Just like her mudder.

GiGi was *real* hung up on impressing me yesterday afternoon, and made sure that happened. The bus driver stopped the bus and got out, smiling, just to tell me something about my girl. By this time I was beaming from ear to ear, imagining my child coming to the rescue and administering mouth-to-mouth to save a child's life, or protecting fellow students from an attacker. Nay, this was *not* the case.

My 6-year old ball of *pure* sunshine, Gracelyn, flipped off each and *every* child that passed her while getting off the bus yesterday. She's the last one off, so she made *quite* the impression. My child isn't greedy (ha!), and proceeded to share her love of the bird with them all. Hey - at *least* I get a point for teaching her to treat everyone as equals.

Lest you forget this very child impressed the masses her first time telling a Bible story - her version of Mary and Martha meeting with Jesus. She was only 3 and had just come home from her 1st night of Vacation Bible School. It went a little somethin' like this:

Mary and Martha were happy because Jesus was coming over for dinner. Martha was running around crazy, cooking and cleaning, and got mad because she couldn't find Mary anywhere! She opened the door, and there was Mary, sitting on the floor at Jesus' feet - and Martha said, "Mary, what the *hell* is going on here?!"

You don't get that kind of education from just anywhere, people. Recognize.

They Only *Look* Like Angels

All I wanted to do was take a nap while the girls sat beside me watching Strawberry Shortcake. All I ended *up* doing, was taking a nap, so as to give our *helpful* children (read: destructive fruit of my womb) time to demolish the house. In less than 30 minutes, they managed to:

Convince our color TV he had warped back to the 50’s, so he was all ‘I’m going back to black and white. Besides, black is slimming.’

Let our antique hutch in on the secret that *everyone* wears stuff faded these days. *Usually* in the middle. *Especially* in ginormous Jupiter-sized rings.

Pack the iPhone charger with so much green ‘stuff’ that she acts like she’s never even *seen* the iPhone before. They’ve been together since last year!!!!! Huzzy.

It’s a good day when September 18th rolls around, and for worthwhile reasons, I’ll be taking it *all* off, by being brave, and getting bald. You should too. Don’t make me sic my kids on you, because I will *so* do it.

Visit http://www.stbaldricks.org/ & www.stbaldricks.org/events/easttexas NOW. Please. :)

The shovel did it!

I’ve always been a sucker for animals. Like to play with ‘em, eat ‘em…they’re just all around good things to have on hand.

Recently Gracelyn’s school raised baby chicks from wee eggs, and we ended up adopting 2 of ‘em. Did we *have* to adopt them? Puh-leese. The biddies looked at me with big doe chicken eyes, and cheeped, “Pick me! Take me home to be tortured by your heathen spawn, let your dog maul me in a game of chase, and then cut my head off with a shovel, please! Me, me, me!!!!” Okay, so maybe they didn’t say the part about the dog chasing them (who are we kidding, there was never a chase when it started and ended in the dog’s mouth), but you get the vibe. They *had* to live with us.

Fast forward to a week later. Violet decided the biddies needed to stretch their legs, so to speak, and let one down on the ground outside. Next thing I know, Gracelyn busts through the door screaming that a chicken is dying. I go outside to find the biddy by a tree, all lopsided and obviously sporting new body shades...the color purple, ha! It really *was* sad for a few minutes. It was not long for this world, and I didn’t want it to suffer, so I cut his head off. Sucker. Kidding! Sort of. About the sucker part.

Its eyes were closed, but it was still breathing. I thought I’d put it in a small box in a safe place so it could at least die without kids and dogs trying to poke/chew it (Duke tried to bite the biddies heads off the first day…little Ozzy). When I tried to pick it up, it cheeped like “sucka, I would *so* peck you in the eye and flog you in your uvula if I could” and I was all “Piss. This sucks.”

It closed its eyes again, and I waited for it to die for a good 2 minutes. It didn’t happen. I thought maybe I could, um, suffocate it (oh, I feel *so* bad even typing that) if I just held it’s beak-hole shut. It seemed like it was going well, until it’s eyes flew open and it struggled and I just couldn’t do it. It was a flipping baby biddy, suckas!

I asked Byron for a gun, to blow it into oblivion, but he wouldn’t load it for me. I told him to kill it, and he refused to hurt an animal, especially a baby one, and that it was *all* my fault for adopting them in the first place. What a flipping girl.

In the end, it was the flat shovel. I held it above the neck with, asked the good Lord to forgive me, and slammed it down with my foot. Done. And then I remembered (from my childhood), when you cut a chicken’s head off, they run.,,, except this one just turned in circles. He was *slightly* handicapped. Then I laughed.

Obviously God has a sense of humor, because that? Was funny stuff.

On another note... Did you know if you spit on an electric fence and the spit hits the wire, at the same time you realize it's still falling from your lip, you get electrocuted? Well, now you do. But that story's for next time.

I knew you (pretended to) missed me!

I? Am supah-ghetto-fab’lous, and *apparently* my fabulosity ‘twas heard all about the world, and they were all Ex-*cuse* MEH? You *have* to be our employee, and I? Was all sho’nuff.

More easily explained? I’m the newest lucky employee of Hudson Printing. I temp’ed for them for 60 days, and finally started all official-like this Monday. So far, so good. I haven’t dreading going to work so that’s a promising sign. Everyone has been very nice and helpful, so I’m hoping I’ll get to stick around for a while.

Oh-holy-piss, you do *not* even know my business. As you already know (or maybe you don’t, because you’re lame – isn’t there some artsy-craftsy stuff called lame? Like la’me? La-may?) that I’m a *slight* fan of tattoos. I had 2 older ones on my shoulder blades: a stupid peach that said “Peachy” (Honestly. Am I ever peachy about anything?) and a gecko that was pretty for a few days – until I sunburned it into oblivion a week later. Anywho, I had them both covered up with some pretty lilies to match Byron’s name, and the fleur-de-lis in the middle of my back. LARGE-like thanks to Nikki at Garage Art Studio in Longview, for drawing it up, and putting it on.

Since we last talked Palm Sunday and Easter flew by, and we had a *grand* time with family.

This? Is what Quentin looks like on damn near *any* given day. I think he’s attempting an “I’m-so-cool-I-just-happen-to-be-caught-off-guard-and-still-manage-to-look-this-awesome look, but I’m not buying in to it. I’m his mother, and that ol’ dog won’t hunt.

Hmmm…what else, what else, what else? I’m drawing a blank. Guess it’s time to call it quits for this evening, but maybe you fine people can inspire me with something. Or maybe you’re just boring and lame, and will inspire me to sleep. Now *that’s* an idea I’m feelin’ fond of about now.

Good ol' Family Pictures

We had an appointment yesterday to have our family pictures taken. Sounds easy enough, right? NEVAH!!

This *is* the Hast Family, if you recall. Let me preface this by saying these are not just *any* old pictures. We haven’t had a family portrait since only having 2 children. We were long overdue. I couldn’t use just any old photographer, and they couldn’t just be any old photos, so we went with the best: Jennifer Weintraub of Sugar Photography. http://www.sugar-photography.com

Because we were scheduled to shoot in Deep Ellum (in downtown Dallas), we drove up the night before to stay with Jackie and family. I woke up in the middle of the night and checked the weather. Since it was going to be a bit cooler than I had planned for (only 51 at 9 a.m.) I decided to take a 2 a.m. trip to Walmart for necessities. I got coordinating hoodies for the girls, and then realized that *somehow* Violet had made it to Dallas with NO shoes…or rather, her sister’s shoes that were 4 sizes too big. I went head and bought some pink converse shoes for her, and headed back home.

The next morning we were up and at ‘em early, getting everyone bathed and ready to go. I probably don’t need to tell you we were running late. About 30 minutes before we left, Duke was WALKING around upstairs (he can walk now!! Not a pro, really, but he’s doing it.) when he reached out for the railing of the stairs. Guess it was a bit too far, and he ended up falling over, managing to hit his forehead. Now he was sporting a nice red head, which was expected for our pics. What’s a good family picture without injury?

Could that be *all* that happened before leaving? Hell no. Jackie’s dining room ceiling started pouring water after we’d all had showers. I *know* she was more than impressed, especially since she’s having Natalie’s birthday party next weekend at home.

We finally got around to making our first attempt to leave. I was loading things into the car, and kids were running around outside. I told Quentin to pick up Duke and bring him to the car. Apparently he didn’t hear me, so Duke walked out the door unassisted, with Freak-O Ken walking behind him. Ken is a moron and figured Duke could take a cement step alone, and next thing I know, Duke is eating cement. He’s screaming, Byron picks him up, and wouldn’t you know….a *lovely* busted top lip, all swollen, and bleeding on his new shirt. The picture shirt. FIGURES!!!!

We make our 2nd attempt to leave after cleaning him up, get halfway down the road, and realized Violet didn’t have her shoes. After lots of cussing and looking, we couldn’t find the new shoes I bought just hours before. We had to end up letting her wear Gracelyn’s extra pair of hot pink tennis shoes, which matched perfectly, except they looked like clown shoes on Violet. Oh well, we belong in a circus anyhow. (I’m quite certain that while reading this, you just nodded your head in agreement. Suck it.)

Only 15 minutes late, we finally met the photographer of our dreams !! I’m *not* kidding…you *have* to book her. In countless months and hours on the internet, researching, no one else’s work is even comparable to hers. Fa’real yo. Book her or I’ll hunt you down, like the dogs that you are, and slap your teeth out….or something like that. We weren’t ever posed like you’d expect at Olan Mills, Sears, etc. Instead we played, laughed, hugged, kissed, walked, and spun around, and she caught it all on film. Absolutely priceless!!!!

Duke, the hap-hap-happiest baby I’ve ever had, was still pissed about the lip-bid’ness. He decided to show just how unhappy he could be. Violet and Gracelyn acted like usual, and didn’t listen to anything anyone asked them to do. Quentin was his normal supah-cool self, getting confused with his sheepdog alter-ego, with hair in his eyes. By the time we got to the 3rd location Duke finally perked up, and was generally happy. Craziness included, we had a great time!

I absolutely cannot wait to see the pictures!!! Jennifer was nice enough to give us a sneak-peek and I was *very* pleased. She was very easy to work with, and I feel like next time I should supply her with a xanax or 7 for our craziness. Pictures to come!!

Violet, do you have beer in your bedroom again?

"Violet, do you have beer in your bedroom again?" And no...I'm not talking to my 21-year-old daughter. She's 2. What can I say? I'm practicing right now for our future talks.

This morning I went into the girls' room, and immediately smelled beer. Byron mentioned something about it the day before, but I couldn't smell anything at the time. Besides, their room had been *thoroughly* cleaned just 2 days before. Today though? REEKED of beer. Like the party back in the day that I went to where some stupid girl poured beer all over me and my leather bomber jacket, and then I had to walk home, and then I told my parents I fell in sewage instead (to explain the beer, sticker burrs and mud all over me). Yeah, I was a *great* liar back in the day....and you *so* know they believed it. I digress.

I started picking up random things in the girls room and smelling them, trying to diagnose the problem. I finally got around to the play kitchen, moved the little table out of the way, and found this:

Notice how I used the banana for scale, so you could see the actual size of said mystery object. Okay, actually I found the banana in the room too, but isn't it cool how the 2 foods were sitting just like that so I could attempt to use it for an excuse?

A photo from Ground Zero. Notice the height of the object. I think there's a small stem in it too.

I asked Violet what it was, and she said, "Itha uh-may-tah. Now. Put ith in my fidja-ratr.", and she politely opened the door. Translation: It's a tomato. Now. Put it in my refridgerator.

First one to correctly identify the mystery object gets to keep it!

Can't anything ever be easy?!?!?!

Every time my family gets ready to leave from home, I tell the girls to go outside, get in the car, and put their seat belts on. No matter what I threaten them with (grounding, taking toys away, spanking, etc.) they *never* go straight to the car. They always chase after the cats and dogs, ride their bikes….*anything* to avoid doing what I asked them.

Why would I think this morning would be any different? Byron had already left for church, so I herded up the children and had them heading to the car. The girls, as usual, didn’t get in the car like I told them to, so I was already mad. I was slightly relieved by the fact that it took me less than 10 minutes to get them in and go.

I got about a mile from home when I heard Duke gagging. I looked in the back seat to see Violet with her fingers in his mouth, so naturally I told her to get them out. She’s been known for sticking them in there before, trying to get him to “bite” her. After she took her hand out he was still gagging, so I started slowing down to pull over. Then Violet shouted, “My key! My key!” I’m pretty sure I had my first coronary right at that moment when I realized she had shoved “her” key in his mouth. Where did she get the key ,you might ask. I would sheepishly reply, “Well, Violet was making noise and crying for some keys to play with, and I didn’t have her key ring with me. Instead I just gave her a key I found in the cup holder to shut her up.” I had just said I couldn’t drive with all the noise, and was doing anything to keep them quiet. Just in case you’re in this situation in the future….never give your 2 year old a key….ESPECIALLY if they’re sitting next to their 5 month old brother.

I was still going about 40 mph, but by this time the he wasn’t making any noise. I whipped the car over into the nearest ditch, jumped out, and jerked him out. When you’re in a hurry, those stupid car seat buckles are impossible to get off. I turned him upside down on one arm, and hit him as hard as I could in the back. His eyes, nose and mouth were purple. Look, I’m LOVING the color purple in my hair, and even in a shirt. But on my child’s face? Not attractive.

I was still out in the middle of nowhere, and there were only 2 houses nearby. I picked the one with the shorter driveway, but it was still a good ¼ mile. And then I started running, and kept running until I fell down. Jumped back up, kicked off my flip-flops, and kept running. Ran into their dogs, and kept running. I’m not exactly sure what they thought about some crazy-purple-haired girl running down their driveway with a baby, but I know if I ever saw something like that, it would scare the ever loving tar out of me! Finally I made it to their house, and rang the doorbell a million times over. The residents, a man and woman, ran out to help, thinking I’d had a car wreck. When they figured out what was going on, we all ran inside and they called 911. I kept beating Duke on the back trying to get him to breathe, but we never saw the key come out. The operator stayed on the phone with us until Duke started breathing good again, and they asked me to take him to the hospital.

The lady, Al Sumpter, drove me back out to my car, and my girls. Did I already mention I left them in the car with it running? I knew they couldn’t go anywhere, even if they put the car in drive, because it was STUCK in the mud. I figured with my luck a cop would drive and I’d get in trouble for leaving children unattended, but that didn’t happen. Both girls were still in the car. Violet was swinging from the grip bar and playing, and Gracelyn was crying. Gracelyn informed me that Violet needed to pee, so she just went all over the back seat. Lovely! Then Violet said, “Where’s my key?!” Sounds about right. My car had sunk further into the mud, but Mr. Sumpter went and got some chains to pull me out. I will be forever grateful to that couple!

I took Duke to the GSMC E.R. They got him back pretty quickly and took an x-ray. They’d already discussed how they’d have to get the key out, which would require him being put under, and using a scope, or doing surgery. Neither seemed to appealing to me. See how upset Duke looked by the whole ordeal? Obviously VERY stressed...lol.


The doctor came back with the x-ray results, and finally told us…NO KEY! He said it must’ve flown out one of the times I was hitting Duke in the back. I have never been so relieved in my life!

This afternoon’s plan? To find every spare key, change, or any other small part lying around and throw it away, or put it up and away. My kids will have to think of some other creative way to have me institutionalized!

Random Stories & Thoughts

This is probably the longest post in blogger history, but it’s just a few random thoughts, and some of our plans for the next few days. Read it through to the end or don’t. I won’t ever know the difference.

A few days ago, Duke woke up from a nap and Gracelyn told me she thought he had “the rabies”. His legs and arms had a red “rash”, but it was actually the pattern of the sofa fabric where he’d been sleeping. Thank you very much, “the rabies”.

Gracelyn also thinks that the word “titties” is “tibbies”, and bastard is “pastar” (Thank you, Austin Powers). Neither of which is acceptable for her to say, but it’s still funny.

This morning when driving the girls to school, Violet started whining, “Mommmmyyyy! Gimme it! Gimme my we-tahd!!!” It sound like she was saying one of the very few words I won’t say…you know….derogatory term for mentally challenged. Again and again she yelled, almost crying, but still insisting I give her the we-tahd. After a few minutes of listening to her waller, I turned around and saw what she was pointing to. Her sister’s purse, in the shape of a GUITAR. I laughed and said, “Violet, can you say ‘gi-gi-GUI-tar?!” She replied with, “Yep! Weeeee-taaaaaahd.” Guess she told me!

I stopped in the church office this morning after taking the girls to their classes, to print out our boarding passes for the flight. I was holding Duke in my lap at the time. He decided he’d had enough waiting, so he puked on me. Twice. A lot. No big deal…this is my fourth kid, and honestly…what’s a day without puke? Or artwork on the walls? Or a package of red kool-aid opened in the back of the car and mixed with spit to “paint” on the seat? (That piss doesn’t come out! It literally looks like I carried a dead deer back there.) Or a concussion? (Violet had her 2nd concussion in less than 6 months last week, thanks to the jury-rigged “safety net” at Dairy Queen not keeping her out of the wrong area…so she climbed to the top of the outside of the slide, and jumped. I’d say it was about 10 feet in the air, and she landed flat on her back. I was in the room! I couldn’t get her out, because the stupid area was too small for me to get in. Even Gracelyn couldn’t fit back there, but leave to Violet – a.k.a Evil Knievil Jr. – to figure out how. I think we’ll be making her a helmet soon!) I digress. So Duke puked on my hand. A few hours later we’re in the car on our way to Dallas, and I rub my hand by my face…and smelled….baby puke. Apparently? It’s *real* hard to clean out of the crevices of a ring.

So I’m looking out the airplane, and wondering about all sorts of questions I’ll forget to ask myself when we land. For instance…what are all these circles on the ground? I’m guessing they’re crops of some sort, that would make sense….but crops of what? And how do they plant them in a super-cool perfect circle? With a monster pointy-thingy that you used in Geometry to draw circles with? Secondly: There are TONS of these little “driveways” with squares of dirt at the very end. From up here it looks like a community of gophers or prairie dogs, but I have NO IDEA what they are…and this is the crap that will keep me up at night. *If* I happen to remember it later. I’m looking out the window right now, and there’s like 10 square miles of gopher cities. Insanity.

The drink lady & dude passed us a bit ago, and offered free drinks. Nice of ‘em. Then said we could buy a cookie, some nuts, or chips for the price of your firstborn. For real. $4 each. Those suckers better be plated in GOLD, or the size of a dinner plate if I’m buying a cookie for $4. Now some moron a few rows behind me traded his child for a sandwich, and that’s all I can smell. I don’t know what it is, but it smells like Schlotzky’s. He better *hope* I don’t have to go to the bathroom, or it will be on like Donkey Kong. I purposely haven’t eaten today, just so I wouldn’t have to relive the last experience I had flying to Vegas….3 Xanax and an hour in the bathroom later….and so the story goes.

I’m *so* gonna slap the kid behind me. He has to be about 15…reminds me of Quentin…and if it were Quentin sitting back there? I would’ve already smacked the back of his head. I swear he’s tapping and playing drums with boxes of NERDS. Sucka, I have NOT had enough medicine to take care of you yet. We’ll be landing in Vegas, and this kid’s gonna need *major* dental work, because I’m gonna his teeth out.

And now we just flew over something that resembled an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Or maybe two Olympic swimming pools. But instead of cement it looked like tar around the outside, and it was filled with dirt. Weird. Oh! Oh! Oh! And the Hoover Dam! And Lake Mead. I’m *so* impressed. I could probably enjoy the view better if not for the searing pain in my hand making my vision blurry (a bit of turbulence and Byron has a death grip).

So the next few days should be fun. Or interesting. Or both. Tonight we’re not doing anything planned, just ho-humming and watching the oddities on the street. I’ll be SO ready to eat by then. I want a near-alive filet mignon and some bread.

Friday will probably be the best day EVAH. We got tickets to the first ever UFC Fan Expo, coinciding with the 100th UFC Fight Night. There will be tons of vendors there giving crap away, and even more importantly, my main UFC Man, the one who will take me back to Canada to be his love slave, Mr. Georges St. Pierre will be there. Don’t think I haven’t already mapped his EXACT location in the building, because I have. He will be my first stop. If I can peel myself from his body at any point in time, there will be other awesome fighters there, and the Octagon Girls too. I’m taking a picture with each and every one of them to pin on my bathroom mirror to drive myself to workout. Or eat another cookie or 17 because I’m so happy I don’t have to be fit for a living. I also bought Byron, as his actual “present” for our anniversary, a 2-hour training session with Wanderlei “The Axe Murderer” Silva. Suck on that! Which reminds me, what is his actual “present” for me? I’m betting it’s the $100 to gamble with. Sucka. He better be glad I love him.

After that I’ll be home ‘til Sunday, and then head out again that afternoon to redeem myself ‘til Friday as a 7th Grade Church Camp Counselor. Pray for those kids, y’all.

On my way to the looney bin

It should’ve been simple enough. I was thinking about something along these lines:

“Kids, it’s time to go to VBS! Everyone get in the car. Let’s go have some fun!”

But, alas! It was not meant to be. Flipping figures.

Today was technically my first day unemployed. Of course, everyone *knows* that’s complete b.s. There will NEVER be a day when I’m actually unemployed…*ahem* thank you, four children and husband, who INSISTS on acting like one of the children most days….especially TODAY when I needed him to act like a husband, but oooooooohhhhh no. The stars were NOT aligned in the heavens for me today. I tempted Fate, and that byotch took the bait and ran with it.

I woke up after a nice, long – and might I add *well-deserved* – nap. Stretched, exhaled, and surveyed my kingdom. All was well. Looked at the clock and saw that I had around an hour to get myself and the kids ready before heading to church. Took a shower, still feeling pretty pleased with my control over the situation, and then the Children’s Director called. “Hey! I was just calling to remind you to bring the crocodile, tablecloths, pom-poms and sandwiches. Oh – and you have less than an hour to be here.” Well piss. I forgot ALL about that crap. (In my defense, I’ve been suffering from *severe* short-term memory for the last year or so. She, along with a few others, told me NUMEROUS times yesterday to bring these items. And then they reminded me on Facebook. And reminded me yet again today with emails and phone calls.)

I immediately went into Panic Mode, running around putting lipstick on with one hand, and slapping kids teeth out with the other. My real problem began when I asked Byron for help. It’s odd to me how he’s sick when I ask him to do something. This week, for instance. He was sick for 2 days, then recovered for jiu-jitsu in Dallas on Thursday. He was “sick” again Friday, then better to go to jiu-jitsu Saturday. Fine Sunday, and somehow sick AGAIN this evening when I asked him to get up off his butt and help get kids out the door. You would’ve thought that death was imminent when I mentioned I might leave Duke with him to give me a few extra minutes to do other things, and he could drop him off at my Mom’s when he went to TEACH JIU-JITSU. Notice a pattern here? Most days, fine. Ask him to do something? He’s practically got cholera. (*Disclaimer: He did actually put a onesie on Duke, AND put him in his car seat.)

I’m stomping around, yelling, herding children, just trying to get out the door. Byron eventually offers to keep Duke, but only after I’ve threatened to trash the thing that gives him life. The yin to his yang. The good to his evil. The woman to his man. X-Box 360 game UFC 2009 Undisputed. Instead I tell him *where* he can put his stupid game, and proceed to choke while attempting to yell obscenities.

FINALLY all the kids are in the car, I hop in, and……THERE ARE NO KEYS!!!! NONE! WHAT IN THE SAM HILL?!!?!!!??! Let’s just say it took 20 minutes of searching to find them….in….the……freezer. Thank you, Violet. Or maybe it was Byron, since I think he secretly *likes* hearing me complain. He’s sick in the head that way.

By this time I’m sweating, my head hurts, and I’m REALLY pissed off. Flying down the road 90-to-nothing, and then I see a lone crocodile sailing through the air. It was too late to go back and get him. Earlier I had tied him to the top of the car with a bread tie, got side tracked, and forgot to tie down his other leg. The croc was a prop for VBS. Oh well. It was for the good of the team.

Could I make it to VBS with 3 of the 4 items required of me? Nope. 2 of the 4? More like it. Hey – 50% ain’t bad. By the time I got to VBS, 20 minutes late, dragging 3 children…I had come to the realization that I left the sandwiches at home, risked jail time by leaving kids in the car running (with the door locked) while making a dash for more bread and ham, AND forgot the tablecloths.

Think next time….I’ll just stay home instead. Then again, next time? Happens this afternoon. Think I can make it?

Everybody needs a cop-out now and then...

So I suck. Get over it. I'm totally lame, and haven't have *time* (AHEM thank you four spawn of my womb, insane job, flat tires, puking, dirty house, gymastics, cheer, American Idol, Dancing with the Stars, House, sleeping, reading, and the Antichrist)....so I'm completely cheating and will just post some of my recent status updates from Facebook. I PROMISE to actually put some time and effort into writing something witty (or completely useless and pathetic) for the blog this weekend.

Here's a recap of my activites as of late:

05/15/09:

Lame-o SD camera cards can suck it. Why do I spend *countless* hours...nay, days (!) to get a decent picture of kids (or the dogs. or a sunset. or the puke ever-so-carefully *placed* across the living room and down the hallway and all over the bathroom. pretty much every place BUT the toilet or trash can) just so I can get to work EARLY (because I'm dedicated that way) just for the card to tell me it won't work?!?!

05/14/09:

Check out the growth on my new hair, yo. And baby, this isn't rogaine...it's *genetic*. Suck on that!

Why is it that right when I start singing in the car, someone has to talk to me? They come right out of the woodwork, and all *I'm* trying to do it sing a little. It's not every day that you get a chance to belt out Rock Lobster, ya know.

05/13/09:

So I got these super-cool contacts in...they flipping *Sparkle* like nobody's biz. I look like a Cullen, so you know I'm a sexy beast. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.

Although Duke can't see more than 12 inches away from his face, he can still sense when I walk through the door of my office. He immediately starts screaming. Thaaaaaannnnkkkkssss.

05/12/09:

What's on my mind, you ask? You. You are always on my mind....you are always on my mind. I would *rock* American Idol, yo.

05/11/09:

I'm pretty sure there's a ghost in the bedroom with me. I'm hoping after I go to sleep it'll fold the flippin' clothes. *Ahem* GHOST: If you're reading over my shoulder, get lost. I know jiu-jitsu, dude. Or at least I live with a jiu-jitsu teacher. And he will *really* mess yo face up, fa realz yo. Facial scrub.

Nothing like 'Try A Little Tendeness' by Three Dog Night to get you going on a Monday afternoon. Oh, if you could only *hear* my solo!!!

05/08/09:

You know what *really* p.o.'s me? These stupid little silver hairs that I keep having to pluck out. Who has like 5 silver hairs? Am I supposed get my hair dyed for FIVE hairs? And even worse if I pluck 'em, because they're small and I ended up taking out all the hair AROUND them, so there's a bald spot. I look like I got attacked by mockingbird. Flipping mockingbirds. Worthless!

Please move on. Nothing to see here. Do NOT look at the accident.

What do milk on the floor, chest in beans, evil looks from church-goers, proclaiming “I tooted!” and pulling pants down have in common? They all happened during lunch today at a local tex-mex restaurant. Apparently *someone* (i.e. ME) hasn’t learned that taking kids to restaurants? Yeah. You just DON’T do that. Because then they go and do stupid things, and you don’t get to even breathe, much less TASTE your food, and the entire time you’re worried about what they’re going to do next, or who’s going to say something to you, or roll their eyes, or ack! Judge you for being a bad parent, no parent at all, or *even* look at you like you might be…you know…*ahem* gaaaaayyyy. Right. Because I’m not. Morons. For serious.

After church this morning a friend and I went to lunch, and took most of my kids with us. Mistake. It was already crowded with people; everyone getting out from church. I’d say the first 5 minutes went pretty smoothly, and then I had to go and get all excited, and that pretty much ruined it. The waitress brought Violet some milk in a cup with a lid. I thought about pouring it into her sippy cup, but she seemed pretty content with it the way it was, and I figured it would keep her quiet. (For future reference, go ahead and *think/figure* on things a bit longer…it won’t kill you.) Hmmm….I guess it kept her quiet. Shortly thereafter the milk was airborne. Niiiiicccceee. Insert hateful looks from people who wonder why I can’t control my child. What do they want from me?!?!?!! I cleaned up my mess. Geesh!

After this, the events get fuzzy. After all…it *has* been at least 12 hours ago that this happened, and I have *severe* short term memory. Now what was I talking about?

Violet doesn’t have any recollection of last week’s events, including BREAKING HER FACE (or maybe she just doesn’t care; and it’s possible that she wants CPS called), so she insisted on standing up in her chair over and over. I bribed her. Threatened her. Spit on her. Okay, don’t get all pissy…I didn’t do that last one. Basically tried everything in the book, just short of duct-taping her to the seat, to get her to sit down. I can see it all now…in slow’mo. She jumps……lands with both feet on the chair….but too close to the edge of the seat….the chair starts slipping backwards…..she starts falling forwards…..fear in a mother’s eyes…..death-rays shooting out of fellow diners eyes…….SPLAT! Chest in beans. Next?

The entire time this was going on, three girls came and sat at a table across from us. I’m guessing they were in their late-teens (15-17ish).They were all dressed nicely, and I figured they just got out of church like most everyone else there. A few minutes later, what I’m *assuming* was their mother, came and joined them. The judgment began. At first I didn’t pick up on it. Just felt sorry for them that they must lead such boring lives, and have been so unaffected by attending church that morning…..that they *never* cracked a smile during their lunch. By the time we got around to ol’ chest-in-beans (sounds like an Indian name, right?) the mother was GLARING. I just thought it was because I couldn’t control the 2 year old, but then we came to realize…..yeah. Going out on a limb, and just *assuming* (I know, I know…what happens when you assume. Whatever.) but she thought we were gay. Which would be great if we *were* gay. But we’re not. I’m sure she thought we were corrupting “our” children, and we’d all be going straight to hell. Lady, if you’re reading this. REPENT NOW! THE END IS NEAR! Just kidding. Next time just ask. Or don’t. It was awfully funny watching her watch us. When one of her poor girls cracked the TINIEST SMILE EVER DOCUMENTED IN HISTORY at us, she elbowed her! Holy sheep piss.

The last half of lunch was nearly as exciting as the first. Our poor waitress, who was great – by the way, got so flustered running around, that she ran into Gracelyn’s chair. Insert nice save by the waitress, and my friend too, I think, that kept Gracelyn in the chair, and her food on the table.

Violet decides she’s had enough quiet time (read: 2 minutes of eating) and wants to play again. She kept trying to drag the chair around on the floor, twirl, sing, play in condiments, etc. until she’d finally had all she could stand, and shouted loudly, “I TOOTED!” That’s what I *always* do when I get bored, exasperated, flustered, etc. Seems to relieve a lot of pent up anxiety. But hey, that’s just for me. Don’t go doing it and blame me for the looks you get. I couldn’t help but laugh. She was making a factual statement. At least she wasn’t lying about something.

Last, but not least! We’re trying to get things rounded up to leave, and Violet’s still bouncing around on the floor. And table. And chair. And my lap. Then she tells me she tee-teed. Great. No big deal. Then she starts pulling her pants down. (And immediately I re-lived the previous day’s events…at a party at the park, with a *bazillion* onlookers, and Violet walking with her pants around her ankles and a diaper in her hand. Hey – she gets that from her Dad.) Fortunately she wasn’t quick enough to get the diaper off this time.

The waitress never brought us our ticket, which *really* surprised me. I would’ve figured she wanted us OUTTA THERE. But no…only the lady with her daughters wanted us out (and possibly all the other diners). I’ve never seen someone eat their food so fast! They were in, ordered, ate, and left, all within 30 minutes. And there were FOUR of them.

Okay, I’m stopping now. There I go being judgmental again.

And that, dear readers, is why you NEVER, EVER, take your children with you to lunch. EVER. NEVER. Or people will think you're gay.

Interpreter needed for 2 year old.

ORIGINAL STATEMENT:

Bi-wet Bi-dell. Bi-wet Bi-dell. Hwo. Hwo Dah-dee. Un tahk uh mommy. Ah see a muntan. Ee you momma. Ee you! Ah cwomb you ike ah muntan. Woooah.

INTERPRETATION:

Violet Adele. Violet Adele. Hello. Hello Daddy. I talk to Mommy. I see a mountain. It's you momma! It's you! I climb you like a mountain. Wooooah. Does wonders for my self esteem.

MOMMY's RESPONSE:

So I'm a mountain, huh? Sounds like somebody doesn't wanna eat tonight.

She makes her mother proud....

Overheard Gracelyn playing school in the garage....

Quote of the Day: "Ok, Bessie. You better stay in that room and go to sleep. It's nap time, and me and Miss Summer will be out in the hall talking. No it's not fair, but that's what we do at school. And if I hear you, I'll have to take to you to the principal, and he'll hit you with a stick, and then all hell will break loose."

I'm thinking she'll make a *perfect* teacher one day!

Child-proof bottles? No so child-proof.

Last night we were late getting home. Me, being the planner I am *for real!* decided to give the girls a bath and get things ready for church last night, instead of making us late this morning. I had just about finished everything, when I sat down to play "makeover" with Gracelyn - just so she'd let me brush her hair and pull it back. Violet was stomping around us, playing with a toothbrush, singing, putting bows in her hair, etc...just keeping busy.

Suddenly she stopped singing, and started spitting instead. I turned around, saw white stuff on her face and said, "Violet, do NOT eat the toothpaste. It can make you very sick." About the same time I happened to look down and saw a lone pill on the floor. Lying a few feet away was the pill bottle that had 5 phenergan in it. I almost lost it. These are pills for nausea....when I take ONE of these pills, I'm out for a good day or so. She ate 4. Not good.

I ran to the kitchen, called poison control, and they advised me to take her to the nearest E.R. So at 11:30 p.m. last night, I left Duke with Byron, loaded up the girls, and headed to UT Health Center. It could've been a much worse scenario.

The doctor didn't think she ingested too much because it tastes SO horrible he figured she wouldn't have swallowed much of it. Still, she was acting slightly affected, lethargic, etc. so they decided to give her activiated coal (as an alternative to pumping her belly). This stuff was liquid coal, jet black, and just nasty. They brought it to her in 2 cups, thinking she'd take it by mouth. Apparently they weren't thinking. She got one sip and spewed it everywhere. The nurse got a syringe so we could try to give it to her that way....and it pretty much worked.

After the first cup of coal she puked everywhere (that's my girl!). It took a while, but we were finally able to get the 2nd cup down her, and then we had to sit and wait. Pure torture to a 5 year old and 2 year old to sit and wait. No TV. No colors. No books. No toys. No fun. Violet resorted to scooting around on the nasty floor, and finally I just gave up and let her.

So thanks, stupid pharmacy, for giving me a bottle for people with arthritis that DIDN'T have a child proof lock. And thank you too, stupid self, for putting the bottle in the bathroom on the counter. And thank you, lame-o universe, that I only got to sleep from 4:30 - 6 a.m.

My only sincere thank you? To God for saving us from yet another disaster and protecting Violet from what could've been.

Jesus speaks spanish

Today I was riding in the car with Gracelyn. She was looking through old photos I found recently, and one was a picture of her as an infant, along with my Mom and Granddad. Sometimes it's in those conversations where she's asking ME to explain things, and she ends up telling me a thing or two, funny as it may be.

Gracelyn: "Hey Mom. Who is that guy holding me?"

Me: "That's Granddaddy. He was PawPaw's Daddy."

Gracelyn: "Is he my Granddaddy too?"

Me: "Yes."

Gracelyn: "Did he die and go to heaven?"

Me: "Yes. He died when you were 2, and he's in heaven now."

Gracelyn: "Did he want to die?"

Me: "No, Gracelyn. I don't think anyone WANTS to die, but we all die one day. Then we get to be in heaven together."

Gracleyn: "Well, maybe I'll just run out and get hit by a car so I can hurry up and get there so I can meet him." (She said this like she was talking about picking out a cereal or something, very nonchalantly.)

Me: *A little shocked* "Oh, no, we don't do that. We wait until Jesus calls us home to heaven."

Gracelyn: "But Jesus doesn't call you on the phone. He doesn't even talk."

Me: "Yes he does. Maybe not on a phone, but Jesus talks to us, and even if you can't hear him he's always with us."

Gracelyn: "Like when we're sleeping?"

Me: "Yes, when we're sleeping and all the other times too."

Gracelyn: "Oooohhhhhh. Okay. You're right. He DOES talk to us, but someone needs to tell him to quit speaking Spanish. I can't understand him."

It took everything I had not to burst out laughing, but I was able to keep my composure until we got somewhere I could laugh without her hearing.

But, it does seem that way sometimes I guess. Jesus is talking to us all the time. Maybe we're so caught up in other things we don't always catch it, or even understand......Spanish.

Somtimes they look so sweet! (06.29.08)

And sometimes, they don't. You all know what I'm talking about....children. I had to come to work last night to finish up some things, and I had to bring the whole crew along.

After about 10 minutes of Cookie being "good", she decided she'd had enough of it, and refused to let me get anything accomplished. I had to call for reinforcements (i.e. Mom & Dad...a.k.a. DeeDee & PawPaw) to come get her. The only way Cookie would be quiet was if I took a picture of her and let her look at "the baby". Here's a few from our impromptu photo shoot:We even did a video of her naming her body parts (because she's a GENIUS!). Even funner was when she watched the playback, she had to rename her body parts with the baby on "TV". Or funnier to me, I guess.

Smartie & CoolTeen were being angelic. They ran upstairs to play. I couldn't them, so I figured they were being decent. Of course, I didn't get up to go see if they were being decent, but I just assumed. After Cookie left I started working, and heard something behind me. I turned around and let out a blood-curdling (sp?) scream. Apparently the full moon and sugar morphed my children into these:And no...I didn't get the placement of the pictures confused. Normally my children look like the ones at the top of the post, complete with fangs and drool. I left with two angels....God was smiling down on me!And then I woke up with a kidney stone this morning.
Apparently he has a sense of humor too!