Another Tip For Raising Girls

I just had to school my 2 year old daughter on the fact that our bodies are not like piggy banks. "We do not insert coins into every crevice that resembles a piggy bank slot...(and I don't mean nostrils)." The question now is, do I need to walk her through a metal detector to find out if she has made any monetary deposits, unbeknownst to me? Now that would be an awkward doctor's visit! Note to all mothers (as well as myself): Store loose change in a secret place for reasons (less dangerous but more embarrassing,) other than choking hazards.

Pain In The Neck

Yesterday, I was suffering from a pinched nerve in my neck. If you've ever had one, you know that every movement is very painful. I looked like an idiot trying to drive, (which is normal for me), because I could not turn my head. Anyway, after the unsuccessful summer program search for my darling monsters, I decided to take action regarding my neck. I dialed every salon in Hesperia, and finally found one that had an opening (Hallelujah!). The massage therapist was extremely knowledgeable, and great at what she did. My neck felt one hundred times better. My whole body felt like Parkay butter on a hot summer day. I was driving home, still enjoying my euphoric state, when I noticed flashing lights. Then I realized that the lights were attached to a police car. I jerked my neck around, undoing all of the therapists work, to find a police officer signaling me to pull over. "Shit Balls!", I panicked. I am now thinking of that Bloody Mary I had partaken of a few hours ago, and envisioning myself calling home from the county jail. The officer wedges himself out of his vehicle, and saunters over to me. I have soiled myself by now (this was my first time being pulled over), and nearly in tears. "How's it going?", the officer smiles. "Ummmm, I'm fine (other than the crap in my pants). But, I honestly don't know what I've done wrong. (God, please don't let him smell my breath.)" He chuckles, looking at my seat belt. "I could not see that your belt was fastened, but apparently it was." I managed a nervous laugh. He asked for my license, saw that I was related to Mike Prescott, and then continued to ramble on about the famous Prescott family for another five minutes. I was now furious, my neck had been re-tweaked, and I needed to change my drawers...all because this guy needed glasses?! Had I any bravery, I would have demanded compensation for my ruined massage therapy session. But, being the chicken that I am (and the vodka on my breath), I decided to forget the demand, and consider myself lucky. To make matters worse, I think he checked out my boobs as he handed back my license. "Ohhhhh no buddy, you can make me soil my own pants, but you will NOT get a peek at these beauties!!!", I thought as I drove away. The next time I suffer from a pinched nerve, I think I'll just tough it out.

School's Out

Tomorrow is the kids' last day of school. Which means 10 weeks (13 if we move), of 24/7 fighting, whining and destroying my house. I'm panicking, I'm racking my brain, I'm drinking a Bloody Mary...it's good. Not good enough to make me forget that TOMORROW IS THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL!! Maybe it's not too late to find a good summer school program, or camp, or military year round boarding school. Gotta go... I only have 22 hours to search the web for a solution!

And How Was Your Weekend?

What was I thinking? Why did I think that going out would be as simple as hiring a sitter, having a few hours of fun, and going to bed? The casino was fun, sure, but I would pay for it over the next two days. My first mistake was failing to realize that getting ready for our open house,the next day, would be no small feat when suffering a slight hangover. Damn that waitress who brought me the delicious Bloody Mary!! I had a difficult time pulling my keyster out of bed (due to a 2 o'clock bedtime), much less cleaning my house (the babysitters were only paid to keep the kids alive), and getting everyone ready to go before 11am. I was exhausted by the time we made it to Chino. Then, my dear husband informed me that he had invited two of our nephews to stay the night. Don't get me wrong...I love my nephews, but one of them is only three and gets home sick at night. Guess who ended up sleeping on the floor with him and waking up five times to soothe his homesickness?? Not the person who invited them, nooooooo... he was fast asleep! It was little old me. After two nights of mind numbing sleeplessness, I was about as alert as the floor mop the next morning. I had until 2 pm to shake it off and be ready for...a pool party!! Sound horrifying? Well it does if NONE of your seven kids can swim!! Does anyone have any idea how hard it is to keep private parts in a swim suit while chasing, diving and lunging after seven wet little bodies? I'm sure all of the other guests (none of whom we knew), got quite a show yesterday, compliments of me. But, I'm happy to report that nobody drowned! We made it home at six that evening to find...empty cupboards. Greaaaaaaat!! After a quick change of clothes, I was off to the store to grocery shop. By the time my head hit the pillow, I was pretty much brain dead. This morning I was cursing my stupidity for thinking that going out would be a good idea. I will never do that again...wait a minute, what is this in my purse? It is one hundred and fifty dollars in casino chips!! I must have forgotten about them... anyone want to babysit next Friday night? :)

Freedom

This just in... I've hired two sitters for the night, and I'm going out with my husband...WOOOOHOOOO!!! If you do not hear from me again, just know that I've decided that the scent of freedom was so sweet, that I could not bring myself to return to the stench of poopy diapers!! Oh great, I just realized that now I have to pluck my eyebrows and shave my legs. Maybe the prep work required for going out is not worth the trouble...

Do You Know This Lady??

I have a tiny pet peeve. It seems that whenever a group of newly acquainted mothers congregate, there is always that one mom who is the extremist. Meaning, her kids are the hardest to deal with, the craziest, the smartest, the cutest, the most athletic, etc.... This mother usually has a few kids, and automatically assumes that she has the most of anyone in the group. I have found this phenomenon to be true in so many instances, that I figure it happens on a global level. The reason that it bothers me so, is that this particular mom fails to realize that every other mom in the entire civilized world feels the exact same way about her own children. No matter how (insert adjective) your child may be, there will always be another that is more so. It is just a fact. When I had one child, I truly felt like she was the most difficult child to deal with, and continued to feel that way after we aqcuired each new family member. Point being, it is very difficult to be a parent, whether it is to one child, or twenty. If you ever have the pleasure of conversing with my mother in law (a mother of 13), you will notice something so refreshing. She never makes any mother feel like less of a person for having fewer than 13 children. She recognizes the fact that any number of children are a challenge to raise. She acknowledges that each child is special and has qualities that are above par with respect to what is considered average. I try very hard to emulate that characteristic, because it makes her so endearing, and so easy to talk to. The extremist mother, on the other hand, I'd often like to choke. How does this woman keep friends? I, for one, count down the minutes until I am able to relieve myself of her presence. It is difficult to stop myself from asking this mom if she realizes that she's not the only one who has great kids or a great number of kids. But, I manage to keep my lips zipped, and bottle my frustration. So this is my plea, if you are one of those mothers (which I'm sure I've been on occasion), please make a conscious effort to refrain from making such extreme statements. They are not only untrue, they are annoying as well.
Side Note: This suggestion does not apply to mothers of 10 or more kids, or mothers of professional athletes, nobel peace prize winners, movie stars, or any famously talented kids. Your kids truly are the most extreme and you have my blessing to brag away (not that you need my blessing)!!

Dorks Need Not Apply

Trenton is a clever boy who comes up with some real jewels. For instance, today we are in the car and Aiden comments to Phillip that he loves him. Phillip reciprocates his declaration of affection, and Aiden suggests that they marry. I quickly interject with the fact that boys do not marry boys (and mumble under my breath "Well, most of the time"). Trenton catches my comment and asks what I'm talking about. I simply state the fact that it is not legal in California for boys to marry boys. Trenton thinks for a minute and says, "But Mom, what if there are no girls left?"
"There will always be enough girls," I answer, thinking our conversation is over. "But Mom, what if they are all dorks?" I'm so busy laughing that I cannot even come up with a good answer for that one. I think it is safe to say that Trenton will be quite selective when choosing a girlfriend. At least, I hope it's a girlfriend, after that conversation.

What's That Sound?

This day is, indeed, one for the books. Do you notice that Aiden's picture, here, is different from the cereal picture? Well, it is, and here's why:
Shortly after cleaning up the weenie tainted cereal, the phone rings. It is my brother-in-law, Patrick, returning my call. I relay my question to him, regarding city planning codes (just telling you so that you know it was not just a "shoot the shit" conversation). As he is answering me, the kids are messing with the phone, pressing the conference call button, and he is chuckling (probably thanking God that he did not make the insane choice to procreate.) We finish the short lived conversation, and I hang up. I hear the sound of a faint buzz. I know that sound. I have heard it before, only to find my 1 year old daughter in the bathroom...bald as billiard. I'm now in a panic, picturing a bald cat, or daughter. Relief! It is only Aiden, using the cordless razor to give the carpet a trim. As I approach the Barber of Seville, I notice random bald spots on his own noggin. Great! He is one of the only boys that my husband will allow to have a full head of hair. The others usually look like Army recruits or white supremacist skin heads. So I take the razor and begrudgingly shave his head. And it was not easy either, as he had painted the bald spots with my Buttercup Lip Venom. He couldn't have used the cheap gloss from Rite Aid, noooo, he had to choose the one that costs a pretty penny. The one that makes my pout perfectly plump. So now I have hairy legs and withered lips. The question is, how did he do all of these things in such a timely manner?? He is never that quick when it comes to picking up toys or making his bed! I guess evil deeds prompt an expedience that normal chores do not. So, needless to say, Aiden got the shave that was supposed to be mine. And, I will not be answering any more phone calls today.

Miss Communication

I was only going to take 5 minutes to shave. I put Reed down for a nap, and took Ella into the bathroom with me. I put on a movie for the 3 boys and paid Trenton a dollar to watch the other 2 boys. Everything was going as planned. As soon as I got my shaving apparatus ready, Trenton enters the bathroom. "Mom, the boys made a mess," he informs me. "What the #$#@...I was only gone 2 minutes??" I grab Ella and run to the kitchen, expecting the worst. "Thank God! It is only cereal," I sigh, knowing it could be much worse. "Trenton, I paid you to watch them!", I scold the confused looking 6 year old. "I did, Mom. I watched the whole thing," he answers confidently. I decided to forgo saving the cereal on the table, as it had obviously been contaminated by weenie germs. Apparently I need to be more clear when asking a six year old to "watch" the other kids. Or maybe just endure the embarrassment of having hairy legs until after bed time.

A Leg In Need

Good morning! I sat down to write today's entry, but was interrupted by Eleanor, who rubbed my leg and said, "Daddy". Which, I suppose is her nice way of saying, "Mom, your leg is waaaay to hairy to be that of a female!" So now I am going to make my way to the tub for a shave. Have a great day everyone!!

From The Hands Of Babes

Every morning, without fail, Daniel Jr. has multiple tantrums while getting ready for school. This is a ritual he has performed since Kindergarten. Many mornings, we have had to physically drag him to the bus stop, or carry him to the car and shove him in. Every little event triggers a meltdown with him: getting up, picking out clothes, putting them on, choosing breakfast, eating breakfast, brushing teeth, doing his hair, picking out a snack, he even gets angry that I cannot guess what kind of sandwich he wants. He makes Marlie late for school every day. He sends Daniel Sr. to work, feeling defeated, every day. "Is it really that bad?", people have inquired. No, worse. I am condensing the madness to save time. I have decided to video tape tomorrow's mayhem, as proof of just how bad it is. In fact, it is so bad, that this morning as Daniel Sr. was loosing his last iota of patience, Aiden asked him what he was going to do. "I'm gonna spank him!", he answered. Without missing a beat, Aiden handed Daniel Sr. the stick he was holding in his hand, much as to say, "Go ahead, I'm sick of the tantrums too!" You know it has to be bad when your own brother (who is only 3), offers up an instrument of punishment. Video footage to follow later...

Hot Dogs And Buns

Today, the kids' school was having a family BBQ (code for: pay $3 a person and eat burnt hot dogs...yummy!!). I spent the better part of the morning trying to justify to myself why it would be a bad idea to go. After failing miserably at convincing myself that I was far too busy to attend, I picked my lazy butt up off of the couch, and got the kids ready to go. The first lunch session started at 10:50. We were right on time looking well groomed and acting well behaved. We filed into line, picked out the burned dog that looked the most appetizing, and found a spot (actually, 7 spots) at the tables. The kids did very well until they finished eating. At approximately 11:09 am, boredom set in. Aiden decided to head down south and pick chewed gum from the undersides of tables. Phillip and Trenton started a spit ball fight with used napkins. The other students thought spitballing was a great idea, and joined in. Ella used the opportunistic spitball diversion to make her rounds to other tables and steal food. Well, technically it wasn't stealing, more like panhandling. Who can say "no" to a raggedy looking, barefoot 2 year old who knows how to say "pitty peese"? So, I'm trying to pry chewed gum out of Aiden's mouth, while putting a stop to the spitballing, and searching for Ella before anyone notices that the mayhem was started by my precious children. It took three lunch duty supervisors to reestablish order, one to find Ella (she was stealing ketchup packets and asking kids to open them), and a bribe of a whole packet of gum to convince Aiden to throw away the "ABC" gum. After all was quiet, I realized that we still had to sit through Marlie's lunch break, which was not scheduled to start for another 15 minutes. I look at the clock, 11:23. "Forget it, we are outta here," I say, as I make a break for the doors. We are almost to the entrance when I spot the principal headed towards us. Crap!! We're busted!!! "I think you may need this," he smiles sympathetically. He hands me Ella's Pull-Up. I look down to see Ella's naked buns peeking out from the bottom of her skirt. "Thanks," I manage. I could feel all of the other parents' eyes on me as we left. Somehow, I doubt we will be getting invited to any playdates this summer!

After The Fact

I did something the other day that took a lot of courage and was extremely painful to execute. No, I did not give birth again. I cut up my (gulp) credit card. I was tired of hearing my husband rant and rave about the ever increasing balance. Tired of hearing him complain about our tax refund always has to be used to payoff credit balances. I know in my heart that as long as I have the cards, I will use them. Hey, raising these kids is expensive. So I took a pair of dull scissors (hoping that they wouldn't really be able to perform the task at hand,) and did the deed. I never thought that it would be so painful. I had already cut up two others after we moved. Surely this one would not be any different. But it was the LAST one I owned. It was kinda like the last little bird leaving the nest. I have empty nest syndrome now. There will be a void in my wallet that will tug at my heart strings every time I open it (which will be a lot less often now). And the real gut wrenching part is this: After I finished putting the kibosh on my spending ability, Daniel and I discuss the reasons for using the card. We agree that it shouldn't have been used for McDonalds, getting pedicures, etc... He finishes by saying, "Well, it would be okay to use it just for clothing. We do not have the monthly means for outfitting the whole family, so I can understand using it for that purpose." I am reeling from his epiphany. "What have I done ??!!(looking at the little splinters of my beloved plastic)" Perhaps he could have mentioned this BEFORE I shredded my card!

The 10 Commandments of Modern Mothers

Friday night, Marlie and I attended the Mother/Daughter PJ party for Girl Scouts. Now, I'm no Joan Rivers, but I do know enough about fashion and etiquette to know that there were some MAJOR violations taking place at that party. Here is my disclaimer: We are mothers and do not a have a lot of time to primp, shop, talk to other adults etc..., and I'm sure that I've been guilty of some fashion/etiquette violations in my time. However, we are still women, and need to have some guidelines as to what is acceptable dress/behavior in public, if not for our sake, at least our children and husband's sakes. Here are a few of the major commandments that I have decided need to be put into place (mothers of girl scouts: get a pen and paper!):

1. Thou shalt NOT wear white stretchy pants in public, even to a PJ party. Leave something to the imagination, please.
2. If you do not have time to polish your toes, thou shalt at least remove old crusty polish remnants, and dig out the black stuff under thy toenails.
3. Thou shalt update thy hair do. Feathered bangs and mullet cuts are better left in the 80s.
4. Thou shalt refrain form discussing the details of your last sexual encounter (amongst friends, it's ok...but not amongst total strangers). I'd really rather not hear about how you pulled Burt's back hair out of ecstasy during your monthly "moment".
5. Thou shalt read fashion magazines once a year. Hot pink lipstick only looks good on the Victoria's Secret models, trust me.
6. If thou shalt opt for granny panties, fine...just don't wear them under the white stretchy pants (double faux pas). Concealing them is key.
7. Thou shalt SHAVE, SHAVE, SHAVE...I cannot stress this enough. Underarm hair should not grow so long that it hangs out of the arm holes in thy shirt. That's not even cool for guys, much less gals.
8. If thy slippers/shoes look like they have been chewed by the dog and dragged through the mud, thou shalt wear flip flops instead (but refer to #2 first).
9. Thou shalt realize that less is more. Do not attempt to cover sleep deprived eye circles by packing on 3 layers of eye liner and clown blush.
10. Thou shalt remember that thou art are a woman, not just a mom, and treat thyself to some Crest White Strips once a year (or just brush/floss for corn's sake!).

Ladies, we can keep it real and keep it groomed if we use our time and resources wisely. If you keep these rules in practice, you might be pulling Burt's back hair more often!! Just don't let me know about it, thanks :)

Man Down...Man Down!

I am getting ready to take Trenton to Kindergarten this morning, when the phone rings. As usual, I am running to answer it. I fail to spot the puddle of juice on the floor and whoosh!!! My feet slide out from under me and I come crashing down on my hip and elbow. I am laying on the floor, unable to move, not sure if I should laugh or cry. I see the offending sipper cup with its leaking lid, and hurl it across the room. The pain is severe and my children are laughing at me. I pick myself up slowly and answer, "Hello?" "Hey, Babe, it's me. Just wanted to say 'hi'," Daniel replies in a cheery tone. "Can't talk now dear, I just broke my hip trying to get to the phone so you could say 'hi'." Good grief...it's gonna be one of those days!!!

The Art Of Compassion

Yesterday, I learned a lesson in compassion. And as usual, it was a lesson learned the hard way. The little ones and I venture out into the world at about 10 o' clock, destination: Target. I need some pajamas for Marlie's Girl Scout mother/daughter p.j. party. If you are like me, you normally wear old holey t-shirts, or whatever you pass out in, to bed. So, in order to avoid embarrassing my daughter, I figure I can spring for some actual pajamas (you know, the cute little matching ones that women w/out children have 100 pairs of.) We are in the midst of choosing a pair when the school nurse calls my cell phone. Marlie is complaining of a stomach ache. This was the second Prescott kid in the nurse's office this week, and I was tired of getting phone calls. It is a bi-weekly occurrence that we have started since moving. "Send her back to class, and tell her to suck it up!", I angrily order the nurse, who probably thinks I am a heartless witch. We hang up and I continue the search for pjs that can be worn with a bra. Reed is grabbing every shirt within his reach and ripping them from the racks, while Ella is hurling the victimized garments across the aisles. I quickly grab a pair and make for the register, trying to keep extra items out of the cart. Out of nowhere, my stomach cramps up. Not period cramps, the other kind of cramp. The cramp that tells me I had better find a restroom, quickly! I ignore it, hoping that it subsides. I load the items onto the conveyor, when another pain hits me, this time more severe. I know that something is not right. I cannot use the Target bathroom (for an explanation, please see my "Public Restrooms" entry). We need to get home... expediently. I grab a bunch of candy from the rack, pay, and we leave. As we near the car, the pain is growing more intense. I load up the cargo, hand out candy (as a bribe to be good so mommy can double over in pain peacefully,) and assume the fetal position in the driver's seat. Target is a good 40 minutes away from home. I decide to drive and pray. There is no way I'm gonna have an accident at age 28. I turn on the radio to distract myself, and pastor Greg Laurie is preaching on the heart. "The heart of the matter, is the matter of the heart," pastor Laurie says. I think back to my instructions to the school nurse, and guilt swells up in my gut. "Poor Marlie," I sob to myself. How was I to know if her stomach did or didn't hurt. If she feels anything like I feel right now, she should not be made to sit in school. How heartless of me to assume that her pain was false. It was my own frustration that fed my decision to send her back to class. Beads of sweat trickle down my forehead as I pull up to the school. My stomach is still hurting, but that is not my first priority anymore. I check Marlie out for the day, and head home, apologizing for my apathy towards her situation. God showed me that the best way learn the art of compassion, is good old fashioned personal experience. And fortunatley for me, God rewarded my compassion with his own and allowed me to make it home, unsoiled!

Without A Clue

This morning, I decided to tackle the task of the "Big Spring Switcharoo". I am referring to the chore of trading out all of the kids' winter wardrobes, for the summer ones we have packed away in boxes. The weather is now demanding that this task not be delayed any longer. So, I am pulling boxes out of closets, (feeling good about my drive to accomplish something today), when I find a plethora of items. It comes to my attention that I know very little of what goes on in this house. I ran to the other closets and ripped out boxes, only to find the same scenario, stashed items. Here is a list, so far, of what I've found (keep in mind the fact that we've only lived here 6 months):

• 3 rotten banana peels (not too bad)
• several ice cream wrappers (which explains the bedtime hyperactivity)
• 3 brightly colored (I'm assuming it is melted popsicle) splotches
• a pile of cat poop (so that's what that smell was)
• an unwrapped tampon (I don't think I want to know)
• a Victoria's Secret catalog (I really don't want to know)
• my favorite earrings, wrapped in tape and stuck to a rotten apple (I don't even have a comment for this one)
• 2 headless, colored barbies (Trenton has issues)
• a few pairs of peed in underwear (one of them mine...gross, because it wasn't my pee)
• a huge wad of chewed watermelon gum, stuck to the wall (probably helped to mask the cat poop odor)
• a note from Trenton's teacher, asking me to call her (no wonder she was giving me the eye at school yesterday)
• And finally...(drum roll please) a tube of bathroom caulking, half emptied, in an attempt to cover up a hole in the wall.

I am afraid to go finish the job, and I'm feeling at a loss for words. I guess I should just resign myself to the fact that there will never be enough of me to thoroughly do the job I have been assigned. But for Pete's sake...can they keep their pee in their own underwear???

Fruit Salad

Day two of my period. I'd rather my eyeballs be skewered and BBQ'd than deal with these cramps. I once made the mistake of telling somebody that my periods got better after each pregnancy...ONCE. Now, I'm paying for that comment. So I'm in the restroom for the hundredth time today, taking care of period business, and the kids are playing in the back yard. It probably took me five minutes total, to be indisposed, and out of spanking range. So, of course, the kids seize the opportunity to be naughty...again. I come out of the restroom to hear cheering outside. The kids had taken every piece of fruit that I purchased yesterday, and thrown it at the brick wall. Bananas, apples, tangelos and kiwis were all splotches on the brick wall. Gallagher would have been proud. I didn't even have to say a word. They all ran like they were being chased by the boogie man. "Thirty freakin dollars of fruit, wasted. Wait a minute...no, not wasted," I'm thinking, my neck veins bulging with fury. I can see little heads poking out of hiding places around the yard. They are waiting for me to come unglued. I'm sure little butt cheeks are now clenched, in fear of a good lickin'. Usually, stunts like this are answered with a spatula to the cheek of their choice. Instead, I calmly pick up all of the fruit, take it in the house, and start to prepare...fruit salad. Yer damn right, I did. This was not the first time the kids have wasted a ton of fruit, but it might just be the last. Tonight our family will be feasting on fresh bricked fruit salad.

Who doesn't love just desserts?

Okay, so I am still feeling the guilt from my Mother's Day rampage, but I just had a priceless mother moment that is helping to ease some of the pain. Today is grocery shopping day, and I am playing bunco w/ my family tonight, so I had to do it early. But as usual, Murphy's law came into play, and I also started my period this morning. I was really not motivated to do this. We dropped off the big kids and the four youngest and I headed to Stater Bros, to stock up for the week. I was gearing up for the veritable disastrous situations soon to ensue, you know.... the begging, fighting, opening pudding and dropping it on the floor. With ear plugs in place, and "threatening look" warm ups done, we entered the store. The cart is a super sized, two seater, so Ella and Reed fit in the front. Phillip and Aiden walked freely beside me. I am pleased to announce that the trip was successful and only took and hour and 15 minutes. We had only one quarrel, one biting incident, one cart-smashed toe (Aiden's), and one strawberry prematurely eaten (it was lunch time so whaddya expect?) I even got out of the store with only one bribe, a box of popsicles (which I had a coupon for!) Everything was going smoothly, but time was running out. We made it to the checkout just as the boys started to complain of hunger pain. The check out clerk looked annoyed at the large load of groceries in tow. It was probably her break time. Hey lady, we're ALL hungry, not just you. Anyway, the boys were touching the candy, but still behaving reasonably. The clerk sighed because the baby started fussing and Ella was trying to climb onto the conveyor belt. "You've got your hands full," she observed. I did my obligatory "yeah", and went about my business. Finally I finished unloading and handed her my check. "Oh, I need to get approval on this,"she said. "Why? I shop here every week," I questioned her, starting to get irritated. "It is a large amount," she sneered. "It is ALWAYS a large amount. I have a large amount of people to feed," my voice was turning into a growl. She called for a manager and smiled at me, smugly (I hate smug.) The kids were turning to the dark side, pulling out plastic bags, taking money out of the donation can and whining for no good reason. The manager took a good five minutes (aka ETERNITY) to get to our register. She looked at my shopping history and gave the okay.
So why am I feeling victorious, you ask? It seems that I should be cursing myself for even attempting the trip and thinking it could end well. This is why: As we got ready to leave, the snotty clerk took a step back and ran right into another clerk, who was carrying boxes full of candy. The candy scattered all over the floor. "It looks like you've got your hands full!!," I laugh as we leave the store. I have always been a person who loves dessert, and "just desserts" are sometimes the most delicious!!

Mother's Day Menu

Yesterday, the family and I went down the hill to visit my in laws. My father in law was making a ham dinner for his wife, and invited everyone to join them. What a dinner!! He did a really great job of organizing side dishes, main course and even delicious looking dessert. Did you notice the words "delicious looking?" That is because I did not partake of the deliciousness. I am suffering a 3 week long sinus infection. Food does not entice me. Instead, I dined on Tylenol sinus and a glass of wine (ok, 2 glasses of wine...BIG glasses). Word to the wise: Do NOT mix Tylenol Sinus with wine if you want to stay sober. It was not intentional that I mixed the two, but I had forgotten taking the medicine earlier. By the time we left for home, I'm embarrassed to report that I was inebriated. The kids were grouchy and angry for having to leave, so they were not being very pleasant. Unfortunately, their fighting and whining pushed me over the edge. I apparently cursed Mother's Day, my ingrate children and motherhood as a whole. I was even told that I threw my Abba Zabba at Daniel (so sorry honey.) Marlie decided to do her usual back talking, so I told her that I wished her the same pain of childbirth (crotch ripping and all), that she caused me, someday. Obviously, I was out of control. I do not recall going to bed, but from the fuzzy sweaters on my teeth this morning, I knew that I had not even brushed (gross, I know.) This morning, the phone rings and it's my mom. I had even gone so far as to call her last night and rant about how sucky Mother's Day was. She was calling to see if my pity party had ended, and asked if I had been drunk. I was so completely humiliated by what a cry baby I was being. Need less to say, I had a lot of apologizing to do. Instead of breakfast, I was made to eat crow. And I can assure you, it was difficult to swallow!

Public Restrooms (shudder)

Marlie and I decided that it was time to buy some summer apparel, now that the sub zero climate has become more pleasant. We headed to the local "mall" (the sorriest excuse for a mall that I have ever seen), in search of shorts and tank tops. During this less than productive trip, Marlie needed to make a short pit stop, much to my chagrin. We found the nearest one in Gottschalk's department store.
Side note: I HATE PUBLIC RESTROOMS!!! I think it is an OCD (my hands cannot touch anything in there, or I lose it). I avoid such vile places as much as humanly possible. I once held my pee during an entire trip to Disneyland, just to avoid catching other people's booty cooties.
Anyway, avoiding restrooms is something one cannot do after having children. Why? Because even if the children void their bladders right before departure, they will ALWAYS have to go again, upon reaching one's destination...ALWAYS!
So, we enter the women's lavatory, and the smell meets us before we are even completely in the room. "Dear God, what died in here?", I'm thinking. Marlie, who seems oblivious, enters the stall. I am trying to hold my breath as long as I can. I am turning blue and trying to decide if I would rather the odor be breathed in through my mouth (gag), or my nostrils (gross). "Mom, I need help." Marlie has never asked for help doing anything, and chooses now to ask for help??? I try to talk without inhaling, "What's wrong?" "My toilet paper won't come out. I look in the other stall...no paper. "Sh*t, I have to go in there!!!," I'm silently panicking. I grab a paper towel, use it to open the main door, take a huge breath and run back in with the speed of a cheetah. I bend down to grab the paper, and my equilibrium goes wacky (due to a sinus infection). I fall back against the stall door, collecting hundreds of diseases on my shirt, and drop my purse on the urine covered floor. "OMG, I need a new purse." I stand up and the strap falls, allowing my library card to fall behind the toilet. "And a new library card." I am running out of air, and I'm pretty sure I have a strand of syphilis somewhere on my body now. I am freaking out and Marlie is in hysterics. I step back out of the stall, reeling from the lack of oxygen to my brain, and my flip flop lands on a poopy piece of toilet paper. I gag, not caring now if I inhale the rancid air. I am going to die of a heart attack in this nasty stink hole. Marlie says "Never mind, I've got a tissue in my pocket," and pulls out a tissue. I had to use every bit of restraint in me not to choke the child. She had tissue the whole time??? I just contracted an STD and have some random person's poop scrapes on my shoe, for NOTHING?! (Yes, I know that scientifically STDs cannot be transmitted by way of clothing, but I will never be convinced.) By now, I'd given up the attempt to hold my breath, completely. I realized that this was a test of my strength. Another test administered by God to build character, or teach me a lesson. What the lesson is, I have not yet figured out. I did not even let Marlie wash her hands. We got another paper towel, opened the door and left quickly, dodging the rest of the strategically placed poopy paper squares. We then proceeded to Bath and Body Works, where I bathed myself in all of the tester bottles of Anti-Bacterial Gel, that I could find. Looking back now, I think exfoliating my hands, arms and purse, may have been a bit of an overreaction. Plus, I doubt my daughter will ever accompany me to the mall again. But, SHEESH!...the things we do for our children! Happy Mother's Day, all of you beautiful Moms out there!!

Sasquatch Sighted In Laughlin, NV!!!

I am counting down the days until Daniel and I leave to Laughlin! It has been 4 years since we've been anywhere that serves something other than chicken nuggets and plays music other than Disney songs. So, this year we are going to Laughlin. Two and a half days of kid-free enjoyment!! However, going to Laughlin means wearing a bathing suit. Even though I am not over weight, my whole body is out of shape to the nth degree. Trenton calls me "jiggly butt", if that helps to paint a mental picture. Not only that, I'm a little anemic, so I bruise like a piece of fruit. My legs are always adorned with pretty little spots that make me look like a dalmatian (as if the varicose and spider veins aren't enough). So my big debate in regards to the bathing suit issue is this: Do I sport the unsightly iron deficient byproducts, or grow my leg hair so long, that nobody can see the leg blemishes? As for the jiggly body issue, I apologize to any onlookers who will be vacationing in Laughlin that weekend. If you happen to see a jiggly woman with legs like a Sasquatch, just look away and know that it could be worse...I could have left my bikini line unwaxed!!

My Mom

Few of us get the chance to eulogize a loved one while they are still alive. So, in honor of Mother's Day, I am taking this opportunity to do just that. And, as is always the case with me, it will be written (it is much easier to pen my heart, than to give it a voice.) It is a little wordy, but worth the time it takes to read. It is an awesome story (and not because of the writing).

My Mother

You probably would not be able to tell, just by meeting my mom, Sharon, how truly incredible a person she is. She does not strive to impress people with fancy clothing or material possessions. Her character is not false in any way. She is a hard working, loyal, honest person. If she likes you, you will know. If she doesn't, that too will be apparent! But there is so much more than what appears on her surface. My mom has weathered many painful