June 28, 2011

The Greatly Anticipated, Vlog

Finally, the vlog has arrived. I am not crazy about it, but I have reached a point where I no longer care. I will tell you now: This will be awkward, for you mostly. It's longish, it's boring, it's unedited, it's ME:) Not sure if there will be another installment...I can't even watch this myself. There is a little lawn mowing in the background, but my neighbor was not receptive to me asking him to stop while I vlogged, sheesh. Also a crowd of neighboring onlookers were gathering near the end as my kids were screaming from inside the house. At any rate, you either be bored to tears, or get a good laugh.

June 26, 2011

Martha, Martha, Martha


Innocently enough, this post was prompted by a sock. A hole in a sock to be exact. Some people might sew it up, I toss it. Why you ask? That is another post for another day, we'll just call it Autism, and now that there once was a hole, a hole will always remain in the memory of my four year old, even sewn; and he would obsess. Like I said, another day friends. But I'm not much of a seamstress anyway. The sewing machine and I look longingly at one another, interested, yes; but we do not speak the same language. Plus I hate geometry, and patterns remind me of geometry, which reminds me of my old geometry teacher Ms. Mutz. No, don't care for it. And really, I need another hobby like a hole in the head. I could tell you if I started, it would be bad. I'd be at the craft store buying swatches for my quilt for the state fair in no time. I don't even own a quilt, which is a lot of geometry; don't need Ms. Mutz on my bed. Shudder.

Thought Tiffany had the rights to blue?
Crafts are like crack to me people. I know a good portion of my readers understand this, because they are my enablers. Yeah, you know who you are, my sweet, dear gang of {stickles lovin'} craft-o-holics. Guess who is the ring leader, the king pin, the Anti-Christ?  Martha Stewart. She's the only person who can swindle $9.95 out of me for some glitter because it really is the perfect shade of blue. Darn her spot on color palette. Jump on that crayola, sheez. Blue isn't just blue, there are precisely 998 shades of blue. Oh, Martha. She scares me a little, okay maybe a lot. She has found a way to weasel into every single hobby I like! She's like Applebee's...everywhere!

And God forbid I decide to try my hand at a Martha Stewart recipe or craft...75% disappointment guaranteed and here's why...

A.) I need a Martha to culinary moron translation book. Let's just get real here lady with your Pate Brisee, its dough, it's flipping pie crust. I am not making pie for the queen, I am not having a party in the Hamptons or whatever, it's just for my family. My family who would laugh at ME your terminology and probably mistakenly think I cursed at them with my Pate Brisee speak. And so would begin the unraveling of Sunday dinner, enter the ball and flames, ignoring my phone calls, defriending me on facebook, and them ultimately disowning me. How does that make you feel Martha?  Home wrecker. {Okay, that was so mean, but it really might explain a lot about her personal life, just sayin'.  Nobody likes being corrected when they say, great pie crust, OH NO, pate brisee.}

See this?

 B.) I have to go to Williams Sonoma to purchase $100 dollars of equipment to make your one dish. Seeing as I've already spent close to that amount on your very specific ingredients, I decide not to go to Williams Sonoma and MacGyver it with what I have. This already lands me about a 50% fail on presentation alone. Your too fancy Martha, dumb it down.

 C.) I scour the planet for Meringue powder, only after drooling over your 9 chapter sugar cookie book so I can achieve the same beautiful glossiness on my cookies. Because you are very specific {wait, does Martha have Aspergers} and my icing doesn't quite look so pretty, I will find the powder. After finding said powder, I was somewhat disappointed to learn this is basically the same thing I make. Once said icing has completed its 3-4 day dry cycle, I can then move on to steps 2-14, with my 12 different piping bags, chocolate ganache, glittery sugar and silver "where the heck do you find those last minute" decorative toppings. Or I could use sprinkles and red hots, because that's what's left at the grocery store and I'm not going to uppity up grocery store with my kids to spend 100 bucks on fancy sugar.
Mine did NOT look like this, who has
time for this?  Anyone?


 D.) You, dear lady, are a bride's worst nightmare. I might, or might not, {nothing to see here stalkers} have a little bit of experience in the floral industry. Every single bridal consultation without fail, guess whose pictures the brides bring in hmmmm? I look...I say, "okay, what else were you thinking? Oh that? Huh". I then break the news, "Okay sweetie that flower only blooms on the 2nd Monday of January every 3-5 years in Singapore... we can do that for you for one million dollars, how do you feel about roses?"
That doesn't go over well. Bridezillas? Yes. I doubt many Bridezilla’s show their teeth to you Martha, but they lash out at little old me, the not so Martha. It's like comparing a five star meal to the 2 day old hot dogs at a truck stop. Which would you rather have? And please don't get me started with how in God's name you've managed to genetically engineer the perfect blue flower, oh right, I'm sure in your garden in Vermont using your Pomeranian's poop who by the way is fed a strict diet of organic boysenberries and handmade gelato, which achieves the perfect acidity level for blue, as fertilizer. Seriously, stop with the blue. There are about 2 blue flowers, and they are often purpley.



Purpley, ummhmm

Martha, I totally understand your desire to educate America. But I have to say I think a large majority of us cower in the shadow of your perfection and our inability to emulate it. You are a self-esteem bulldozer. This is why I sold all my Martha Stewart books at a yard sale...for a nickel. I. just. can't. compete.

And one more thing, I still can't fold a fitted sheet, even though I've watched you explain it 50 times. I need cliff notes or something. Oh wait; there is a cliff notes version of Martha! Rachel Ray!  Who, I love.

Martha~
In case you are reading this, bahahaaa. {Please don't sue me…or hurt me} I mean you no harm. I actually think you the people behind the scenes are brilliant and snooty. And if you want to come to my house, or I could totally come to you, either or, and teach me how to fold a fitted sheet before I die, or teach me how to make the perfect Pate Brisee {bring your tools, MacGyver over here} I'd be honored. I have also made your cranberry chutney recipe {no dates, no raisins} for 10 years religiously and it is one of my favorite dishes of all time. Through the chutney {here again...it's sauce, cranberry sauce} I find forgiveness. Yes. I forgive you Martha Stewart, I forgive you.

Disclaimer: This post may have just been written because I'm jealous, very jealous of Martha Stewart's Martha-ness.


June 23, 2011

Instead of Martha...This

Here's my rant-ish post of the week. I chucked the other ranty post about Martha Stewart and how she makes my domestic-ness seem ghetto. That's right Martha, I'm calling you out, next week; I felt too guilty and then had to post this gem you're about to read; or exit. On that note...here's what...

I am happy to report that as of after lunch today, I was caught up with my blog reading. Rare, so very rare. I've noticed there is a whole lot of heart ache, heart break and soul searching going on in the blog world. Naturally, that is what a blog does best, helps organize the chaos, tidy it up and work through it. That sums up my "last season" of blogging, which I refer to as the contemplative year.
Here's what I L.O.V.E. the most about the blogging community (sans a few haters and stalkers), the camaraderie. Perhaps because most of us already feel connected through words and our love for them, or love of sharing them, or love of storytelling; there is a mirror there, which says, hey I know you. Someone you have never met can leave a kind word that can pick you up and lift you up. I'm also a big believer in the power of prayer. It warms my heart to hear people ask for it, and on the flip side, completely humbled to receive it. I am continuously amazed at how someone I don't know can inspire me to my very core, {although, isn't that how it often works} like Nessa, at Moments and Impressions; whose family I am in complete awe and admiration of.  Take your Kleenex before you click over there, happy tears, big happy tears.

So we sign out, log off...then what? It seems we walk out into a very different world. Do you fall into the griping and whining, the eye rolling and talking under your breath {I deny and know nothing about any of these things}? How have we allowed bringing people down be okay? Why? What is to gain by being overly competitive, critical, judgmental and unkind? Shouldn't we be trying to lift people up? Not those who just need it most, because often the person, who seems fine, needs it most.

Instead of criticizing, listen.

Replace condescension with kindness.

Focus on the resolution, not the conflict.

Offer help and support, rather than saying it's not my problem.
Force a smile if you have to, or give a hug. Do it! I am a hugger. Nothing breaks tension, releases fear, mends fences, and says its okay, or I'm sorry like a hug. {And don't be the first to let go. Oh, and also don't give those limp hugs with a pat, best to just forgo the hug completely in that case, because limp hugs often provide the opposite result.}

Offer encouragement.

Forgive the indiscretion, forget the hurt it caused. {Sigh}

It's almost too overwhelming for me to think that my God would have created this beautiful world so I could go to work and make and spend as much money as possible to gain all these worldly possessions that I can't take with me. I am irritated by those who think if they can't do something BIG, why do it? Or, it wouldn't make a difference anyway. How do you know? It might for one person. One hug might make a difference, that might have been exactly what they needed at that exact moment, and they will do something in turn {big or small} that will make a difference. It's contagious. That would be all I need. I really could think of no better way for God to use me. Well there are probably better ways, but I'd be satisfied.

Life is treacherous, and life is abundantly good. My heart is so full it makes me smile. Things aren't always as sticky as they appear to be, some better, some worse. When we can look beyond what the world says we "should have" or "should be" or "should do" and just be...there you'll find your peace.

I'll end this little rant session with a Tweet from yesterday from one of my favorite authors and speakers, Margaret Feinberg...

'When God calls Samuel as a young boy, he responds, “Here I am.” Have you said “Here I am” to God today? #hungryforGod'

tweet her @mafeinberg
http://www.margaretfeinberg.com/

Cyber hugs to you all,

Cari

June 20, 2011

Hi, it's me...the Angel of Death

I already know your feelings on the title. It was originally named, “why my pets hate me and die”, but that's not true; pets like me. I have been referred to as the cat whisperer on occasion, but they make me sneezy. So often I whisper, “go away cat”.  And now, I offer my official apology to PETA or any hate group, I am sorry. Moving on.

When it comes to animals, I tend to prefer the fluffy variety over slithery, reptilian, rodent variety. The other day a lady said to me, “ I have two dogs, so I know what it’s like to have kids”.  I tried hard to keep a straight face people!  Having a pet, is not the same as having a child, sorry to break it to you. Sure, they both keep you busy, yes they both require time and attention, "training", "grooming"- and they both beg for treats with equal enthusiasm. However, I won't be putting my child in a crate overnight, or leave them unattended for 10 hours while I'm at work with some gravel to pee in, a dish of water and a squeaky toy. I'm not molding Rover to be the next President, or teaching Senor Peebles, the cat, how to read, write and tie shoes; most pets don't wear shoes. {So the laundry aspect alone of child vs. animals crushes the "same" theory}.

If grocery stores were to introduce a NO KIDS ALLOWED policy, like the NO PETS policy, I have a feeling the grocery store would be like an adult McDonald's play land, and very pleasant. There would also be no need for that ridiculous tantrum inducing candy rack at the checkout. Whoever the marketing master mind Satan behind that is probably sitting poolside with Bill Gates. I wouldn't be surprised if they were in hiding, because frankly if I ever meet you, won't be good. I might have a wee bit of anger to unload where candy in the checkout is concerned. Back to play land, you would notice me outside of the store hands and face pressed to glass mouthing, "just a loaf of bread please", because my children are coming to the store regardless and that's a fact.

Pets are certainly a part of a family. They don't talk back, well maybe parrots, and no matter what you say to them or what you do; they always give you their unconditional love.

For now, I'm tapped out. Having to care for a pet on top of caring for the two crazy kids already, might push me to the edge. This distresses my kids who would willingly take any creature at this point and have lowered their standards from cat/dog, to any cricket, tree frog, lightening bug...or sea monkeys. We won't recover from another untimely death of a creature, like the Great Snail incident of 2010. I now have to free all the earthworms and slugs from my daughter’s home made "habitats" of dandelion piles and twig labyrinths, so she won't discover the dead carcass day next. We had a dog for 8 years, and three fish...Dory I, II & III. {I didn't kill my dog, just for the record, the fish...debatable}. I didn't indulge my Cosby Show nostalgia and have a fish funeral like Rudy did for Lamont; but I love that episode.

One day while in the toy aisle, what should the children spy? Sea Monkey kit. I caved, five bucks, but I know I'm going to forget to do something. The instructions are so simple, they don't even have words, just pictures. How hard can this be? I'll tell you, having to wait 2 days for this, 3 days for that, then feed on day 5. This is too mathematical for me, I don't know what day of the week it is half the time, you get where I'm going? Doesn't look good for the monkeys.


Image Credit
Our 200 dehydrated sea monkeys hatched into about 25; I presume that's normal, kids are fine with it, they are living, so bonus. Now my days get busier, um, er, ah, yes okay I think it's time to feed them. Well we have one left, the strong one of the tribe, as named by kidlets, "Ariel McQueen", noble name for a sea monkey. Kids are still thrilled. Ariel McQueen is very feisty and active.

Maybe I overfed her/it, maybe it was day 6, and I don't recall or know. But Ariel McQueen has passed on to the Sea Monkey afterlife {woods behind the deck}.

This news will not go over well. I foresee wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Stayed tuned for what creature of God I kill next week, or how I've inadvertently managed to screw up my kids even more because I can't get it together. Or maybe, just don't buy sea monkeys.
We miss you Mattie!

June 16, 2011

Top 25 Things I'd Never Do

Or how about 12 out of 25? Because that's all I came up with, or, I'm tired {are you tired of that excuse yet?}. See how I love you blog? Let's start at 12 shall we?

12. I would never drool in public...again.
11. I would never eat Oreos while watching Thintervention.  I did blog about this once upon a time ago.

10. I would never tell the freakishly awkward dude asking me out that I have a "boyfriend" {when I don't}, because that would be lying. And a sin. And Jesus loves us all. But I think he {Jesus} might have my back on this one.

9. I would never end a date by saying, "I shaved my legs for this?" Whoa! Wrong. And I'm sure it wasn't meant as a joke. Also may have not ever mumbled that to myself and not said it face to face while not waving goodbye with a smile while he wasn't dropping me off. Might not be a bit sassy.

 8. I'd never convince my kid that there is no tooth fairy, and just let her believe that magic and elves do exist, for a little while.

 7. I would never walk out of my house without brushing my hair...100 times.  I'd seriously never do that.

 6. I would never force the kids' Dad to spend time with them, or lash out at him when he is upset that I didn't say, "thank you", for watching babysitting his children. And furthermore, I'd never blog about that or mention it. Not. Classy.

 5. I'd never roll my eyes more than 15-268 times a day.

4. I'd never sniff an article of clothing to check if it's clean or dirty.

3. I'd never try to salvage my kid's Thomas the Tank Engine under-roos that said child has had an accident of the numero two variety in. Trash. Some things money can buy, and that is a pack of 4T Hanes Kid's Way for $6.99.

2. I'd never screen my calls. Who does doesn't do this?

1. I'd never, EVER and I mean EVER ride one of those mechanical bulls{And then shamelessly blog about it.}

 This post was brought to you buy the Blog Dare from BloggyMoms, a new post idea everyday...pretty awesome. But if you try to find me there, I've been too busy to yet fill out my profile; but check it out nonetheless.

June 14, 2011

God? Are You Trying Tell Me Something?

I'm a wee bit behind on my blogging. Not because I don't have anything to say, oh no; but because I have been attempting to do my very first vlog post {video log blog or something}.

To date, I have sat down and made five attempts. Maybe one day I'll do an outtakes post! I've been unable to publish anything so far, not because I'm having a bad hair day or anything. Don't expect me to get all glammed up for you, I love you and all-but yeah, no. I'll definitely brush my hair, maybe put on some lip gloss, but that is as far as I go. If I can scrounge up a tiara, it's on...but doubtful. {Speaking of tiara's whoever borrowed my tiara from my wedding and still has it...keep it.}
So here are a few reasons the vlog has not made its debut...

1) I'm not a betting gal, but it's a pretty sure thing my kids will make an appearance in the vlog. Throwing fruit snacks and lollipops to them down in the basement with free reign to watch Sponge Bob and Transformers will only hold the little darlings for so long. But I have to yell cut when the boy shows up in the shot, full frontal nudity. It's cute when you're two; you let it slide at four, by six if I don't have that under control social services are going to be sneaking around my house in no time.

2) As I'm recording, I hear the water running for longer than it should be, add in the outrageous laughter of two kids; and there is cause for concern. I'll just say we had an abundance of "potions" and I had to go to the store to replenish the hand soap, shampoo and conditioner.

3) Ding Dong. That's the doorbell interrupting me. If it was Jehovah's Witness I would've turned the camera on them, but no, just the tree guys, here to chop down the huge crab apple tree. I didn't want to vlog with chainsaws serenading in the background. Creepy.  Looking back though, it would've been funny.

4) Sometimes I forget what I'm going to say, and I look like an idiot. Um, lots of ums. Talking into a camera, to yourself, is very unnatural for me. Maybe I need a studio audience?

5) I need to vlog in the AM hours when I can utilize the good lighting. Otherwise it looks like I'm vlogging from the Blair Witch movie.

So there you have it. It's a work in progress. I can't imagine the edit process. Oh who am I kidding, I barely edit my posts as is. I'll upload that puppy and call it a day. I'm sure I should just get it over with and take my kids to the zoo or something.

Maybe all these interruptions are God trying to tell me something?  Something along the lines of, "put down the crackpipe Cari".  Eh, wouldn't be the first time.  It very well could come back to haunt me.  It just might ruin me.  You don't even want to know what comes out of my mouth sometimes {besides a horrendous Minnesota accent, which is case enough to scrap the vlog entirely}.  Plus the camera adds like 15 pounds right? 

So what is the consensus....chuck it? Or get it done? 

June 09, 2011

Hey Parents Snap Out of It!

I'm officially going to start a Meme called "Rant of the Week". What do you think? I have at least one per week. Bear with me, tomorrow I'll be back to writing about the most useless, mind numbing information, like say, oven racks or the 105 degree temperature that sucked out my soul yesterday, or my nemesis; the baby daddy {yeah, I wish}. On with it....
Parents! Where... are... you?

Last week Drama Queen had her Kindergarten graduation. It was precious. Her class has 16 adorably cute, surprisingly well-behaved kids. Guess how many kids had family members that came to the graduation? FIVE!!!! Two of five had Moms & Dads, one set of Grandparents, and two Moms. This is a WTF moment. I mean WTF?

I don't understand it. Help me understand it please. I get it, life is hard, life is busy, and we have to work. But {God-willing} your child only graduates from Kindergarten once. I work, I'm a single Mom, but I figured it out. You rearrange your schedule, you're probably going to have to do some things you don't like to get yourself there; you just be there! I'm sure there was a logical explanation, but I doubt 12 Grandmas were in the hospital or 12 bosses couldn't let you go for an hour or someone couldn't cover your shift. Okay maybe the boss excuse is logical, which leads into a whole other rant entirely about the American workplace and how families are NOT important. That totally sucks. I am fortunate to work for a company that knows my kids are my first priority and are very supportive of that; I know I am so lucky, and a rare exception. {Note to self: forward post to boss, shameless brown-nosing, I am not above it} Don't you want to know where I work? Well, I'm not telling because then you'll apply, and you're probably fabulous and smart and over-qualified and they will hire you and I will be out of a job and working at Seven Eleven cleaning out the slushy machine. Or cleaning the public restroom...the horror, I will need an HVAC suit.

These kids looked so sad. I found myself taking pictures of a lot of the other kids, so I could give a copy to their parent who missed it. Initially, I had expected this. My sign up to volunteer in the classroom at the beginning of the year with the hour of free time I have a week, turned into me becoming the official room parent and class liaison by default {I'm still not 100% sure what this is, but my number was published to the entire school; nice}. Could you try parents? Oh hey, maybe answer one of the 25 emails I sent you begging for you to help run a game or two at the party, or even send a box of crackers, or staple some papers together, oh read a book or two to the youths. {Sigh}
DQ reading her book about Kindergarten.
Only pic I could post without other kids
in it because I fear retaliation for calling
out their parents.

Then there are the field trips. I can't make every field trip, but the ones I have, it's been me and one other Mommy. {I get missing the field trips, those are like torture anyway.} Kids on field trips go into "field trip fog" and aimlessly walk into traffic, and jump electric fences and things they normally wouldn't do, which causes mild cardiac arrest. {I could never be a teacher; I'd have terrible blood pressure.} I could even let the field trips slide if you had made it to the graduation.

I've met some of the parents in my daughter's class and I know many of them work. But I know a few of the other Mother's who stay at home. Staying at home is hard too, I used to do it. I understand you have other children to care for. So maybe you make an effort to introduce yourself to other parents and take turns watching each other’s kids so you can be an active participant in your child's life?
Also flooding Twitter this week, was either the thrill or lack thereof of "Kindergarten graduations" and the point of them. Well point or none. It doesn't matter that it's not important to you. What matters is that it is important to them.

I already have massive Mommy guilt because I fear I miss too much due to work. I am not happy about the fact that someone else, I'll refer to them as "daycare", is raising my kid. Oh and a bang up job at that. {I cannot even articulate the disgust I feel when I see more than one parent dropping their kid off at daycare in their pajamas. The parent in pajamas. Huh?} Work is necessary, yes. Obviously we cannot always be there. But family is what is most important; it is what will be left long after work is gone. We have to nurture that. So many kids are just getting pushed to the wayside, and they are screaming for attention. I wonder how many kids aren't even hugged every day. I wish I could take them all home with me, or adopt them. No, I take that back, that's a lot of kids. But the puppy dog eyes eat away at my soul. When I volunteer, those kids are all over me like ants on a melting Popsicle. They are hugging me and holding my hand 6 at a time {without bribery}. I mean, I'm likable, but I'm no Mary Poppins, the kids are obviously desperate for attention.

Just don't let it pass you by. I'm so not a perfect parent, far from it.  And I understand in this economy any job is a precious commodity.  But your child will remember if you were there.  Okay, now I will use my inside voice.



June 07, 2011

Fairy Gate

The Drama Queen has officially reached the toothless grin years of her life. Very exciting...very dramatic. I have an entire post aptly named, Tooth Gate, because it was nothing short of ridiculous. But my kids slept in yesterday! That was like the first time....ever. And it through me off and I inadvertently deleted the post instead of publishing it. Don't ask me how. I do not know. {I think going between MAC and PC from home and work has nearly tripled my technical malfunctions quota.}  Perhaps I should up my caffeine intake.
Do you believe in the Tooth Fairy? Well once upon a time I did. And when I found out that she, Santa, and the Easter bunny did not exist, I was crushed. My daughter has a tender heart; I can only imagine the same bleak outcome for her. That is why her father and I initially decided to scrap the whole non-existent bearer of gifts gig entirely. They are going to get a present, doesn't matter who it comes from, we'll celebrate the real reason for the season. Well, FAIL. My kids are Santa believers, thanks to a stay at a friend’s over the holidays, which they bought the whole North Pole package hook line and sinker.
So Drama Queen's tooth finally comes out, with a little help from me, and she says, "I have to put it under my pillow". I go on to explain there is no Tooth Fairy, but I'll still give her two dollars for her tooth. I was very sensitive about the matter.  It didn't go over well. She refuses to believe there is no Tooth Fairy!
This is her response to my explanation. {In front of the cable guy no less, who was laughing at us, wonder why?}
"Mom, I know you don't believe...but I believe in the Tooth Fairy, I really do. I'm just going to put my tooth under my pillow and see what happens. I believe in magic."
Of course you do. Why wouldn't you.  Disney I blame you entirely. "Okay put it under your pillow." At this point I feel like a cruel human being, crushing her teeny tiny believing spirit.
I thought she had collected the tooth, which I placed on a paper towel on the table to dry out, {blech}. I thought she put it directly under her pillow, but no. Gone. Tooth Gate. Maybe I threw it away, but I did double check, maybe she lost it, maybe her little brother ate it, maybe the big huge ants carried it away to their Queen; I don't know. But it is gone, and I did vacuum, so it’s really gone.
She was devastated, naturally. I then had to weave up some immaculate story about how the Tooth Fairy KNOWS the exact date your tooth is coming out; so it doesn't matter if you have it or not. Friends it was good if I say so myself, Fairy kingdom, clipboards, GPS, and magical keys to doors. She wrote the Tooth Fairy a letter, on a small piece of paper because the TF is smallish. Letter said,
"Dear Tooth Fairy,
My tooth came out today. I have to write you a letter because MY MOM LOST IT."
How did I get dragged into this? Where is the accountability here? Then she walks by me and gives me a gentle slap on the knee. The geez Mom, how could you, kind of thing. {I couldn't say anything because I was trying not to laugh.}  Oh, I see you cable guy, I see the smirk on your face and I know what you’re thinking. He's thinking he knows who wears the pants in this family, {not me}. So at least he could give me some free HBO or something right? {I didn't ask} He probably thinks I should shut off the television and have a good sit down with my kids and set them straight. Whatever cable man, you're here because life without Max and Ruby to my son is nothing sort of excruciating, well maybe not, but he does like Max & Ruby. And I like to not watch or pay attention to the news every so often, and I think Anderson Cooper is cute, muted.
"Mom, what does she do with all those teeth?"
I don't know, somethings are to remain a mystery {toss it}. I'm not the sensitive type that keeps stuff like that. In fact I throw away the majority of art work from school too. I am not a pack rat.  I keep a few things. But really baby teeth? Yuck. Sorry I may be the only one, but I don't see the point and it’s gross.  Who started this and why?
So the Tooth Fairy came and left her two dollars. As I'm sitting here writing this it occurred to me, I gave Drama Queen two dollars when the tooth came out, her Grandparents gave her two dollars that day, and then the Tooth Fairy left her two bucks. I think maybe she's brilliant and I've been duped. I'm okay with that.

June 03, 2011

Uh, What Was I Saying?

I really shouldn’t be blogging right now.  Okay, I’m 89.7% certain of that.  Eh, rebel type.  Could I have posted something from my drafts?  Yes.  But then my post would’ve just sucked instead of being mildly mediocre.  I was already behind on pretty much everything last week and then we had to go and have a holiday. 

{Let me just say for the record so Jesus doesn’t put me on the naughty list, how THANKFUL I am to all the servicemen, women and their families and for what they sacrifice so I can do stupid things like blog, and have freedom and stuff.}  Shout out and {hug} Jen and family.

So my To-do list snowballed out of control this week.  When I say snowball, imagine my little to-do list growing gigantically into a large crumbly, paper ball and rolling me over crushing my fragile and petite frame; then turning around and re-rolling over me.  That would about sum it up.  I realized that perhaps I may have taken on too much the last week or so when I dozed off in downward dog.  Yeah.  Awesome.  So, I lost a day of productivity this week, well as productive as I get which can be easily described as, differentiating head from ass.  So I’m more behind, just sayin’.  What day is it?  Yeah!  That’s right people it’s Friday!  How?  What?  Time warp?  How did I get so far behind?  This is actually a recurring conversation/question that is stuck on the rinse and repeat cycle in my brain. 

It really irritates me when I notice I have become something that I do not really care for in other people.  For example, tardiness, lateness, I hate being late, like OCD crazy hate it.  Guess what?  Guess who always strolls into the party fashionably late?  Yup, you got it…me.  So when did this happen?  My best guess is the exact moment I rolled out of the hospital with newborn baby Drama Queen in arms.  It makes no difference how prepared I am with pre-packing, laying things out, writing notes, or allowing extra time; something WILL happen and I WILL be late {or often there in the nick of time}.  If you’re expecting me, you will inevitably receive a text message relaying something along the lines of, “be there in 10”, “running late (smiley face)”, “sorry (frowny face)”, “save me a seat”, or, if I’m really ticked off about it you’ll get, “Just left, LATE (bold all caps)”.  I think right now, I still get the "awww, it's okay, your a single Mom" pass; don't know how long this will last.

It’s not like I’m blogging or taking a bubble bath or anything {a wah? I can’t even remember….}.  More than likely my offspring have taken off their 20 layers of winter gear, just ‘cuz, and I have to stuff them back in…or someone can’t find their blanket…or one of them may or may not have eaten a leaf off one of the household plants and I may have had to contact a botanist and poison control…or the car seat belt is mangled {safety first}…or they have decided to hone their Olympic-type running skills and practice the 50 yard dash when they should be getting INTO the car.  So yeah, note to self, if you need me there at 7:30 better off telling me 7:15, OH or 7:00, then I’d be early, and that would make me happy, until I get mad at you for being late.  Hypocrite, yes, yes I am.

I can pretty much always blame the kids.  It’s not like I’m putting on more makeup or brushing my hair.  This is a true fact.  Many a day nary a brush has made it its way through my mane, and no one is the wiser. {What’s that?  You are the wiser and are shaking your head at my disheveled appearance, probably laughing at my Tom Selleck stache too, thanks “friends”, you’re so pretty}  Well I think the non-brushing gives my hair a more full-bodied tousled look.  I can’t be bothered with such things.

Okay, I seriously had a lot more to say about my time management, which segways into my blog management skills.  As in, I have none.  See how this post has run wildly out of control?  I didn’t even get to talk about the multi-disciplinary team meeting, the end of the school year activities, the hours I’ve spent wasted whispering sweet nothings to Blue Cross Almighty over the phone, the therapy re-arrangement arrangements, {speeding ticket} and work.  Oh work, busy time, naturally I had oodles of time to spend on the 3-9 pages of brainstorming ideas I was told asked nicely to do.  In my delirium I may have jotted down something about whittling, gypsies and some sort of company theme song/jingle, can’t recall.  But it probably doesn’t bode well for me, and I very well may be fired by the time this post is published.  When you tell me to think outside of the box, I’m going to go there, I was born there. 

You’ll all know I’m unemployed should you see Google Ads littered over the blog.  Scary thought, I have no idea what Google would market from my key words.  You can’t bottle crazy.  More than likely, Liquor Barn, or Single+Inappropriate+Men=sleazy dating site, RAID, and some, “Hey Moms, get back to school” type ad.   

Hopefully I will recover from the exhaustion this weekend.  Even a semi-recovery would be nice. 

Enjoy yours all!

Cari