You know THAT family. Their kids have no concept of time and will show up at your house at any hour. On a holiday.In stocking feet.
It's 8:55 AM. #7 just came home from the neighbors with a bag of cotton candy. I didn't even know #7 was awake. Pretty sure we have now successfully met all the qualifications for THAT family status.
I suppose if you sell cotton candy to the neighbor kids for $2.00 a bag, a little pricey I think, then, well, you're taking money for candy from babies and you deserve to live around the corner from THAT family.
Happy Memorial Day! Honoring all who have served for the freedom to live, love, worship and eat cotton candy for breakfast.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
*Urgent Update*
Top 10 clues you may be in URGENT need of a family photo update.
10. Mom and Dad are the only family members who aren't 12 inches taller then they were in the last photo
9. The oldest son is leaving for two years.
8. You've added a family member.
7. The youngest member has been potty trained for three years.
6. The kids have lost their baby fat Mom and Dad have gained some.
5. The clothes you wore in the last photo were featured on the latest episode of "What Not to Wear."
4. Great Grandpa keeps asking, "Now, who's teenagers are those?"
3. Most of the teeth in the last picture have been collected by the tooth fairy.
2. A really great friend has a really great camera and is willing to snap photos of 8 reluctant boys at your convenience, thanks Stacie.
1. You're all at the park wearing matching outfits.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Notes From the Graveyard
So, what is the appropriate thing to do when you spill a warm, caffeinated, drink (what, I slept three hours so I could go to church with my boys, don't judge!) on the new laptop you got so you could blog etc. on the graveyard shift?
Offer it a pastry?
Burst into exhausted tears?
Blog it so Adorable Hubby will find out?
Contemplate the possibility that your guilt over the new laptop and the drink subconsciously created a cataclysmic mutually assured destruction phenomenon. What? It's metaphysics my mind is just wired that way.
Dump the laptop upside down, allow the liquid to drain out, wipe it off and pray?
Be grateful that you lost less than 1/8 the drink because three hours is really, really not enough sleep?
Ponder a mathematical equation for how many calories your spill saved you?
Do a happy dance because amazingly your laptop seems to have survived?
Ask all your blog friends to send you a music play list because yours is incredibly boring?
Offer it a pastry?
Burst into exhausted tears?
Blog it so Adorable Hubby will find out?
Contemplate the possibility that your guilt over the new laptop and the drink subconsciously created a cataclysmic mutually assured destruction phenomenon. What? It's metaphysics my mind is just wired that way.
Dump the laptop upside down, allow the liquid to drain out, wipe it off and pray?
Be grateful that you lost less than 1/8 the drink because three hours is really, really not enough sleep?
Ponder a mathematical equation for how many calories your spill saved you?
Do a happy dance because amazingly your laptop seems to have survived?
Ask all your blog friends to send you a music play list because yours is incredibly boring?
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Girls, Girls, Girls!
Oh those girls!
For most women a relationship with their girls is a love/hate thing, they're too big, too small, mismatched, droopy. I've never met a girl who was perfectly content with her girls, and I'm no different then the average gal I suppose.
I am an..., uhh, hmm, significantly busted gal and have noticed that each of my girls has a personality all her own, which makes bra shopping a daunting challenge.
Friday night before Mothers Day I was left alone with the girls whilst Adorable Hubby took his sons camping.
After some discussion my lovely ladies suggested that it really was time for a new bra. It has taken over two years of whining and complaining, culminating in the girls issuing a not so empty threat to bust the established perimeters of our relationship and host their own episode of "Girls Gone Wild", airing during peak family viewing hours not the usual late, late night venue.
Warning: Tender Reader, feel free to continue reading but be advised, shopping with the girls, for the girls, is an adventure for the bravest of souls.
So, with the girls strapped precariously in their worn safety harnesses, a wad of cash in hand, a glob of trepidation in soul, we three set out.
It was a balmy evening, setting sunny rays lighted the spring green leaves and grasses along our path to the mall. A gentle breeze couldn't dry the sick trickle of sweat tracing a path between my shoulder blades as I marched resolutely through the parking lot.
The girls giggled with nervous anticipation, I swallowed a floppy lump of pride and approached the sales girl.
She spoke with just the hint of a Spanish accent, the girls were thrilled, they don't get out much, meeting a foreigner added a spark of mystery to our excursion.
"May I touch you?" She sounded like Antonio Banderas in a Lane Bryant sales girl role.
"Umm, sure." As I raised my arms above my head the girls attempted an escape.
"If we split up she'll never catch us." One darted high the other slipped low.
"You musst try zees new back smoother bra!". The sales girl shouted. Every mothers day shopper in the store, possibly the mall, turned to stare.
"Wooo! HOO!" Screamed the girls, distracted from their escape attempt.
"ok" I whispered.
30 minutes later, being trapped in a dressing room with two girls on the loose, upwards of 20 different bras being shoved under the door by Antonio's louder sister, and only the tattered, dingy remnants of a bygone support system for courage was wearing on the three of us.
And, that's when, "da girl on da right hand side" (help me out, isn't there a song with that line as a lyric) got feisty. Now, it's not like Rightee isn't know for her antics, she's always and forever pushing the boundaries, she lives on the edge, one unexpected jounce away from public indecency, and, she's sneaky about it, playing the introvert all the while sneaking out the side or casually slipping her way south; but, with a dressing room full of Mothers Day shoppers and the sales girl giving her way to much attention for her antics she was out of control.
There we were, Rightee being naughty, leftee hanging out peacefully her extroverted appearance masking a demure personality, sales girl popping in, at increasingly frustrating intervals, to poke and prod, frown and "ai yai yai!" hands in the air. Finally, just as the girls and I were ready to give up and head over to Chick Fillet we twisted, wriggled and shimmied into a bra that seemed to work... if we leaned slightly forward with one shoulder, twisted at the waist a bit and turned our head to one side.
By this time our sales girl, having joined the partay in the dressing room, turning her back at key moments, was barely containing her exacerbation with the whole thing. As we turned to her, a hesitantly triumphal light in our eyes, did her face light up with success? No, she too twisted her head to one side, frowned, tried a different head position, threw her hands out expletively (work with me on my expressive writing here) and proclaimed at the top of her lungs, "NO! Somezing izz WRONG!!!" She poked Rightee, a mad light in her eye, then stormed out, muttering "We have only one more option..."
I gotta confess, I cried a little just then. Leftee glared at Rightee, Rightee hung her head, but cheekily. The sales girl returned, she didn't bother to turn her back, we wiggled into the last option, turned to the sales girl and waited...she pursed her lips, nodded, made the finger motion to spin us around, we spun, we waited, "ZEES IS PERFECT! She announced at the top of her lungs to every Mothers Day shopper in the store, possibly the mall.
I gotta confess, I cried a little more.
The girls cheered!
A Happy Mothers Day for me and the girls and Antonio's Lane Bryant sister, until we heard the price. Gasp!
The Girls insisted they were worth it, Antonio's sister insisted we were worth it. Sigh!
Girls, girls, girls, it's a love/hate thing.
For most women a relationship with their girls is a love/hate thing, they're too big, too small, mismatched, droopy. I've never met a girl who was perfectly content with her girls, and I'm no different then the average gal I suppose.
I am an..., uhh, hmm, significantly busted gal and have noticed that each of my girls has a personality all her own, which makes bra shopping a daunting challenge.
Friday night before Mothers Day I was left alone with the girls whilst Adorable Hubby took his sons camping.
After some discussion my lovely ladies suggested that it really was time for a new bra. It has taken over two years of whining and complaining, culminating in the girls issuing a not so empty threat to bust the established perimeters of our relationship and host their own episode of "Girls Gone Wild", airing during peak family viewing hours not the usual late, late night venue.
Warning: Tender Reader, feel free to continue reading but be advised, shopping with the girls, for the girls, is an adventure for the bravest of souls.
So, with the girls strapped precariously in their worn safety harnesses, a wad of cash in hand, a glob of trepidation in soul, we three set out.
It was a balmy evening, setting sunny rays lighted the spring green leaves and grasses along our path to the mall. A gentle breeze couldn't dry the sick trickle of sweat tracing a path between my shoulder blades as I marched resolutely through the parking lot.
The girls giggled with nervous anticipation, I swallowed a floppy lump of pride and approached the sales girl.
She spoke with just the hint of a Spanish accent, the girls were thrilled, they don't get out much, meeting a foreigner added a spark of mystery to our excursion.
"May I touch you?" She sounded like Antonio Banderas in a Lane Bryant sales girl role.
"Umm, sure." As I raised my arms above my head the girls attempted an escape.
"If we split up she'll never catch us." One darted high the other slipped low.
"You musst try zees new back smoother bra!". The sales girl shouted. Every mothers day shopper in the store, possibly the mall, turned to stare.
"Wooo! HOO!" Screamed the girls, distracted from their escape attempt.
"ok" I whispered.
30 minutes later, being trapped in a dressing room with two girls on the loose, upwards of 20 different bras being shoved under the door by Antonio's louder sister, and only the tattered, dingy remnants of a bygone support system for courage was wearing on the three of us.
And, that's when, "da girl on da right hand side" (help me out, isn't there a song with that line as a lyric) got feisty. Now, it's not like Rightee isn't know for her antics, she's always and forever pushing the boundaries, she lives on the edge, one unexpected jounce away from public indecency, and, she's sneaky about it, playing the introvert all the while sneaking out the side or casually slipping her way south; but, with a dressing room full of Mothers Day shoppers and the sales girl giving her way to much attention for her antics she was out of control.
There we were, Rightee being naughty, leftee hanging out peacefully her extroverted appearance masking a demure personality, sales girl popping in, at increasingly frustrating intervals, to poke and prod, frown and "ai yai yai!" hands in the air. Finally, just as the girls and I were ready to give up and head over to Chick Fillet we twisted, wriggled and shimmied into a bra that seemed to work... if we leaned slightly forward with one shoulder, twisted at the waist a bit and turned our head to one side.
By this time our sales girl, having joined the partay in the dressing room, turning her back at key moments, was barely containing her exacerbation with the whole thing. As we turned to her, a hesitantly triumphal light in our eyes, did her face light up with success? No, she too twisted her head to one side, frowned, tried a different head position, threw her hands out expletively (work with me on my expressive writing here) and proclaimed at the top of her lungs, "NO! Somezing izz WRONG!!!" She poked Rightee, a mad light in her eye, then stormed out, muttering "We have only one more option..."
I gotta confess, I cried a little just then. Leftee glared at Rightee, Rightee hung her head, but cheekily. The sales girl returned, she didn't bother to turn her back, we wiggled into the last option, turned to the sales girl and waited...she pursed her lips, nodded, made the finger motion to spin us around, we spun, we waited, "ZEES IS PERFECT! She announced at the top of her lungs to every Mothers Day shopper in the store, possibly the mall.
I gotta confess, I cried a little more.
The girls cheered!
A Happy Mothers Day for me and the girls and Antonio's Lane Bryant sister, until we heard the price. Gasp!
The Girls insisted they were worth it, Antonio's sister insisted we were worth it. Sigh!
Girls, girls, girls, it's a love/hate thing.
Friday, May 21, 2010
The Good The Bad and The Ugly
Lot's of stuff has been going on in the life of this Boy Mom, how's about a quick recap.
I began Graveyard shifts at work on May 5th.
Good=I work 7 days and have 7days off. Good to be home with boys. Good to have full time hours. Good to qualify for benefits.
Bad= The transition from on days to off days, loopy and grumpy. Sleeping in the summer sunlight. Being lonely all night. Sleeping alone all day. Standing on the sidewalk at 7:00am with sleep deprived morals, I'm yours for a mattress and a cuddle.
Ugly= that first three hours of dead sleep after a long night, a bomb could go off people. Let's just say I woke up to the dog in bed with me one morning, yuck, I'm telling ya, Ugggly.
Sending your first baby, OK he's nineteen but still, off on a two year church mission.
Good= He gave each of his brothers one of his possessions to care for while he was gone. He gave us each a beautiful blessing, simple but profound. Watching him square his shoulders, pick up his luggage and step firmly into manhood. I get his cell phone!!! The tears running down the face of his teenage brothers as they stood on the porch watching us pull out, they really love each other. Holding Adorable Hubbies hand as we drove home from dropping him off. All the love and support from family and friends. What better way to find yourself then to lose yourself in the service of the Lord and your fellow man.
Bad= I have a nineteen year old, how did that happen? $$$$ goodness sakes! Unknown parenting territory, how do you tell your big, manly 19 year old that leaving his pants and a belt wadded up on a table in the family room after you claim you've checked and have absolutely everything, doesn't bode well for your manliness or your Mom's heart (all right I concede that leaving stuff all over the house until the Magical Man Fairy puts it away probably is a sign of manliness and that yes I'll...I mean the Magical Man Fairy will probably mail him his pants neatly folded with fresh chocolate chip cookies). It's two freakin' years, people, two years, I spent nearly that getting him fully potty trained. Dang I'm gonna miss that boy!
Ugly=The stuff you find under beds and dressers when four boys change rooms.
May 18th was the official one year anniversary of being a working woman.
Good=Money. New friends. Conversations where people aren't referred to as "dog" or "moOOommmmm!". Finding out I'm good at things besides cleaning bathrooms and laundry which we all know I'm really not at all good at.
Bad= Does a working Mom's house and yard ever really get or stay clean. Time, so little of it. Missing even one second of my boys lives, it just goes soooo fast.
Ugly= Laundry is even worse now, really, really, really, really ugly.
Since Christmas we are dog owners again.
Good= Watching #7 play and play and play with his dog. Watching #1 take Titan (dogs name) hiking and walking. Being greeted every I come home with a nerdy dog grin, (actually looks like he's snarling about to rip your head off). Dog ears. Big, brown puppy eyes.
Bad= DOG HAIR. DOG POOP. DOG FARTS. DOG BREATH. DOG GERMS. CHEWING. GNAWING. BIG BROWN PUPPY EYES. One more muddy, messy, hungry boy to clean up after.
Ugly= He watches me shower, like I need less privacy in the bathroom.
Well, folks that's some of the stuff that's made me an inconsistent blogger over the past few months. I am hoping this graveyard shift will provide writing time.
I began Graveyard shifts at work on May 5th.
Good=I work 7 days and have 7days off. Good to be home with boys. Good to have full time hours. Good to qualify for benefits.
Bad= The transition from on days to off days, loopy and grumpy. Sleeping in the summer sunlight. Being lonely all night. Sleeping alone all day. Standing on the sidewalk at 7:00am with sleep deprived morals, I'm yours for a mattress and a cuddle.
Ugly= that first three hours of dead sleep after a long night, a bomb could go off people. Let's just say I woke up to the dog in bed with me one morning, yuck, I'm telling ya, Ugggly.
Sending your first baby, OK he's nineteen but still, off on a two year church mission.
Good= He gave each of his brothers one of his possessions to care for while he was gone. He gave us each a beautiful blessing, simple but profound. Watching him square his shoulders, pick up his luggage and step firmly into manhood. I get his cell phone!!! The tears running down the face of his teenage brothers as they stood on the porch watching us pull out, they really love each other. Holding Adorable Hubbies hand as we drove home from dropping him off. All the love and support from family and friends. What better way to find yourself then to lose yourself in the service of the Lord and your fellow man.
Bad= I have a nineteen year old, how did that happen? $$$$ goodness sakes! Unknown parenting territory, how do you tell your big, manly 19 year old that leaving his pants and a belt wadded up on a table in the family room after you claim you've checked and have absolutely everything, doesn't bode well for your manliness or your Mom's heart (all right I concede that leaving stuff all over the house until the Magical Man Fairy puts it away probably is a sign of manliness and that yes I'll...I mean the Magical Man Fairy will probably mail him his pants neatly folded with fresh chocolate chip cookies). It's two freakin' years, people, two years, I spent nearly that getting him fully potty trained. Dang I'm gonna miss that boy!
Ugly=The stuff you find under beds and dressers when four boys change rooms.
May 18th was the official one year anniversary of being a working woman.
Good=Money. New friends. Conversations where people aren't referred to as "dog" or "moOOommmmm!". Finding out I'm good at things besides cleaning bathrooms and laundry which we all know I'm really not at all good at.
Bad= Does a working Mom's house and yard ever really get or stay clean. Time, so little of it. Missing even one second of my boys lives, it just goes soooo fast.
Ugly= Laundry is even worse now, really, really, really, really ugly.
Since Christmas we are dog owners again.
Good= Watching #7 play and play and play with his dog. Watching #1 take Titan (dogs name) hiking and walking. Being greeted every I come home with a nerdy dog grin, (actually looks like he's snarling about to rip your head off). Dog ears. Big, brown puppy eyes.
Bad= DOG HAIR. DOG POOP. DOG FARTS. DOG BREATH. DOG GERMS. CHEWING. GNAWING. BIG BROWN PUPPY EYES. One more muddy, messy, hungry boy to clean up after.
Ugly= He watches me shower, like I need less privacy in the bathroom.
Well, folks that's some of the stuff that's made me an inconsistent blogger over the past few months. I am hoping this graveyard shift will provide writing time.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
#5
Today is #5's birthday.
Happy 9th birthday #5.
And, yes you have to go to school today! And, every day the rest of the year, just in case you were wondering. Not that you ask me that question every, single, solitary, day or anything.
#5 was the only baby handed to me the moment of his birth, I'll never forget gazing into the biggest, curious, blue eyes I have ever seen. You gazed around at me and dad, the doctor, the nurse, no crying just eagerness to see every bit of this amazing life you were beginning.
You still have the most beautiful, blue eyes and an insatiable curiosity about life. I love your commitment to the History, and Discover channel, your passion for learning from everyone you meet.
A deep, strong, passionate current of compassion and courage of conviction run eternally through your beautiful soul. There will be those who tell you not to feel so much, to compromise, ignore those voices. Love passionately and fully every person and experience in your life your pure love will lead you to joy.
Remember to laugh. When you were barely three you asked me what a Mexican chicken says? Taco Doodle Doo still makes me laugh every time I think of it. Your name means to laugh, life is full of funny stuff masquerading as serious, always look for the laugh in a situation. Laughter is the wide angle lens of life, zoomed in too tightly on an experience we lose the perspective of it's place in the big picture. I love how closely you examine each tiny detail noticing the slightest detail or nuance, I love how quickly you perceive the bigger picture, how the small and seemingly insignificant create the whole.
#5 you were born on mothers day. You look the most like me, the only son with the same hair and eye color. Each day you teach me to be a better person.
Happy Birthday
Happy 9th birthday #5.
And, yes you have to go to school today! And, every day the rest of the year, just in case you were wondering. Not that you ask me that question every, single, solitary, day or anything.
#5 was the only baby handed to me the moment of his birth, I'll never forget gazing into the biggest, curious, blue eyes I have ever seen. You gazed around at me and dad, the doctor, the nurse, no crying just eagerness to see every bit of this amazing life you were beginning.
You still have the most beautiful, blue eyes and an insatiable curiosity about life. I love your commitment to the History, and Discover channel, your passion for learning from everyone you meet.
A deep, strong, passionate current of compassion and courage of conviction run eternally through your beautiful soul. There will be those who tell you not to feel so much, to compromise, ignore those voices. Love passionately and fully every person and experience in your life your pure love will lead you to joy.
Remember to laugh. When you were barely three you asked me what a Mexican chicken says? Taco Doodle Doo still makes me laugh every time I think of it. Your name means to laugh, life is full of funny stuff masquerading as serious, always look for the laugh in a situation. Laughter is the wide angle lens of life, zoomed in too tightly on an experience we lose the perspective of it's place in the big picture. I love how closely you examine each tiny detail noticing the slightest detail or nuance, I love how quickly you perceive the bigger picture, how the small and seemingly insignificant create the whole.
#5 you were born on mothers day. You look the most like me, the only son with the same hair and eye color. Each day you teach me to be a better person.
Happy Birthday
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Shopping
I love shopping, not for the great deals or fun new stuff, although that matters, for me the best part of shopping is the other shoppers.
I look forward to the day that I push my cart through Costco wearing a purple velvet sweat suit, scooping up super sized boxes of depends, ensure and protein bars. My lunch will consist of tasty samples and desert will be a giant bag of chocolate Acia berries. I can't wait to amble along peering curiously at all the newfangled products, making sudden unscheduled stops in the middle of aisles to point out a must have 3 gallon bottle of Artichoke Raspberry salsa that I just know the grand kids will love. And somehow, the fluffy, white disarray of my hair, the gaudy jewelry and delight in the whole Costco experience will overwhelm the vague annoyance in younger, hurrieder shoppers.
I wish my name was John McClain, every store I went in I would do something to get my name called over the intercom because then all the other shoppers get to feel like they're in a Die Hard movie and start looking for clever ways to fill loaves of artisan bread with Miracle Gro and cleaning products with possibly a can of spray whip cream as a propellant. Not that it would ever be acceptable to defile artisan bread, even to help a random John McClain or Bruce Willis thwart a terrorist attack at Harmon's (even Bruce isn't hot enough to justify artisan bread tampering). I know the John McClain who's name was called over the intercom on a recent shopping trip, not so much a terrorist deterrent type of fellow; but still, I had a lovely moment or two of Die Hard happiness.
I also enjoy the ways fellow shoppers store cell phones for easy access. There's not room in my bra for cell phone storage but if it works for you... You go girls, uh girl.
Yep, people watching while shopping is one of my favorite funs!
I look forward to the day that I push my cart through Costco wearing a purple velvet sweat suit, scooping up super sized boxes of depends, ensure and protein bars. My lunch will consist of tasty samples and desert will be a giant bag of chocolate Acia berries. I can't wait to amble along peering curiously at all the newfangled products, making sudden unscheduled stops in the middle of aisles to point out a must have 3 gallon bottle of Artichoke Raspberry salsa that I just know the grand kids will love. And somehow, the fluffy, white disarray of my hair, the gaudy jewelry and delight in the whole Costco experience will overwhelm the vague annoyance in younger, hurrieder shoppers.
I wish my name was John McClain, every store I went in I would do something to get my name called over the intercom because then all the other shoppers get to feel like they're in a Die Hard movie and start looking for clever ways to fill loaves of artisan bread with Miracle Gro and cleaning products with possibly a can of spray whip cream as a propellant. Not that it would ever be acceptable to defile artisan bread, even to help a random John McClain or Bruce Willis thwart a terrorist attack at Harmon's (even Bruce isn't hot enough to justify artisan bread tampering). I know the John McClain who's name was called over the intercom on a recent shopping trip, not so much a terrorist deterrent type of fellow; but still, I had a lovely moment or two of Die Hard happiness.
I also enjoy the ways fellow shoppers store cell phones for easy access. There's not room in my bra for cell phone storage but if it works for you... You go girls, uh girl.
Yep, people watching while shopping is one of my favorite funs!
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