THEY'RE ALL GONNA LAUGH AT YOU!

A long, long time ago, I remember spending my days being so incredibly bored. My husband would come home from work and I'd complain about how bored I was...how we needed to get out and Do! Something!

These days, I feel as if I'm a chicken with my head cut off. I'm running around, spewing blood and bumping into neighboring cows and pigs.

Luckily, we have plans to steam clean our carpet soon-- that'll help get rid of all that chicken blood on the white floor.

Be back soon. Really soon.

Let Him Eat Cake

"So, what's for dinner," my husband asked Thursday after I picked him up from work.

In a very dramatic fashion, complete with throwing myself in a rumpled heap on the couch, I said "NOTHING! WE HAVE NOTHING TO EAT!" We couldn't even just eat noodles with cheese, as we were already out of shredded cheese and I had used the last of our sliced provolone two nights before (in place of shredded cheese, to be exact).

After what seemed like an hour of me complaining about how we're always out of food and we don't even have four raisins to share-- never mind two of us do not eat the nasty buggers-- that we were all going to starve and die and where's Al Gore when you need him-- we came to the conclusion that dry noodles would not work.

Finally, we got up and headed over to a local Mexican joint, one my daughter refers to as "Old Charles," though it is not old and nobody there is named Charles. We dined on enchiladas and margaritas and headed over to the local Hippy Health Food Store in the same shopping center.

I personally like doing my shopping after having an alcoholic beverage. It makes it a bit more fun.

"Squeeze the melons, children. Just sqquuueeeezzzzzeee them." 

My husband brought the two kids over to the Halloween store to view the creepies while I did my shopping. The store was rather empty, as most of the Snow Birds in town do their shopping on Wednesday afternoon- DOUBLE AD DAY!-- before they go and eat dinner at the resonable hour of 4pm.

Before they can have that dinner, however, they have to drive slowly down the road, hands perched at 1 and 11 on the wheel, while staying precariously close to the center lane.

Yay for snowbirds! I hear they taste like chicken.

I wheeled my cart through the store quickly, throwing this and that into my basket, hoping to get out before the kids came in and started screaming for organic gummy worms from the bulk bins. As I stood in line to check out, I realized that I had a basket of food for my son.

You see, I hardly ever eat sugar anymore. I'm more of a social sugar eater-- desserts and such at parties, but I don't snack during the day. So most of the prepackaged foods at the store, even the Hippy Health Food Store, are out.

I'm looking into the basket and I see $70 worth of things to keep my 3-year-old boy fed. Hippy Pop Tarts (for snacks on the go, not breakfast), Hippy Fruit Strips, honey sticks, kefir, Annie's Mac and Cheese, strawberries, prunes, raisins, nuts...the list goes on and on.

How is it possible for one child to eat so much? I swear he must have a tapeworm...it is the only way I can explain how he can down so much food in such a short time.

This is a child who could eat a twelve course meal and then, 30 minutes later, ask for a snack, preferably goldfish crackers, if possible.

I spend my days trying to think of ways to feed him without overloading on things such as crackers/pretzels/goldfish. Apples with honey, apples with peanut butter, yogurt, fruit strips, popcorn, fruit, frozen tubes of yogurt...I do it all.

And yet, he is still not satisfied.

It is to the point where I just want to keep a basket of fresh snacks next to me on the couch, and when he asks for "a 'nack," I can just throw a piece of meat at him and tell him to eat like a shark (no hands allowed!).

If I could at least keep him occupied by trying to catch meat in his mouth for at least half the day, I feel there's a chance I could cut his food bill in half. If the whole plan works well, and he's successful eating like a shark, I might even consider springing for that expensive grass fed beef.

Eat your heart out, 99 cent store.

I'm always surprised when I see pictures of families with kids and I notice that they have nice things in their house. Nice things? With children? Really? How the heck do you do it?

I gave up on nice things oh...about five years ago. Why bother? The second I'd bring a $1,000 couch into my living room, someone would climb on it and use it as a uncapped marker holding station. I can already see the black and blue streaks everywhere...probably because I have matching streaks on my couch.

My couch is a beauty. I love my couch. It is orange, holds three adults and even folds out into a hide-a-bed! How great is that? What is even better about my couch is that we got it on the side of a road. It was at a church garage sale and the sign said "Free!"

I know my taste is different than other people's taste...but how could they not think someone would want to pay for this couch? Heck, I would have paid $10 for it. Maybe even $20. But the fact that it was free cemented the love I have for my couch even more.

When we first moved to Arizona, we needed a lamp for our living room. We bought a lamp from a big box store, which promptly broke. So, we bought another one...but having spent over $1 on it meant...the kids broke it.

I don't think the world's supply of duct tape could hold this sucker up. It hunches like a drunk in a bad wind storm-- you never know what is going to set it off and make it topple.

And then, I saw it. Our new lamp. It was at a resale shop we frequent and I had my eye on it. I want to say, originally, it was $10 or so. And then it was listed in the half price sale. When it didn't go...it went down to 99 cents.

99 cents for a lamp, people. That's less than a dollar!

I bought that lamp and brought it home. I couldn't stop raving about my awesome new red lamp to sit next to my awesome orange couch! The only problem was that my husband wasn't down with me about the lamp. He worried how long it would last in our house-- this being a large breakable lamp next to the couch...also known as our "diving board."

If something has ever screamed "break me" louder than this, I'd be surprised.

Even better? My 99 cent lamp is sitting atop a 50 cent table I bought at a yard sale. My entire living room set cost me less than $2. 

As I sat and admired my beautiful orange lamp, I turned and looked at my husband. "Who cares if they break it," I said. "I'd be sad, sure. But it cost less than a dollar. At that price, the kids can break as much furniture as they want."

Because, when something costs $1,000 a little crumb on it is a big deal. When the entire set is less than a Starbucks latte...you could drop an entire crumb cake on it and I wouldn't even flinch.

Hair, There, Everywhere!

I have spent the past few days thinking constantly about my hair. Okay, nix that...the past few weeks? Months? I'm one of those people who have Grand Ideas when it comes to my hair, but the second I sit down in the stylist's chair, my ideas go out the window and I say things such as, "Let's shave all my hair!"

I wanna be Britney, darnit! Make me Britney!

Several years ago, I went pixie. As in boy cut. It was cute and it took all of two seconds to fix my hair in the morning. But then...the pixie just got on my nerves. I worried I looked like a boy. A boy with boobs, but a boy. I worried it highlighted my double chin. And so, one day, I grew it out.

Have you ever tried to grow out a pixie hair cut? Have you ever tried to pull your fingernails out one by one? The process is very similar.

Here's the picture of the pixie:


Here's a picture of my hair, yesterday:



I've started wondering if I can do a version of this:

As I sat in my stylist's chair, feeling both scared and bold at the same time, I started analyzing hair. What is it that I like? What is it that I don't like? Who would my hair vote for? Who would my hair like to meet most, living or dead? Does it have a favorite book? Has it ever been a part of Oprah's book club?

And why do I have such a fear of having "mom hair?" I am a Mom, aren't I?

My stylist insists that Mom Hair is a state of mind (she's 26 without kids). I say "I want to be fashionable! I want to be a hot mom!"

She takes a hot curling iron and smacks me across the head, hoping it will shut me up. It doesn't work.

I read a blog recently that asked about what my look says about me. Hip? Cool? Frumpy? And honestly, I don't know. I hope, on the cusp of 30, that it says I'm finally getting things together. That I'm finally starting to figure things out. That hey, my shoes and shirt match for once and I actually change out of my pajamas before noon.

And if all that's too much? I hope it at least doesn't say sometimes I forget to brush my teeth.

Mommy and Daddy

Mommy and Daddy, originally uploaded by *Mama*Bear*.

One of the few photos of me and my husband. He's cleaning up after dinner. I was just watching videos of Pomplamoose Music on YouTube.

Demons

When I was in Junior High, I'd get hung up on the idea of "good" and "bad" days. As in, oh no, I dropped my pencil and it left a mark on my white shirt! BAD DAY BAD DAY BAD DAY!

Abort! Abort!

I finally got to the point where I stopped doing that as constantly labeling a day "good" or "bad" is really setting yourself up for something.

But, I'm serious here...I'm having a BAD DAY.

But, what can I say? When you spend your days at home with Moody and her little brother, Whiny, what do you expect? Usually, Moody sets it off. She has a bit of a controlling personality at times and if I decide not to give in to whatever demands she has at that moment, you can forget it.

All Hell breaks loose. The world will no longer spin on its axis and, also? All of the fire and damnation of 1,000 beasts is aimed right at my head.

I've been getting over being sick. So that puts me in a bit of a down mood. I'm planning a Halloween party that has quickly turned to s-h-i-t. (Spelling it out, mommy-style.) People can't come! Other people are showing up late! I can't get invitations to some people because they have stopped attending homeschool events while other people don't respond to emails.

Also...how exactly do you find someone in the phonebook when all you know her is as "Audrey's Mom?"

So with the pressure of a Halloween party that's turning to crap, the sickness that won't end and my child acting as if she's posessed by Marilyn Manson, I'm starting to lose it.

A glass jar is dropped on the floor. In that moment, every single "you're not allowed to say that" word came out of my mouth. Stupid, hate, dumb, idiot...plus a few more "choice" words that won't make it to the Internet. (No they weren't used to describe my children, but the whole situation.)

What I'm realizing about this whole "experiment" of sorts is that it gives me control. I LIKE control. Control makes me feel steady, makes me feel accomplished, even if all I accomplished is sweeping under the kitchen table after lunch.

All these little bumps in the road are taking away my control. The sickness, other people's commitments,  my child's complete and total inability to just CALM DOWN ALREADY...it just gets to me. And when I feel as if my goat is, in fact, gotten, I start slacking in other areas.

I have to learn that when things don't go right in one area that it doesn't give you a "get out of jail free" card to let it all go.

I need to turn that lack of control into a mean, lean cleaning machine. Or at least someone who can put the laundry into the washer.

Overcomitted Betty!

The past few weeks have gone by in a blur. One of my big goals when I moved here was to meet more people. I'm slowly but surely doing that...though I'm still working on the whole "follow-up" issue of turning people I meet into friends.

Such as, it is hard to follow up when that potential friend stops attending the event we met at. Do I look her email up on the group website? Do I send a carrier pigeon? Do I show up on her driveway, a la "Say Anything" with a boombox over my head? And what, exactly, do I do if I don't have a boombox? I don't even have an iPod.

I guess I shall bring my laptop and aim it at her house.

I offered to make a cake for my friend's son's 4th birthday party. Here's the deal: It was a Star Wars theme. Knowing better then just to wing it at the last minute, I spent every waking moment Googling "Star Wars cakes" and testing them at home.

My life became one big fondant covered cake wreck.

Finally, with the clock ticking down, I had a "Hail Mary" moment and discovered marshmallow fondant and the concept of kneading the dough until it was not sticky anymore.

Just after I finished that cake, I had to start in on lesson plans for my daughter's homeschool co-op. A co-op basically is like school, but you only go for one class and all the kids are homeschooled. I offered to teach the lesson on Texas for this geography class...which quickly turned into a lesson on Texas, Oklaohoma and Arkansas.

It was so hard for me not to say "Arkansas! It is where the Duggars come from!"

Gah, I love me some Duggars. Mama Duggar is my hero. How she manages to stay sane and still have time to boink Papa Duggar is beyond me. I'd love to spend a day with them...though it probably won't happen know that I said "boink Paper Duggar."

By the time the co-op class came around, I was sick. As much as I kept waiting for it to turn into Pig Flu, all I got was a sinus infection. Unfortunately for these kids, when I get sick, I totally lose my ability to think. I'm like "Uh, Texas. Um...oil? I have no idea what oil is! I'm sick! Wanna hear about that?"

I hope to never speak of Arkansas again. Really. I'm still recovering from the dismal failure that was my ability to teach anything worth learning.

If I've learned anything these past few weeks...it is that anything worth doing is worth covering in fondant. Speaking of doing things, this Spring I'm teaching a class on the Holocaust for the co-op. Now, if I could just figure out how to combine that with fondant...I'd be a happy lady.