Of peace on Earth, good will to men!

Here’s to hoping that you & yours shared a truly lovely day. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and any other sayings that  may be applicable.

Took the kids over the weekend to see the new *gasp* animated Disney film… Dinner, tickets, and snacks for 5 (three of which are children-like creatures) ended up costing just under a hundred bucks.

There is something just plain wrong with that.

[Flash to evil corporate meisters bah humbugging into their triple espressos while climbing up step-ladders  into their pretty monster cars.]

While there, The Baby tripped over her own feet and fell on her face in front of god and sundry.

Unfortunately, I’m afraid that she gets her grace from me.

But, then again, I’m more afraid that she gets her eyebrows from her daddy…

So she’ll still love me more.

And that’s what counts.

In other holiday news…

I haven’t mailed out our Christmas cards… Of course, I haven’t. To expect me to do something like that in a timely fashion is just plain silly. I have a nice pile of cards just sitting in the van awaiting a no doubt traumatic ride through the postal system.

To defer their suffering and save some face, I’ve come to the conclusion that having them delivered after Christmas is quirky.

And I’m at least quirky, right?

But I did finish up the majority of my shopping last night. (For things that I didn’t order online for whatever reason, I plan a last minute 2am run to the Wal-Mart every year in order to avoid both the crowds and the inevitable smell that comes along with them.) While there, I somehow ended up having a 30 minute conversation with a drunk lady about:

• her teenager’s shopping list
• their ages, their attitudes, their boyfriend/girlfriend’s names, how much they weighed at birth, and the color of the walls in their rooms
• her sister’s weight at birth (she was delivered at 7 months and weighed 4 and some odd pounds)
• the better wrapping paper
• the better cream cheese
• the fact that her husband buys the wrong cream cheese
• her choice of perfume
• her daughter’s choice of perfume
• her aunt’s best friend’s choice of perfume
• green beans
• The Saints
• the fact that she once lost $200 in a slot machine with a mermaid on it

This was all done in the check-out lane at four in the morning… amongst the two open cashiers (both on those little half-lanes that don’t have a belt)  and the sixteen other people who thought themselves as brilliant in planning as I. Or did I think myself as brilliant as they? Or…  nevermind.

My brain is obviously a big puddle of peppermint hershey kisses.

Just like that bulge in my stomach.

And that taste at the back of my throat offering up a clear warning of what will happen if I eat one more.

Which I will, of course.

Because I’m clearly an ungraceful, procrastinating, looks like she wants to hear your life story stuttered over a cloud of berry-whatever Arbor Mist in the checkout lane, hershey-kiss-eating FREAK.

With good eyebrows.

Who is currently off to yack up that last kiss.

(I simply hope that, like ice cream, peppermint isn’t too terrible coming back up.)

...as if she mean it.

The funny thing about being Gypsy-born is that constant desire for the mundane.

For the standard fare.

For the prince charming, the picket fence, the Sunday dinners,  and shiny kitchen sink.

The funniest thing about being Gypsy-born is the inherent knowledge that princes tend to be assholes, picket fences never stay white for long, you can’t cook worth a shit…

And who the hell looks at kitchen sinks anyhow?

i iz in your dryer, eating your every other sock., 2009

Somebody must’ve tripped upon and then subsequently dislodged that surprisingly heavy rock under which I’ve been living here recently, as I finally got around to watching Lost in Austen this past weekend.

Although, to be completely honest, it wasn’t entirely the rock’s fault that I wasn’t aware of how wonderfully wonderful this mini-series is…

I think that the 98% of the blame lies with that one “inspired by the characters of…” book that devoted 200 plus pages to  Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth doing the deed in ways that required insane amounts of flexibility and a fairly high tolerance for pain that would slap a proud smile on even the jaded face of A.N. Roquelaure.

1%  with a really busy design schedule.

And 1%  with you people for not insisting that I watch it before now.

Which actually makes the rock completely blameless…

And my opening line pointless.

Shit.

When I was twenty-three, a specialist, who smelled of Hugo Boss and good leather, clarified the other diagnosis with one semi-insulting query:

“Were you raised on a farm?”

Turns out that the aforementioned blindness in my right eye was not caused by any sort of degenerative eye disease so much as by a nifty little thing called toxoplasmosis. (You know… that thing that gives you an excuse to pass over the kitty litter duty during pregnancy.)

This new diagnosis was great in the fact that I would not be going blind.

Gross in the fact that, somewhere along my hazard-filled, unsupervised, Lord of the Flies-esque childhood, I touched poop.

Ewwww.

Being blind in one eye, as sucky as it is, does have its advantages, however. For starters, I get to load my kids off on the nearest sucker with two working eyes whenever some super-duper-so-fabulous-oh-mom-I’m-so-flippin’-excited-I-could-pee-myself-and-can-I have-popcorn-please cartoon comes out in 3D. (Neener. Neener.)

And then there’s that no-doctor-worth-his-Hugo-Boss-prescribes-a-blind-chick-contacts need for the super-hot-slutty-librarian glasses.

Thirdly…

Well…

Ummmm…

Uhhhh…

Aren’t my new glasses just too cute?!@&@?

choosy moms, 2009.

Yesterday, while making what can only be described as the first among the hundreds of thousands of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that will be created by my hands over the course of this summer, I found myself spending a significant amount of time contemplating the following conundrum:

If I were making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and only had one knife, no paper towel/rag/shirt, and a cold (thereby deterring any preemptive utensil-licking) , would I choose to put on the peanut butter or the jelly first? Either choice, as anyone who has ever made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich knows, results in leftover residue from the other in the jar.

Given the circumstances (and my adamant refusal to explore the reasons behind me being naked and in a bubble making sandwiches), my initial choice was to put the jelly on first… After all, I use the jelly in many more instances where peanut butter residue would not be a welcome nor expected guest than I do peanut butter.

Especially considering that I mainly use peanut butter for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

And one expects jelly on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Even if you are naked and in a bubble.

And then I remembered that jelly needs refrigeration whereas peanut butter does not, and quickly changed my choice. (A little cold peanut butter on my morning toast is better than fungi in the brain any day, I say.)

Satisfied with my answer and duly impressed with my ability to apply logic to even the most mundane and random topics, I began putting away the bread, the jar of peanut butter, and the squeezable bottle of jelly from the day’s lunch…

And reveled in my insanity.

But since I can’t speak for the rest of you breeders, I thought it best to warn you ahead of time. For more Weekly Winners, be sure to pay a friendly little visit to Sarcastic Mom!

Huntsville has a really great arts festival every year called “Panoply”, and this year’s was held the last week of April. Since the weather turned out nice and hot, we got a chance to attend. There were loads of free activities for the kids as well as the $7 ice creams to make up for it. Good times, good times.

Things have been unbelievably insane around these here parts as of late, and I’ve barely had time to brush my hair,  much less figure out something clever about which to blog.

Unless one counts that draft about ingrown hairs in the most uncomfortable places (read: eyebrows, the outer labia) as clever.  Painful? Most definitely, yes. But I think that calling it “clever” might be pushing it a little…

Even if it is in iambic pentameter.

So in lieu of a rhyming entry on the perils of inappropriate hair removal, I thought I’d just give you all a (relatively) quick Top Five on what’s been going down in Shakespeare-ville over the last few weeks:

1.  I cured my baby fever.

I’ll admit it. That new baby smell makes my uterus ache something fierce. A couple of snuggles with my new little nephew, and I was all looking at my husband with that “you know you wanna knock me up” sparkle in my eye. (Of course, he was too busy looking at my breasts to give a patoot about what was happening with my eyes.)

But then I got stuck babysitting all of the kids.

“All of the kids” as in a three-year-old, two five-year-olds,  the smart ass ten-year-old, and the newborn.

Two hours in, I was desperately trolling emo websites to find the correct method of slitting one’s wrists with a  razor blade.

Three hours in, I realized that I should probably start investing in sharper razors.

2.  I cured my baby fever.

We finally got to bring home Phineas a couple of weeks ago… even though we had to drive nearly to Kentucky to do so.  Everyone was so excited on the way home, giggling every time that cat so much as blinked. Once home, we all sprawled about the livingroom, spending hours tossing a little yarn ball and watching the little fluff of cat chase after it.

And then we went to bed.

And then the cat cried.

And then I turned the  light back on.

And the the cat cried louder.

And then I put it in the bed with us.

And the he sat on my head, and bit my nose, and scratched my eyelid, and attacked my feet, and ate my hair, and got stuck in Peter’s chain..

And then I put it back on the floor.

And then the cat cried.

And then I turned the  light back on.

And the the cat cried louder.

And then I put it in the bed with us.

3.  I cured my baby fever.

I’m either really fertile during a certain part of the year, or I’ve  simply got mad  organizational skillz (yo) as I somehow managed to give birth to my children in subsequential order. Birthdays around here are celebrated in January, February, and March. It’s what we like to refer to as the “Birthdays Season”- which closed this year on the 29th of March with That Middle One’s 5th.

While picking up his custom-ordered cake that he’d been asking for for a month, he suddenly decided that he did not want the [already purchased] cake and would much prefer the stack of semi-frozen Superman cupcakes on display.

Matter of fact, he insisted on them.

Insisted as in pitched a holy hell “oh my god, my child is obviously the spawn of the devil, somebody find me a new priest and an old priest, post haste” fit.

Needless to say, we had Superman cupcakes for his birthday.

Those and a bag of “Birthday Hot Cheetos”.

4. I’ve cured my baby fever.

Did you know that it’s actually possible to flush an entire stuffed cat, two Bionicles, and a pair of  earrings down the toilet all at once?

Me neither.

Aren’t I lucky to have a toddler who does?

5. I’ve cured my baby fever.

Peter was offered a really great job back in our hometown in Louisiana… This means that we’ll be moving AGAIN.  Feel free to go back through my archives for a definite count; I lost it three houses and two states ago. I’ve got lots of misgivings about this move, all of which I’m sure I’ll get into later, but it is home. And familiar. And filled with real-life friends whom I’ve known since grade school.

And the job pays really well.

So well, in fact, that he had to leave last week in order to get started.

Which means that I’m still here.

PLAYING THE ROLE OF SINGLE-MOTHER.

Until the summer.

BY MYSELF. … … … … …

Hey there! Long time, no blog, eh?

I’m so very sorry for not keeping in touch, but we had a recent death in the family. Namely, my uterus. And I was busy baking a batch of celebratory consolation Superman cupcakes.

But I’m back now.

Sorta.

Did you miss me?

(Shut-up. It was totally funny in my head.)

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Since, you know, I forgot to blog and all.

For pics that are undoubtedly more awesome and interesting than these, be sure to check out the other Weekly Winner-ers (totally a word) hanging out at chez Lotus.

Things that I’ve been up to this past week…

Since, you know, I forgot to blog and all.

Ticketmaster is AWESOME.

So Many Books... So Little Time.

One should always stock up on the necessities...

Gossip Girl + iPod means never having to pay attention to ANYONE, ANYWHERE

How long does it take Valentine roses to die anyhow?

Little Man turned TEN on the 22nd... I am officially OLD.

For pics that are undoubtedly more awesome and interesting than these, be sure to check out the other Weekly Winner-ers (totally a word) hanging out at chez Lotus.

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I forgot my kid’s valentines.

To be fair, though, I didn’t receive his class list until Wednesday evening, for a party on Friday. A list that I had already determined wasn’t needed since it took so long in the coming. And, well, once I’ve convinced myself of something*, pretty much nothing else will do- even if I thought that the fourth grade seemed a little early to be giving up on the candy hearts and glitter cards and such.

So when he stuck it up on the fridge Wednesday, I vehemently promised myself that I wouldn’t forget to pick-up a couple of boxes sometime on Thursday.

Which totally guaranteed that I forgot my kid’s valentines.

Frantic, I called Peter just after school began on Friday and told him to stop by Wal-Mart and pick up enough cards/candy for about 24 kids. Oh, and don’t forget a box of chocolates for his teacher as well. He huffed and puffed, of course, but had me on the phone within about thirty minutes:

“Okay, what do I need to get again?”

“A couple of boxes of cards and some candy of some sort… Better yet, buy a couple of boxes of the cards that come with the candy and make things easier on yourself.”

“Looking… Looking… Okay, all I see is Spongebob and Spiderman.”

“Get a box of each. Variety is the spice of life, after all.”

“*Snort* You get weirder every day, you know that?”

“Yep. Be sure to get the teacher one of those big heart-shaped boxes of chocolates too.”

“Okay, got it. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Fifteen minutes later, he walked through the door with, like, six bags of stuff… Much more than what was necessary for a couple of boxes of cheap valentine cards. Turns out he bought 24 little boxes of chocolates that were a buck each ($24) rather than a one or two boxes of silly cards ($3).

Teach me to be forgetful, eh?

Not having the time (nor the breath) to squabble over the silliness of man (who ever does?), I addressed them all quickly, shoved them and the teacher’s box in a huge Barnes&Noble bag, and dropped them off at the school office just in time.

Fast forward a few hours…

“Little Man, how did your party go today? Did you get  your valentines in time?”

“Yes m’am, and it was fun.”

“Did the kids like the boxes that your Dad picked out?”

“Uh-huh..”

“How about your teacher? Did she like her chocolates?”

“I guess so. She didn’t say anything.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think she likes Sponge Bob.”

“Sponge Bob…? Wait. You didn’t give her that big box of chocolates?? The one with her name on it???”

“Oh, I must have missed that one…”

“You couldn’t have missed it. It was like ten times the size of the other ones.”

“Oh. I think that I may have given that one to Megan on accident.”

“What do you mean “on accident”? It had your teacher’s name on it… ”

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t see that.”

“…And isn’t your girlfriend’s name Charlotte?”

“Yes, m’am.”

“But…………….?”

Obviously the silliness is easily passed to the young ones.

And incredibly potent.

God help us all.

I didn’t really have anything to blog about today. So it was either post a picture or a meme… I thought that you’d like the picture better.

Because I sure as hell did.

But, mostly, I’ve been a little “Oh my god, I’m totally on my period, and that man has hidden the bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter cups all the way at the top of the freakin’ pantry where I’ll never be able to reach them”.

I’ll be back soon.

Once I’ve got some chocolate in me, that is.

This Week’s PhotoHunt Theme is “Bridges”

This is the little bridge at the park that we liked to visit while we lived in Arkansas...

... And this? This is just to be expected.

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