Count me in!

It’s time for the 2010 Census.

I got mine in the mail, and YES, I will do it. But seriously, people, it is confusing. I mean, the message that goes along with the form clearly states, “Please complete and mail back the enclosed census form TODAY.”

AND it was all in bold, so I knew they meant business. I felt compelled to follow the directions.

Because that’s what I do. I’m a rule follower.
It told me my answers were important. They are confidential. The Census Bureau NEEDS me to do this! I get it.

But then? Then when I go to fill out the blasted thing, it tells me specifically that it wants to count every person on April 1, 2010.

So by that logic, I am UNABLE to finish it and mail it in today!

Thanks for the befuddlement, federal government. (Hmmm... that rhymed a bit. Coincidence?!)


Phil: Just fill it out and mail it in.

Me: I can’t.

Phil: Want me to do it?

Me: NO! I’ll do it. On April 1st.

Phil: Why wait?

Me: Well, I’m supposed to count everyone in our house on April 1st. I can’t count anyone who is in jail, in the military, or away at school.

Phil: Um. Do you think one of us is going to get put in prison between now and April 1st?

Me: No.

Phil: Is someone else moving in that I don't know about?

Me: No. You know… just in case.

Phil: Just in case?



Me: Yeah. Just in case I decide to send Davis to military school before then.

No fast forwarding necessary.

Do you remember when you were a kid? You’d get up early on Saturday mornings to watch the Laff-a-Lympics, and you were always disappointed when Soul Train came on because it meant that Saturday morning was officially ‘over'... but maybe just the teensiest bit relieved because then you could finally run to the bathroom to pee.

Or was that just me?

Maybe you were watching ‘Land of the Lost’ with Marshall, Will, and Holly, on their routine expedition, halfway through a can of Tab, and all of a sudden, your soda is making you sit up and take notice.

What were your options?

1. Go to the bathroom, and risk missing something vital to the story line. You just never KNEW what was going to happen with those damn Sleestak.

2. Just hold it, be miserable, and wait for a commercial.

At the risk of sounding old, I have to say… kids these days just don’t know how easy they have it. Movies on DVD, DVR’s, video games, a DVD in the van, the ability to pause live T.V.,… (let me say it again… PAUSE live T.V.!!)


My kids just hop up, say, “Pause it, please!”, and run to the potty. Want to watch that part again? No problem… rewind it. Boring commercial? Fast forward. You can’t hear Oprah because the kids are arguing upstairs? (Um…so yeah. That would be me… I mean, Phil. ;)

And it’s not like my kids even watch that much television. It’s just that they’re so used to being able to fast-forward through boring commercials, or pause what they’re watching, that they don’t have to worry about missing the things they really *do* want to see.

That is, unless a scheming brother or sister has control of the remote, and they’ve promised to not start the movie while you run upstairs to get your favorite action figure, and they “absolutely won’t watch it until you get back… promise!”, and then… well, you know exactly what happens.

You may have even heard the screaming that ensues from your house.

I’ve even been know to use the awesome pause feature to get a few things done around the house without nagging.

“I’m pausing the movie for 15 minutes. I hope you can get your room clean, the bathroom floor mopped where you splashed water from the shower, the Legos picked up from the playroom floor, your Christmas thank you notes written, and your homework finished in that time.

(Just kidding, people.)


(Those Legos are never getting cleaned up.)




I didn’t realize how pervasive it had become in our household, though, until the other day.

It was an idyllic quiet afternoon. Yesssss. It can *actually* be idyllic around here. And quiet. For about 4 and a half minutes.

Anyway, Josie was doing her homework at the kitchen table, I was baking cookies (okay, so they were 'Slice and Bake'. Sue me.), and Davis was reading a book to Libby (aw… so sweet).

Well, Davis was reading all about how Anakin Skywalker was decloaking the stealth ship and firing four proton torpedoes at the enemy ship which then put its thermal shields up just in time, blocking the incoming missiles.

(Sure, he’ll read to her. It’s just that *he* gets to choose the book.)

So about halfway through the book, Libby interrupted him.

Libby: “Excuse me, but I need to go potty. Can you stop reading for just one second? I’ll be right back!”















Well… that’s what I *wish* she’d said. What did she actually say?




Yep. “PAUSE IT!”

I couldn't do this if you paid me.

Yes, you *do* have to turn your head aaaaaaaaalll the way to the side to watch this video. I don't know how to turn it, or if that's even possible.

Sorry 'bout that.

Yes, you *do* have to look at my huge expanse of WHITE wall because we still haven't gotten around to picking a new paint color.

Sooo... sorry.

Yes, you *do* have to gasp and admire my kid's ability to throw a baton up in the air, spin around, and catch it. I mean... she's NINE, people.

Sorry.





Yes, I *am* bragging.




And I'm not sorry about that at all. ;)

It's called juxtaposition, y'all!

It's almost midnight.

I am awake for one reason... to register my children for swim team. It's a dog eat dogfish world out there, people.

Registration opens at midnight, and I'm banking on everyone else's power still being out from the thunderstorm we had earlier in the night.

I am blogging for another reason.

If I make




this post



long enough...







It will move




the picture






of the 'vajazzled'






hoo-hah





further





down








the page.








Away from






the pictures









of my kids. ;)














Mission accomplished. Well, partly.

Now if I can just get all three kids registered for swim team, I can go to bed.

Wish me luck.

It's true... you *can* bling just about anything!

Okay, we’re not even going to go into how I stumbled upon this…

















Cause let’s just say… I did.

And I’m absolutely dazzled.

I first heard about this when the actress Jennifer Love Hewitt talked about it while promoting her new book. She mentioned to a talk show host that she… um… ‘vajazzles’.

She explains, "It's called 'vajazzling'. After a break-up, a friend of mine Swarovski-crystalled my precious lady and it shined (sic) like a disco ball... Women should 'vajazzle' their vajay-jays (v@gina)."

According to the New York Times… (okay it’s not really from the New York Times. It’s from some random website I found whilst I was googling ‘vajazzling’…. Googling… Vajazzling… Googling... Vajazzling... they are *both* such fun to say...)

Anywaaaaay... according to the NEW YORK TIMES... "It is a new trend in ladies' intimate fashion that involves rounding out a bikini wax with the decorative application of Swarovski crystals, Salon reports. The procedure, which is offered at Completely Bare spa in New York City for $115, including the cost of the bikini wax and your choice of crystal design, takes about 45 minutes. The decoration is applied to the freshly waxed skin using an adhesive on the back of the crystals—which are applied in a large pattern or, in the case of certain detailed designs, are also individually hand-placed—and the glitzy result is supposed to last about five days."


And then? When I found the picture? Well, then I called to Phil in the other room…

Me: Hey honey! Come here and look at this picture on the internet!

Him: Okay… just a second.

Waiting…




Waiting…




Waiting…



Me: It’s a picture of a chick that has crystals on her hoo-hah.

The only other time he’s moved that fast was the time I said, “Hey honey… is it just me or is Serena Williams not wearing any underwear in this picture?” That time, his feet actually made that cartoon screeching noise as he skidded around the corner to the computer.

I do have to say, though… 115 dollars?!! That’s some crazy coin for cootchie crystals.

It would be just my luck to save up the money to get ‘vajazzled’ for a special occasion. You know, like our anniversary... (or a Jersey Shore marathon on MTV)… and *I’d* be the lucky 1% that had an allergic reaction to the glue they use to put on the sparklies. That would just be EXTRA special.

Plus it would just be so difficult to choose a design. What would I get?! My initials? The Nike swoosh? The Chinese characters for ‘WTF was I thinking?!' Um, how about… ‘LOL’? Seems pretty appropriate, if you ask me.



But really, friends…you know me well enough to know that I am resourceful.



I am frugal.

*I* am a heck of a do-it-yourselfer.




And I think I may have just found the perfect use for all those gemstones I bought on sale at Hobby Lobby.

It's on the calendar...

I have long been a calendar girl.

No, not one of *those*, silly. I just mean that I have always kept some type of calendar, daytimer, or planner.

I would go crazy marking things down, assigning categories, using different colors of markers for different events, and highlighters to accent the most important things that I MUST NOT FORGET!! What can I say? I like to highlight.

Now, I do that all electronically on my Palm, and it nicely categorizes, allows me to highlight (yes, *highlight*!) each child’s activities in different colors. It feeds into my organizational junkie tendencies. I have a system. I do so love systems.

And I love to write things down. I have a calendar that is specifically for my dinner menu. I love to make lists. I make lists for myself. I make lists for the kids, and I make lists for Phil (trust me, he LOVES them.)

Sometimes, if something is not on my list, but I do it anyway, I will later write it on the list just so I can CROSS IT OFF! It’s a sickness, I know.

And looking at my lists, or at my calendar, you will notice I have my very own ‘shorthand’. Smiley faces, asterisks, abbreviations… to anyone else looking at it, it might be practically indecipherable. Practically.



Last Saturday for instance, the calendar included the following action items:

1. Buy items for Davis to donate to the 2nd grade food drive at school. He asked me to buy packages of ‘Cup of Soup’ because he personally loves them. The class that donates the most earns a big prize.

2. At 11:00 a.m., we made plans to go to the Austin Family Fair in Zilker Park.

3. The movie, ‘Old Dogs’ was showing at 5:00 at the dollar movie. (it is funny, BTW)




To the casual observer, it appeared that my plans last Saturday included:

1. Get D-cups--- BIG PRIZE!!

2. 11:00--- AFFair in park


3. 5:00--- O.D.

Quite a different sort of Saturday. So it is easy to look at my planner and make assumptions. For example, that notation in my planner…

Guinea Pigs---Craigslist



I know that *might* make it look like I’m thinking about selling the kids’ pets on Craigslist…

So, um… anyway... ;)

But I NEEEEEED it!!!

I am seriously on the verge of loading my kids up in the van to drive them past the parts of the city that have low income housing. No, not to drop them off, tempting as it may be on Day #6 of Spring Break.

For a reality check.

My poor ‘deprived’ children who think that having to wait until their birthday for a toy is cruel and unusual punishment. My kids who don’t understand why we can’t eat lunch out every day of Spring Break.

I guess right now, I’m just a little fed up. This week, for some reason, has been high on the ‘Gimme’ scale. A routine trip to Wal-Mart this morning has resulted in a long lecture from Mommy about ‘Needs’ vs. ‘Wants’.

I blame The Cartoon Network. Extra time on spring break = extra time watching t.v.= extra toy commercials hawking all the things that my kids MUST have RIGHT NOW!!

And it could be that currently, I’m just overly sensitive to it. Because like a lot of people in our country right now, we are trying to tighten our belts. Rein in our spending. Eat at home. Go to the dollar movies instead of the full price theater.

Where is the balance, people? I hate to always be the mom that says, ‘No… No… Nooo!!!’ to everything, but I also don’t want my children to have unrealistic expectations that they can get something every time we venture into Target to buy toilet paper.

Or that a quick trip to the mall does not have to include an over-sized soft pretzel and a run through Old Navy to see what’s on sale.



Okay… well, actually, that’s me.



Damn.

Superstitious much?

Phil read my blog yesterday, as he does everyday... and I thought he would find it hilarious.

Au contraire...

Him: "I can't believe you wrote that down."

Me: "Why not?"

Him (shaking his head): "Talk about tempting fate."


Yeah, yeah. We've all heard the stories about a friend of a friend that had a vasectomy, and it didn't 'take'. And the couple ended up with a 'late in life' addition to the family.

After Phil had made a visit to Dr. Chop (honest to God, that's his name), it seems like everyone we knew had a story for us about their cousins' neighbor's daughter. And they always told it with a hint of glee in their voices. As in, 'you just THOUGHT you were in the home stretch... you NEVER know!'

Um, shut up?

So stay tuned for another new list...

'Things that my husband absolutely, positively does not want me to blog about.'

That one should be a doozy. ;)

Ten reasons I'm glad I'm not pregnant.

Reasons I am glad I’m not pregnant…

(Not that I thought I was. So spare me *those* phone calls.)

1. Well, obviously… duh.

2. Everyone has their own bedroom currently. Except for me, and I don’t mind sharing it with my fellow babymaker.

3. I don’t have a stroller anymore in my van. Suck it, Graco.

4. I enjoy my margaritas a little too much. And cigarettes. (Okay, I don’t smoke, and I never have. But I at least have the option. ;)5.

5. Despite being crazy nauseated throughout each of my pregnancies, and throwing up on a daily basis for the first 14 weeks of each, I still managed to gain an ungodly amount of weight with each one. And it was progressively more each time. One more, and I had the potential to be as round as I am tall.

6. No more diapers. Bite me, Huggies.

7. Leaky boobs. 'Nuff said.

8. My kids are all at fun ages now… young enough to still want to hang out with their family, and old enough that we just pack up and go. No sippy cups. No diaper bags. No missed naps to stress about. (although, I admit… I *do* miss the naps)

9. I’m finished with hideous maternity clothes. And granny panties.

10. If I were pregnant, those three eggs that fell out of the carton and splattered all over the floor about ten minutes ago would just have to stay there until Phil came home from work to clean them up.


Oooh, this has been fun! Stay tuned for future lists entitled:

--Even more reasons I'm glad I'm not pregnant

--Reasons I'm Celebrating that I don't have a Newborn.

--Top ten comebacks for people that say, "You look so natural holding that (borrowed) baby! Are you sure you don't want to have another one?!!"

The Twilight Phone Zone

Of all the phone numbers in the world, I think it would be funny to have the former number of… oh say… a pizza place.

I’m pretty sure that getting phone call after phone call, and having to explain to each caller that this is a PRIVATE RESIDENCE, it would be very tempting to have some fun with it.

Hello?

--Yeah, is this Jocco’s Pizza?

Um…well… sure is! Can I take your order?

--I’d like two large pepperoni pizzas. One with traditional crust, and one deep dish with extra cheese.

Got it… We’ll be there in 30 minutes.

--Wait… don’t you need my address?

Oh... ummmm… I have it right here on my computer screen. It’s uh, linked to your telephone number.

--That must be new.

Yeeeess. (nervous chuckle) Brand new. Technology… gotta love it. See you in 30 minutes.




A pizza place… a waxing salon… anything! Nope. What phone calls have we gotten since we moved in almost six years ago?






Phone calls for a funeral home. (Insert downer music here…)


Turns out that our phone number used to be the one for an area funeral home. And when they were bought out by a larger funeral home chain (a chain? Is that even right? That doesn’t sound right… anyway), their number changed, and we were the lucky lotto phone number winners.

When we first moved in, we received calls several times a day. We have gotten phone calls at all hours, in the middle of the night, during major holidays… all from grieving families, other funeral home directors, emergency rooms, and even Texas DPS.

That pizza place just keeps looking better.

I have been polite each time, assuring people that they have the wrong number, even when they repeat my phone number back to me. “But isn’t this 555-1234?!”.

At times, I’ve even offered to look up the correct number for someone from out of state, because evidently, my phone number is still listed on the internet as the number of this establishment. Every time I get a call, I ask where they got the number. Phone book? Please cross it off. Hospital administrator’s list? Mark that out, please.

I figured I was making my way through every phone list in the country, one call at a time. Until, that is, I got a phone call from a funeral director who told me I’d likely be receiving these calls for years to come.

Me: Um… why?

Him: Well, see… when Great Aunt Mildred pre-purchased her funeral plan, this is the phone number that was listed on the forms. And this is the number listed for all those burial plans for all those people that pre-purchased them. And when the great-nephews and great-nieces pull out the folder of information, this will be the number they call.

Me: Wow. Really?

Him: Yep.

Me: *sigh.

So, I keep fielding phone calls. Granted, the frequency has decreased to only about once a month now, fortunately. And you would think it would be terribly depressing, but I’ve gotten accustomed to it. I try to be polite and sympathetic, and when I get off the phone, I give my family extra squeezes, and thank God for every minute that we have together.




But, seriously, when I finally get a phone call from someone wanting to order a pizza… I am SO ready. ;)

Lowered expectations

I guess this will teach me to open my big mouth.

Blog EVERY day in March? I'm not sure I've had a month where I've been less inclined to get on the computer!

I don't know why I think everything has to be an all or nothing for me. I tend to do things to the extreme. And if it can't be done to my specifications or standards... well, then why bother?!

My van, for example, is either incredibly tidy... or a total nightmare of a mess. Same with the laundry, and the house. There is no middle ground. Perhaps I should aim for something a bit more manageable. Just try doing everything in moderation.


For example... I will make an effort each day to only eat TWO of those mini Reese's peanut butter cups in the pretty pastel Easter wrapping.

You know, rather than half the bag. ;)

Home Alone

I have long loved that little imp, Kevin McAllister, from the movie, 'Home Alone'.

Long before I had kids of my own. Long before I discovered that it could potentially be all too easy to leave a 7 year old behind when you go on vacation.

Provided, that is, that the 7 year old is not at your elbow every third second, asking, "When are we leaving?"

"Are we leaving now?"

"Can I take my DS?"

"Can I have a snack before we leave?"

"Are we leaving now?!!"




Now that I think about it, maybe they didn't leave him 'Home Alone' by accident.

Anyway, we love the movie. We quote it... "Bring me back something French!" We have it on DVD, and as soon as the holiday season hits, it's on our movie rotation.

And this weekend, we finally watched the sequel, 'Home Alone 2... Lost in New York'.

Now, for this one, I really had to suspend my disbelief. Because, okay, I can understand losing your kid once. Heck, I think we're all allowed a freebie. But TWICE? The same kid?!

I mean, I guess they *do* have about 7 kids in this movie. But if I were going to lose any of them, it would probably be the oldest one, Buzz. Talk about a pain in the ass... Eddie Haskell style.

Keep Kevin around... that kid is resourceful. What kid do YOU know that can outwit two bad guys, not once, but twice? All with a little help from a blowtorch, some firecrackers, a few paint cans, an old black and white movie, and a pet tarantula.

In the sequel, Kevin once again rigs up a series of elaborate traps, aimed at catching Daniel Stern and Joe Peschi, the fumbling burglars, who are admittedly, not the sharpest knives in the drawer.

I have never questioned the wisdom in letting my kids watch it, but I guess I should have been alert to the gleam in my son's eyes...

The clicking of those little wheels turning in his brain...

The signs that we're venturing into the danger zone...

Proof positive that we won't be leaving him at home anytime soon.



Davis: Mom, when we get home, I think I want to set some traps.

Me: Oh really?

Davis (in all seriousness): Yeah. But I'll need a saw.

Me: Um... a saw?




Davis: Yeah. A chainsaw.

Cool beans!

There's nothing like a game of Hide and Seek.

I loved playing it when I was a kid and my kids love to play it, too. Finding the perfect hiding spot was always such a thrill, and it was a huge bonus when you could actually see and hear the person who was 'it', searching you out.

It was also a bonus to actually be able to breathe in your perfect hiding spot. Laundry hampers are terrible places to hide. Trust me.

Davis loves to jump out from his hiding spot when you least expect it, screaming, 'BOO!' Admittedly, not really in the spirit of the technical rules of hide and seek... which probably explains why the girls always appoint him to be "It". Because really... whose nerves can take that?

Mine certainly can't, and I'm not even in the game. But when I'm minding my own business, going into the pantry to get some flour to make that cake from scratch (well, okay, the box of cake mix), and some kid jumps out at me, yelling, 'BOO!'... well, I forget all about the flour (okay, cake mix). And I may have been known to scream. I may also have been known to get on the telephone to the perpetrator's father to ask him, 'When are you getting home?!! These kids are driving me crazy!'

I've also been known to forgo making the cake, in favor of making myself an early afternoon drink. Don't judge, people.

This last weekend, Libby had herself an A plus plus hiding spot, and the other two searched for her for almost 20 minutes with no success. In desperation, they started resorting to trickery, trying to lure her from her hiding place.

Josie: Liiiibbbbbby? Where are you?

Davis: We have CANDY!!

Josie: Come out for your candy!!

Then they start to whisper to each other...

Davis: Where is she?

Josie: I dunno.

Davis: Tell her we have some... um... beans!

Josie: Good idea... she loves beans.

(*sidenote: She does. That kid LOVES beans. Especially black beans.)

Josie (in a singsong voice): Come out! We have some BEANS for you! They're special beans!

Davis: They're MAGIC beans!

Josie: Yeah... they're delicious and they make you... fart unicorns!


Um... whaaaaat?!


But still, nothing. Libby knew she had them right where she wanted them. All their focus was on finding her. Finally, she had one over on them... the perfect hiding spot.

And my baby girl discovered the cardinal rule in hide and seek... never give up your hiding spot.



Not for candy.

Not for beans.



Not even for unicorns.




No fartin' way.

Oops.

Well, so much for that.

I think what I lack in follow-through, I more than make up for with my overall charm and delightfulness. ;)

Is it *really* only March 3rd?!

I am making a most diligent effort to blog every day in March. Yes, I said it. EVERY DAMN DAY!!

Now don't ask me what I'm going to do about posting when I'm in Port Aransas this weekend for a baton twirling competition. Only in Texas, my friends. (Note... MAJOR burglar alarms)

And... (Note: Yes, I said 'twirling'. I, myself, will not be twirling. I will leave that to my overly gifted child.)

So, even though I have a ton of ideas swirling around in my head for stories I want to tell you (really!) and even though it is currently 10:30 p.m. and I have been up all day, I just felt like I needed to get this blog out of the way.

Woohoo! March 3... three down, and and 28 to go.



I know that you're waiting with bated breath.


Right?






Right??!?

The Winter of my Discontent

Okay, not exactly ‘discontent’… more like the ‘winter of my hibernation’. Or ‘winter of my anti-social behavior’.

I’m not sure what it is about January and February, but they turn me into a total bear.

A lazy, hungry, grumpy bear on the verge of hibernating. I don’t want to socialize. All I want is to stay home in my warm house, wearing my elastic waistband pajama pants, my old Rocky Mountain Texas Exes t-shirt, and my hella-ugly socks. (I sure paint a pretty picture, don’t I?)

I want to drink hot cocoa, read books, snuggle with my kids and hubby on the couch while we watch movies, and … not do much of anything else.

After re-grouping from the holidays, we all want a little down-time, I guess. But I can definitely say that in the last several weeks, I have not ‘connected’ with the outside world. I have been hibernating.

I have rarely gone out with girlfriends. Lunches? Nada. Chatting on the phone? Not so much. I have ducked in and out of the back door at preschool, still wearing my workout grubbies, with my hair stuck under a baseball cap.

I’m not sure why. Is it the winter doldrums? Is it SAD (as in Seasonal Affective Disorder)? Do I need to buy myself a damn light box?

Strangely enough, though, winter doesn’t bum me out. Even though I know this is my natural tendency to hole up in my house, and not emerge until the spring thaw… it doesn’t bother me.

I guess because I know that this, too, shall pass. I’ll snap out of the winter funk, and finally be able to pack away those ugly-ass socks that have become my security blankie.

And sure enough, I woke up today… March 2nd … to beautiful, sunny (albeit still COLD) skies, and I felt like calling everyone in my address book to touch base. To say, “I’ve missed you” or “Let’s get together”, or “That was one b*tch of a winter, huh?”



So, check your voicemail. And let’s do lunch. ;)

On the borderline

I have a kid that is 'borderline' today.

Borderline sick.

You know how it is… not running a fever, not throwing up, but still not 100%. He has a nasty cough, and we’ve been nebbing him for the last 24 hours.

Not sure if something is in the air, or if it’s just a respiratory thing.

So, here is the question… school or no school? Today I made the decision that it was a ‘no school’ day for him, and sent his sister off to his class to tell his teacher and collect his work for this afternoon, anticipating a day of him napping and lazing on the couch. You know, since he ‘doesn’t feel good…’.

Mmhmm.

So far this morning (and it is currently 9:15 a.m.), I have already told him on three different occasions, “Well, you clearly feel okay since you…

1. are chasing your little sister around the kitchen table
2. keep nagging to play the Wii
3. ate 3 cinnamon rolls for breakfast (seriously. I *told* you the kid could eat.)


Go get dressed. I’m taking you to school.”

Funny how just saying that can bring on a severe coughing fit, tears, and flailing on the couch.

“BUT I’M SIIIICK!”

I want to remind him that he’s not *really* sick. He’s just borderline.



Much like my sanity today. ;)