around and stuff it into my 'Monica' closet. Everyone has one. Even you I bet. Well maybe not EVERYONE as I know a person or two who are very tidy. Careful coming to my house you tidy people as your pants might stick to the chair when you sit down and you might be leaving my house with a red jelly stain on your 'tidy' butt.

I dust, I Windex, I vaccuum, I cram things into places that don't fit just to make the mess disappear. Oh, I know. It didn't REALLY disappear and when I open that crammed Monica closet things are going to fall on my head. BUT while the guests are here, I won't see the mess and my home will be as clean as Marthas.

Even if it is all a facade, I will be deemed a good housekeeper. Just call me Betty.

There are some things that I just cannot fix around here. Like my lack of vision when it comes to adding decor.

I was not born with the decorating gene or what I call the 'Martha' gene. This can sometimes stress me out. I have moments when I stand still and look at things around my home and wonder why I bought THAT and why I thought THAT would go with THAT. I need assistance. I need a personal decorator because I know that those flowery throw pillows do not go with our beige couch. I want to hire the woman from Devine Design. She has good taste. She has vision.

But for now, I will just put things where they fit and hope for the best. I don't measure so I will just pound a nail and hope for the best. I don't plan, I just buy an item that I like and hope for the best.

Crap! Am I supposed to serve the guests food too?

I cleaned and crammed and rearranged. Cheezits will have to do.

Counting Sh_t! Counts as Learning

"MAAAAWWWM!" I make my way toward the summoning child. The sound is coming from the downstairs bathroom. This might be messy. It's never a good thing when a child is closed himself inside a bathroom and is yelling for me. This I know from experience. True grit or true sh_t! See. Now I didn't SAY the 'S' word so technically I am not swearing.

I am now thinking like a child too.

Reasoning, reasoning with my own self.

"MAAAAAWWM"! He calls seconds later. Impatience not only runs in my blood but apparently my childs.

Trying not to run, because my son does seem distressed, I reach the bathroom and ask him what he needs. I respect his privacy and keep the door closed. I am working on that one. They are getting older and going to be doing things that I do NOT want to walk in on. Practice! Practice! I don't want to be one of THOSE Maaawms.

"Mom, the toilet is going to plug up! I know it is..." he tells me through the closed door. He is most likely correct in his assessment. After all, toilets are not meant to flush down a whole roll of toilet paper. I wonder if he sits in there calculating how much TP it would take to clog the toilet. Maybe he just wants to try out the plunger, just once.

"Are you done going potty?" I ask through the closed door.

"Yeah, but the toilet is going to plug up!"

"I'll take care of it. Just finish up in there and I will take the plunger to it." A small child, poop and a plunger is not a good visual.

"MOM! The toilet is going to plug up!" He must tell me why and continues. ......"I know it, because there are 13 poops in there."

This one made me laugh out loud. He actually counted his poops. Learning happens everywhere.

A new kind of counting book? I could be in the money.

'Count Your poops!' or 'Poop Counting' OR

A new sidekick for The Count on Sesame Street; 'Count Poops A Lot'.

"He counts poop and so can you! Aww ha ha ha ha!"