Thanksgiving, My Way

Every year I host Thanksgiving.  Every year there is at least one point in the day that I teeter on the brink of insanity and proclaim that I will never ever do this again.  This year was no exception.

This year's crowd was to be a small one.  My mom, step-dad, brother and uncle would be joining my family of five for the main feast and then I was expecting appearances by a few other family and friends through out the course of the day.  I was really looking forward to a great day and I'm happy to report that for the most part, my expectations were met.  But as I'm sure you know, nothing every just happens for me without some sort of issues.

For quite a few years, I have been trying hard to shatter my image of always being a day late and a dollar short. I think because of this image (that I consistently reinforce, never by any fault of my own of course) that people believe that I just don't try hard enough or don't care enough.  This couldn't be further from the truth.  If anyone could just walk in my shoes for one day, they would learn that random and ridiculous things happen routinely that derail even my best laid plans.  In this case, one of the first derailments was that my paycheck refused to come early.  Sure payday is Friday, but Thanksgiving is THURSDAY.  I held off shopping because I was praying my pay would come on Wednesday for no reason whatsoever.  I think maybe this happened in years past so I was really expecting it again.  Maybe I remembered incorrectly because for darn sure it didn't happen this year.  Thank goodness I got worried enough to break down and buy all the food on my credit card Tuesday night.

At 9pm after a busy morning rushing the kids out the door, a long day of work, a traffic-filled commute home, feeding the kids dinner, cleaning it up and getting them off to bed, it was now time to go food shopping.  My excitement was just bursting from my bones and it showed.  I walked out the front door bidding my husband farewell as if I never expected to return.  The expression on my face was that of exhaustion and resentment.  He smiled contently and offered a cheery "bye babe!" as he laid comfortably on the couch in front of the fireplace watching TV.  I was not a happy camper.

I arrive at the food store and find much to my surprise that it wasn't crowded at all.  Maybe this won't be so bad.  I'll zip through and work off my list.  I should be out of here in no time.  I found only a few items were sold out so I could just run to another store for that.  No big deal.  With most of the items from my list gathered, I went to select my turkey.  I was worried that the frozen turkey wouldn't defrost on time, but since frozen was the kind you get for free, frozen was the kind for me.

I pick up a nice turkey and decided it should be good enough.  I was looking for one that was 16 pounds, but this 17 pound one should be just fine.  The nice guy working there saw me going in for the double-check and asked if I needed help.  I should have just said no, but instead I said "well, I kinda wanted a 16-pound turkey, but..." and just like that he said, "I'll go check in the back" and he darted off.  A moment later I thought to myself "you know, 16 pounds might be too small anyway".  But what kind of jerk leaves when the guy is in the back trying to help you!  I waited and waited for him to come back.  Where the hell do they store the rest of the turkeys!??  I'm sure he's gone off site to check.  He finally comes back nearly 10 minutes later and offers up a turkey the exact size I requested.  I thanked him of course, but now what?  I already have the turkey that I really do want in my cart.  I put the second turkey on top and walked away wondering how to ditch the spare.  After a few minutes, I saw he walked away and I hurriedly dropped the unwanted turkey into my kid's arms and ordered him to hurry up and put this back before the guy sees!  We got away with it.

Things seemed to be going pretty smoothly for once...that is if you don't count the part about me being in tremendous pain.  I don't know what was going on, but something was making me have to stop every few steps doubled over in abdominal pain.  It hurt so badly that I was getting dizzy and I actually considered talking to my teenager about what to do if I collapse or cough up blood.  It was bad.  Real bad.  But I had to press on for the sake of Thanksgiving.

I get to the register and find that I have chosen the cashier that wants to discuss her life story with the very clearly uninterested lady in front of me.  I just want to get the hell out of here already and I'm sure the lady in front of me felt the same.  I loaded my goods onto the checkout counter and told the cashier to ring up the food first so I could get my free turkey coupon and then ring that up next.  She kindly complied and then kindly informed me that I was short of earning a turkey.  "By how much?" I ask, thinking that I could just grab a few more items.  Yea, I was $90 short of a free turkey.  Great.  Now that I realize I will be paying for my turkey, I figure I may as well get the freshie.

I lug this big frozen seventeen-pounder all the way back to the frozen turkey pit - conveniently located at the opposite end of the store.  I head over to the fresh turkey case, ready to start digging but my efforts are met with some lady who seems to be staking claim of the whole bin.  She stood right in the middle and was just standing there browsing but not touching a thing.  There were only a few left to chose from, so I imagined she shouldn't take long.  Ever polite, I try to browse around off to the side until she's through.  Alright, she's clearly here for the long-haul so I'm going to have to get in there at some point.  I offer a pleasant "excuse me" as I stand beside her trying to get in.  She doesn't budge.  In fact, she ignores me entirely.  At this point, every fiber of my being is screaming "throw a turkey at her face!" but I took the high road and restrained myself.  Instead I just leaned into her as I reached for the turkey that she quite obviously was preparing to pick up.  Too bad lady, you should have been nicer.  Happy Thanksgiving to you now with your sub-standard turkey.

Quite content with my selection, I carry this one all the way through the store and back to the register.  My teenager now practically laying on the cart in boredom, musters up the energy to pick his head up and acknowledge that I'm back.  As I'm standing waiting my turn in line again, I noticed that there is a puddle next to me on the floor.  I though, "gee, someone should clean that up before someone slips.  How do you just leave a puddl-" wait as second - that's my turkey bleeding out all over the floor!!!!!  I look down and find that my favorite wool sweater is also covered in the bloody rue.  Just great.  I slam the bird up on the checkout and inform her of the "spill" over there.  I didn't feel the need to mention who did it considering the evidence was all over me.  Unless she thought perhaps I had stopped to murder someone while shopping, I'm pretty sure she knew I was responsible.

As the turkey juice dried on my hands, they became increasingly sticky.  I still had to reach into my purse for my card, sign the receipt and get my keys, gagging all the while.  Everything was getting stuck to my hands and I was grossed out to the max.  At least the shopping is done.

The night before Thanksgiving is when I realized that my turkey pan was gone.  It had disappeared into thin air.  Just vanished off the face of the Earth.  As if it just grew legs and walked away.  Certainly someone at some point had broken into the house and stolen my turkey roaster.  This was not good.  I told my husband of this issue and he assured me not to worry because he would pick one up tomorrow morning.  At this point, I was much too tired to question whether this was a solid plan so I accepted it and went to bed.

Thanksgiving morning rolled around fast.  My husband was up and out the door before I knew it.  Let me back up for a second.  About a week ago, my husband reminded me that he would again be participating in what is referred to as "The Turkey Parmesan Bowl".  You see, every year he and his buddies that he rarely sees the rest of the year, get together and play soccer on Thanksgiving morning.  It's probably the only day of the year that he plays a sport any more and one guy comes in only once a year from Italy to visit family and partakes in this annual event they've created.  They love it.  It's a tradition.  Traditions are nice.  Soccer is nice.  Being a part of something is nice.  Getting together with buddies is nice.  Doing it on THANKSGIVING of ALL DAYS is not nice for your wife when she's home alone with 3 kids and cooking enough food to feed a small village.  As always, I will come to my husband's defense and say he really doesn't go out and do much and rarely does he ever play soccer any more so I do feel bad to make a big deal out of it even though I can't help but want to.  It's just such bad timing.  BUT being the wonderful and supportive wife that I am, I wish him the best and remind him to stretch.  As he leaves, I smile and wave as I suppress the intense frustration I feel boiling up inside.  I manage not to accidentally say "Hey jerkoff, I hope you pull a groin muscle".

Back to that roasting pan - yea, I still don't have one.  The hubs assured me he would pick it up on his way home and they should be done around 10 or 10:30 am.  I have no choice in the matter now so let me start cooking everything else I have.  I put the parade on for the kids and then begin my tireless efforts to divert their attention to the parade on TV.  As I'm ranting and raving about how great the parade is and pointing out the various balloons, they barely even look up to see that big Garfield that I am freaking out about.  Surely I'm not that into Garfield any more, but it's all I could do to make them think it was something they shouldn't miss.  It's just that I loved the parade as a kid - that whole feeling of smelling the food cooking and watching the parade, I want to share that warm memory and feeling with my kids.  Problem is, they clearly don't give a rat's ass about this parade or anything else I have to say.  I gave up and switched my focus to the fact that it's now 10:45 am and there is no roasting pan in my hand.  I call my husband's cell phone and there's no answer.  Of course.  It's always when things are most urgent that phone calls go unanswered.  According to the label and weight of the turkey, I would have to get this sucker in the oven before 11am if we wanted to eat by 4pm.  It's coming dangerously close and I'm getting nervous.

I finally get in touch with my husband and they are still in full-on game mode.  Not even close to finishing up.  When I reminded him that it's Thanksgiving and I have this turkey sitting here just begging to be roasted and that he told me he would get me a roasting pan and be done by around 10 or 10:30, I was basically told that he never said that.  The roasting pan part was true, he knew he had to get that but evidently we have PLENTY of time left because he can't understand why I'm freaking out.  Also, he can't understand where I got this false information about him being home by 10:30am.  He explained in the gentlest way possible that there was no way he would be home that early.  I then rebutted ever-so-kindly that he did in fact tell me that, and this was the only thing that kept me from bugging out about the whole thing last week when he told me he was going.  (by "gently" and "ever-so-kindly" I mean we snapped at each other in the nastiest and most sarcastic way possible, just shy of name calling and spiking the phone on the ground).

I had no choice but to go to Plan B - which included calling my sister and bitching about the whole morning not going right.  I also called my mother, my brother and everyone I know.  Well, not everyone - probably just those 3.  Luckily, my sister was nice enough to bring me a roasting pan.  I skipped stuffing it to save on cooking time and I got the turkey in the oven a few minutes past 11am. It was that very moment that my husband came busting through the front door asking why I had to get my sister to bring it when he told me he would get it!  I ain't got time for THAT so I just left it with the always dreaded "whatever!".

With my husband home now and all the food prepared and cooked, and the turkey roasting nicely in the oven we were able to get everything in order and straightened up ready for our guests.  I made some beautiful appetizers and we were just going to take it easy and relax.  Small crowd means less pressure so let's just enjoy.  All was forgotten and my husband and I were back in each other's good graces again.

My appetizer

As the the better part of an hour passed, I decided to give the ol' turkey a check.  Hmmm, that's peculiar.  For as long as this turkey has been in there, the pat of butter that is inside the body cavity didn't even melt!!  That can't be right!  I better get this back in there then and quit blowing more time.  The hours roll on and the meat thermometer has been put in at least 5 times and it's not even come close to reading near done!!  Surely the meat thermometer is broken.  Why doesn't this damn turkey have one of those pop-up thingies in it!!????

I had planned to warm up the rest of the already prepared and cooked dishes in the oven after I took the turkey out so that we could eat just before 5pm.  This was not working out as planned.  5pm came and went with the turkey still looking like we only put it in 40 minutes ago.  I couldn't wait any more and the kids were about to eat their limbs so I started putting in all the sides so that we could eat them while we wait for the turkey to finish cooking.  The mac n cheese got burned.  Son of a bitch.  I should have never cooked it first.  Oh well, at least my stuffing concoction came out great!!  Cranberry walnut cornbread stuffing - I'll never eat stuffing any other way!!

We dined and enjoyed all of the side dishes and were already pretty full, but still saving room for the main course.  I took the turkey out at 6 - now 2 hours past the expected cook time.  It still doesn't look done.  I cut a leg off to check and it was basically still raw!  I had to carve the whole thing up and put it back in the oven to cook in pieces!!  It had to have been the driest turkey anyone has ever eaten aside from the turkey in the Christmas Vacation movie.  I've cooked a turkey every year for probably 10+ years now.  I just don't know where we went wrong.

Butchered

All in all, it was a great time though.  Sure, the turkey was as dry as cotton and yes, I did forget to put out the cranberry sauce and I do admit I burned the baked mac n' cheese and in retrospect I do regret telling my husband in a not-so-pleasant way to go to his mother's house for thanksgiving next time.  (Especially considering that would not be fair for me since she's an amazing chef).  But family is the most important part and we laughed, enjoyed each others company and made memories.  We were all together and had our health and happiness.  What more could I ask for in a holiday?

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!!