Because we are cheap

Because we have no kitchen, we were forced to go eat delicious cheeseburgers and fries at Red Robin last night. Davey is unable to resist the siren call of The Claw Machine. He's all "I can totally get that one" like a middle school kid. So he put in his dollar and pulled out a prize.

And that, children, is how Goldie got her 2nd Sesame Street character doll. Cookie Monster, welcome to the family and we will try to be nicer to you than we were to Elmo

We are about to embark on a monthlong foray into the world of kitchen remodeling. The entire contents of our kitchen need to be emptied, sorted, boxed and stored by Thursday morning. I also have a new job. So what did I do today? I said fuck it and went shopping, dropped my kids at the sitter, swung by the office to drop off work and got busy having the kind of fun you can only appreciate when you have normally have two drooling appendages hanging off of you 24 hours a day and you get them amputated for a morning. I used the time not to get ahead, but to pamper myself.

I went shopping and squeezed my big ass into a few new things then went on to indulge in a mani/pedi and saw my favorite person under 4 feet 5, Phong who does the best French Manicure this side of Paris. I am the only person in all the land it seems that loathes a pedicure. I can't help it, I don't like my feet touched. I actually tell her to just do the nails and ignore the cheese graters that are my heels. After the foot soaking and just as the awkward lower leg massage began, I made a horrific discovery.

Before I share aforementioned discovery, a bit of background info. I am not a very hairy person. My eyebrows, arms and legs all have fine white hair and even though I may have a uni brow, you can't see it unless it's sunny and I live in Oregon so there is only like a 2 minute window where that could happen. I only really have to shave a couple times a summer, but in the past couple of years the hair around my ankles has started to darken and so I have to be careful when I do shave to get that area done well. For those of you rolling your eyes because you are covered in 3 inch long black curly hair all over your body like a gorilla and spend your children's college fund for laser hair removal, know this: My thighs touch. In exchange for this God has seen fit to give me naturally straight teeth and white leg hair. It all works out.

I discovered today that I had not been careful during the last shaving session. There was hair. It was dark. It was long. It was a band of about 2 inches wide. I look like an effing Clydesdale and have been walking around like this all summer long.

Feeding Roob

*WARNING!* This post? Totally about my boobs. Mommy blogging boiled down to it's essence really. Proceed with caution*

My boobs F-ing are on freaking fire. Not like Hott, more like stinging and burning. Have been trying to ignore it, not working. I have no idea what is going on because everything looks like it should, but feels like the pain of a thousand knives every time I have to Feed the Beast.

I gave her a bottle to give myself a rest. Do you know what cruel joke fate has played on me? The child now refuses anything that does not have a skin flavor. If it isn't flesh, she doesn't want it in her mouth. Also? She bites. Or should I say, boney plates. Hard.

I am a miserable, sad, sorry person. It cannot be yeast again. I killed that bitch. I mean, it couldn't be alive after the beating that the Rx and the purple stuff over and over again. Maybe I am imagining this? I refuse to go in and complain to anyone about this again so I am just going to have to deal. And cry. What am I going to do?

In other non-boob related news, we resolved the feeding frenzy from last month with the addition of some solids as needed. Did you know that if you Google '4 months+ feed rice cereal' that the entire internet will show up at your house and punch you in the face individually? Maybe people really are nursing their children into middle age? Just a little bonus tidbit for you.

Am off to ponder a voluntary Hooterectomy.

The Happy Family

One set of Godparents set off on an adventure with the girls this morning. They have no idea what they are getting into. I don't think I'll tell them just yet, they look so damn happy.

We took the opportunity to play hooky from church and head out to a fancy-schmancy brunch where they served food with things like "chantilly cream and fig syrup with fresh peach compote and a side of snobbery." And there were cocktails! For breakfast! I was so happy to be enjoying a relaxing breakfast that when the server greeted us, the first thing out of my big yap was "I need a drink." Cause thats how I roll. Our nephew who is a chef there arranged for free cocktails and sent out samples of his latest creations while we were waiting. Multiple orgasms of the tastebuds were achieved quite effortlessly. I ate things like "strata" and "not processed meat."

Maybe two sets of Godparents aren't enough? Maybe we need more so we can get an every Sunday rotation and we can stuff ourselves and get drunk before noon once a week! Will be accepting applications! Am genius!

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

Finally, going on 3 years after you passed away, I went to visit your grave today. Laying down on my belly in the grass and running my hand over your headstone while the evening sun went down somehow felt like the right thing to do. It made me wish that so many things were different. I wish so much you would have known my children. I wish I could have seen your face as your granddaughter played grave robber and tried to steal all the flowers (somehow I know you would not have appreciated that, but you're not here so neener neener, Pops.), not understanding why mama was crying and looking around for you when her daddy told her that this is where her grandpa is.

I wish we could have understood each other better when you were here. I wish we wouldn't have wasted so much time disagreeing and now I feel the sting of irony that you had to go just when you had finally decided that maybe I was worth knowing. Things were getting better, Dad. I respect all that you did for us, making sure that we had the best foundation in life we could have. You did the best you knew how, and that is all that anyone can do.

I don't feel guilty anymore for not stopping by to see you sooner even though you are only a few minutes away because I realized that you are not in the cold cemetary. You are somewhere better where you are keeping an eye on us. You are gone, but not forgotten as the cliche goes. I see you everytime I look in the mirror, I see you when my children wrinkle their stubby noses at me, I see you in my dreams.

Until next time......

K

Random Pics

As Blair said when she emailed these to me " I think these pictures capture the essence of youth" so true....no? That is Goldie being read to by our favorite 6 year old, Russell The Muscle.

Doesn't Roob look just like a Cabbage Patch Kid?
Sometimes the cuteness that surrounds me? Is overwhelming.

Checking in with Google

Folks are searching for some might weird stuff on the interweb these days. I think it is time for the new monthly feature I will call: How in the Heck did YOU end up HERE? This is just a sampling of how folks got here this week:

• Black Lactating Mammas Blog: You are so very, very lost aren't you?
• Love Letter to Husband, Sweet Letter to Husband, Anniversary Letter to Husband, et. all: Mine already got his, please don't copy it. He thinks he's special.
• Princess Potty Chart: I already told ya'll about how I feel about them bitches .
• Birthday Letter to Big Sister: Seriously guys. You have to start writing your own shit. Are you really this out of touch with your own feelings?
• Reglan Lactation Dog: I was with you right up until Dog.
• Mighty Boob: Would you please make that 'Mighty Boobs'? Righty gets jealous.
• 28 weeks Pregnant and it Feels like my Vagina is Going to Fall out: Two comments on this one. 1. Get yer sweet ass to a doctor right quick yo. and 2. Holy shit I really should stop toying with this stream of conscience blogging thing because even though I don't think I wrote that, the fact that Google thinks I did is freaking me out.
• Too Tight Pant Lady: Shut Up. They were, but I totally got some more and I really don't want to talk about it.
• How to Make Love to my Husband: Are you freaking kidding me? If I still knew how to do that do you seriously think I would have time to blog?

That is all for this edition. Stay tuned for more next month.

Also? I really appreciate all of the sweet emails "just to say hi" that resulted from yesterdays my-ex-friend-hates-me pity party. And no, you over there in the corner, it wasn't about you. Only she knows who she is and I don't think she would waste her time reading this blog and then sending me a shout out. Also? a mutual friend (who was also broken up with by her in the same fashion) informed me that I was being really diplomatic and kind to myself when I said she broke up with me. I was dumped. I think I will go drink some Drano now.

Breaking Up (or teenage totally- not-gay angst at 29)

I was reminded today of a good female friend who, for no reason I can think of, broke up with me a couple years ago. She was one of the closest, most intimate friends I ever had. I am lucky to have a lot of friends, but she was very special to me and I am still so baffled as to what I did wrong. Now, I have definitely had to break up with friends before. Not many times and usually after giving it great thought and consideration and because they were unhealthy for me to be around. It really sucks. To be broken up with that is. In my tiny mind it actually is more painful to be broken up with by a platonic friend than with a lover because a lover generally has to see you every day and is just unwilling to form a pair bond that will pledge a lifetime of service so I kind of get that because really? You should be choosy about who you sleep with. Usually they are even willing to downgrade the relationship to friend status, not that you would ever agree to that.

A friend, however, is making a very strong statement. Whether they use the bold Fuck You approach, where they actually tell you that they are breaking up with you ( Which is not what this particular friend did. Thank God I really didn't like the person who did that to me one time in high school. Bitch. I totally broke up with her first. Am very mature.) or they employ the popular Fade Out technique to which I am partial, what they are saying is that "Dude, I can't even handle having a cup of coffee with you or sending a quarterly how are you doing email. I'm done and I find you personally offensive." Wow. That really hurts.

I find myself thinking of her every now and again and I always get teary remembering all of the fun times and inside jokes we shared. We had history, we had something special. I wonder if she ever thinks of me? I wonder if she knows that her secrets are still safe with me? I like to think that if I ran into her in the world I would just ignore her or act aloof. But really? I think I'd just hug her, beg for forgiveness for whatever it was I did or said and hope that she would call me someday. Because really? I just miss my friend. Am pathetic.

Big Day!

So it was a huge day here at Chez Davey. A day so big that it deserves to be capitalized. It was Sheet Changing Day! You can look at it one of two ways:

1. We are too busy with the daily changing of the feces filled sheets that our offspring foul.

-Or-

2. We are filthy, dirty pigs.

In either case the sheets! are! clean! No matter that we had to put the flannel ones on in August because king sheets take a lot of scratch to buy. But did I mention that they!are! clean! Each of us chose to celebrate in our own way. I decided to perform the semi-annual shaving of the legs and get into the clean!sheets! and rub them together like a cricket. Davey took his own approach where he crawled in and sniffed his pillow, cuddled the top sheet and cackled with delight.

A big day indeed.

You should really try it sometime

Have you ever taken a toddler to use a public restroom? No? Ahhh, then you are unaware of an entire subculture located just below the surface of any sense of normalcy and on the tippy-toe edge of reason. You will be able to identify those associated with Potty Training and the Public Bathroom because they are desperately clutching an economy sized bottle of anti-bacterial goo like a life preserver and will have a look on their face that might be reminiscent of a person who has just survived a long stint in a chamber of horrors. Because they have. Also? Hollow eyes.

You should know that in general I am a public restroom-aphob. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I use my sleeve to open the door. Sometimes I don't wash my hands because I am too afraid of the sink handle. Public bathrooms=fucking yuck. Unfortunately my daughter does not share my sentiment.

This is a typical outing with Goldie:

• Enter store, ask her if she has to potty? She seems offended by question and screams "Nooooooo" and she is thinking " My mom is sooooo lame. Geesh. If I had to potty I totally would have told her so. "
• Walk to opposite end of store, begin shopping. Hear small voice coming from cart. " Goldie go potty! potty, potty, potty!"
• Sigh and head back to restroom located approximately 5 miles away.
• Park cart, gather up baby and toddler. Brace myself for what is about to happen. Enter bathroom Tell her not to touch anything.
• She touches everything.
• She chooses the most disgusting stall with indescribable nastiness left from the previous user. I steer her toward another stall.
• Tantrum
• She grabs toilet seat, handle, bits of used toilet paper and the tampon receptacle and asks "what's that?" as she fondles each item.
• My head explodes and I convulse with visions of what she has just touched crawling into our skin.
• She refuses to pee.
• Leave bathroom and try to recover from what I have just seen and smelled.
• Goldie wets her pants.
• Guess where I get to go to change her pants?!

Another Open Letter

Dear good friend Anthony,

While I appreciate your sharing of the love by sending the link to my little blog to everyone you know including your neighborhood, family, friends and the guys you stand next to at the urinal at the ball park, I think you should know that I am now suffering from a severe case of the Not Funny. The symptoms of this disease include staring at a blank screen, trickles of drool and desperate wishes for quick return of The Funny.

Looking at my most recent posts it becomes apparent that I also have a touch of The Boring. Please tell your friends on the Interweb through it's series of tubes that hopefully both ailments will be cured by Monday and to please come back then! For The Interesting! Or maybe ya'll will just settle for The Readable! Ahhh Christ, the pressure!

Breathe Kirsten, Breathe.

Love,

Stinky P

P.S. I am still thinking of ways to make you pay for the much beloved Incessantly Talking Elmo that you so graciously bequeathed to Goldie on her Birthday. Thankyouverymuch.

Getting too deep inside my head.

Doesn't every one's Godmother chase them around with a dustbuster sucking up your hair while you run stark naked through the house? Just us? Oh. Goldie and I spent a spectacular evening with Godparents Laurel and Terrell at their house eating mac and cheese, hot dogs and fresh picked tomatoes. There were sippy cups and prank calls for Goldie and red wine for the grown ups.

I've had occasion in these past few days to think about the mishmash of folks that I have collected from random places that together create the tapestry of my life. Laurel for instance, was my 8th grade Spanish teacher who gave me the love of Mexico and introduced me to fine art and the opera. Had I not sent her a get well soon card when I was 12 I would have missed out on one of the most fiercely loyal friends I have ever known.

Lizzie-Beth, who is almost 70, worked as a volunteer where I was employed. Toiling side by side for years on end, she taught me what hard work really was and became my most trusted confidant. She grows the worlds best tomatoes is always there when I need her. I love her beyond reason.

Erica and Saint Tanya go to my church. They both have children much older than mine, but they embrace my family with their whole heart and hold us close. These two women share their daily lives with me and we have a sisterhood that I believe is stronger than blood.

These are just a few of the people in my life above and beyond the usual suspects that I hold dear in my life such as school and college friends. I am so happy that I am open to friendships wherever they find me, I am so much the richer for them.

An open letter

Dear Goldie,

While I found it touching in a strange sort of way that you were emphatically chanting my name at 4 am, I truly wish you had submitted to allowing your father to change your soaking bed and clothes in a more....how do you say? Peaceful way. I was otherwise engaged at the moment rolled on my side like a sow feeding your sister. While your father indeed has an impressive set of Man Cans, he is unable to provide the same services to her that I am. Which is why is was dispatched to your room.

I am also somewhat concerned about the Underwear Situation. Being a Pseudo Aging Hippie by association to your father, I have tried my damnedest to keep those little bitches known as The Disney Princesses out of my life. I buy generic pull ups for chrissake, just to avoid them. The generics were no longer holding up for the industrial night time situation that is your penchant for peeing Niagara-like quantities whilst you slumber. I gave in and bought the brand name nighttime Pull Ups. Make-o mistake-o. You now refuse regular underwear and anything else that might cover the beloved princesses. We must work this out because not only are these princesses offensive to my sensibilities on almost every level, but those fuckers cost like a buck apiece. Um, no.


Love,
Mama

Death Wish

I'll start this post by saying that everything turned out ok. Just so you know.

Yesterday morning I packed up our troupe and headed up to my aunts house for a play date with her granddaughter. We had a fine time and when we were ready to head out to the car I picked up Roob and Goldie headed to the her side of the car where I figured she would stand until I got there to open the door for her. I figured wrong.

In an instant she dashed down the driveway and headed into the street. My heart dropped into my shoes. I saw a Suburban coming. Goldie didn't. I knew I couldn't get there in time so I just started screaming like a crazy person. Goldie didn't change course. At the last instant, before he would have plowed into my baby girl, the driver heard me and swerved just in time. Time stopped. Goldie finally stopped. I ran down and scooped her up and started yelling. She apparently found the whole scene with her crazed mother quite funny and started laughing. I think I gave her the shaken baby. Had that driver not had his windows down she would be dead.

I am still not quite recovered. Hopefully something more interesting tomorrow. I am still busy thanking whatever Gods will listen.

Do you have like, an hour?

I really should write love letters to Davey much more often. As a reward, he acted like he totally remembered our 1st date anniversary on his own and proceeded to heap on the snuggles and attention. In the past 24 hours I have been cuddled, wooed, taken out to a fancy dinner and fun lunch. How did I manage to meet him for a fabulous lunch date downtown without children on a Tuesday you ask? Well.....I had to go take care of some things for MY NEW JOB! Thanks to friend and my biggest blog fan Tami, I will now be doing invoicing for her business at home 20-30 hrs a week in my free (HA HA HA!) time. I am super stoked because a sister would like some money please and since most folks are for some reason unwilling to give it to me for not working, I thought it was time to try a new tactic.

Goldie had a slumber party with Saint Tanya last night while I was being wined and dined and so I thought that it would be incredibly easy to get myself dressed and Ruby ready for daycare this morning in an hour or less. Since I was going to be meeting about the job, I decided to get really dressed up for the occasion. So I put on the clean t-shirt and jeans that I hadn't worn more than once, maybe twice and the under-tank top that I only wore to bed once and switched the flip flops for Birkenstocks. I even took a shower. Talk about going all out. (I hope you appreciate the lengths I go to for you Tam!)

I had thought I was all ready to grab Roob and skedaddle when I realized I forgot to pack her some of my precious, precious stash of milk for her to have while I was out. In my haste to run up the stairs I felt my shoe hook on the stair and was dropped like....like an overweight 28 year old woman who tripped herself going uphill and fell on her damn face. That's a lot of pounds per square inch that fell on my arm and leg and I just laid there with my face buried into the carpet until I regained my will to live. Things went downhill from there.

The Overly Cheerful Starbucks guy must be reading this blog and retaliating because they totally forgot to put the White Chocolate in my Americano and so it was like coffee.without.sweetness. Holy God. The ice/milk ratio was perfect too. What a waste. Once I cursed and swore that I would one day work the crisis out in therapy, I tried to pacify myself by shoving a chonga bagel into my gaping maw by the fistful. It was approximately 5 secs. after Bagel Inhalation Complete that I started digging the poppy seeds out of my teeth and realized that I would be taking a drug test in like 2 hours and Christ on a Cracker was I going to fail. Opium is made from poppys after all. Then I convinced myself that maybe the Pepcid I took in combination with the Tylenol p.m. would cause a false positive and HOW CAN I FACE TAMI IF I GET A POSITIVE DRUG TEST. Oh My Fuck what am I going to do? SHE KNOWS MY MOM DUDE.

I managed to hold it together long enough to scoop up Goldie and head to Nina The Russian's house where the girls would spend the morning. After all the rushing around I got to New Job Office a full 20 min. early. The old me would have cruised around the block, sat in the car or similar until appointment time. New me has been through so much that I figure I better get my ass in there before anything else happens. All was well. Tami was lovely. Details were discussed. Hopefully, background check was passed. I was off to the drug test where something happened that was so gross and embarrassing it will forthwith be known as That Which Shall Not Be Blogged About. Not trying to bait you, but seriously, I have to draw a line.

Are you still reading this? Like all the way to the end? You really should get a medal or treat yourself to some candy or maybe a Venti Iced Americano with White Chocolate and Cream. As if they could remember all that.

A love letter to my husband.

Davey my Davey,

Three years ago today we had our first real date. It was Friday the 13th which seems ironic considering how everything has turned out. I remember having met you at work on my first day at my new job a few weeks earlier and it makes me smile because I remember us being introduced as you were fumbling with an armload of things while trying to get into your office. The moment you shook my hand and told me your name, a thought flashed in my mind: "He looks so kind. I think I'll marry him." Later I tried to shake some sense into myself for having such crazy thoughts about someone I didn't even know. Besides, you were probably either gay or married and you looked at least 40 years old which was REALLY old to me at the time. The fact that you were actually 49 became inconsequential. I remember asking you if you preferred to be called Dave or David as an excuse to make conversation and you told me David. I immediately went on to call you Davey almost exclusively.

That night I met with my friends to celebrate my new job and told them that I had met the man I was going to marry, and that he was older than me. "Not an old man again, Kirsten" They told me "Remember the last older man you went after? Need we remind you that not only is He old, but his Balls are old. Yes, leave it to you to date OB." On our first date we picked tomatoes in your yard and you earned the nickname OB 2 Tomato from then on out. You were so kind. And real. I saw a deep loneliness and hurt in your eyes and I just wanted to make everything better and tell you that everything was going to be OK. You could trust me. I was the one who would heal your wounds and never leave you. You helped me fix my deck and I remember you looking up from under your wide brimmed hat with your goofy overalls on, wiping sweat from your brow, taking a big swig of water and saying sheepishly out of the blue "You know....the age difference doesn't bother me."We have barely spent a night apart since.

We have been through a lot these last few years. From a whirlwind courtship to the night we found out we were pregnant with Goldie and couldn't decide what to do. So we just cried and held each other, both of us secretly wanting to keep the baby, but knowing it was way too soon. But it wasn't. Before we knew it we were married, you moved in and we brought our baby into the world and made a family. Then another. And we laughed and we cried through it all and held each other close knowing that we may look like an odd match, but things couldn't be more perfect.

Some people don't know you at all. They see you as gruff or impatient or rude. I don't know that side of you. The You I know is so caring to us. You squash spiders and change diapers and dress baby dolls, kiss ouchies away and cry with me during The Color Purple. You understand my eccentricities and are always my biggest fan. You support my dreams and whims and when I told you after Goldie was born that I wanted to quit my job there was no discussion to be had. You make my wishes a reality. I will always remember the night my water broke in bed and I woke you convinced that I had wet the bed and could you help me change the sheets please? I know you as the man that sniffed the sheets and told me it wasn't pee.

I love you Davey. Thank you for making my life complete for whatever time we have together. I promised you a lifetime. And that is what you are going to get.

Forever Yours,
Kirsten

We have sentences!

Sort of! Since I am also using this blog as a reference to remember how my girls are growing (See! There is a point to all of this!) I will write down Goldie's first sentences (2+ words) for posterity.

• Stinky armpit
• Sissy eat MORE
• Mine mine miiiiiine (totally more than two words)
• Happy you you! (Happy Birthday)
• Goldie eat cheese
• Mama, Coffee!
• Go Goldie Go!

Will add to list anything cute as it comes down the pike. And because I can't leave you without a poop story, she totally walked around with giant poop in her panties that for some reason I didn't smell, until it fell out her short leg a long time later.

There's one born every minute.

After an exasperating evening last night (as per my previous post), Goldie has a new trick up her adorably chubby and dimpled sleeve: Today as she was being told no, please do not sit on mommy's new $2k laptop or you will be made into toddler stew, she looked me in the eye and said "I love you mama." I stopped dead in my enraged tracks. "What was that Goldie?" " I love you too!" She exclaimed. Holy crap. I was physically unable to be pissed off. She rendered me tickled pink. So now I'm all......"sure, you can have cookies and frapaccinos for lunch and of course you don't really need a nap, you want to stick your finger into sissy's soft spot and then a light socket? No problem!"

Not. Good.

In other news, I thought I was being incredibly clever by finding tea tree oil shampoo at the store so I wouldn't have to go to the salon to pick it up. It smelled reminiscent of something from my past, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Oh well, I just saved like $10 and a trip across town. Am genius. I tried it out last night and while I was stepping out of the shower I realized what it smelled like. Dog Shampoo. So either I had treated my Schnauzer to really good hair care, or I smell like a wet dog.

I really need to remember to take my anti-depressants...

So parenting is really, really hard these days. I swore to myself before Goldie was born that I would never have a two year old ruling my house. While things arent' quite that bad, it isn't at home where the problem is. Basically? We can't go anywhere without our child turning into a wild-eyed tyrant of a toddler who refuses to listen, pretends not to hear, and only responds to the words Time Out.

Christ, this sucks. We are lucky enough to have a lot of friends whom we love to get together with frequently. At our house it is easy. The problem starts when we are invited to other people's houses, with the exception of a few folks who are well versed in the area of Toddler Taming, it generally goes like this:

1. We arrive, hopeful that this will go better than the last time.
2. Goldie runs wild
3. She tries to stick her finger through her sister's soft spot, demands crackers
4. Break for dinner where she eats off of everyone's plates
5.Refuses to check potty, insists she does'nt have to go
6.Pees on carpet
7.Lays on top of baby while she is trying to nurse.
8.Time out.
9.Hits someone
10. See #8
11. Rinse and repeat
12.See #11
13.Throws tantrum
14.I gather our stuff and try to slink out door shouting thank yous over the screaming infant.
15.Crawl in hole and die

My friends have been really gracious, but I wonder seriously how many more invites we will recieve. I don't mean to sound shallow, but I don't want to give up these gatherings and I don't want to live in exile.

Is this going to get better? What am I going to do?

How to Succeed in Parenting Without Really Lying

It is a tumultuous relationship that I have developed with The Truth since having children. I want to tell them what things are when they ask, but sometimes I don't really want them to understand fully. So, I sort of dance around it.

The Ice Cream Truck= The car that plays music for families that eat dinner outside. Isn't that thoughtful of him?

Dora/Strawberry Shortcake/Barbie="oh, that's just a girl." (Holy crap, this one is starting to wear thin)

A Beer=Daddy's Bottle

Glass of wine= Mama's Juice

Surley pedophile-type-looking man at the park= A man that needs some space, lets just go over here for a minute.

Port-a-potty="I think that potty must be broken, lets hold it!"

Oreos=Mama's Breakfast, now go back to your banana

The Tastes of Summer

It seems like our best pictures of the summer come from our table. It helps to have awesome friends who have massive gardens. We get all the produce for none of the work. Don't hate us for being greedy, lazy a-holes. Also? Sometimes we like to eat tomatoes naked. A little thing we do on Mondays and Thursdays only.

The entire menu for August consists of BLTs. For every meal. OMG I could totally lick my monitor.
First tastes of watermelon shared with one of her Godmamas....I think she likes it

*Check out the pink armband that she refuses to let me pry off her sweaty arm. I think they would call her a Pink Panther.

My Weekend in Bullet Points

• Friday night I grabbed my girls and stopped by an evening baby shower/playdate. It was awesome except when both children hit the 2 hours-past-our-bedtime-what-kind-of-mother-are-you wall. They both dealt in their own way. Goldie, for example, proceeded to try to kick the crap out of her good friend Kaylee in a winner-take-Cinderella-Tea set challenge that was sort of like watching a toddler cagematch. Also, there was the grand mal seizure tantrum fully clothed in the pool because I was all "you can't wear clothes in there." and she was all "watch me." Ruby took a more standard approach to expressing her displeasure at the not in bed yet situation and took her show the screaming, beet red face, alligator tears route. Yeah. So there was that.0
• Saturday we took the day off from organizing and drove 45 min. to Sonic and stuffed ourselves as only our clan knows how. Disgusting. Then we hit up our niece (who is quite a bit older than I am) for a bbq and playdate where we realized that once again our children were among the nap-free and the expected mayhem ensued with the exception that Roob decided it was a great time for boobfest 2007 (see:Flashing boob in front of people I don't know that well; severe mental anguish). I could have done without seeing her try to latch on to my brother-in-law.
• Sunday our church met out at a farm where I smashed my face into the hard reality of Expecting Too Much From Your Toddler. Church service in a serene, quiet landscape+Babbling brook/pond in background+2 year old=Fucking Nightmare. At least she got to see her favorite poultry "CHEK-EN! CHEK-EN!" so that sort of saved the day.

Organizing updates when I come up for air. Big, BIG project.

And Lo it was Clean

I am a disorganized mess. I know that I have da madd bloggin' skillz (no? Oh...Whatevs) but I am one messy fool. When I was about 8 months pregnant I realized that I would have to move the crap pile to bring a baby into my house and I just couldn't live that way any more so I did what any rational person would do.....I convinced my husband that I needed a professional organizer.

And oh Lordy me, can this woman organize. She has an ethereal way about her and the crap piles just seem to reshape themselves into labled bins. It was life changing. Truly.

This week she is back and tackeling my basement. The basement I have no idea what is lurking there. So far I have located all of my notes that I passed in middle school because "OMG Mr. Edtl is sooooo stoopid and do you want to make out and listen to my Young MC Tape after 6th period?" Also? Spiders. I was really happy to find my Peaches and Cream Barbie from 1983 so that was cool beans.

Anyway, forgive the lack of posting because I have mad work work to do.

The Doctor Visit

Leave it to us to have to go to the doctor even when no one is puking. Yes, today was d-day for the well baby check-ups. Being the efficient person who is also sometimes overly optimistic and insane, I scheduled back-to-back appointments for the girls with at least one of them getting shots.

?Como se dice... screwed? I had thought originally that David would be able to come, but he had meetings. Then Mom was going to come, but she got put on a grand jury. Then Saint Tanya was kind enough to offer, but in the end I was all like, dude, these are my kids, stop being such a pussy and get in there and do your job already!

If raising my children is my job, I should really be fired. There were tantrums, there was crying, howling, throwing, begging and pulling. And that was just me. You don't even want to know what the girls did. It was gruesome.

The child who has been saying sentences like "Mama where is my sissy so I can try and smother her with my exuberant love?" reduced her verbal abilities to things like "NOOOOOOOOOOO" and "Miiiiiine" and quite possibly "Fuck off" but I am not sure if that was her or me. I could see the look on her face was like "I'm not your monkey and there is no fucking way I am going to cooperate, next time pony up the candy for breakfast and we'll talk."

I ended up looking like the worst parent with the most out of control children, plus the bonus? I totally forgot to brush my teeth. I realized this while in the starbucks drive-thru where I cleverly ordered some cinnamints and then promptly forgot about them when it was time to go into the exam room where I am sure the doc was trying to not to get too close to Breathzilla, Bringer of Bratty Children. I sort of talked down to my boobalahs and so I am certain I came off like a serial killer.

Does this job get any easier? Wait. Don't answer that.