The Dog Ate....er....Crapped On My Homework....

I had my binder review scheduled, as I mentioned last post, but then I rescheduled it because the year end stuff -- dance recital, the begin of swim practice, actually organizing the binders -- all coalesced into one week and I needed to take my time. So, I rescheduled. No big deal.

On Monday night I spread the binder materials on the floor and began assembling them. I flirted with the idea of putting all  Sarah's work in page protectors, but I needed to save them for specific things, so I whole punched and organized them.
Violet: Done
Sarah: 1/2 done.
John: untouched
I needed to get to bed. With all of Tuesday and Wednesday left, I wasn't worried at all.

We woke up Tuesday morning and John asked me what the brown stuff was on the school room carpet. I absently replied that I must have spilled my soda the day before and I'd go clean it up. Except I hadn't had any soda ....

You guys. YOU GUYS.

Our dog, Buck, had peed and pooed all.over.all.over.all.over Sarah's entire binder. Directly on the work I hadn't page protected. All her essays -- from her first awkward attempt at dialogue in September  to her full on script in May. Her journal entries. Her letters to Santa, her aunt, her siblings.The entire year of attendance, so carefully recorded and color coded, days added up repeatedly and my work shown.  All covered with dog pee.

And right in the middle of the science papers? You know, the papers filled with  all the pictures of our major FAILS in science this year? A GREAT BIG STEAMING PILE OF DOG CRAP.

Appropriate, yes?


I cried. I yelled. I swore like a sailor. I picked up all that nastiness, spread the papers out on my counters and went to swim practice. Then called my binder reviewer and cried. She talked me off the ledge, some. I bought Febreeze pet order remover, came home and sprayed all those dog pee smelling pages with it, and continued to clean up the lake of pee. And the stench.

The pages dried, I salvaged what I could and then put those in page protectors, which I sealed with tape. I washed my hands obsessively, because EEEWWWWW. I had to throw out the actual binder and quickly liberate a new one from science curriculum. Then a friend helped me slip them into the binder, along with John's, on Wednesday afternoon.

I finished in time and made it to my review, still so very worried that without Sarah's attendance log my umbrella school would be like, "Well, too bad you can't prove you actually had school days for her. No home school for you!) (said in Soup Nazi voice, obviously.) But she assured me that I had records for Violet and John, as well as dated work for Sarah.

Buck.
You're name rhymes with a certain other word. For a reason.

Small Exaggerations....

We are currently studying India and are really enjoying it - almost too much. We are far past the date I'd set as having India complete.

We have colorful books with great information  they love to look through and some great story books they have read numerous times. We've made a salt dough map, have a half decorated festival elephant on our wall, got henna tattoos ....so many cool things.

But we need a way to pull this all together. Something to show what we know - the capitol, some rivers, something to tie it up other than a dance or a meal. Something with basic but important information. (And yes, something concrete to put in their binder. I admit it.)

A friend of mine emailed me her format for a brochure that I really like. The kids can individualize it and still provide basics like population, capitol, imports and exports. So I printed it all out on Friday, brought each kid to me and explained what we were going to do.
1) Collect some pictures.
2) Collect the information.
3) Cut out the boxes
4) Lay them out on folder to see how we want it to look
5) Paste

I went over this numerous times - we all know how distractable Sarah and John are. So many times I told, showed and pantomimed what we needed to do.
I walked away. (I.Walked.Away.)

I started showing Violet what to do.
I heard giggling.
I thought, "Aww, that's so awesome. This is one of my favorite parts of homeschooling. Sarah and John are encouraging each other and giggling together as they work. I rock this home school deal."

I look over. The glue is out and every.single.one of the pictures they printed and the boxes they were supposed to write in has been cut out. The pictures are being saturated with glue and glued haphazardly onto the folders. Not a single directions has been done in the order it needed to be done.

My head exploded and this is what I heard inside it:
OMG I have ruined my children! Ruined them!! I've encouraged so much creativity and uniqueness this year that now they cannot conform for one little thing. Essays on college applications...ruined. Science experiments ....ruined -things will get blown up! Pen and paper tests ....fail. They're just going to create pictures with the dots because that's unique and different.

For real.
This is how I think when it comes to teaching my kids. I think, "Wow, this is great - they are getting  many important skills all at once AND we still have freedom and creativity!"

Then Sarah cannot grasp how to compare and contrast two things and I panic. PANIC. 
"She'll never understand! All writing classes require this-it's a needed skill! She'll fail English 101  because she can't contrast Othello and Hamlet!!"

She's in the second grade.
Pretty sure we're going to hit on this skill again (and again) in the next 10 years.

The Magic of Walt

We spent the week of Thanksgiving at Disney and it truly was magical in all Disney ways. We went to The Animal Kingdom and rode through the wilds of Africa. Sarah danced in a street show in Africa. We walked through the gardens of Asia. We went on the famous magic teacups. We braved Space Mountain. We went on Star Tours and Buzz Lightyears shoot 'em out game/ride. We met characters. We shopped in the ridiculously expensive Disney souvenir shops.

Of course.

And we also experienced our usual family antics along the way. Because, really, what vacation is complete without a few hang ups ? And a trip the ER. On the day we arrived.

Of course.

Let me explain . . .

We woke the kids up at 4 am on Saturday morning and said, " Get dressed because WE'RE GOING TO DISNEY!"

Violet stared at us blankly. John said, "I'm tired." Sarah's mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. Then the questions started: did I pack shorts? (pretty sure I had that covered) Swim suits? (even goggles) sneakers? (gee, I hadn't thought of shoes!)

We arrived in Florida at 10 am without any problems at all. The kids were great on the plane and didn't even need the books and games I'd packed in their carry ons. We went to the condo where there  was an incredible water park with heated water and a lazy river. We played for a few hours then the kids all napped. We cooked a Thanksgiving dinner (my mom even made a turkey and all the fixings) and had family over that I hadn't seen in at least 14 years. We laughed and talked for hours.

Violet couldn't seem to wake up. When she participated with the family she was reserved and quiet. Very unlike her. After everybody left she really started complaining that her neck hurt, she had a terrible headache and she couldn't swallow. We've had enough cases of strep in the house for me to recognize the signs -- and we were a thousand miles from home, on vacation and about to do Disney World.

So we took her to the ER. They quickly diagnosed strep.

Of course.

They prescribed us antibiotics and sent us on our way.

She felt well enough the next day to visit The Kennedy Space Center. (a colossal waste of money, but they had fun) and go to our special dinner that evening. 'The Hoop De Doo Revue.' It was PERFECT. They put the spotlight on Sarah and announced her birthday. One of the actors teased my husband. One growled and pawed at Violet when he was dressed as a bear. John smiled, laughed and clapped along with the songs.  They had a full gluten free dinner for me. We couldn't stop smiling. When we got back to the condo they acted out their favorite parts for my parents.

In the morning, Sarah's birthday, we got up early and headed out The Animal Kingdom. On the way into the park Sarah, my least coordinated child, was galloping and dancing along, asking what time it was so she could mark the exact time she was born. A lady heard her and said, "Happy Birthday!" Sarah looked up to say thank you, tripped and hit the sidewalk on one knee. Hard.

Of course.

It immediately started bleeding, quite nicely, too. She was sobbing and yelling as I whipped out my handy dandy first aid kit and cleaned it up. But it was big. And the brand new kit had one small band aid.

Of course.

The Animal Kingdom was incredible. We all had a great day without any other problems.

On Tuesday we visited my parents new house and had another good day.

On Wednesday I carefully packed our bags and coolers, put my schedule in my pocket and we headed out to The Magic Kingdom. We parked, took the little train to the Tram, the Tram to the front gates and waited for the park to open. It opened and we continued to wait to go through security. We went through, no problem. We got to the ticket taker, put the first ticket in and it spit it out, fast.

I had the wrong tickets.

The WRONG tickets.

Of course.

Cue uncontrollable sobbing -- from me.

I had to wind and push my way back the opposite way, find where to buy tickets and buy 5 tickets. All while sobbing. Then I had to get back into the security line, where the worker asked me several times if I was OK.

No, no I was not OK.

Then I sobbed my way back through the line, apologizing over and over to the people I was cutting in front off, trying to explain, "I brought the wrong tickets -sob- my family is up front -sob- I'm sooo sorry -sob-"

But I got through it, we put our tickets in and off we went. We went on all the rides the kids wanted then stopped for lunch. Where we discovered that we hadn't packed any bread sandwiches.

Of course.

We just ate the meat and cheese and soldiered on.

The kids went on more rides and met The Fairy Godmother. They had a blast.

We got home about 11:30, shoved everybody in bed and slept in the next day. When we woke up we took our time and went to Hollywood Studios.

It was perfect. Not too crowed at all, we got the Fast Passes we wanted and went in everything except Fantasmic.  Because it was Sarah's birthday she had on a pin that said, "It's my birthday!" and all the cast members wished her happy birthday constantly. The ticket taker at The Indiana Jones Stunt Show saw her pin and asked if we wanted VIP seats. Yes please! So down to the front row we went!

The kids met "Green Army Man" from Toy Story, Sully and Mike from Monsters Inc, Wreck it Ralph and the little girl. Then? MICKEY MOUSE. During our wait at Indiana Jones, John had drawn Mickey a picture, then put it in his pocket and carried it there - safely- the rest of the day. When we saw Mickey -- and no line - he whipped that picture out and rushed the line. He danced his way up to Mickey and thrust the picture in Mickey's hand. Then Mickey took it, hugged John, turned and showed the note off to the photographer and everybody in line behind us.

::headexplosion::

We went home, so happy.

Friday we went to Downtown Disney and got ready for our flight out at 7:00. Sometime during 11 and 12 I received 2 calls from an unknown number in Texas. Which I ignored. About 1:30 I noticed that the number had left 2 voice mails, so I reluctantly decided to listen to them.

It was Southwest. Our flight time had been "updated" to 9:00. We wouldn't be getting home until well after midnight.

Of course.

In the end we switched flights. We did have a connection in Ft.  Lauderdale, but we made it without a problem. Sarah was complaining about her knee and we noticed that it had puss coming out of it.

Of course.

We got home and were in bed by 12:00.

Saturday morning we got up very late and went to a diner for breakfast. Sarah took two bites of her favorite pancakes and refused to drink her hot chocolate. Her knee was still kind of gross and she wouldn't bend it.

So off to the walk in clinic we went. For a scraped knee.

It was infected. (but not badly)

Of course.

We got home and put all the kids on the sofa to watch as much TV as they wanted. I went upstairs and unpacked us. I came back downstairs and Sarah hugged me.

And was hot. So I took her temperature.

102.2

Of course.

The walk in clinics check out instructions said to take her to the ER if she developed a fever/chills.

She had both.

Of course.

So we bundled her up. She asked for a drink before we left.

And promptly puked it all up.

Of course.

So my husband drove us the ER while I held the puke bucket in the back seat.

They took us right in, worried about her knee.

It looked the same.

Her throat? Did not.

She has strep.

Of course.

Today we are all sitting on the sofa watching as much TV as we want, refusing to do a.single.thing. Drugging Sarah with Motrin and Tylenol.

Of course.

But did we truly have a magical time at the most magical place?

Of course. :)

While On Vacation . . .

My children misbehaved. And were a freaking riot. A riot. I took notes, for real, on all the weird stuff they said and did just so I could blog it. They'd say something and I'd laugh so hard, then say, "Hang on, let me write that down." And type it into my little 'notes' app on my iPhone. I always wondered if/when I'd use that! So, a little glimpse into our vacation:

Me: Please don't run on the dock

Sarah & John, in unison: The life jacket makes us run!

~~

Sarah: See that duck? It's name is Flipper.

Me: How do you know it's name is Flipper?

Sarah: Because she's smart.

~~

Did you know fish can choke?

~~

That fish is named Big Ben. Oh, there he is! And there he is! And there . . . and there . . .

~~

John: Mommy, can you go sit over there, because the boat is like leaning.

(NO I WILL NOT! THE BOAT IS NOT LEANING!)

~~

Daddy, we have a problem (said while fishing), my wheeler inny came off. (that would be the fishing reel that came off.)

~~

Sarah, why don't you sit down?

Oh, I'm not putting my little patootie on those rocks!

~~

I'll touch the fish!! Wait, put him to sleep first.

~~

Daddy, I don't want a booby.

Daddy: Well, that's good, because it's called a bobber.

~~

Whew. I can't run 20 miles. I need running lessons.

~~

We had a wonderful time. We laughed and hung out on the Lake on a pontoon boat, where my husband helped the kids catch fish (although they totally think they did it all themselves) and Violet learned to cast, catch and reel in all by herself.

We went to this small little amusement park, family and Christian owned that was fantastic. Del Grosso's. They had a great water park and a ton of small fair/carnival rides for all ages. We spent 7 hours there, and it was small enough that the kids could get away from you a bit and feel some freedom, but were still with you.  If you're near the State College area of Pennsylvania I highly recommend it.

We had a great time -- and no cell/wifi service.

OMG.

And we're going back next year for 5 days.  (on a houseboat -- so awesome!)

I loved it, but did I mention no cell or wifi??

Remember That One Time Where I THOUGHT I Texted My Psych?

That one time I was wrong??

Yeah.

I texted my psychiatrist (because she's awesome and gave me her cell number for just these times) and said:

This is Kim. Can you please call me when you get a chance? I'm having some problems with my anxiety level and am leaving for vacation on Sunday.

Oh, and I used my first AND last name.

Then, about 20 minutes later I got this message:

I just wanted to let you know this came to the wrong person

OMG. And then I died a little and tried to hide. So I texted Diana who was embarrassed for me.

I texted back:

Ugh. Thanks & so sorry

I wanted to scream.

Then, later I received this message from that same wrong number:

No problem just wanted to make sure you got the help you need. Have a great vacation.

And then I died a lot.

So I copied it and sent it to Diana.

Who promised me she wasn't laughing. Which made me smile. And remember that I won't actually be seeing this random person I'd just told about my anxiety.

So now? I'm telling all of you.

You're welcome.

Target and Kids: It's An Odessy

I took the kids to Target this morning with a very short list of things I needed:

*shorts for me

*play dress for Sarah

*cat food

*q-tips

*night gown for me

*shirt for me

*thermometer covers

I stuck to my list and it was easy peasy.

*snort*

I had to try on five pairs of shorts, two pairs of Capri's and three shirts. Therefore we had 'dressing room conversation.'  If you've never had 'dressing room conversation,' it goes a little like this:

Mom, what are those dimples on the back of your thighs?

~ I have no dimples. Look away. Liar liar pants on fire. (glaring at child)

Mommy, what is that?

~ what?

All that squishy stuff above the button of your shorts.

~Nothing. These shorts lie. I just lost 15 pounds. Your mom is HOT. These shorts lie. Moving on . . .(more glaring)

Mommy, why can I see your bra when you put on your shirt?

~Because it's too thin.

Why is it too thin?

~We're moving on again . . .

Mommy what is that? (pointing to my tattoo, which is usually hidden.) (for the record, I have no problem with tattoo's, on other people. I don't like explaining mine to my kids.)

~We'll discuss it when you're older.  Why are you in here?

Ohhh, those shorts are tooooo short. I can see those dimples again.

~And again, I call you a liar. There are no dimples. (throwing shorts in corner. Using very special words in my head)

Finally, shorts and and a pair of Capri's are found, two shirts that are not tissue thin are thrown in the cart. We rush into the lingerie department.

Oh, please. What in the world was I thinking??? I have three children with me. It doesn't matter that I just want an overs sized t-shirt as night gown. I have to walk through bras, thongg, sexy night gowns, etc. John's eyes are roving everywhere and his hands are reaching for satin, lace and brocade. Obviously men are born to enjoy this. I'm torn between horror and complete amusement.

Sarah is happily jumping in between racks, making mazes of Spanx and panty hose. Violet is eye-ing the lace bra's and I can see her mind racing, wondering when she'll be old enough for that. As she reaches for one I put out a burst of speed and race us past them to the modest pajama's. The three of them are bickering, laughing, and revving a car engine the entire time this is going on. Generally letting the entire store know that my children are here, so watch out!

I'm reduced to begging after our 'dressing room conversation.' So I'm saying things like, "What did I ask of you? To give me this time. It's been 20 minutes. About 10 minutes too long. Please. Just stop. Let me grab this. Stop it. Knock it off. Please. Did you hear me?" At one point I say, "This is supposed to be Mommy Time. Yeah. Pretty lousy Mommy Time." And I hear a lady start to laugh two rows over.

Eventually I grab a night gown - of some unknown color, race through the kids clothes and find nothing for Sarah. But I've completed my list and we've only been in the store for 30 minutes.

30 minutes.

Success! Glory!

But I still didn't get out of there under 100 dollars.

 

It's Summer. . .

Which means Violet is 9 today. And officially in the 4th grade.

Sarah is officially in the 1st grade.

And John is officially a kindergartner.

And I am officially old and living in some sort of weird time warp. Because I'm absolutely positive that just yesterday John was born, Sarah was 15 months old and Violet was 3 1/2 years old.

I'm positive.

I know that I have just put the girls in these sparkly dresses for Violet's 4th Birthday bash and forced them to hold a sleepy eyed John.

The rest of the world has moved on but we have not.

Anyway. Summer also means that it's time for the end of softball, the beginning of  swim team, the girls dance recital and long, lazy days at the pool. Which I love, because let's be honest, if we are at the pool 1) My house isn't getting trashed by three rowdy children and 2) I can't clean if we are not home. That's a win - win situation right there.

John briefly flirted with the idea of swimming on our swim team, but in the end the playground was far too attractive. So he's not swimming this year - which is totally fine, even if his swimming would have alleviated my  mommy guilt of his sister's being in summer activities and his not being in one. I'll just have to let that go. Let.It.Go. (and repeat.)

Swim team means Swim Meets, which means cue me becoming 'that' crazy poolside mom. Yes. Oh yes. I may  stand at the end of the lane, on occasion, ( OK, like every time they swim) and cheer and yell for my kids and their friends. Loudly. And jump around. Like a fool at a Josh Groban concert. Whatever.

It may also highly embarrass my husband. Which I just may find pretty entertaining. But the thrill of seeing those kids finish a lap for the first time? Or seeing their face as they touch that wall, winning time or not? Priceless. So I'll be throwing my 39 year old body all around the pool deck again this season, waving my arms and screaming like a fan girl.

It's all good. :)

I Met A Mom . . .

Who is more conservative than me.

I know.

And it is wonderful.

She restricts the same shows I do. I even let my kids watch a show she doesn't - crazy days! Her kids watch less TV than mine, spend more time outside  and play more independently than mine.

I love it.

Sarah and her daughter have had two lovely play dates together. It's not enough.

The mom and I have become FaceBook friends. It's not enough.

I want Sarah and her daughter to play together every weekend, I want to sit and have coffee, chat, while they play.

It's so refreshing to meet another mom who is like-minded. Who doesn't think I'm crazy for being so conservative. I know I'm conservative. I know. So meeting a mom who is even more so than me -- without being freaky?

Awe.some.

And she's not freaky. She's all kinds of stylish and pulled together. Funny and so friendly. She owns her own business. Parents two girls and two dogs by herself all week while her husband works out of town. She's busy and frazzled, high energy and grounded.

Like I said, I want to sit and chat with her more while our girls play.

Am I in love?

I think so.

Now, to stalk her without her knowing . . .

 

 

 

Run, John, Run!

You may know that my John is a bit stubborn. Just a bit.

Last year when he did a session of soccer skills in the spring it was more like Daddy and Mommy doing soccer skills, red light green light etc and John sucking his fingers. But he insisted that he wanted to play this year.

So we signed him up.

And the first practice, which was labeled a 'meet and greet,' I didn't bring a soccer ball for him. He stood in the middle of the field . . . sucking his fingers. Not even Sarah, who is on the same team could get him to move. Another mom suggested that perhaps golf was his sport.

Excellent.

The next practice/game I was so nervous. Had I just invested over a hundred dollars for him to stand in the middle of the field and suck his fingers for six weeks?

Well, the first practice/game he jumped right in! He kicked the ball, he shot on goal, he didn't care when he was goalie and was scored on.

Every time a new thing happened I thought, "This is it. This is when he freezes and the fingers go in the mouth." But no!

This past Saturday he totally got into it. He got right into the pack, kicking at the ball, trying to steal it away, running at the front of the group.

At one point he actually stole the ball, took it on a long, long run from the center of the field right down the middle and shot on goal!

Our goal.

The goalie stopped it.

The most wonderful coach ruffled his hair and said, "Great running, John! Way to kick that ball!"

They are after all just five and six.

Well done, John!

Thank You, Easter Bunny! (For real!)

So, in this post from a year ago I tell you how Violet was afraid of the Easter Bunny and of course Sarah became afraid of him as well. "He" hid the eggs outside and left the Easter baskets on the porch because entering the house was unacceptable. When that wasn't OK, I told them that I did the Easter baskets and The Bunny hid the eggs. All was well.

So I was a little nervous this year. I avoided taking them to the mall, where The Bunny was, and avoided talking about it. Waiting instead for them to bring it up, hoping this was the right parenting decision.

Nobody talked.

On Good Friday we went to the Philadelphia Zoo (where I bought 6 tickets for 5 adults. Can you say FAIL?).

Nobody talked about The Bunny.

We started coloring Easter eggs and John asked when I was going to hide them.  Sarah very calmly replied, "Oh, the Easter Bunny hides the eggs, Mommy does the baskets."

And then the three of them had a discussion about how Sarah and Violet used to be afraid of the Easter Bunny and how he had to hide the eggs outside but now they were big and he could hide them inside because that would fun.

I stood there and pretended to be involved in the dissolving of little tablets of color.

John listened and chimed in when he could. And was totally unfazed by the fact that both his sisters were afraid by this bunny but now were not. He made sure he understood the logistics, then moved on.

We dyed eggs with minimal breakage and no spilling of vinegar.

They ran off and I cleaned up, watching my growing -up children play.

They're not afraid of a giant rodent come into our house at night and hide hard boiled eggs that we've dyed.

Huh.

All is well. :)

What # 4 Looks Like

Everybody knows that I struggle with wanting a fourth baby - I've written about it many times. Well, on Monday's and Tuesday's I get to watch my niece for for about three hours, from 3 o'clock until 6 o'clock.

Up until this past Monday I've had it totally under control. Dinner planned, the kids occuppied in the other room (although constantly begging to see/touch/look at/play with/stare at/just do something with Caitlyn), bouncy seat, white noise app on my iphone ready and bottle ready to go. I know. Prepared, right?

Well, on Monday life happened.

The kids were taking turns playing with her - which means she sits in her bouncy seat and they make googly eyes at her - when a stink overtook the kitchen. Ahhh, the smell of poo from a breast fed baby. I quickly jumped into action, whisking her away and onto the changing pad. Where I totally struggled with her cloth diaper, getting more poo on her stomach in the process of changing her. Violet of course hovered over me giving me a play by play of what I should be doing (because she's changed a lot of diapers at 8 years old) and commenting on the smell.

Just as I got Caitlyn clean and was putting the new diaper on her, John began his 'potty' yell. This means he yells, "MOOOOMMMEEEE, I have to go POOOTTTEEEE." And I say, "Then go." And he goes. But the yell to me from somewhere in the house and my response must take place. This time the first yell was followed by the dreaded second yell.  "I have to have a BM!"

Excellent.

And then I get Caitlyn dressed and she's fussing and I know it's time for her bottle, but John is going to need me and the water is boiling and she's fussing and Violet is talking and Sarah wants to know what is for dinner  . . .

And I forget about John.

I put Caitlyn in her bouncy seat and start to warm the bottle, when I hear John yell, "Mommy I'm done!"

But Caitlyn needs a bottle and I can't let her cry -- she's not mine! I mean, if she were mine I'd be OK with that for a few minutes, but she's not mine!

I hurry to the bathroom, just around the corner from the kitchen and turn the knob.

LOCKED.

I tell John to open the door. "I don't want to."

OMG. That must mean there is an epic mess in there.

I turn the knob again and try to use logic on an almost 5 year old, explaining that I cannot help him if he doesn't unlock the door.

He unlocks the door.

And in my head, my inner dialogue is this: I have to wipe a bum and feed a baby. I mean, I'm totally going to wash my hands, but there's no down time in between! I'll scrub them. Then warm the bottle. Then scrub them again. It'll be good.

I dash back into the kitchen.

Sarah is sitting next to Caitlyn, making googly eyes at her and Catilyn is cooing and smiling, happily distracted for the moment.

I turn off the boiling water before I boil the pan dry and all is well.

And I'm only a little sweaty.

I also can laugh about it.

I'm also listening.

Nuts!

So, we know that Violet is 8 1/2. A year, it turns out, full of change. She needs cami's now. She wears deoderant. She wears a robe in front of her brother. She can roll her eyes *almost* better than me. She's mastered the art of the huff and sigh. (which is impressive, given her age. But her teenage years are looking bleak for me.)

The other day we're at the island and I say to her, "Give me those nuts, please."

And she totally and completely LOSES it. Like, falls down on the floor, laughing hysterically. And because I'm not an 8 year old girl (or a 12 year old boy) I stare blankly at her. She continues like this for a good minute before she hears me saying, "What?"

She turns red and whispers, "You said 'nuts.'"

O.M.G

I turn red and take a deep breath.

And explain the real word vs the slang word.

People. I'm all for using the appropriate term for things. My children have heard the word vagina (or 'gina as they said) and penis since they could hear. But I've never had to explain a slang vs a technical term before.

She was happy knowing the real term, then moved on. And told me more slang words they have.

::dies::

I'm not ready for this.

Words With . . .

My husband. NOT my friends. Oh no, it's not me playing Words With Friends. It's my husband. On.my.phone.

A week ago I started one game on WWF. It quickly became two. Or fifteen. Whatever. I was having fun. I was spelling great words like 'Pot' and 'hot' and an occasional 'arrow' thrown in for some real points. My brain activity was totally punched up a notch. And yes, I was losing, horribly, at all games. But I was having fun.

So my husband says, "What are you doing over there, concentrating so hard?" And I tell him. He literally laughed. And said, "How dumb. Let me see."

He looked at the board. His eyes went wide and lit up like a Christmas tree. He giggled with glee and said, "It's Scrabble. It's just . . . Scrabble."

The holy grail of all games in his family.

He sat down, my phone in his hand. And began to giggle like a little girl who has just found out a boy likes her. Really.

And I haven't played a game since.

Oh, I've tried mind you. But how do I compete with words like 'quon' that he played for 125 points? I played 'quiver' for 58 and did a little dance.

I've had to post on FaceBook that it is not me crushing all of my friends. Because as I said, I don't even know what a quon is. Or how to use it. If it's something you use. (spell check doesn't even recognize it!)

So here's how my evenings go these days:

My husband walks in the door. He is greeted, as always, by cries of great delight from the children. He yells back and they all glow. I eye him and wonder just how long it will take.

He kisses me hello. We eat dinner.

He begins to get twitchy and starts roaming the kitchen/living room/hallway. He's looking for my phone.  He finds it and laughs maniacally.

He sits down and says, "Let the games begin! Mwaahhahaha!"

And he's down for the night.

Yes, he has a phone of his own. A Crackberry. No he won't get his own account. I've tried that angle. I've now resorted to threatening to take away my phone if he doesn't occassionally let me tweet or isn't nice to me. It sometimes works.

Until he gets his own account? It's not me totally crushing you. Or at least giving you a run for you money. I like to add 's' to the end of a word. Or throw and 'ed' on the end for something really spicey.

I'm Not 20. Or Meg Ryan.

So  . . . I'm not 20. Or 28. Or even 30. I'm 39. I just had a birthday, so I'm well aware of my age.

Or not.

In my head I'm, at most, 30. And I'm so convinced of this that I act on it. As in, I see a new, young, couple in church. I immediately think: Excellent! Friends for my husband and me!

I rush over to introduce myself, and as we are chatting I realize: OMG. I'm not their age. They're like . . . 25. Possibly 30. I should be inviting them to dinner so I can take care of them, not because I think I've found a new girlfriend that I can be BFF's with.

I do the exact same thing with my looks. In my head I look about 20. I'm all svelte and toned, lush locks and lean legs. Even when I'm sick? I think I'm adorable. Completely. My hair might be a mess, but in my head? It's Meg Ryan messy. And I looks *just* like her.

Then I pass a mirror and actually think: OMG, who is that? What? Me? No . . .

Then I laugh. At myself.

I.Am.Running!

A 5K. I'm doing it. For reals.

I signed up for it, it's paid for and the date is marked: March 11.

And I have a runnig partner! My friend and neighbor, Nick, has signed up and is running with me. Which is totally awesome. I put it out on Facebook and he's the only one who jumped in with me. Except he's like 6'5 and runs all.the.time.

They're Smarter Than I Think

So. We got the kids an Xbox 360. I had it all planned out, how we were going to give it to them.

We hid the receiver by the base of the TV with the ottoman so they couldn't see it.

I wrapped a game.

I wrapped a controller.

And when they opened these two seemingly random gifts my husband and I were going to be all, "What in the world? I must have gotten the wrong gift from Amazon and not realized it! And then I wrapped it? And gave it to you? Silly mommy! We don't have an Xbox!" And then when they were done opening up their gifts we were going to slide the ottoman away and scream "OMG we DO have an Xbox!"

Yeah, it was going to be epic. I was hoping for some tears, maybe a need to run for the bathroom.

Instead, Violet walked through the room and saw the *special word* sensor that is on top of the TV. It's black. Slim. Blends in. And since we don't watch TV on Christmas I didn't even think about it.

And she screamed.

And cried.

And may of needed the bathroom.

It was epic.

(just not the epic that I had all planned, see?)

It's Christmas! It's Christmas!

It's Christmas and I'm up way too early, sitting here anxiously waiting for the kids to wake.up.right.this.very.minute!

I think I'm more excited than they are.

You know how every year they ask for for a gift that is unattainalbe? (No, we cannot get a pony. Or a pool. Or our very own life sized Thomas the Train.) This year they totally asked for a do-able gift: xbox 360

SCORE

So after I convinced Violet that xbox's were like a thousand dollars and there was no way on God's green earth that we were ever getting one and she explained to Sarah and John how much that was (It's like aaaalll the toys in Target) I got on Amazon and ordered it. For a $140 less than Best Buy/Target.

SCORE

We set it up last night, per Diana's instructions. Becuase that girl is smart. Then I played the games and oh my lord did I have fun! My husband attempted to not laugh at me. Did you know that the game takes pictures of you as you play it? As you jump and throw your body about in weird positions? So when the pictures of me playing flashed up on the screen?? OMG. The pictures of me in my pajama's, my glasses and no make up?? Yeah. He stopped even pretending I wasn't a hot mess.

I had a blast and that means the kids are going to as well.

SCORE.

It's almost 7:00.

I have to go!!

And A One And A Two . . .

This weekend I got up on stage. And danced. At 39. In front of hundreds of people.

Yeah, I did that.

In full make up and Victorian dress.

And it was SO much fun!

The dress? Not so much fun. It was purple and stripey and added at least 40 pounds.

What's Goin' On?

Today I'm over at Branson's place, A Reflection of Something -- so cool! When she asked me to be a guest blogger on, as she put it, how I'm 'rocking' motherhood and depression, I was blown away. First of all, she thinks I'm rocking this gig? Cool. :) \m/ While I don't think I'm  rocking this whole thing (especially this week), I jumped at the chance. Branson is such an inspiration. So head on over there and check it out. Really.

Over here, I'm filling you in on Sarah and that Elf on The Shelf of ours, Mr. Red.

Elf On The Shelf: Curse You!

My Grandma and I bought an Elf on the Shelf for the kids yesterday. I'm sure you've seen them - so cute! You sit the little guy on a shelf and he communicates with Santa every night. He tells Santa what you've been up to - have you been naughty or nice? I love this idea and the thought of starting a new tradition just warmed my little heart.

What.was.I.thinking?

I put him on the shelf, read the book to the kids and we named him (Mr. Red). Then Sarah began asking questions. And freaking out.