Apple TV. Seriously?!

Have you heard about this thing? I was very skeptical. Any time Daddy comes home with some new-fangled gadget, I want to know how much it costs and why we really need it. (I'm not sure exactly when I went from being excited about the new gadgets to exasperated. I am not sure I'm happy about this shift, either.)

Then, my sister sent me a YouTube video of my sweet baby nephew Bear. Oh, how I miss those CHUNKY, chunky thighs. His solid frame, and his sweet contagious smile. I watched the video on my phone. And then I thought I should watch it on a bigger screen. My iPad! I was watching it when Little Monster came around and wanted to know what I was watching. And why did that sound like Auntie on the iPad?!

I noticed this little odd thing on the bottom of the screen and clicked it. And it gave me an option for watching the video on Apple TV. After only a few minutes of input juggling, there was Bear! Bigger than life Bear! Being the goof that he is on the big TV. Monkey and Monster just sat and watched Bear over and over.

And now I find myself anxiously awaiting the newest Bear video to be uploaded. I haven't seen a new one in a long time. Despite the fact that I've posted a few videos of Monkey and Monster since then. But you know sisters. They are busy. Oh, and they are in the mid-west and trying to dig out from about a gazillion feet of snow. I guess I'll give her a break.

But what I was originally trying to say is that Apple TV -- it's totally sold on me. I love watching Bear on the Big Screen! And now that Daddy is busy, I'm sure the kids are going to love watching him read good night books there too!

We made it!

It may have been by the skin of our teeth, seconds before the planes were stopped for wind and snow. Or maybe it only seemed that way as we were leaving as the temperature dropped and the winds picked up. But after 12 hours on an airplane, no one getting to nap, and a 70 degree temperature shift, we all arrived in paradise on schedule.

Daddy was there to pick us up, and take us to our new home. I was a bit worried about the house, but quickly learned to have more faith in Daddy's ability to get something I'll like. We are all on one level, in a gated community, a block from the pool and shaded with Plumeria trees. I love that I can hear birds singing and kids playing outside, rather than the freeway which is close to many of the other housing communities available to us, and we are pretty central on the island.

It has been a few weeks, but we are getting settled. We are missing lots of old friends but excited for the possibilities that lay before us as we begin to make new friendships and discover the things that are going on out here in the middle of the ocean.

We arrived in the middle of the rainy season, so we've seen lots of monsoon type rain, with a few sun breaks, but I am having a hard time complaining when the East coast is buried under feet of snow and it's 80+ degrees here.

I hope you all had a Merry Christmas and wish you a Happy and Blessed New Year!

And it begins!

This weekend I will be dragging my children halfway around the world to our new home in paradise island. Where I have been told that the cockroaches are the size of rats and the geckos are smaller than the mice and are all over your house pooping on your window sills.

But as we are leaving tomorrow, likely in freezing rain and snow, I'll be grateful to be headed somewhere where the definition of "cold" is still at least thirty degrees above the freezing mark.

That is, of course if I can get through TSA without some sort of craziness. And if the plane takes off despite the freezing rain and snow. And if our connecting flight from Denver leaves.

I didn't think I'd be so sad to leave Nebraska in the middle of December for somewhere tropical. But Little Monster has a knack of finding good friends with wonderful mommies. And we've had a good time spending our short time with them.

My next post will be from somewhere greener and warmer friends!

It's about the little stuff...

I was truly blessed today to spend the afternoon with a friend.

Little Monster has been talking about spending some time with his friend who lives in Frank forever. Every since he started at this preschool, he has been asking to spend the afternoon with him. As in, asking every day. So, when I met his mom last week at a field trip, I was ecstatic when we planned a play date for the boys.

Today was the much anticipated day. We marked it on the calendar, a big old E right on today. This morning there was no argument about why he couldn't wear his pajamas all day. There was less argument about getting shoes on and getting in the car.

We met at a local fast food joint with a play land and followed up at "Frank's" house. The kids had a great time. There were sword fights, a few punches over lights being turned off or on. One big crash sound that ended up being nothing and a bathroom and Little Monster covered in poo. A tiny baby boy cooed and nursed while Butterball tried to be his mommy. I think that I enjoyed my afternoon (except for the poop incident) as much as Little Monster did. Frank's mom is a sweet, sweet woman who amazes me. And I am sad that I won't get to know her more.

I love when afternoons turn out as nice as this one did and can't wait for the next one.

The spanking girl

Before I tell you this story, I must preface it with the fact that Little Monster is every bit a four year old boy. He talks. And talks. And talks. The other night while with my mom the child talked for five and a half hours. Without a break. Without a pause for someone to answer the billions of questions he was asking. He just talked. It wouldn't be so bad if the child would use some punctuation when he spoke - -but often one sentence just rambles into another. Sometimes he forgets spaces for his wordsandtheyendupsoundingmuchlikethislooks.

I know. You all think, eh. Typical four year old. I'm not sure. I think he talks more than most four year olds, but maybe that's because I'm with him constantly.

By the end of the night, my mom and I just stared at each other, mouths agape in horror at the fact that he hadn't passed out from lack of oxygen. And then he went to bed and I watched Elf. It's not a masterpiece of the arts by any means, but after the day I'd had with Little Monster, it was downright hilarious in parts. Elf was Little Monster. Little Monster was Elf.

But now we need to get back to the original story. This evening it happened again. Non-stop talking. Running up and down the aisles at Michael's, while bouncing all over the place. I'd put him in "time-out" touching the cart, but it wasn't working. My patience was getting worn out. As we were in line checking out, he started to act up again. (Act up is probably a bit harsh. He was really just being a bit loud and asking questions I was too tired to answer and I didn't want to sound like a grouch around all of the other people in line). I didn't have much left for it. He had worn me out during the day with all "his friend who lives in Frank in the white house, and to get there you turn left and left then right and can we go over to his house after school his telephone number is 4" talk.

So, as we were standing there, and was tempted to issue an empty threat for a spanking, it came out of my mouth without thinking.

Little Monster. Did you know that there is a lady who spanks naughty kids in stores?

What? There was. That one lady. That one time. You don't remember?? Read This. Yeah, see. I didn't lie.

I thought it might squelch the very minor attitude and get him to be quiet for a minute. I was wrong. It just brought on more questions.

Mom, that girl that spanks naughty kids -- where is she?

I don't know. She could be anywhere! (Now I know she WAS in Ohio, but I don't know where she is right now.)

Mom is she here now?

I don't know honey.

MOOOooom. You're just joking. Right?!

Cue the guy who is standing in front of me with his young wife (who is giggling uncontrollably).

"No! I've heard about her!!"

At that moment you could see all of the color drain out of poor Little Monster's face as his jaw dropped down. We all stood around discussing whether it was possible if she was in the store the poor kid started to get scared. That some mythical woman might jump out between the checkout lanes and swap him in the butt for being naughty in the yarn section of Michael's. And the more we talked about it, the harder it was to contain my seriousness. The lady in front of us (young wife) was crying she was laughing so hard. She literally HID her face in her coat at one point because she didn't want to ruin the moment.

I may or may not have mentioned that if this mythical lady has to come out to spank you, she immediately calls Santa and puts you on the naughty list.

I'm not terribly proud of my momentary lapse in parental judgement. But I might just use it to my advantage. After all, I don't know where that lady is at any given time, and she could be anywhere, ready to spank my naughty children for me since I'm not willing to do it in public myself. But at least I'm not duct taping him to walls. Yet.

Time to spray for bugs...

Basements anywhere seem to be plagued with bugs. Spiders, earwigs, just gross bugs. But lately, being at Mom's house (no offense!) has been like a trip to the insectatorium. Or whatever. The bug section at the Zoo. Whatever you want to call it.

It all started a few weeks ago when Daddy was here. Mom and I were getting ready to go somewhere when we saw something scurry across the garage floor. It was large enough we thought it was a mouse. Mom jumped into her car and we yelled for Grant. Who informed us that it was a spider. A very large spider. So large, that when he stepped on it, guts spilled out at made him slip so much that he almost ended up doing the splits and going to the hospital.

Fast forward a few days. A spider was on the lamp. A big spider. I went to get it and it fell to the floor. After I caught it I went to kill it. And I squeezed. And squeezed. And squeezed. And after I actually gave force, it popped. I tried not to barf. It makes me shiver just thinking about it.

Fast forward a few more days. We had been outside grilling and I ate a burnt hot dog. This is a bit relevant, I swear. The kids were nuts that night, and I was out of my mind by the time they went to bed. I went to bed and woke up and as I was in the bathroom, I looked at my teeth. You know how you look in the mirror and run your tongue along your teeth in the morning. Between my teeth I saw a LOT of black stuff. Since we've had so many spiders, the thought of that email from forever ago claiming that we eat 8 spiders a year in our sleep (totally false, by the way) came across my mind. Instantly I felt nauseous. I was certain that I had eaten a giant disgusting spider in my sleep and the stuff between my peg laterals was chunks of spider leg. Then I remembered that we had eaten burnt hot dogs -- and maybe I had forgotten to brush my teeth before bed. I'm going to believe that's what it was. I really am.

And then there was last night. Last night when I was sitting innocently in bed and felt a tickle. In a sort of odd place. In the spot between my girls on the front. I said it. I figured it was a hair or something and went to scratch it. Only I felt something in there. Something like a stick. No worries. I had been crawling around outside all day. It was possible that it had been there for a while but I hadn't noticed it. Right? So I grabbed the stick and and pulled it out of my shirt.

Do you want to see the stick?

Are you sure?

Here it is!!

Do you SEE that?! That is NOT a stick or a hair or anything! THAT WAS CRAWLING ON ME! THERE!

We sprayed the house for bugs. And I feel a little guilty for killing that bug. It suffered a little bit. But then I still get a bit creeped out every time a hair touches me now. I can only wonder how interesting it will be when I get to the Island and have geckos and all kinds of crazy bugs and exotic 'pests' running around!

...problem solved...

For the past six months my mother has had little Internet. Downloads were minimal. Uploads pretty near impossible. We've been blaming the "bad cable" in the attic.

A few weeks ago my dearest husband and some very good family friends moved the cable feed from the attic to the basement. And in moving the feed, removed about 3 splits and splices. The Internet got better immediately. As did the cable signal in the house. BUT it wasn't perfect.

After troubleshooting the router, and the cable modem, and seeing that the digital signal is still shoddy on occasion, I called Time Warner out to take a look. The guy who came out was actually VERY knowledgeable about what he was doing! It was amazing! He came, replaced some ends, I told him the whole long drama of Internet dis-connectivity and skipping cables, re-wiring and troubleshooting, restarting and rebooting, flashing lights and frustration. So he ran a speed test. It worked. No surprise. The speed tests often work and say that nothing is wrong. So then I said, let me show you. The speed test takes about 1 minute. The Internet craps out after about 3 to 4. Forget the speed test. I don't sit around running speed tests. Try to download the iTunes update! Try to download virus definitions! Try to download anything over 10MB!

So we did. And it failed. And it failed again. After troubleshooting, we came to the conclusion that we were fighting two problems. An indoor cable splice being used outdoors, AND a faulty router. Which is why the problem was so inconsistent and bothersome. No one wanted to take the blame.

Today we both did. New cable has been purchased. New cable will be run into the house using outdoor splicers. A new router has been purchased and set up. And now, my friends, my wonderful friends. We have a home full of computers with the latest virus definitions. And software updates. And skype works again!

I almost forgot what it was like to have real Internet!! ;)

Redneck vs. The Red Box.

Friday night. 8:00. Kids are in bed, too late to call a sitter. Not that we wanted to anyway. I was dressed in sweats and wanting to get snuggled up on the couch with a bowl of something chocolate and a good movie. But there wasn't anything we'd not seen or cared to see from On Demand. Blockbuster seemed far away and expensive.

But there is an alternative! The Red Box! Daddy and I had been using Red Boxes all over Rhode Island. We even used one at the base in Florida! No problems. Super easy. $1 per movie. I mean, how hard can it be -- You push the GIANT button that says RENT if you want to RENT a movie. And RETURN if you are bringing one back. Then you use the menu to pick out the movie you want. There is a picture menu next to the screen to show you what is available. You type in the title, swipe your card, and the box ejects a perfect red box containing the movie of your choice.

I got to the WALMARTS to get my red box, a little crabby and tired from a long day of fighting with small children who either can't or won't listen to a word I say. I have to admit that I may have appeared christian on the outside, but the thoughts going through my mind as I walked up to that Redneck vs. Red Box battle were anything but. These were the type of rednecks that were proud of it. "Big Papa" had a beer gut about four feet wide and he was donning the dirty holey jeans and a T-shirt that had a list of reasons why he was in fact a red neck. "Big Mama" was wearing a sweat suit too. Only hers was the same size I was wearing. And three of me could have fit into her. Their kids were wreaking havoc on the entry way, opening the doors and letting them shut. Open door. Shut. Open door. Shut. Run around and scream. "Big Mama" was trying to 'figgure it out and wudja knock off all this rukkis!!!" After about ten minutes, the man in front of me, but immediately after the red-necks looked at me and we shared the same thought. "Oh My LORD!" The kids were screaming (rednecks, not mine or the other guy whose child was patiently sitting in the cart) about wanting to watch some movie that the box probably didn't have. Through the whole ordeal I managed to stand there, quiet, without even mumbling things under my breath. I think fifteen minutes had gone by. Maybe not, but it felt like it.

At about this point, I was frustrated. Furiously frustrated. I was thinking VERY mean and VERY un-Christian things. But then I looked down, and realized I was dressed very much like a redneck in my sweat outfit. And if my kids had been there, the situation could have gone either way. They could have been angels or I could have been ripping my hair out too (although it is rare for my kids to be out and about after 8:30). The poor redneck mama was furiously getting frazzled. And the guy in front of me said "It's no fun when they don't have what you want, huh?" And the crazy redneck family left. Three minutes later, both I and the man in front of me had selected our choices, paid and received our movies.

I guess it was just a case of Red box vs. The Redneck. The red box won. And I hope that the next time I won't be so nasty and judgemental. Even if it was only in my head. And even if red box is set up to be easy enough for my three year old to do it.

August. September. October.

Sometimes it's hard to write things because it all seems so trivial. So silly. But maybe that is a good thing. If we focus on the trivial and the silly, then the serious and sad don't seem so big.

The past few months have been a blur. And for good reason. We have flown to Nebraska and back to Rhode Island. We have packed up our house and vehicle and shipped them off to a tiny Island somewhere in the pacific. We drove from Rhode Island to Florida for a week, and then drove back to Nebraska. During the week my husband was here in Nebraska, we sold a truck and our RV -- the one home that hasn't changed in the past three years. We saw Daddy off to the Island where he checked in and has been busy working on getting us into a house. We have wavered back and forth on whether we will be able to keep our beloved pet. All while dealing with the loss of one of the greatest people I've ever known.

We have done quite a bit since visiting Nebraska. Although Little Monster is sad that we weren't able to visit the "Pumpkin Patch of Blood." Some imaginary place he made up that he thought existed near Indian Caves State Park here. Between the Monster and the Monkey, I've been busy. Monkey is climbing onto table tops, running around and bashing her head into everything she can find. I know the whole "duct taping your children" got a bad rep, especially here in Nebraska. And I WOULD NEVER DO THAT!! But I can totally understand why someone might consider it. Anyone who couldn't, either doesn't have children, or their children are miracle angels that don't spend their days dismantling cabinets, moving furniture, and figuring out the child-proof locks that cause most adults grief.

I am looking forward to Monster's birthday party, and spending some time with family before we head off to the middle of the ocean. And then, I'm sure, things around here will get interesting.

Look first, then pitch. But look again. Just in case.

The other day we got a letter from Chrysler -- Schmitty's momma -- admitting that they put less than quality brakes and rotors on their cars. Brakes and rotors that wear out before they should -- like at 16,000 miles. Just a few miles and a few months outside of their warranty.

Of course, we knew all of that. I called them and complained about the whole thing a year or so ago when we had 16,000 miles on our minivan, but the brakes were funky. They finally conceded to paying labor, but we had to pay for parts. And then the dealer found the same problem on the back brakes and fixed those too.

Fast forward to this weekend when we got the letter. I threw the letter in the trash, convinced that there was no way we had kept the receipt for that work, (through a cross country move and after a year!?) and therefore wouldn't be compensated for the parts.

Fast forward to today. When I found the receipt. And had to dig the letter out of the trash.

It's covered in some sort of garbage juice. But I hung it up to dry. That letter in conjunction with the newly found receipt is worth some money! If Chrysler doesn't want to get trashed letters they shouldn't put crappy brakes on their cars, right?! Or am I wrong? I have learned my lesson though. I'll at least give a glance for receipts before I go trashing any letters promising a return of my money.

How much cash would prompt you to dig through the trash? How much would NOT be enough?




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A weekend to be grateful for

We just got back from a "camping" trip in Maine. Maine, oh how I love you in July. I am not sure I'd enjoy you much anytime between November and April, but summer in Maine is absolutely wonderful.

The weekend was absolutely wonderful, but we weren't certain we were going to have a weekend at first. We loaded up the camper (which is why camping is in quotes above -- it doesn't really count as camping) with just what we'd need for a weekend trip on Thursday and Friday Morning. Daddy got home early from work and we headed off.

The trip was slow going, traffic was awful through Massachusetts, which I expected, but Daddy didn't. Then we got to Maine. The traffic cleared up and the road was resurfaced, life was good.

And then they passed us. "They" is a black pickup pulling a very long, fairly old travel trailer camper. We own a fifth wheel, which means it's connected to a large hitch in the bed of our truck. They were towing a travel trailer -- just as long, just as heavy, but on a regular ball hitch on the back of their truck. Travel Trailers are not as safe and steady to drive as a fifth wheel. There is a reason that the big rig Semi's use a fifth wheel hitch to attach their loads.

Back to the story. They passed us. It all happened in a matter of seconds, but it seemed like hours as it was happening. As they passed us they hit the rumble bars. Luckily, Daddy heard that and looked over. As he looked, he noticed that their trailer hit the guard rail on the side of the road. And Daddy hit the brakes enough to allow us to back off.

Thank God for Daddy and his observant Nature.

The man in the truck over corrected as he panicked, sending the trailer swerving back into the lane, and headed into the next one over. The lane we were in. As I watched the back end of his trailer miss the front of our truck by mere inches my heart sunk into my stomach and my stomach jumped into my throat. Daddy backed off even more and hit his hazard lights to alert people behind us.

The man over corrected again, sending his trailer back onto the shoulder, where there was no guard rail this time. And then his trailer swerved back the other direction onto the other trailer. He was out of control. Daddy backed off even more.

We sat there in the cab of our truck watching as this truck and trailer prepared to flip and roll down the freeway. The trailer was swerving uncontrollably. We saw the under carriage of their trailer a few times. At one point in time the truck was sideways in the road. One second it was going one way and the next moment it was facing the other direction. Sparks flew up where the side of the trailer made impact with the asphalt on the freeway. The rear bumper of the trailer ripped off on one end and a sewage hose (just the empty hose) came flying out of the end of the bumper (a common storage place) and rolled down the road. We ran over it. It was at about that moment that I was worried for the driver and anyone inside the truck. We were going to be okay. Daddy was far enough back that we wouldn't hit them or be hurt.

After what seemed like hours, the truck managed to get the trailer back under control. He and the rest of his caravan pulled off to the side of the road. As I watched his wife (I assume that's who it was) get out of her car, I could feel the fear and pain and the beginnings of anger for her. Whatever was in the trailer was ruined. The truck's frame is probably bent. Thousands of dollars worth of damage because there was a small distraction. It could have been much worse. Much, much worse.

We didn't stop because the other vehicle had. Many people think it is safe to travel in a pull-behind trailer as you're driving down the road. I've seen people getting in and out of the things as we've stopped. It isn't safe. I only hope that this family was being cautious and didn't put any living creatures in the trailer, because anything living was most likely injured if they survived being tossed around like that.

It puts things into perspective to watch and be so close to something so scary and dangerous. I know you think I might be exaggerating this incident for the sake of the story, and the blog. But I'm not. In fact, I'm under telling the story. Daddy has seen a lot doing what he does for a living. He's had some exciting moments when waves have been rolling over the bow of his ship. He's looked over to see that his ship has rolled more than it's supposed to without falling apart and sinking into the cold North Atlantic. He has climbed on teeny tiny ladders into a zodiac type boat to rescue people in rough seas from their boat, dead in the water. Even he says that moment goes into his top five list of exciting and scary moments.

We said many prayers of thanks throughout the rest of the weekend. We enjoyed even the small things and some annoyances without as much complaining, because we had been recently reminded how precious life is and how lucky we were to be able to enjoy our weekend. The other family's weekend had been ruined, even though it had almost been much worse than it was. We were able to enjoy our 12 mile bike ride around the park. We were able to enjoy our campfire with giant marshmallows roasting and ever mosquito bite that came along with it. We enjoyed wading in the ocean on the rocky shore and watching Little Monster ride his bike until dark at the campground. We enjoyed watching the last of the coals burn out as the kids slept. We enjoyed fresh lobster at a local lobster pound. Even thought it wasn't the Lobster Pound we wanted to visit, it seems a bit off to whine about the fact that even though their website said they were open EVERY DAY, EVEN HOLIDAYS only to show up at 2:01 on a day when they decided to close at 2:00. It's fine. Another company got our business. We enjoyed ice cream at a small local shop, even though I made a bigger mess with my ice cream than both kids combined. We enjoyed visiting a civil war fort, and watching their cannons go off. Even though it was steaming hot, and the sound of the cannon blast set baby girls to crying and little boys up my skirt, hanging onto my leg as though the end of the world was beginning.

We had a great weekend. I'm sure it would have been wonderful even without the incident, but I'm certainly grateful that we had things put into perspective and were able to enjoy the smaller things.

What did you do over the holiday weekend?

Let's Pretend...

Do you remember yesterday when I said I was working on that entry about the deterioration of society in the last 100 years?

I'm still working on it. But it's getting to be a bit too complex and deep for a one blog post, especially on my light-hearted, unheard of "mommy blog." Too many things about society have changed so much and so many events are involved in those changes that it's almost comparing apples and automobiles. The both start with "a" but the similarities end there.


But for now, I want everyone to use their imagination.

Imagine for a second, that we are heading into World War I or II, only with the current times.

Now, remember what people had to sacrifice in World War I or II to keep the troops supplied with food and clothing. People had to ration all kinds of things necessary to their daily lives -- they gave up flour, sugar, anything containing rubber, etc. They dug up their lawns and flower gardens to plant more practical potato and vegetable gardens because the big farms were sending all the food to the troops overseas. They spent their free time sewing and making clothing for the troops. They spent their hard earned money on war bonds -- essentially loaning the government hundreds and thousands of dollars of their income so the government had money to buy those supplies for the troops. These are just a few of the day-to-day sacrifices they had to make.

Now. Think again about how that third world war thing. Would you be willing and able to give up what the people did back then? Would you be willing to stop eating out, buying your fancy coffees and eating your prepackaged foods? Would you dig up your grass and plant your own vegetables? Would you use public transportation and walk to reduce the amount of fuel consumption -- not because prices had become unreasonable, but because the government needed it? Would you be willing to give your life? Would you be willing to reduce all of your greedy consumption in order to supply soldiers in the field? Would you be willing to be patient and wait years for the conflict to be over? Would you be willing to let your sons and daughters go to fight, knowing they would not EVER get leave until the war was over? Would you be willing to raise your neighbor's child while their parents were overseas fighting?


I know I'm asking some hard questions. I don't know that I want to answer yes to all of the questions. I don't know that I can. But I know that people gave all of those things up and more for past conflicts. And it is at least partly because of those sacrifices that the wars ended as quickly as they did. I am not so certain that our society could give those things up without a fight about our "rights" to cheap gas and fast food. What do you think?

Happy fathers day

Totally can't express it any better. Just consider it a regift. You can now relive your college years. As a parent.

http://www.suburbansnapshots.com/2010/06/10-reasons-having-toddler-is-like-being.html



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The Land of the lost... things.

Lately, things around our house have gone missing. Little boys are often blamed, little girls a little bit too. Secretly, though, I fear for my head. Maybe I'm losing my mind?

The other day the ball for my trackball mouse disappeared. I looked all over the house and couldn't find it. So I CLEANED the house. Sparkling clean. Still didn't find the thing. I gave up, tried stealing the trackball from the husband's mouse. It worked as a temporary solution, but he figured it out and demanded it back. I gave it back, don't worry. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that we have different models with different sizes either. Have you ever tried to use a smaller trackball than the mouse takes? It doesn't work very well.

A few days ago, I was at a certain coffee place, trying to get my daily fix of several shots of espresso and couldn't find my debit card. It was found on the floor under the box we set our shoes in by the door. Someone (a one year old girl) had removed it from my wallet and in the clean-up haste, it must have been pushed under.

The iPod that plays lullabies every night and nap time for Butterball disappeared. (It reappeared in a random box of kids books).

Quite often, the remote control goes missing. Quite often it is found in odd places. Like in Butterball's dresser drawers, Little Monster's dresser drawers, the kitchen drawer that houses our baggies, and occasionally the one that holds the oven mitts. Once we found it in the trash can.

Often I'll find her sippy cups and snack traps in odd places. I've purchased many thinking they'd been left in stores or at the park, only to find them among my jeans, under the bathroom sink or in the kitchen drawers.

This morning was the final blow. The kids were playing quietly - -which in hindsight should have been a big clue that something was going on. I found them, and they were being good. However, I noticed that Butterball's little doll stroller was missing the fabric seat. It was now just a dangerous frame of metal rods daring to poke someones eye out.

After searching and searching last week for the trackball, to no avail, I couldn't take it. Little Monster had been the one to remove the seat, and since Butterball has yet to master the art of the English language (outside of Mama, Dada, Up and All-Done), he was responsible for its disappearance.

We tore the house apart. Looked under and in couches, emptied trash cans, dirty laundry bins, dresser drawers, backpacks, diaper pails, file cabinet drawers, coat pockets, closets, and multiple kitchen drawers. We looked in places the children could not have possibly put the thing. And then we looked in all of the places again. And then I dug through the diaper pail. And the outdoor trash can. You know, in case my ONE YEAR OLD managed to escape the house, grow three feet, deposit the fabric, and then come back into the house and return to normal size all without my knowledge. I dug through the diaper pail people. The diaper pail that is full of stinky, nasty, diapers. We did not find the fabric. We did, however, find the trackball for my mouse. In the hat box I keep to put the kids sunhats in near the front door. Where I had looked. At least thirty times last week.

We gave up on the search for the stupid fabric. Which was fine. Little Monster had only been told he'd not be getting his favorite McQueen and The King trailers and cars returned to him until we found it. And at one point the loss of all food until it was found may or may not have been threatened. We left. And got soaking wet since it decided to downpour during the fifteen minutes we were out of the house today.

And when we returned, I was putting my sunglasses on our bookshelf by the door, and happened to look down. Into a 5 inch gun shell that we have. Inside the shell was the fabric for the stroller.

I am pretty sure that we are losing our minds. But it isn't our fault. It isn't our age. It is definitely the fault of two people. One I affectionately call Monster. The other, often goes by Monkey. They think it is great fun to move things to funny places and then watch us go crazy trying to find them. They test us by doing the exact thing we tell them not to right in front of us -- while watching our reaction. They steal things they know they aren't supposed to have. When they are caught they run the other way as fast as their little legs can scramble, shrieking with maniacal laughter.

There is a reason why as children, we think our parents are uptight, unreasonable, unfair and quite often completely insane. It's because they were. And it was our fault. We did it to them. It also explains how they magically regain their sanity after we leave their house.

Parents, I'm sorry. Children, you're going to be too someday.

typical evening...

Me: Rambling on about some topic, perhaps reading my blog entry to my husband until, finally -- "Are you EVEN LISTENING TO ME? Did you hear what I SAID?"

Him: Yes. You were talking. About something.

*Sigh*

Do I get to throw one of those temper tantrums now?

PrompTuesday, Or Friday

No I didn't forget about it. No, I haven't been ignoring it. Okay, I have been. I just haven't been feeling creative enough to write something, well, creative.



But this week's prompt is something I can handle. PrompTuesday #108









I live in a quiet residential community that happens to back up to a main thoroughfare in my town. The thoroughfare is pretty much the only way to get from the north end to the south end of where I live. And the speed limit is something like 30 or 35 miles per hour. The stop lights are never ending, and the people here in New England really need to revisit that drivers test they should have failed when the turned 16.



There are times during the day when the thoroughfare backs up. And backs up. Like when people are heading home from work. And going to work. And rushing around at lunchtime. I get it. It sucks to be stuck in traffic when you've got somewhere to go. So, you get to thinking, surely there's a way around this major street that is set up to be a minor street. And you make a turn, and another one and you realize that you can cut through this quiet little residential area.



Sure, the speed limit is only 15, and there are a bazillion stop signs and speed bumps. The stop signs -- the ones with the white rims are optional, right? And those speed bumps? Eh.. As long as my car is big enough I can plow on over it, no harm done. Mythbusters even says the ride is better the faster I go over it. They did, right? Oh well.



Right.

That's all well and good. Except that the stop signs? They are NOT optional. The speed limit is NOT a suggestion. Why are there so many stop signs and speed bumps? Because there are a bazillion kids running around in this neighborhood. There is no public easement between the sidewalk and the street, so if I kid ditches on their bike, they're ditching into the street right in front of the car, YOUR car. Not to mention the streets are curvy, narrow, and this is NOT a public thoroughfare!

I've taken to sitting out front and yelling at the cars that whiz past, missing stop signs and catching air over the speed bumps. As a neighborhood, we've complained and complained to the community managers, called the police, and exhausted ourselves trying to get people to slow down. And, you bet that if you drive by my house, in a company vehicle, I'm calling your boss. Especially if you're a cab driver and when I ask you to slow down (because my kids are running around in the front yard near the road you consider to be a race track) and you FLIP ME OFF. YOU FLIPPED ME OFF! Because YOU were breaking the law and I called you on it. In the vehicle you use for work.

Um, this was supposed to be about etiquette. My tip:

It's extremely rude to drive really fast in a residential neighborhood ignoring speed limits and stop signs because you are using it as a detour, short-cut, or escape route from the local police. Even if you are going to go the speed limit, slamming on the brakes at the last second and slamming on the gas to get to the next stop sign a record 2 seconds faster? That's rude too. Also, driving through with your windows down and radio at full blast. Absolutely asinine. My kids don't need to hear about smackin' yo b!tch up. Really.

So, keep to the speed limit. STOP at the stop signs, slow down for the speed bumps. Save yourself some gas by accelerating decently, and if you have to listen to your music crazy loud, roll up the windows.

He gets it!

So, the other day Little Monster was throwing a fit about not wanting to put his shoes on. Maybe it was about how he didn't want to get into the car, or eat his pop tart, clean up his toys, or do anything either of us wanted him to do. I'm not sure what the tantrum was, exactly.

What I do remember is overhearing my husband say:

"OH NO! If anyone in this family gets to throw a tantrum about having to do things they don't want to do it would be your mom, not you."

Thanks, honey. I love that you get it.

If I tell you -- I have to do it. Right?

Lately, I've been feeling a bit off. Crabby, mean, and just utterly horrid. It's one of the main reasons why I haven't been posting. You know, the whole "If you can't say something nice" saying runs around in my head. Combine the inability to say anything nice about anything and a blog and you end up sounding like some whiny snively spoiled brat. Especially considering that I am positively spoiled beyond belief and have no reason to complain about much of anything.

It isn't anyone else's fault that I've felt this way. It's my own. I get up in the morning, pick up the dirty laundry and throw it in a pile by the laundry room. If I'm lucky I get to wake up the children (rather than the other way around), and get them ready for the day. I send one off to preschool three days a week, two of those three mornings I fill with bible studies (although both have been TERRIBLY neglected lately). Friday mornings are all about me. Or they used to be. But then I decided I should really clean the house on Friday mornings instead. And go to the grocery store so we have food for the weekend.

The afternoons are spent finding activities to keep my busy busy three year old involved in something so that I don't try to strangle him because he seems to be doing everything in his power to wake his little sister up. My evenings are spent, preparing (or more likely driving somewhere and purchasing) dinner, cleaning up from the day, getting kids into bed, arguing with small children about why they need baths and sleep, and finally, FINALLY! quiet time with my husband.

Except that my husband is obese. (well, not really. Not at all, but the military seems to think so.) So he's on the fat boy program and spends his evenings working out in order to keep his job and prove that to be as skinny as they want him he might just wither up and die. So, we watch TV while he works out. And I listen to my one year old, who is in the process of weaning whine and cry 15 minutes at a time while I try to get her to sleep with as little time attached to me as possible.

By the time I actually get to relax, I'm so wired that it takes me hours to wind down. Maybe I should invest in some good wine? And since I'm so "starved" for "me time" I end up staying up far too late watching crap on TV. And then I go to bed. And stare at the ceiling, thinking about all of the things that we have going on. We are selling our house. We are moving in a few months. But where? And for how long? Are we going to end up overseas? Why is Little Monster SOO naughty and defiant these days? By about 3:00 AM I'm finally in good sleep. I get a couple of hours, if I'm lucky before my husband has to get up to workout before work. He tries so hard to be quiet, and he really is. I just sense the stirring and though I try to remain asleep, sometimes I lay there, awake, but not really. Then, Little Monster comes tearing in at 5:30AM demanding breakfast. Pop Tarts. And toast with white butter. Not Peanut BUTTER! WHITE BUTTER! and WHITE MILK! And PLEAAASE! I need breakfast NOW! After arguing with him until 7 o'clock, I finally get up and feed him breakfast.

And now you may return to the beginning. Typical day. Typical week. Sounds like life. And a housewife who is doing a lot of whining, right?

I'm hoping to change it. I'm going to try to QUIT neglecting my bible studies. Because when I neglect them, I cut myself off from God, and when I do that, things don't go well. I lose faith that someone has control of things. It's something I need to believe in order to exist. This world is so crazy -- and I have no control over anything, so as long as someone has control, and someone has a plan I'm fine. I'm happy to know that the Someone I believe is in control of things is a loving, kind Someone who has my best interest at heart.

I am also going to try to start working out. This says the lady who HATES to exercise. It's boring. I hate sweating. Add the two up, and yeah. If I am going to exercise you have to trick me into it -- make me think it's fun. Or, keep my mind off of the exercise by putting something else in front of it. TV doesn't work. It can't keep my interest (except for last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy -- can you say it! AHHH!).

How then, am I going to get my workout in? Easy. I am going to be super selfish. I am going to -- read books for pleasure while I ride the exercise bike. I recently bought a Nook. One of those e-reader gadgets that Barnes&Noble is selling. It's amazing. I can set it on the front of the bike and just read. No worries about losing a page. No having to hold the book open, no having to hold the book. If the text is to small for me to read while I'm bouncing all over on the bike, no biggie. I'll just make the text bigger. And while I'm reading, I'm pedaling. And pedaling. For an hour or every other day. Or when I want to read. It's amazing.

I started this yesterday. I pedaled for a total of an hour -- two thirty minute sessions. All the while reading the newest fiction, that I bought. From my house. And you know what? That being selfish and demanding that my three year old play quietly in his room -- and that my one year old nap quietly in hers while I read a good book. It felt heavenly. I got to do something totally selfish. And I felt better afterward. And I burned calories. So maybe my clothes will fit better. And maybe I'll start to be happier and quit complaining about the fairy tale life that I lead.

I'm counting on you to keep me accountable. Got it? What do you do that keeps you from going insane?

The fog has lifted!

The past couple of days have been wonderful. With each day I wonder about the reality of SAD in my life. I always get a little melancholy in winter, when the sun comes up late and goes down early. It is more difficult to get out of bed, and harder to fall asleep. I'm not sure if that's normal or if it really is some sort of seasonal depression. Maybe it's just Vitamin D deficiency.

While I think I'm happy with the way my life is turning out, and in general I am a happy person, I haven't felt this happy -- this easily motivated and energized -- in a long time. Getting up in the morning hasn't been so easy for years. Maybe it's just because it's the first few days of really nice weather, but maybe I have been stuck in some sort of California fog, hoping and waiting for a summer that isn't coming. but I'm happy to say that I think that when we left the California coastal fog behind, the fog of my brain lifted a bit too, and after two days (and soon three) of warm - almost hot - sunshine I'm happy to say that I think the fog has completely burned off.

This morning I got up to see the sun shining. I opened the window and was greeted by a cool, crisp, spring breeze. It was not difficult to get up and get moving this morning. It wasn't even hard to be happy about doing so. The lessened necessity of coats and mittens brightened my morning even more than the sun that began shining brightly at an early hour of 6:30 AM. Funny, I didn't mind being up at 6:30 this morning. I guess I was wrong the other day. I can handle mornings like this. My toes are a bit chilly, but the kind of chilly that makes you feel alive, not like they're going to be frozen off.

There is a smell in the air that I had forgotten existed, but happily remembered the moment I took it in. The smell of damp soil and freshly budding plants and dewy grass just says spring. Yesterday I had to put sunblock on the kids as we sat outside, and I was never so happy to smell little kid sweat mixed with Coppertone and soil. Little Monster and his friend dug in the dirt with their Tonka dump trucks. Butterball waddled around the yard, picking up sticks and putting them into a bucket and pulling grass.

Last night I laid in my bed, sheets cooled by the crisp breeze coming in the open window. They almost smelled as if they'd been freshly washed and dried outside on a line. I got dozy as my body heat warmed the sheets and finally fell asleep with the smell of sweaty kid, Coppertone and baby bath on my hands. It has been amazing. It is going to cool down this weekend, but this cool down comes the hope and promise of brighter, warmer, summer days.

I can't wait.

In case you were wondering...

I'm a little bit crazy. Sometimes more than others. I'm grateful on those days when I seem to be able to contain my sanity with supernatural powers, that I'm sure are only heaven sent.


This morning was one of those mornings. Note that it is only 9:11 AM as I start writing this. I know it's the same story heard around the country on any given morning, but really?


My day started at 6:07AM when Butterball began wailing from her crib. She was awake and wanted everyone to know it. She didn't need food, wasn't in dire need of a diaper change, but she was lonely and the toys in her crib just weren't cutting it. It is Tuesday. It is a day when I theoretically should be able to sleep until 7:00AM since Little Monster doesn't have preschool and I don't have any obligations outside of the house. I know you working moms are laughing at my idea of "early" wake up calls, but I don't like getting up before 6:30AM. Never have. Probably never will.


After listening to her wail for what seemed like forever, Not the Momma came out of the shower. The clock read 6:17 AM. He brought her to me, and I tried to nurse her, even though we're working on trying to wean. My hope was that she'd go to sleep and I'd get another 15 minutes of unconscious bliss. I was dozing off, hoping we were both on our way when she. bit. me. That ended that!


Up we got and I trapped her in the living room so she could wander around while I chopped up her morning banana and got her brother's breakfast ready. He wasn't up yet, but I knew he'd be up asking for his "Apple Whacks" soon.


I don't even think it was 7:00 when Little Monster got up and started making demands. "Turn da bathwoom WIGHT ON! PUH-WEEEEESE!"


Sigh

It's 7:20, the kids have been fed. Little Monster is dressed, and I still haven't used the bathroom this morning. (Note, that it's only because Little Monster doesn't have preschool today was he able to get up and be dressed without a fight. If It had been a preschool day, he'd still be sleeping.)


Such is life. I was looking forward to the nice day, the sun is shining. We are going to the park today. We ARE going to play outside today.


I grabbed a second to use the bathroom, since I hadn't done that yet. When I came back into the living room, where Butterball was safely trapped, this is what I found:

Sigh.

She found a stash of chocolate eggs that the Easter Bunny had forgotten about. Perfect. Now Butterball is topless, running amok while I clean chocolate off of books, the floor, the couch, and everything within reach of a 10 month old girl. A 10 month old girl can reach a LOT of things. And she does when she's covered in slobbery melted chocolate. Luckily she only sucked on the tin foil wrappers and didn't eat any. That I know of. Yet.

Half way through cleaning the carpet I heard the splash. I assumed it was Butterball in the dog dish.

Wrong!

She had 'stolen' her brother's juice -- OJ mixed with an acai berry blend, and dumped it on the floor. Have you ever seen acai berry juice? It's very sticky. And it stains everything it touches. The juice is dripping off of the table onto two chairs, the floor, and all over Butterball.

Sigh.

I finally got that mess cleaned up and got Butterball into the bathtub. I was grateful that her squats and grunts were for nothing. I looked at my phone. It was 8:21 AM.

I'm glad that I, somehow, was able to keep my composure this morning. I think it has something to do with the memory of the angel that existed the night before:

Many of my days are like this morning. Most of them, probably. Sometimes the messes are bigger or my composure goes out the window. If I do have a quiet morning I often find out later that I should have been paying more attention to something or someone. If there's any doubt left in your mind as to why I'm insane, and this post hasn't convinced you, Let me show you something:

And This:

You understand, now. Don't you? I knew you would.