Nine Minutes of Hell

Most people dread going to work for the obvious reasons.  I dread it because it is just no protection from my "problems".  I just have to accept that my luck follows me no matter where I am.

Maybe a week ago I was at my desk and realized I was really hungry and it was fast approaching closing time at the work cafeteria.  I had totally lost track of time somehow and I knew if I didn't bust a move right now, I was going to have to starve.  I grabbed my wallet and off I went.  At my work, it's a decent walk to the cafeteria.  Even walking briskly can take a good 7 plus minutes to get there, so knowing the cafeteria was closing soon I was going as fast as my little legs could take me.  As I approached the elevator, I remembered that yesterday it had an "Out of Order" sign on it.  Since elevators scare me so, I opted to skip that one and move on to the next.  I couldn't take the chance of it not being totally fixed.  I shiver at the mere thought, so I press on.  

I approach the second elevator and my timing was impeccable.  It just happened to be open and waiting for me.  There was no one else waiting or in there.  Just the way I like it.  No breathing other peoples' air.  As my tummy rumbles, I press the button to bring me down 2 floors.  The door closes and off I go.

Now before I am chastised for taking the elevator down 2 measly floors, I will admit that in spite of my believing I've been blessed with perpetual youth (shut up), I do have a bad knee.  It's often painful, especially going down the steps so I try to avoid that.  The pain is secondary though to the creaking and grinding sounds it makes as I descend.  It's truly nauseating.  Until it gets better, I use the elevator to go down but I do use the steps to go up.

Back to the elevator....I've felt the drop feeling of the car going down the two floors.  I've felt the slowing as it approached my floor.  I didn't quite feel the "stop" feeling at the bottom so I wait.  Two hours later (8 seconds later) the door is still not open.  I suddenly feel hot all over.  "Don't freak out, it will open any second now" I repeat to myself over and over.  Deep cleansing breaths are doing little more than adding to my dizziness.  I think I'm stuck.  Those doors aren't opening.  

Inside I'm completely flipping the eff out, but since there are cameras inside these elevators I appear completely calm and collected.  Heaven forbid the security guys catch a glimpse of me with a worried expression on my face while I'm trapped, yet I have no issue adjusting "the girls" on a daily basis in there.  I finally accept the fact that I am definitely stuck now.  No two ways about it.  I opened the compartment and picked up the courtesy phone (also know as the "get me the f#*k out of here!" phone).  Immediately, I heard a voice on the other end asking if I was OK.  I said yes and he said they would have someone there momentarily.  He remained on the line with me as they arrived.  They were literally there within seconds.  The nice man on the phone said calmly, OK they have a key they're going to open the doors for you now.  I did actually feel comforted for the moment while I heard the men outside the elevator and the reassuring voice on the phone.  He again asked if I was OK and lying through my teeth I said yes.  He let me go when I told him the guys were there.  

As I hung up I could hear the keys jingling.  I figured I would be out of here in a moments time.  I then heard a voice yelling "hello?" from above me.  This was followed by the voices of the men outside the door saying "who was that??  who is up there?".  Their confusion was a major setback in my portrayal of the calm trapped passenger.  I was starting to really get scared now.  How do they not know who that was and why was someone above me??  Surely by this point 3 or 4 seconds have passed and I've noticed that in spite of hearing the keys supposedly unlocking the doors, the doors remain closed.  I hear and see the doors banging around as they fight to get them open.  OBVIOUSLY these keys are not working!!!  I'm starting to hyperventilate.  The room is closing in on  me!  Oh God here come the chest pains, now I'm having a heart attack!  They struggled with that door for what felt like DAYS.  I was  almost about to get back on the courtesy phone and tell them I was about to die.  At the time, it seemed logical to me that if I had an emergency, they would somehow be able to open the doors faster.  All kinds of scenarios were playing out in my mind; I wondered if I would be in here for hours?  I wondered if anyone was trapped so long that they eventually just died waiting.  I wondered why I couldn't have gotten stuck after I got my food so I would have some form of sustenance in the event the rescue takes an extended amount of time to free me!

Just as I was about to accept that I would be living out my final moments in this box, the doors were finally pried open.  My rescuer poked his head in as he pressed the doors apart with all his might.  He had to have been seven feet tall.  He asked if I was OK and I smiled politely and said "yes".  He then thanked me for some reason as I walked away in a daze.  I replied with "no, thank YOU" but I didn't turn to look his way as I said it.  I was thoroughly freaked out and I didn't want them to see it.  In retrospect, I wish I had been a little more thankful, but in my defense, aside from being terrified I was also embarrassed.  It was quite the scene.  I did make it to the cafeteria on time somehow.  I managed to get my food and pay all while shaking uncontrollably.  It took hours to get over it.  HOURS.

All I wanted was a tiny morsel of chicken from the salad bar and my life was almost compromised!!  Is it really too much to ask that I just get a day where something absurd doesn't happen?  All in all, it could have been worse and I am certainly thankful I was rescued so quickly.  It could have happened to anyone, but of course it happened to me.  I can't help but think this is payback for my little list of elevator rules I posted. 

The Nightmare of the Twice-remodeled Bathroom

Well, we did it again.  We decided to remodel something in our house that we probably* had no business doing.  I do have to hand it to us though because when it was finally done, our new bathroom turned out beautifully.  With the exception of our one friend, we did this thing completely on our own and I am very proud of our work.  My husband really has become quite the craftsman when it comes to tile work.

We bought our house six years ago knowing full-well it was a major fixer-upper.  In fact, I think we might have saved a buck or two by just plowing that son-of-a-bitch down and starting fresh.  We had to redo every single room in this house.  EVERY room.  And when I say "redo" I don't mean some quick cosmetic fixes just slapping some paint on the walls either.  We are talking down to the studs, new walls, new floors, new fixtures, new electrical, new everything you can think of.  Clearly we bought for the neighborhood and for that I have no regrets.  It's a great neighborhood, a nice place to raise kids, my mom's house is a mere 2 minute drive, we have great neighbors (well, except for that ONE guy) and it's perfectly located dead center between my job and my husband's job.  So at the end of the day, it was a score but getting to where we are today was just horrific.  There's no sugar coating it.

This most recent remodel is the second one for that same bathroom.  Yes, the second one in six years.  Why you ask?  Well because for starters we never finished it last time.  Add to it the fact that I didn't research the materials I chose and because of that, they didn't hold up well to the moisture.  The vision then was white wainscoting from the floor up to about 4 feet.  Then a nautical blue paint.  The floor and shower enclosure was slate tile and to offset the rough, rugged stone I chose polished chrome fixtures.  In my head and in the clippings I used for inspiration it looked fantastic.

Flash forward four years - the blue paint never made it to the walls because the top trim on top of the wainscoting never was installed.  For that same reason, I also never painted the wainscoting.  In our defense, we don't have a table saw to be able to make the proper cuts need for the trim so technically none of this is our fault.  Whatever our excuse, not paining the wainscoting would prove to be a critical mistake.  Did you know that if left unpainted, the particular wainscoting I have will swell and basically flake apart entirely when it comes in contact with moisture?  Not a good mix when you are raising a little boy whose idea of a good time is to sneak off and spend all day splashing water from the bathroom sink onto the walls.

This time we were going to do it right.  We measured everything, considered everything, did price comparisons, added up our rough estimate and then after weeks of mulling it over, we went to Home Depot and I pulled the trigger.  I said "honey, for my birthday I want a new bathroom.  I have my Home Depot card on me and we are buying everything right here and now".

We were off to a fairly smooth start.  Well, with the exception of having both kids with us and neither one of them taking a break from being impossible, demanding, loud little monsters the whole time in the store.  In spite of that, I was pleased to find all the materials came to under $700.  Not bad!  When we left, we had a minivan jam packed with all the beach gear we never took out and everything a person would need to build a new bathroom (providing they forgot half of the materials as we did).

On Friday we began the demolition and were very excited that "by Monday" we should have a functioning bathroom and "by Wednesday" it would be completely finished.  We had strict deadlines to keep us on task.  It had to be done by Wednesday because we were going out of town overnight on Thursday and then Saturday we were having everyone over for a birthday party.  Yea, no pressure there.  I was sure we could do it though.  I work well under pressure and the people on TV do stuff like this all the time.  There were plenty of episodes of "Weekend Warriors" where they got this done without issue.  Besides, we'd already ripped the walls down 4 years ago, so we shouldn't have any surprises this time around.

As always we were dead wrong.  There were still surprises.  For instance, when we put the wainscoting up we naturally assumed it would be up for a while.  We certainly never anticipated ripping it down any time in the forseeable future.  That is why 8 gallons of glue was applied in addition to the 30,000 nails.  In spite of the gratification we got ripping it down, we just were not prepared for the glue ripping most of the wall off with it.  We had some major patch work to do now.  Half a bucket of spakle and a day and a half later and the problem was still no better.  The spakle just refuses to dry and what's worse is that the paper from the sheetrock was peeling off now too.  There was no way we were getting a smooth wall out of this.  The easy and much cheaper fix would have been to replace the sheetrock.  Instead, we decided we would just tile the walls all the way around the bathroom instead of just in the shower.  Sure it might take a little longer, and cost a fortune, but it will look so nice!

Now we have to buy a ton more tile and go to multiple Home Depots because ours doesn't have enough in stock!  Further, we have to figure out how to handle all the corners and cuts and everything else.  In addition to paying for all the extra material, my husband is going to need a real tile saw now.  Not like the piece of crap that has just barely gotten him by for all of our other projects.  There goes a couple hundred more dollars, but it was money well spent.  He sets up everything beautifully and he is ready to get this job done.  The tile saw is outside and everything he needs is neatly lined up beside it.  Probably two tiles in and it starts raining.  We had to break down the entire works and set it up in the kitchen.  As if it's not hard enough trying to remodel a bathroom with three kids in the house, now we have a wet saw in the middle of the kitchen.  In case you are not familiar, these things spray water - and not clean water, it's more of a cement-like mixture.  It's not something you want indoors, least of all in your kitchen when you still have a family to feed.  Lets hope this rain doesn't stick around.

I think it rained for 12 straight days.  We missed our deadline by a LONG shot.  I rescheduled our trip out of town and I moved the birthday party to the following weekend.  Did I mention that the entire bathroom is being tiled in subway tile?  That means that instead of my husband having to put up a bunch of big square tiles, he has to put up literally 500+ small ones one at a time and if you go off level at any point, you will ruin the entire thing the rest of the way around the room.  I really do have to commend my husband though.  He did an amazing job.  It is really impressive.

While we were working on all of this, the kids have made this experience go from a difficulty level of "quite difficult" to "so impossible that we contemplated abandoning everything we know and just starting a new life - alone - without even each other - or a forwarding address".  Children are naturally curious so I understood why they insisted on being right in the mix of the work.  However, it's pretty dangerous for them to be around - especially considering the fact that they both completely insist on being barefoot at all times.  They did nothing but cry, scream, fight and get hurt through the entire project.  Every two minutes (and I mean that literally) someone was calling me for something.  It was absolutely maddening.  They couldn't just go play for even a half hour without a major problem.  The worst is that my daughter decided that she wasn't going to be potty trained any more.  I was switching between roles of Stone Mason and Mommy and although challenging, I didn't mind it too much.  What I did not appreciate was when the roles of Laborer and Janitor were added.  As I was spakling and collecting garbage, my daughter was peeing and pooping all over the house as if she were a new puppy.  She was even taking great joy in it as I lost my mind.  She would walk into the bathroom barefoot as we screamed at her to get out because it's dangerous.  Instead of heeding our warnings, she would push through smiling and singing "I peeeeeed!".  She was peeing her pants without any regard for anyone or anything around her.  The carpet in the den really took a beating, as did any toys, chairs, couches, pets and siblings that had the misfortune of being under her.  Clearly she was doing it for attention.  The pooping everywhere was even worse.

My sister-in-law offered to take the kids for a little while one day so we could get some work done without them in the way.  God Bless her and thank goodness she came when she did.  I'm pretty sure at one point my husband said something like "don't ever bring them back" and I can't be certain they heard me, but at one point I did refer to the kids as "assholes" so I think it was in everyone's best interest that the house clear out for a bit.  This project was really bringing out the worst in both of us.  My poor babies.

Another great challenge was having to still feed and care for everyone while the place was under construction.  If you've ever done any kind of project at home or even had professionals come do work, you know that no matter how much of a precaution you take, dust and debris still manages to get EVERYWHERE in the house.  The tile saw in the kitchen was just the icing on the cake to what was already a disaster.  I think one of my favorite parts was when I was standing at the stove holding lids over everything to keep it uncontaminated as I cooked while my husband cut tile and unintentionally sprayed my back with tile sludge.  It most certainly was not his fault.  The saw was only inches away from my back, it couldn't really be avoided.  I shouldn't complain though.  At least this time we have walls.  Last time we remodeled the bathroom, we didn't have walls for weeks.  The bathroom was completely open to the attic and to bathe, we would have to use a cup to collect the water from a pipe and just pour it on our bodies to wash.  Did I mention it was the dead of winter and the bathroom was probably only about 10 degrees above the outdoor temperature?  That was fun.  I kept reminding myself of that as this project dragged on longer than we ever anticipated.

Although it took over two weeks, cost us probably $800 more than we had budgeted, took at least 15 trips back and forth to Home Depot and nearly destroyed our marriage, that bathroom looks awesome.  We missed meals, got injured, went to bed angry, screamed at the kids, skipped showers, destroyed clothes and cried a lot but it had to be done and we are richer from the experience.  I've since made it up to my little ones by spending extra play time with them and showering them with tons of love, affection and millions of kisses.  Through it all, we have kids that we love more than anything and who still love us, a strong marriage and a beautiful bathroom - all of which we are very proud.  In the end I can honestly say that if I had to do it all again..... I would sooner burn the house to the ground.

Moral:  Do-it-Yourself Jobs are not for those with small children.  


*most definately

My Scentsy Shameful Plug to get you through...

I have recently become an Independent Consultant for Scentsy!!  Please check out my website
https://aprilicity.scentsy.us

I have a new blog in the works that is strictly NON-business and will be posted this week.  

Please excuse this shameful plug in the mean time.

Like a sweet melody, a fragrance can transport you to another place and time.  Be it a fond memory, a cozy winter evening or the fresh tropical breeze of paradise.  A wonderful smell can change a mood and soothe the soul.

WELL HELLO SCENTSY

Recently, that very thing happened to me.  I was transported.  It wasn't the first time and now that I have Scentsy in my life, it ceraintly won't be the last.  A friend selling Scentsy convinced me to have a party.  I somehow managed to bypass that part of my brain that normally throws up a red light the instant I think someone is selling something....regardless of how much I might otherwise adore the person.  I had never even smelled anything Scentsy before and really didn't know anything about it until the night before my party.  My first Scentsy experience was with "Lucky in Love".  As I took that first sniff, my eyes closed.  Suddenly I was thirteen years in the past at my old house, young and preparing for a night out with my friends.  My eyes opened as I snapped back to real life.  "Wow, that smell brings me right back" I said.  It was literally love at first sniff and it was that moment that I knew I wanted to be a part of this.

MY LIFE B.S. (before Scentsy)

Let me tell you a little bit about what led up to this pivotal moment.  The evening I was introduced to Scentsy began like this...

After a long day of work, I raced home to meet my Scentsy Consultant friend at my house.  As she fought her way through my front door, she was greeted with the typical scene: the TV on and much too loud, kids clamoring to see who is coming in, my dog barking incessently and my husband trying his best to shut the dog up and kicking a path to the front door through the random toys the kids dropped at the sight of a guest.  Then there's me - with this look on my face, waiting to see if she's offended by the place.  I immediately jump to explain myself, "I'm sorry for the mess, I just got home from work and haven't had a chance to pick up and the kids just, uh - Oh and sorry for the smell, we were cooking with onions and we haven't sifted the litter box yet and....".  I have so many things I feel the need to explain but my guest can barely hear me peddling my excuses over all the noise!

I have three children, a dog (who has been stuck on the "non-stop barking" setting for the past 12 years) and two cats.  To say my house is busy and chaotic would be a major understatement.  In addition to juggling the house and the kids and the pets, I work full-time and I don't get home from work until after 6pm.  When I do get home it's rush to make dinner, rush to eat, rush to do homework, rush to clean up, rush the kids off to bed, rush, rush, rush until I collapse on the couch and realize it's past my ownbedtime. But such is my life.  It's busy and hectic and there is never enough time.  

THAT'S IT! THAT'S THE ANSWER!

Having all these kids and pets is what makes Scentsy make sense for me!  Let's face it; kids and especialy pets can take away from the freshness in your home.  Between the litter box, lost sippie cups of milk, grapes that roll away to far off places, and things that happened that they they will never tell you about, you have to be part maid and part investigaor to keep up with it all!  I've spent many hours of my "free time" cleaning and trying to make the place smell good, only to find all the air fresheners, sprays and every other product would just never work as well as I would like.  The only thing that would kind of work were the expensive candles but they are scary!  Why? Because of the very reason I need them in the first place!  The kids and the pets!!  It was a vicious cycle.  Thank you Scentsy, you have broken the cycle!  With the  warmers, I no longer have to worry about the kids burning the place down just because I insist that the house not smell like a farm!  

Unlike anything else I have ever used, the Scentsy aromas filled my whole house and the fragrance lasted for hours, even days after I turned it off!  I have finally found the secret to having my house smell great!  And I could be wrong, but Iswear the house even looks a little cleaner just having it smell so good!

Now that I've become a Scentsy Independent Consultant, some of that "free" time I was spending on the never ending batltle at home can be used selling a product I really have a passion for that has made a difference in  my home and my life.  What a great excuse to go out and socialize while making a few extra bucks!  It's win-win!

20 Rules for Elevators...in no particular order

1. If you see me speed-walking to the elevator, it's because I'm trying to catch that one, not because I'm trying to break the World record for speed-walking a distance of 8 feet.  Hold the damn door!  It's not going to clamp down on your arm and sever it off.  (well, it probably won't)  
2. If the doors are already closing and I know you see me, at least pretend to try to press the "door open" button.  Give me the "scrambling for the button, worried expression" routine.  I don't even care if you intentionally press the alarm to make it appear you were fumbling.
3. If I do this to you, I didn't see you.
4. Don't push past, especially a woman or child, to get into the elevator first.  Chances are they are still getting on that same elevator and now your little body-check has you riding with people who hate your guts. 
5. If the elevator looks too crowded, it IS.  Please don't press your body heat against others.
6. If you cram too many people in the elevator and then it does that little "jump" thing before the doors close and I freak out and say "OK LET ME OUT OF HERE" I'm not kidding, let me out so I don't freak out for the rest of the ride.
7. If you are a smoker, take the stairs.  Even if you stroke out on the way up, it's still worth it.  You smell and you make the elevator smell too.
8. If you have eaten garlic, onions or shit in the last day or so or if you even marginally suspect you could have bad breath, do NOT speak in the elevator.
9. In fact, there is no reason whatsoever that you can't ride the elevator with others in total silence.  I think a lot of people don't realize this.
10. God Bless you if you have a cell phone signal in the elevator, but please refrain from having your loud conversation in there a midst the rest of us.  We sure as sugar don't care about your personal matters and news flash -just because you say "oh no he dih-int" does not change that fact that he surely did, and thanks to you and your too-loud-of-a-talker cell phone friend, we all know the whole story.
11. It is completely acceptable to fake that you forgot something and leave the elevator so to avoid an annoying or smelly person.
12. If someone says to you "oh damn, I forgot something" and they leave the elevator, take it as a hint that you better invest in some Altoids and antiperspirant and try to avoid ever conversing with anyone again in a confined space.
13. If you accidentally make eye contact, conversation is still not necessary.  A forced smile with pressed lips and a glance away for the duration of the trip is recommended.
14. Avoid catch phrases.  If all the floor numbers are lit, no need to say "I guess we caught the local".   We've heard that one before if you can believe it.  "I guess I'll take a ride" is not necessary when you enter an elevator that is going up in spite of you wanting to go down.  When you stepped in anyway after the smoker barked "this elevator is going up, hun" it was pretty well assumed by everyone that you would indeed being going for the ride. 
15. If I say "how are you?" know that it's just a pleasantry and I'm expecting a simple one-word response.  If your life is a living hell, see a therapist, not me.  I'm just trying to get to the cafeteria, not hear your life story and provide counsel over the next few floors.
16. If I have my food with me, don't say "gee that food smells good - at least if this elevator gets stuck we have food!".  The reasons why this is wrong are three-fold.  First and foremost, what would make you think I would share my food with you?  Number two, please don't bring up the possibility of this elevator getting stuck while we are already inside of it marinating in your exhaled breath.  Third, how long would you expect that we would be in here that we would have to resort to parceling out my chicken salad to survive?
17. Please don't ask me to push the floor number for you.  I'm not the bell hop and the elevator is five feet wide, I think you can manage.
18. When it's time to get out of the elevator, the people waiting to get in should stand aside and wait for it to unload first.  Don't stand directly in front of the elevator doors unless you actually want to be trampled.
19. DO NOT get into the elevator before the other people get out, that is just ridiculous and you look like a moron who cannot grasp common social conventions.
20. If you feel the sensation of a bodily functin of any kind building, REFRAIN.  Even if the refrain causes pain, discomfort or even death.

Airing my Dirty Laundry

Before I get started here, I only hope to God that I'm not alone in this one.  This is something that affects my life daily and bothers me deeply.  It has been responsible for arguments, tears and missed engagements.  What I'm talking about here is impossible task of finishing the laundry.

Most of us can relate to how hectic modern life has become.  Everything is rush rush rush.  We are so severely overbooked at all times that there is no time to even stop and think of your next move before you realize you're going to be late for it already.  For me, working full time and having 3 children and 3 pets doesn't help matters.  If ever I actually get a day off that I don't have 15 places to be, I can't use that time to relax.  No way.  I have to clean and do laundry.  I don't necessarily mind doing either of things to be honest. If I could have the house to myself without interruptions or children in the way, I actually might enjoy the cleaning and laundry.  But it doesn't work that way.

Our laundry day is whatever weekend day we are actually home.  Efforts on "Laundry Day" are often hampered (hope you noticed the pun) by always having to share the day with other days such as "Cleaning Day", "Fix Things Day", "Find Things Day", "Shopping for Food and Gifts Day", "Drop Everything to go Help a Friend or Family Last-Minute and Leave the Ladder and Live Wires Dangling Day".  Ok that last one was a bit over descriptive, but trust me, it's fitting.  The point here is that we have a lot to do in a short amount of time and with a lot of distractions.

After our coffee and breakfast, we plan and strategize and pick our chores.  We do our best to occupy the children in another room so we can get things done.  However, with MY kids, they refuse to ever just go play - particularly if it's imperative for me that they do so.  As soon as they hear us turn on the sink, pull out the broom or hear the spritzing of Windex, they come running (that is to say if they weren't literally hanging off us already, which is most often the case).  I should not complain that the kids want to help, and I do my best to try to give them their own chores to do.  I try to satisfy them by giving them each a baby wipe when I have the Lysol wipes and ask them to clean up everything - and they do.  But 2 minutes into it, my son is asking for another one and my daughter is scrubbing her face with the same one she just used to wipe down the garbage can.  My son begs to wash dishes - but moments later, the whole area is flooded and his chair slides out from beneath him (or his sister pulls it out) leaving him dangling from the counter.  They want to sweep the floor so I give them each a broom and moments later they are wrestling because they both want the big broom - which is now being swung around through the struggle and almost crashing through the china cabinet!  So my point with this is that allowing the kids to "help" is good in theory, but it almost never allows me to get anything done, and almost always makes 10 times more work than there was before.

It's always about an hour in before we realize we should have thrown in the laundry first before doing anything else.  You think we would have learned by now.  Whoever is on laundry duty will struggle to open the laundry room door usually while holding too big a pile of clothes.  Random socks and underwear have been lost in the journey from the bedrooms down to the laundry room.  You could follow the trail of unmentionables straight to the washer.  Once in the laundry room, you realize there are still clothes in the wash from last time and now they stink.  Drop all these clothes on the floor and rewash what was in there.  By now we have -1 loads washed and it's nearly 11.  The living room is sort-of clean in spite of spending an hour in there.  The efforts to clean the hardwood floors are consistently hampered by children running through eating and spilling things even as I'm mopping.   The kitchen is looking ok, but that pile of papers and mail just keeps growing and I don't know if I even want to attempt it right now.  Surely that can wait until next week.  Tuck it away somewhere for now.

Now all we have to do is clean 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and the dreaded den.  The den is also the play room and in spite of it seeming like my kids never want to be out of my hair, they manage to absolutely destroy that place regularly.  We've spent many-a afternoon sorting and throwing away broken and unused toys.  We've bought containers and buckets for organizing, but it never seems to do any good in the long run.  You can't even walk through there, it's awful.  To further complicate matters, this is where the dog likes to have his "accidents".  Before I can even let the kids play down there, I have to first try my best to canvass the room and check for doo-doo.  He doesn't do this every day, he IS housebroken, but every now and again if he gets mad at us he will take care of his business.  Because this skeeves me SO badly, we have deep cleaned that carpet many many times and in the 5 years that we have lived there, we've gone through 3 carpets.  Even after it's clean, I just can't shake that icky feeling knowing that at one time there was poop there.

But anyway, we could get started on these rooms but now the kids are claiming to be starving and ready for lunch.  This is in spite of the fact that they had pancakes for breakfast, 18 refills each in their sippy cups and have had at least 30 snacks apiece.  We make lunch and get everyone at the table.  They barely touch it but still manage to make a huge mess.  Now the kitchen has to be cleaned again before we move on.  Whoops, forgot about the laundry.  Toss in a new load and dry the stuff that had been waiting in the wash for a week.

OK, I'm going to go clean the bathroom now.  But wait!  I'm out of ____________.   You can fill in the blank, but somehow there is always something that I need at that moment that I can't proceed without.  Husband volunteers to run to the store.  But if he's going to the store, I know he may as well pick up these other 45 items that we need.  My husband is very familiar with what is going on so as I get this together, he hits the couch with a nice cup of coffee and watches some show about building cars.  An hour and a half later, after checking sales circulars, clipping coupons, throwing out old coupons and checking our bank account online, I send him off with a list as long as my arm and 3 coupons.  He' going to have to go to two different stores though, because Shoprite has all this on sale, but Acme has meat 4 for $20.

The mess from the coupon sorting is all over the table, but that has to wait because the very moment he sets foot out the door, some ridiculous catastrophe happens.  Someone falls down the steps, swallows a lego or is bleeding, injured or in imminent danger in some shape or form.  After diffusing that, putting on ice and band-aids, wiping up the blood or sending everyone to their room (always futile effort) it's now time to switch the laundry again and bring up the clothes from the dryer.  Now the kids want to help again.  They are pulling the clean clothes from the basket and throwing them all over the floor.  I fight with them to leave the clothes alone, but they know daddy's not home and I can't possibly enforce with both of them at once so they take full advantage.  It takes me flipping out to get their attention.  They finally leave me alone and before I have 3 items folded, my daughter has stripped down and peed somewhere.  If I'm lucky enough that it's in the potty, I usually find out she's done so as I see her walking across the hallway with the full potty splashing all over the place on the way.  Now I have to clean all that up.

As I finally get the clothes folded, my husband is pulling up and it's going on 3pm.  I leave the folded clothes on the couch and go out to help him with the grocery bags.  The next 30 minutes will be spend putting away the groceries, fending off the children and making them Nutella snacks to get them out of the way.  We put the groceries away together as we listen to each others horror stories of what happened while he was gone - each believing ours was the worse scenario.  By now, the Nutella has been "accidentally" smeared on the walls and furniture from the kids having it all over their faces while climbing on the couches a-midst the piles of clean folded clothes.  I refold the clothes and get the piles upstairs in my room (to be be safely stored until they can be distributed later) just in time for my husband to bring up another load to be folded.

Seeing as how it's getting so late, we better think about what we are making for dinner.  Then the phone rings and someone says they are coming over.  I do a quick sweep of the house and with my arms full of the rest of the folded clothes and random items that I found laying all around the house, I dash up to my room to get changed out of my pajamas.  Although I feel strongly that your bedroom should be your sanctuary, I have yet to figure out how to accomplish that.  My bedroom is the catch-all storage room and laundry triage.  It's just insane.  With five people in this family, 2 of which make every meal an opportunity to destroy their clothes and one potty training, you cant begin to imagine the amount of clothes stored in my room.  I have baskets full of clean folded clothes* everywhere.  Anyway, I'll have to attempt my room later, I just don't want anyone to come in this house with it looking such a mess!!  By the time I get back downstairs, the guest has already arrived.  Imagine their surprise when they ask what we were doing today and we said we've been cleaning all day.  In spite of the work, this place still looks a wreck!!

In a flash it's time for dinner and it's a repeat of every other meal.  Everyone clamoring for food saying how hungry and thirsty they are and then sitting at the table making a mess.  Another huge mess to clean and it's now after 6pm.  The daylight is fading so we decide to catch at least a few minutes of light and go for a walk.  Best part of the day, hands down.  When our walk is through, we return home covered head to toe in mosquito bites and with the dinner mess still there.  Clean the kitchen for a third time, and it's getting late and we are tired.  We've only done about 3 or 4 of the 30 loads of laundry that needed to be done and both bathrooms, the den and 3 bedrooms have not been touched.  More than likely these rooms are even worse than they were this morning from the kids tearing the place up while we tried to clean.

In spite of our best efforts, we failed miserably once again at getting even close to caught up.  The laundry will have to be sorted again tomorrow because we just messed up the piles by moving them off the bed and onto the other piles that were waiting from last week.  In our defense, we passed out on the couch and it's now 2am - no one is going to be putting away laundry at that hour.  Maybe tomorrow before the 2 baby showers and 5 birthdays that we still haven't bought gifts for we might be able to try to pick back up where we left off.  I won't hold my breath.

*when I say "clean folded clothes", I mean these clothes had been cleaned and were at one time folded.  They were then placed in baskets to be put away but never were.  By the end of the week, the line between what is clean and folded and what is dirty gets increasingly blurred...and don't even get me started on socks.

Baby Girl is P!ssed

So, potty training is fun right?  As I remember it with my oldest, as soon as he turned two, I put him on the potty and said "you pee and poop on here now" and at that moment it was done.  No accidents or wet beds, no fancy pull-ups or struggles to convince him.  He took to it like a fish to water.  Well, I'm pretty sure that's how it went.  Someday when I'm on the shrink's couch and all the repressed memories are unleashed, perhaps I will learn otherwise.  Regardless, for now that's how I remember it and I'm choosing to stick to that memory.

My little ones on the other hand are a bit more difficult.  I remember my little boy using the potty to pee most of the time with the occasional accident.  Pooping was a different issue.  He refused, REFUSED to poop on the potty.  He much preferred to mess himself or just hold it in for days in some cases.  It wasn't good.  There were quite a few times that I sat in the bathroom with him, both of us in tears, pleading with him to please, for the love of God just poop!!  I knew he had to go.  HE knew he had to go.  Just the same, he clenched and pinched until he was off the toilet and then retired to his room to crap his pants.  Many times, he would have the "rabbit dropping" kind and it would just roll out of his shorts and he would go about his business.  I wonder how many times we screamed at the dog for doo-doo that wasn't his?  This could have been prevented by him wearing underwear, (the boy, not the dog) but to this very day he takes them off every chance he gets.  I don't understand it.  Maybe it's a boy thing.

It was difficult enough dealing with the frustration of it all, but I was pregnant with my daughter at the time so just cleaning up the messes was difficult.  Since I'm small, I carried HUGE with each child so even bending down to pick something up was practically impossible.  Fudge nuggets rolling out of shorts was something that was more than just disgusting, it was nearly impossible to clean up without a great deal of effort, discomfort and even pain.

I wanted this kid potty trained before my daughter was born and just before her birth, he finally broke down and pooped on the potty!  (Truth be told, I think it fell/was forced out accidentally while he was struggling to get off the potty and I was holding him on it).  It took just once or twice before he realized that pooping on the potty was not scary and not dangerous in any way.  At last we are on our way!!

Then my daughter was born.

After she arrived in our home, all bets were off.  For as much as he absolutely adored his baby sister, he definitely felt the sting of being bumped from the spot of top priority.  He completely reverted to not being potty trained at all.  All that work, struggle and tears was for nothing.  Eventually he came around obviously, but it was rough, let me just tell you.

Now it's my daughter's turn for potty training already.  She's doing very well actually.  Well, for the most part.  OK it sucks but some days are better than others.  She generally will tell me that she has to pee after she has already peed a little.  I won't yell at her for that, she's still learning and she finishes on the potty so that's not so bad.  We do go through probably 10 different outfits a day, but it is just part of the process.  I've given up on the Pull-Ups already.  First and foremost, they defeat the purpose because they are basically diapers with the added inconvenience of being damn-near impossible to put on.  Second, she takes them off faster than I can say "don't you DARE take off that Pull-Up".  Luckily, and unlike her brother, she get's totally disgusted when she is soiled in any way so that does seem to motivate towards the notion of going potty.  She will not tolerate sticky hands, crumbs on her feet, food on her face and most of all, messed pants.  If she has an accident, she walks in with this look of disgust and bordering on panic.  And when I say she "walks in" I mean she waddles with her feet as far apart as possible, knees slightly bent and hands up with fingers spread out, them waving around or shaking back and forth.  She just doesn't like it.

The other day I was bragging about how great she is doing.  I was a proud mama.  She's only just turned 2 so I'm pretty pleased all considering.  Then a few minutes later, I realized she was not playing in the den as I thought she was.  I heard her faint voice coming from upstairs.  It was slightly echoing...where the hell was she?  Oh My God, she's playing in the bathroom!! Eww!  I ran upstairs to drag her out and I found her soaked head to toe and proudly proclaiming "I peed!!".  She peed alright.  She stood on her step stool to play in the sink and then peed all over.  Considering she had just peed less than an hour prior, you can imagine my surprise to find that she let go of what appeared to be 10 gallons.  By the time I got up there, she was literally splashing in it!  She was smacking the step stool with her hands and making it splatter all over the bathroom and herself.  Her entire body including her face was splattered.  As her hair fell and stuck to her face, she used her dripping hands to slick it back. I called for help but in spite of the fact that there were five other people in the house, no one responded.  I ran across the hall to grab a towel to put her in the bath.  It took my only 1 second from the bathroom to her bedroom, yet that afforded her enough time to "paint" the toilet, floor and sink with the pee-pee hands!  My husband finally came upstairs as I was peeling her soaked clothes off and then he, for some reason, decided to move the only clean towel I had left from the spot that I placed it to right on top of the toilet seat that was dripping with pee.  Granted, he didn't realize the toilet seat was dripping with pee, but I'm still not sure what made him feel the need to move it at all.

I suppose it's all just a part of the joys of raising kids.  Some day when she's old enough to be embarrassed, I will read this to her.  Her reaction should give me some good future material.  Stay tuned for my blog entry, "Baby Girl is Pissed II" coming in 12 years.  Until then, I'll just have to keep everyone updated about the rest of the catastrophes that are sure to happen in the mean time.

Now if only I had read these advertisements, I'm certain all this could have been avoided!!

Microwaving Pot for Lunch: An Occupational Hazard

Work lunch.  It's always a problem for me.  I never have time to prepare the great American white bread sandwich, yet I never have money to buy anything either.  It's too long of a day to just starve so I usually end up bringing whatever was left over from last night, no matter how impractical - or in this case, stinky it may be.

In spite of my not liking to use the microwave, it's the only option here at work aside from eating your ravioli stone cold.  Like most employers, they don't provide us with full blown ovens.  We don't even have toaster ovens for that matter.  I've heard they are a hazard - some nonsense about burning the place down, I don't know.  I, for one, would be willing to take that chance rather than microwaving my grilled shrimp into pink rubber commas.

The microwave at work is radically different from the one I have at home.  At my house, to warm up a single chicken nugget, you would have to put it in for approximately 27 minutes.... and then turn it and put it back in for another 2 hours.  I told my son the rule of thumb is to read whatever the package suggests and multiply that time by 70.  Some may say it's time for a new microwave, but since we rarely use the thing I feel like I should keep it to get my money's worth.  I put out close to $70 for that thing at Bradlees 13 years ago.  It had better last another 10 years at least.

The work microwave, in stark contrast to my home microwave, seems to be super-powered.  In spite of it's reputation for being a safe and work friendly means of warming things, it still poses its own risks and hazards.  This thing here is so strong, you could put in a Thanksgiving turkey and a minute and thirty seconds later, that sucker is done.  (Imagine that, dinner in a buck thirty!  Maybe I should consider getting a new one at home!)  Popcorn routinely bursts into flames around here leaving behind the smell of charred butter for hours.  One poor soul tried to warm up a WeightWatchers cookie of all things, and it set off the alarm system.  The entire building had to be evacuated.  When we came back in, they were gracious enough to take the remains of the cookie out and demand to know who made it.  Poor lady just wanted a warm snack without being publicly humiliated. Guess that just wasn't her day.  So yea, you're taking your life into your hands just trying to warm up some grub around here.  And if the threat of fire wasn't enough, there's something even worse: the stinker uppers.

Working in a culturally diverse environment, lunch time affords us all the glory of smelling everyone's ethnic cuisines.  Problem is, even if it might have smelled good when they made it, it usually stinks up the joint when it's warmed up for lunch here.  The stinks vary from potent to unpleasant to downright offensive.  Since we are fabulous cooks in my house, I'm certain I have never perpetrated this assault on the senses the way others routinely do. Until today, that is.

Today I warmed up my grilled shrimp skewers left over from last night.  I knew the risks of microwaving shrimp, and I prepared myself.  I knew I would be in for a lot of chewing and potentially even having to chase down a bouncing shrimp in the likely event I lose control of the plate while walking.  But this time I was completely unprepared for the complication at hand.  It was the smell.  As it turns out, and believe me this is certainly news to me too, grilled shrimp when microwaved can take on an aroma that is not unlike that of marijuana.  Now I'm not saying all shrimp when microwaved will smell like an Occupy rally but something about how my shrimp was seasoned or something definitely seemed inspired by the infamous herb.

Working in a very professional and corporate environment, its really quite embarrassing to have hints of the ganga wafting out of your cube.  Bad enough I was hardly keeping my eyes open from a poor night's sleep last night.  If anyone walked by they would have seen me reclined in my chair with my eyes half closed, munching on shrimp at two in the afternoon and reeking of pot.  Who would have thought trying to have a nice low carb, high protien lunch could potentially paint me as the company stoner?

Whoops, I bought a car on accident.

Recently, I received a love letter in the mail from a local township in the form of a traffic ticket.  Needless to say, I was not happy.  I spent a few days ranting and raving about being a courteous and responsible driver and proclaiming that I didn't deserve the ticket before I finally decided I was going to take a stand.  I'm not just paying this ticket.  No sireee, I'm fighting it!  After all, how is it fair that I should have to pay $140 just because I didn't wait a full 3 seconds at a complete stop before making a right on red.  Who does that?  And this was onto Route 1.  In New Jersey.  I hate to tell you folks, but it you wait 3 seconds turning onto Route 1, you are missing your turn and facing possibly being punched in the face by the motorists behind you.

I called the court and said that I was pleading NOT GUILTY.  I hung up and felt rather confident in myself.  After all, I'm a 30-something mother of three and I drive a mini van for Pete's sake.  How much of a menace can I really be to society.  I mean, honestly.  This should be easy enough to fight, I have a clean driving record, I'm fully insured and all that.  I take care of these things.  Right?  Say, now that I'm thinking of it, I think I am due for something to be paid to Motor Vehicles.  Let me get that taken care of early to further prove how responsible I am.  Now where is that paper they sent?

Days later the registration form turns up in a pile of mail I'd been meaning to sort.  Eh, ooops?  My registration expired like 3 months ago.  But it's totally fine because I just paid it and it's now retroactive.  Whew.  Speaking of cars, I know I'm due for an oil change and I better get it soon because my inspection is due soon I think.  Lemme check.....yup!  Oil change is over 1,000 past due and it's throwing a check engine light now.  I won't pass inspection like that, I better make the appointment.

I bring my car in for an oil change and the guy makes a face when he sees how far over due I am.  Sorry dude, it's not even your car why do you care?  Also, I'm 9 days past my inspection date.  Oops again.  They ask me if there is anything else wrong with the vehicle that I would like them to look at.  Well yes, in fact.  There's a recall on it and on the dash I have a little wrench showing, a check engine light and another light indicating that my sliding door is broken.  This I knew - my first hint was when the door wouldn't open.  It's been like that for months. They start throwing out prices just to look at things and I start feeling sick.  Then they tell me they are out of loaners.

I'm glad I didn't make my car payment yet because now I'm going to have to pay a fortune just to have all this stuff fixed so I can take it through inspection and show up at the court house completely legal to probably still have to pay the $140 ticket anyway knowing my luck.  Then the guy that sold me the car found me there and said he wanted to talk to me because my van is in high demand (or some crap) and he thinks he can get me something better for the same price.  I have no intentions whatsoever of getting rid of this van. I need it for the kids.  It's completely practical.  And since I bought the thing, I've been counting down the minutes to when it would be paid off so I could get the hell out of driving a van!  "Only" 3 more years to go on this loan!

I figured, well I'm stuck here anyway and my iPhone is almost dead.  Better to BS about buying a car to pass the time than sit in the waiting room silently with my phone dead, right?  Well turns out he has this great deal all lined up.  Same payment per month but THIS van is only 3 years old and only has 30,000 miles.  I'm intrigued.  It's got all the bells and whistles, leather interior, power everything and - here's the clincher - a back-up camera!  That is the coolest!

Before I knew it I was signing papers and accidentally bought a new van.  I think it works out in the end.  I got to skip paying to have all that other crap fixed on the old one, skipped my car payment for this month and my next payment isn't due till the end of August!  All that for the same price I've already been paying.  Not too shabby.  Of course now I'm stuck with a van for the next 6 years.  But hey, I figure two years from now I can take this one in for service and accidentally buy something even nicer.  I think my husband might finally start volunteering to take my van for oil changes from now on!

Honey, call the coroner I have a gas pain!

As I sit here suffering through another major sporting event on television, my attention is diverted from the game by a mystery ailment.  I have this pain in my side that keeps "flaring up".  It just started tonight and will no doubt be gone by morning.  There's probably a 99.9% chance it's just a gas pain like always and although I know this, I still can't help but wonder if I'm actually dying of the sudden onset of a rare disease.

I refuse* to check WebMD because no matter what your symptoms - from hangnails to something in your eye - they'll have you believe you are looking death in the face and should rush to the ER pronto.  I'm pretty sure WebMD is actually run and sponsored by a partnership between cancer and anxiety.

Maybe there's just too much information available for those of us that are not trained to know such assumptions are ridiculous.  I am my own worst enemy when it comes to these things.  I want to know every detail, possibility and cause no matter how rare or unlikely.  I then use this information to decide which would be the worst possibility and then I diagnose myself with that.

As I mentioned, I have a pain in my side and I'm pretty certain it's just a digestive side-effect. However, I can't help but think that I could be playing host to a giant parasite or that my liver has spontaneously ruptured.  I have to convince myself that these scenarios are not likely, but then anxiety kicks in and I now believe I feel other symptoms supporting my theory.

The anxiety then starts giving my chest pains.  Gripping my side, I think to myself that the last thing I need right now is a heart attack because this parasite is just going to go to town on my ruptured liver while I'm in a weakened state.  That very thought scares me to the point that I'm now getting the sweats and and having heart palpitations.  Is this numbness in my left side normal?  Surely it would have nothing to do with me leaning on that arm the whole time I'm typing this.  It's probably a stroke.  I better tell my husband what's going on because if I fall out, he can tell the paramedics that I stroked out during a heart attack brought on by a ruptured liver and a giant parasite.  Can you imagine how long it would take them to figure all that out without being told?  I could be dead by then.  Better not take the chance.  I fully expect to get a major eye roll and probably an "Oh Gawd" from him but better safe than sorry right?

*by "refuse" I mean I will likely go check before I finish typing this sentence.

Best Sunday Ever

WARNING: To my dear husband, this one will be of no interest to you.  In fact, you probably shouldn't read it at all.  It's all about unicorns and sewing and pink stuff and girl problems.  Nothing for you to see here.  Please go on about your life.  Thanks.

Is he gone?  OK.  So Sunday I wanted to strangle that man I love. (By the way, if you are tuning in to read about unicorns and sewing and pink stuff, I'm sorry to dissapoint.)  Now back to the story of wanting to kill my beloved.  First off, (men cover your ears) I had a raging case of PMS.  I was miserable to begin with so my tolerance for anything more frustrating than a Swedish massage and a bottle of wine was going to set me off.  That being said, you will begin to understand and appreciate my homicidal rage that began to build a week ago.

MONDAY
My husband and I decided to make no plans for this weekend because we really needed to get caught up with house stuff.  It had been weeks, maybe even months since we had a weekend that wasn't completely jam-packed with events, parties and commitments.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy getting together with friends and family as frequently as possible but my house has been neglected.  It can't wait any longer, so I was happy my husband agreed with me on this.  No plans this weekend.  Period.  [insert affirming head-nod here]

TUESDAY
Oh no, we forgot about that big soccer game this Sunday.  My husband did tell me a while ago that he would be going with his friends to watch the game.  That's fine, no big deal I guess.  I'll try to get as much done as possible while home alone with the kids.  Let's hope they cooperate.  (for the first time in their lives.)  

WEDNESDAY
Damn, I checked my son's soccer schedule and this is the weekend that he has a game on both Saturday AND Sunday!  Well that figures.  It's irritating but maybe it might be a nice break from all that cleaning.  I just hope the hubby will still be home to help get everyone ready and to the game on time.  I'm starting to stress out about Sunday and it's only Wednesday.  Not a good sign of things to come.

THURSDAY
My husband's phone rings and as a matter of necessity, he took the call outside.  My children don't allow for phone calls - they are so loud and demanding as it is, and they really amp it up when we get on the phone.  Very annoying.  When he returns inside, I'm then informed that "we" are going to babysit my nieces and nephew on Sunday - conveniently the same time that he will be out of the house watching the game.  Now I don't mind watching them, I love them and my Sister-in-Law always watches my kids when I ask, so that's not the issue here at all.  It just would have been nice if he asked me first considering he wouldn't even be home and that we had made a pact to not agree to anything this weekend.  Needless to say, I was not too pleased with him at this point.

skip ahead to SUNDAY
Got up early and started tackling the housework.  My husband did the laundry while I did the floors.  Speaking of doing the floors, what is it with kids and animals that makes them magnetize to a floor being cleaned?  The moment I put the broom to the floor, everyone flocked like the messiah was there.  First the cats had to walk through, then my teenager suddenly awoke from his hibernation and right on schedule the little ones simultaneously stopped playing and ran into the living room to walk through the pile of dust I had just swept up.  The parade continued the whole time I mopped, I just don't get it.

Anyway, before I knew it, it was 11 o'clock and my son's game was at 1.  Better get a move on with this cleaning.  Then my husband's phone rings...I hear him talking to someone and saying "yeah, come over around 4:30...".  I tried to remain calm as my blood began to boil.  Maybe he was referring to another day?  NOPE.  Trying my best to contain my fury, I barked out "who was that!?".  He replied cheerfully, "Oh it was so-and-so, remember I told you they were coming over today?"  Do I remember?  No I sure DO NOT remember that!  And you know how I know?  Because I don't remember flipping out about it.  I think I would have remembered that.  I have nothing against these people coming over at all, it's just inviting them over when we A: agreed to not make plans, B: when you aren't even going to be home, C: when I will already have six kids in the house by myself, D: while trying to finish all the cleaning and laundry and E: when we have no food in the house to even feed ourselves.  Nope, I don't remember agreeing to that.  Sorry.

I stormed out of the room to take out my frustration by bleaching the sh!t out of the bathroom.  I didn’t get it cleaned and me showered fast enough so my husband had to take my son and leave without me so the little guy could make it to his game on time.  I got out of the shower as fast as I could and found my husband hadn't dressed my daughter, and my clothes were still in the wash.  I found a shirt with a rip in it and put back on my "cleaning jeans".  Got the baby ready and I'm about to dash out the door.  Hopefully I can catch the second half of the game.  Wait, what's that smell?  Of course, of COURSE we have a stinky diaper on my way out the door!!!  Take care of that and off we go.  I'll be happy to catch the last 25 minutes at this point!  The road to the soccer field is a single lane for about 5 miles at least.  I had to get behind the slowest a-hole in the tri-state area.  I'm missing the kid's game.

I follow this same van into the parking lot at the soccer field.  We get most of the way in when they decide to stop in the middle of the lot and block anyone from passing.  The passenger wanted to be dropped off, but I guess they had to finish their chat in the car first.  She finally emerges and stops to take a nice sip of her coffee before gently closing the door.  Next she takes a moment to adjust her outfit and then continues on to opening the sliding door.  Come on lady!!!  Move it!!  At this point I'm yelling, throwing my hands up and hitting the steering wheel like a lunatic.  Oblivious to anyone or anything else, she opens the side door, and takes her time putting the kid's shoes on now!  Why not, there's not a line of cars stuck behind you!  Kids finally out, she closes the door and I'm ready to gun it.  Not so fast, now she casually strolls around to the back and rummages through to find her chair.  Is she kidding me!!??  I'm flipping out at this point and she's completely OK with holding everyone up.  Apparently she sees no urgency whatsoever.  I hate this woman!

I missed the whole game with the exception of the last 5 minutes.  Truth be told, I haven’t been able to watch a single game all season because my daughter uses this time to run onto the field, bolt into the woods, find all the dogs and pet them and try to steal other kids' juice boxes when they aren't looking.  Oh well, at least I made it on time to help pack up and leave.

As we walk from the field to our van, my son is getting more and more excited about us going to Yogurt Land.  Problem is, we aren't going to Yogurt Land.  No, instead today we are going food shopping!  Needless to say, he was not thrilled.  My husband headed off for his game so I had to take both kids to the food store with me, and it was a nightmare.  They wanted everything, my son was running around and not listening to me and my daughter was pulling things off the shelves and screaming the whole time.  And I mean that literally - as in actually just screaming, not crying. Even worse was that within one minute of walking in, my son had to pee.  I had to make him hold it, there was nothing I could do!  He almost peed his pants, but I raced through the store and rushed home as fast as I could.  By now, an hour has passed since he first complained that he had to go, poor kid.

We pull up to the house and I let him out of the van first so he could run in and take care of his business.  I assumed he was inside already when I opened the back door to the van and a bag falls out, dumping cherry tomatoes all over the ground.  I look up to see my son with a very worried look on his face while doing the pee-pee dance and still struggling to open the front door.  I try not to step on the tomatoes that are now rolling down the driveway as I dash to the porch to help him out.  This triggers my daughter to start screaming because once again, she thinks I'm leaving her forever.  I pick up the tomatoes, take my daughter out and carry the groceries inside.  Once inside my son picks up the little container of tomatoes and again they go everywhere - all over my floors that I just cleaned.

At this point, I'm ready to just go into a fetal position and start crying.  I can't take another ounce of aggravation, I just can't!  Then a text message comes through my phone....

Husband: "I called and told them not to come" (proud to proclaim that he's handled the situation)
Me: "are....you...effing....KIDDING me?????????????????" (the rest kind of went blurry, I think I might have lost it at that point)

I had just gone through hell and back at the food store with these kids and now he tells me he cancelled???  I just spent the bill money buying fancy food to make a good first impression and you told them not to come!!???  I don't know that I've ever been so mad in my life.  (that's a lie, but it had been a while).  Oh, and the kids weren't coming over either.  All of this torture had been for nothing.

*Disclaimer:  Now that the searing rage has subsided, it's important to add that my husband is a wonderful, loving, caring, thoughtful man who would never do any of this on purpose.  He's very well-intentioned and pulls his weight around the house.  He just didn't realize what he was doing, so I don't hold it against him and he shouldn't be judged upon his actions on this day.  Also, I love my nieces and nephew to pieces so I welcome them in my home always -even if I am having a bad day.  

The Macaroni Salad Massacre

As mentioned before, I grew up with divorced parents.  When I speak of "my mom's house" I actually mean my uncle's house (which had formerly been my grandmother's house).  When my grandfather passed away, my grandmother moved to California and  my uncle turned the place into a bachelor pad when they guys all came home from Vietnam.  Then when I was barely two, my parents split and with no where else to go, my mom turned to her only brother and we all moved in and never left.

In addition to me and my sister, there were plenty of other kids tearing around his house because the other "bachelors" in the house had kids too.  In the early years on weekends there were upwards of six kids taking over the small Cape Cod that tried desperately to maintain it's "Bachelor Pad" feel.  In addition to all those kids, there were 4 adults living in the house and everyone always had friends over - and those friends all had kids too.  I can't believe the walls never exploded from the pressure of all the people inside.

I can't imagine tolerating that kind of mayhem.  It was always loud, someone was always crying and we were always ALWAYS running and/or screaming.  Just imagine living with that constantly without ever even having had kids.  Think of what it is like at a kid's birthday party.  As much as we all smile and pretend it's wonderful, you know you can not wait to get the hell out of there and go as fast and as far as humanly possible.  Unfortunately for most of us, we will only get as far as the next state before someone calls and ruins all the fun by saying "hey, um, you forgot your kids here."

In spite of it all my Uncle, never having had children of his own, treated us very much like we were his children and still does today.  My kids are more like his grand kids than his great niece and nephews.  However, as much as he loved us kids, he still had a low tolerance for nonsense.  That was rather unfortunate for him.  The poor guy was up against a lot.  This is the same uncle I had mentioned before in my "How Styrofoam Peanuts Almost Claimed Our Lives".  (if you have yet to read it, you should go do it right now!)  I was, and still am today for the most part, very silly, very enthusiastic and very clumsy.  These things don't often blend well with someone who likes things to be orderly and controlled.  Don't get me wrong, he is a lot of fun and has a great sense of humor - but I didn't really know that until I became an adult.

As the years went on, the bachelor pad slowly evolved into what we remember as home.  It still remained my uncle's house so he expected us to play by his rules.  The rules were pretty simple: don't touch anything; the living room TV was off limits when he was home from work; the decor was to remain as he intended - minimal, mismatched and awful; and the brown barrel cup in the dish drain was to remain in the dish drain and never to be used.  That was his cup, reserved for when he stopped in on his lunch break to use the bathroom and quench his thirst for 1 ounce of tap water in his unwashed barrel cup.

I wish I could remember all the times that we probably made him want to just abandon all of his belongings and split town in the night.  Especially after watching over us while our mother wasn't home.  This didn't happen frequently, and it was mostly when we were older - say, 7-10 years old.  He still always underestimated what he was agreeing to I'm sure.

One time under his care, while he sat in the living room watching The Three Stooges on his recliner, I decided I should make macaroni salad.  And why shouldn't I?  I saw my mom do it a thousand times!  No reason I shouldn't be allowed to boil and drain pasta unattended.  I remember vividly his repeated attempts to stop me, "Nah, Nah, just wait till  your mother gets home" were interrupted by me assuring him "It's OK, I know how to do it!"  I was so chipper about it and confident in myself.  I didn't even consider listening to him, because surely he didn't know what he was talking about.  I suppose he gave up because after a while "Nah" turned into "don't make a mess".

As I continued on completely disregarding his orders, I wondered how much of each ingredient should I use?  I decided two pounds of elbow macaroni should suffice.  I almost overflowed the boiling water, but it was OK because it was an "almost" and Uncle Tom didn't know about it.  While the pasta cooked, I cut up the olives and such.  I'm not sure how I didn't cut off a finger tip.  Now I had to decide how best to drain this pasta.  I don't even remember how I did it without being admitted to the burn unit (again), but I managed.  I did, however, overflow the colander and fill half the sink with the excess macaroni.  But again, it was OK because Uncle Tom was none the wiser.

With the exception of his repeated demands to not make a mess, he did not concern himself with my efforts.  He didn't come to make sure I didn't burn myself, cut myself or make a mess.  Either he just gave up, or decided I was old enough to handle it like I claimed.

All the ingredients had now been mixed in, but the kitchen was a disaster.  I tried to tidy as best I could by picking up from the counter, table, floor and sink most of the great excesses of pasta that wouldn't fit into the ginormous bowl.  I was so excited to present my creation that I dismissed any further intentions to clean up and proudly proclaimed that it was done!  He didn't really care, but I was so proud that I insisted he come see for himself.  He refused.  I responded with I'll bring it to you then.  Clearly irritated by my pestering he starts shifting around in his seat and says "Nah, nah just leave it, just leave it, I'll see it later, I'll see it later" (he always says everything twice).  I couldn't wait for later, so I picked up the huge bowl and headed for the living room.

As I turned the corner and into his view I saw his face light up with alarm.  "WHAT THE HELL DID I TELL YOU??!! JUST LEAVE IT IN THERE!!".  Ever oblivious, I kept right on walking and brought it to show him anyway.  He was not at all impressed and ordered me to return it to the kitchen.  As I turned to walk away, now clearly angry, he went to a raised voice and said "YOU'RE GOING TO SPILL IT!".

At that exact moment, before I could even get out my chipper, sassy "No I'm not!" I tripped over his stupid plastic runners he kept on the floor to protect the new carpet.  I kid-you-not when I tell you that right then, the world actually went into slow motion.  When I recount this part of the story, I feel as though as I am seeing it from the eyes a witness, instead of through my own eyes.  My sister's face is slowly morphing into a mix of shock, horror and "told you!".  My Uncle's arms are raising as he is slowly beginning to flip out while he struggles to get upright in the recliner.  It was too late though.  No sense in getting up now.  As my trip launched me into flight, the bowl escaped my grasp and thrust ahead.   It hit the wall and macaroni salad exploded into a three foot radius around me.

Slow motion snaps back to real time as I look at the olive slices and macaroni sliding down the stereo speakers.  My sister darted off like a squirrel who has been acknowledged by a human.  I'm on the floor slumped over an empty bowl and covered in mayonnaise.  My Uncle was loosing it "Jesus Christ!  Jesus Christ!!  I TOLD you NOT to bring it in here!!  Didn't I!?  DIDN'T I!!??".  It did not faze me in the least because I was laughing SO HARD that I could barely maintain consciousness.  I didn't dare turn around and look at him.  I just stayed on the floor and scooped the macaroni salad from behind the TV and all over the floor.  I tried hard to keep my shoulders from bouncing so he wouldn't detect my hysterical but mostly silent fit of laughter.  I wonder if he thought the little noises that escaped were me crying?  I surely hope so.  All these years later, I still get a laugh and bit of gratification when I serve him macaroni salad.

Ahhh Childhood...

As a parent, hearing your children laugh is one of the most wonderful and joyous sounds you can ever hear.  Even if it's past 11pm and you are at the end of your rope trying to get them to sleep.  My son was laughing SO HARD in his room last night that I just had to go in there and see what all the fuss was about.  He tried to tell me what was so funny, but he was laughing so hard that he couldn't even get the words out.  My heart swells at these moments.  I know just how he is feeling, because to this very day I do that same thing.  I laugh until I can't breath.  It's awesome, and I'm so happy that I've passed that on to my children.

In case you are wondering what he was laughing about, here is the YouTube video of the episode of Pocoyo that had him dying  I just watched it myself and at about the 1:50 mark, I lost it too.  That kid knows funny when he sees it!  *note: I think it might be even funnier if you watch with the sound turned off, but I'm still undecided.

When we were kids we did a lot of laughing too.  The difference with my kids and us as kids is that we had zero interest whatsoever in what our parents were doing.  My kids want to be up my ass and under each step.  We would make our own fun and used to have a blast with each other no matter what the situation.  Whether it be with the unsupervised antics at my father's with my extremely hyper-active younger brother or the pure and wholesome good times we had at home just being imaginative kids.  

The best thing that ever happened to our family was when my step-brother got a camcorder as a gift.  That was a pivotal moment in all of our lives.  We went from making our own fun with common household things to essentially having the first known reality show.  My step-brother filmed everything.  EVERYTHING.  From fully-planned movies that we all had a role in to just riding in the car to the food store.  Sometimes we found it annoying, but today we really cherish it - no matter how embarassing.  Actually, I would never let anyone watch these videos, we prefer to cherish them when it's just us watching.

Him getting that camcorder must have been the best thing in our parents lives too.  They went from having four crazy kids (plus the baby) tearing the place up and fighting, to four crazy kids (plus the baby) tearing the place up and fighting but on camera.  How is this any different?  I'll tell you.  Later on in the day after hours of footage, we would all sit in the living room and watch our videos.  At first they would resist turning off Cheech & Chong but then they would reluctantly allow us to show the movies as they opened all the windows so we wouldn't get contact highs. (hey! it was the early 80s!  don't judge!!)  Our movies always seemed to prove way funnier to them than even the movie they turned off.  We were some funny bastards, I have to admit.

Our favorite was to record recurring episodes of "The Tower News". As the name would imply, it was a full newscast that we would do.  We would either make up stories or pull them from Mad Magazines and then we would report from the news desk and conduct interviews on the street.  (literally)  We would dress up as characters and do voices as the people being interviewed.  We even had a weather man.  Those old bell bottoms and disco wear from my Uncle's closet sure came in handy.  

In addition to our countless news episodes, we must have done 50 versions of "twins" movies; the clever camera tricks making it appear we all had a twin in the house.  Another one was filming the TV as a show was running and my step-brother doing his own voice overs.  Though there was always that one jerk that would have to cry or walk in talking loud and ruin the scene.  

Times were good.  Sure we grew up poor, but he had a blast.  We didn't have a ton of toys, but what we had we loved.  Of our modest collection, our top seven favorite things were as follows: 

1. A puppet show stand with various puppets from Mr. Rogers.  

King Friday XIII

and this Creep (aka Lady Elaine Fairchild)

2. We had the Muppets Stick Puppets - without the sticks of course.  

I think we only really had Fozzie and Rowlf

3. We had the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine (naturally - everyone had this)

Good for one intended use...
then used for grinding down rocks outside

4. We didn't need nice bikes; we had a Krazy Kar - this was our absolute favorite next to #5 on this list

best thing ever invented

5. We for darn sure didn't need a fancy club house - we used a pile of bricks in the yard to outline where the walls in our fake house was when we played house.

Pile o' bricks

6.  We even derived great happiness from these common household items:

(file photo - we didn't display ours on the mantle)

<3 feet bowl <3

The Moo Cow Creamer
- that I only just now found out once had a head

7. And of course the legendary camcorder:

pretty sure this is the exact model
you had to carry around an entire full size VCR in a shoulder bag

We didn't need anything but each other (and the above items) to have a great childhood.  In hearing my own children laugh together, even if its amid a sea of fancy new toys, I am still very happy to see them having fun in it's simplest form.  They seem to be following in our footsteps in finding the joys of childhood in each other.  If they have even half the fun memories we do from our childhood, then I've succeeded as a parent.

Just Another Day at my Father's House

I was a child of divorce.  Boo-hoo for me?  Nope.  It was kinda cool.  There was always something interesting happening.  My mom raised me, but we would visit with my father on many weekends and sometimes spend a week or more in the summer.  It was a completely different environment than the one at home.  The only similarity was that there was always a certain level of chaos at all times.

Being a kid at my dad's house was fun.  There was always minimal supervision and my younger brother was nothing short of a raging maniac.  He was the kid with tell-tale laugh that let you know you were probably in immediate danger.  His idea of fun was defying death at every moment possible.  The kid was scary.  Had it not been for the Candy Land box top that I used as a shield, I might have been dead from the time he tried stabbing me to death with a grill fork.  We were almost killed every weekend actually.  

Sometimes it would be the very joys of life that almost killed us.  Anyone who was ever a kid in a two story house has gotten on their belly and slid all the way down the stairs for fun.  We were no exception and the severe rug burn was well worth it.  This was especially fun when you lived in a Trenton row house where the stairs were so steep that it was more of a deluxe ladder than a flight of stairs.  My brother loved sliding down the stairs just as much as the next kid.  Probably more than the next kid actually.  He always added a little flair to his slides.  For instance, he would routinely slide while one of us was still trying to walk down.  You can't imagine the mix of shock and pain that comes from quietly descending the stairs one second and the very next second being swept air born by a 5 year old doing 90 mph under your feet.  That part is a joy compared to how it feels when you land - on your tailbone - and then proceed to tumble down another 9 steps.  The pain is secondary to getting the wind knocked out of you.  If you've never experienced this phenomenon - lucky you; it's not pleasant.

I'll never forget the fun we did have when we weren't staring death in the face.  This one time we pretty much defined the phrase "all hell breaking loose".  My Dad, Step mom and neighbors were sitting on the porch.  (That's what people in Trenton used to do every night before they had to fear being shot).  While they were on the porch, we took full advantage of the fact that we were not at all being supervised.  

My brother immediately hit the fridge.  He took out a piece of pizza and climbed onto the counter to put it in the microwave.  He was only about 5 years old, so he had to be crafty to reach things.  Lucky for him he was like a spider monkey and could scale anything.  When I saw him putting the pizza in the microwave, I repeated what I had been told before.  "Don't microwave pizza - it will make it like rubber."  Intrigued, he looked at me and said "rubber?" and I (shouldn't have) said "yea, like bouncy - you could bounce it off the wall!".  And so in the microwave it went - as he laughed his insane laugh the whole while.  I did nothing to stop him because it actually seemed like a fun time to me too.  I knew he would be the one getting in trouble for it, not me so what the hell, let's give it a go.  We had to find out if it was really true!  

We excitedly awaited the beep that signaled the pizza was done and our experiment could begin.  He grabbed the pizza out of the microwave and ran to the dining room so quickly I almost missed the whole thing.  As I ran in to witness, I saw the pizza hit the wall up near the ceiling - sauce side to the wall.  My brother almost couldn't take it.  He was laughing so hard I thought I was going to have to call for help.  We had hoped it would slide down the wall so we could get it before the parents caught us but it wasn't budging.  I had a great idea!  I got a water gun, filled it up and started shooting the wall above the slice.  My thinking was that this would rinse it down the wall.  I proved my theory as it slid down and landed sauce side down on the carpet.  That was a complication that I did not think of.  Nor did I think of the sauce streak that would remain down the wall.  All the water shooting I did trying to clean up the sauce just made it worse.  As I realized I was not going to fix this, my brother threw the pizza back onto the wall again.  I had no time to be concerned with any of this because I had another great idea!  

While my brother moved on to driving his Big Foot R/C truck around the house, I moved on to the kitchen for my next great plan.  I thought, in my infinite wisdom, that if I shoot out the ceiling fan in the kitchen enough with the water gun, the fan blades would be wet enough to simulate rain.  Great idea right??  It sure was NOT a great idea.  Within minutes I would learn why.  Meanwhile, my brother's R/C truck had moved on from driving around the house to "peeling out" on my sister's bare back.  As she screamed a horrific scream, I learned why squirting the ceiling fan was a bad idea.  If everyone did not know this, I will tell you that I've learned that cold water on hot light bulbs is a terrible combination.  The light bulbs exploded and I was sprayed with the broken glass.  I was bleeding from literally thousands of tiny cuts from head to toe.  

I'm not sure if it was my sister's blood curdling scream, the sound of the light bulbs exploding or if he just had to take a leak, but my father finally decided to come into the house.  When he walked in I don't think he could ever have been prepared for what he found.  It took him a few seconds for it to all register.  Finally he bellowed "What the F**K is going ON in here!!!!????"  As my father scanned the room, he found things that I guarantee no other house witnessed before.  In the living room my sister was still being attacked by a baby monster truck driven by my brother who was laughing while she screamed.  A big red stain on the carpet was below a dripping wall with a sauce streak and pizza slowly creeping down.  Then emerging from a dark kitchen there is me...squirt gun still in my hand, arms out and covered head to toe with specks of blood.  I guess I should refer back to these moments when I think my house is out of control.