Some Days Are Like that... Even in Australia.

Do you ever have a day that just refuses to be decent no matter what? Yeah. Me too. It reminds me of one of my kids' favorite childrens' books: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Today is one of those days. I can empathize with Alexander to the nth degree and it isn't even noon.

It started with a phone call that drug me from my bed, in all my fuzzy-headed glory, to answer a help call for my volunteer work. I don't mind doing this, but because I was going from dead sleep to wide awake and “on,” I felt like I was in a play where I didn't quite know my lines and was ad-libbing everything I said. My tongue felt thick, my throat felt dry, and my thoughts felt jumbled. The correct words were coming out, but it felt like they were in the wrong sequence. It's like showing up to math class only to find that you're taking an unexpected pop quiz for which you're unprepared. Not exactly the best wake up routine.

To make matters worse, the ringing phone woke up my 4 year old. That's also not a big deal in the normal course of things, but someone woke up on the melodramatic, attention-grubbing side of the bed apparently. So, while I'm trying to do phone counseling work, my daughter is climbing on me and demanding that I pay attention to only her, and when that doesn't work, she sits as close to me as humanly possible (read: one elbow in my ribcage, and one knee under my butt) and begins singing the alphabet at the top of her lungs. I assume that I must have sounded extremely professional at this point.

While all of this is going on, Mr. H, my lovable, but somewhat needy, puppy heard us and realized that we were up, and that means it was time for him to join his pack for the day. Thus he started whimpering and crying to be let out of his room. Again, I'm sure I was looking more and more professional by the minute. I somehow muddled my way through the phone call, and the poor woman on the other end didn't seem too traumatized, so possibly she got the answers she needed in spite of my chaos and confusion. I left her with a promise to email her some further information and hung up.

Keep in mind that, because the phone call was what woke me, I had yet to have coffee. Coffee is an essential ingredient in the recipe for making me human most days. If I do not have it, I do not promise to be even remotely patient. It's not simply the caffeine, either. The caffeine is essential in order for me to avoid a nasty headache. But, it's the ritual itself that I truly enjoy. I like to sit with a cup of hot coffee and just be by myself, at least mentally, for a little while before I have to start my day. I might scroll through my facebook feed or take a phone call, but overall, for at least the first cup, I want to be left alone.

Before I could even get up to brew my coffee, the girl started with her screaming. I wasn't paying attention to her. Well, yes. That's true. I was on the phone and then I had to email the nice lady who needed my help before I get sidetracked and forget. You have 943 million toys. Go play with one of them for 5 minutes and then maybe I can pay attention to you. Sigh.

Then, I called for the oldest boy. Since my knee is all messed up, I've been having him take the dog out for me so that I don't overtax my knee or fall because the dog pulls me and I overbalance. He was still asleep because apparently he stayed up for who knows how long reading. Which means that, instead of getting up in a reasonable mood, he was a seething ball of rage and disrespect. I actually had to tell him to stop talking and go to his room before I throttled him and was arrested for child abuse. A friend called while all of this was going on and was witness to his fantastic display of hatefulness. She seemed somewhat appalled, whether by him or me, I'm not sure. And I still hadn't had my coffee. Sigh.

Then, while I tried to drink my coffee, the middle one wanted to know if he could do his online schoolwork. Sure. But, of course he had to pick language arts, which meant reading, which meant that I had to be involved to help him correct the words he was sounding out. Fantastic. And Ms. Thang was still whining that I wasn't paying attention to her. So, I figured that I would distract her by letting her play some of the educational apps I downloaded for her on my iPhone. That would have worked, too, if it hadn't been for the fact that I downloaded a new one and had to show her how to play it. Then, she wouldn't go away. I tried to tell her that her daddy was sick and really wanted her to go sit next to him and play, but she insisted that she loved me best. It's good to be loved. Sigh.

So, for 20 minutes, I had Punkinhead next to me, slowly and painfully doing his reading lesson because he has ADD and today was a bad focus day for him, and Ms. Thang on my lap, playing with the iPhone. I was trapped and I still wasn't through a cup of coffee. Then, the oldest one started asking me to play a geography board game with him. Really? REALLY? Because the other two suffocating me and insisting that I “help” them with what they were doing and keeping me from my coffee just wasn't enough, right? Double sigh.

Then, the youngest one refused to listen to me and I finally took the phone from her and told her to go play. She had a screaming fit in the floor, but I am pretty sure I won, because she did eventually go to her room and scream in there for awhile instead of right in my face. I downloaded a geography app on my phone and handed that to the oldest one. I was pretty sure that I had won that battle as well, but then he announced that the phone magically bought the full version of the app instead of the free one I originally downloaded. Um. No. But, he's doing geography and I'm not involved, so whatever, bye-bye $0.99. I consider you well spent. Punkinhead finished his reading lesson and moved on to something that did not require my attention, and I ran away to type this. I am getting ready to go guzzle down another cup of coffee. I intend to finish it while it's still hot this time, and I refuse to hear anything out of the kids until it's gone. There may not be enough coffee. Some days there aren't. Some days are like that... Even in Australia.

My Dog Eats Babies...

There's been a tragedy. It turns out that our very own Mr. Harrelson eats babies. Yes. You read that right. He's developed a taste for flesh. Well, plastic. Rubber? Whatever. Meet Baby Rapunzel.

Or, you know, what's left of Baby Rapunzel.  Oops.

This is the baby doll that Ms. Thang had to have for Christmas. After I had already completed all of my shopping, as we were strolling through our local Hell-mart Wal-mart, she saw Baby Rapunzel on display and informed me that she needed one for her very own. Thus implying that if she didn't have one, Christmas would forever be ruined. Of course, I'm not big into focusing on just presents, but at 3, and with the aura of adorableness about her, I figured that I should at least try to make her dreams come true.

As luck would have it, of course, the store was out of the all-important doll by the time I got a chance to shop without her. So, I called my mother and asked if she wanted to be the hero of the piece and purchase the doll for my daughter. She hadn't completed her shopping, so she agreed, and my sister ended up finding it at their local store. Ms. Thang was beyond thrilled with her gift, and Baby Rapunzel has been a prominent feature in her playtime activities ever since. She's even made a few trips with us out of state. Alas, it appears that Baby Rapunzel will no longer be accompanying us, as she has now been affectionately dubbed “Stumpy.”

I'd feel sorry for my daughter if it weren't for 2 factors. One, I hated that doll. Her hair was the bane of my existence. I have spent more time brushing Baby Rapunzel's hair than I have my own, or my daughter's. True story. And two, this:

Me: "Put your toys away if you don't want the dog to chew on them."
Ms. Thang: "ARGH!!!!"
Me: "Put your toys away if you don't want the dog to chew on them."
Ms. Thang: "ARGH!!!"
Me: "The dog does not yet understand the difference between something you left in the floor because it's his and something you've left in the floor because you were too lazy to put it up. If you don't want your things chewed on, you might want to put them away."
Ms. Thang: "Woody won't leave my things alone."
Me: "Put your toys away if you don't want the dog to chew on them."
etc. etc. etc.

Some variation of the same conversations every day. Fast forward to today.
Me: "Watch the dog while I go shower."
***elapsed time 15 minutes***
Ms. Thang:"Wah!!!!!!!!!"
Eggy: "Woody just ate Ms. Thang's Rapunzel doll."
Me: "Sigh."

Raise your hand if you saw this coming. Yeah. Me too. So, that's the sordid tale of Rapunzel's demise. Mr. H doesn't even have the good grace to feel bad about the whole incident. He might be the perfect hit man. I personally feel like giving him a treat and seeing if I can encourage him to decrease the stuffed animal population around here. (Was that out loud? Oops.)

Mr. H: I am not misbehaving!  My only desire is to please you.  No more pesky brushing of this messy hair.  See how much I love you?

Mr H: I can totally be bought.  Did someone say Milk-Bone?  

Anyway, I'm hopeful that this is a hard won lesson in putting away your things so that the puppy doesn't eat them. But not that hopeful, because she's 4 and I'm not an idiot. I'm sure this is only the first of many, many tragedies. I'm also sure that she's going to use her birthday money to buy another Baby Rapunzel. Sigh.  


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Barbie Revealed

Remember earlier when I promised to show you the results of my attempt to decorate my very first Barbie cake? Yeah, well, I mentioned then that you would either get to appreciate the fine craftsmanship or giggle at the goofiness. I'm pretty sure you're going to chuckle over this picture. I think she might be the ugliest cake I've ever decorated. Ms. Thang, of course, thinks she's fantastic. At any rate, as promised, here is that picture I promised:

The horror!  She is so ugly!  LOL!

Apparently, I Now Own a 4 year Old...

Today is Ms. Thang's 4^th birthday party. We rented out the local skating rink (along with our friends who have a little girl who also recently celebrated a birthday. Hello cheap!) and invited all of our friends and family to come skate with us. My 4 year old is over the moon. She has been counting down the days, and now the hours, until she gets her very own big birthday party.

It really is kind of a big deal for her. January birthdays are hard. Both of the boys were born during the warm weather months, so they're golden when it comes to parties. They can have the big cookout and invite everyone, or pretty much have their pick of venues and activities. January? Well... That's a bit dicey when it comes to weather, and it makes planning anything a little tricky, since it absolutely has to be indoors. In the past, since she was so little, and since she was somewhat shy of crowds anyway, we've always done either just cake and ice cream for her here at the house with just us, one or 2 friends, or last year we invited just a very few friends to an ill-advised party at the local McDonald's playland. It was kind of a test run for her since she tended to get really clingy and nervous in big crowds. She did fairly well, but we only had a few kids there. Over the last year, however, she's really come out of her shell. She's still very slow to warm up to new people and situations, but crowds of familiar people don't seem to bother her nearly as much. So, we took the plunge and decided to try for her first big birthday party. She's so excited.

We're sort of doing a Barbie theme, in that I have some barbie things, and this morning, as I type this, I'm baking what will hopefully be the dress for a barbie cake. I've never made one before, so I hope it turns out nice. It seemed pretty easy, but sometimes I get surprised. I'll post pictures later either way, so you can either see how goofy it looks, or appreciate the fine craftsmanship. I'm betting on the former. Either way, I'm sure Ms. Thang will enjoy it, particularly since I picked pink for the frosting color, and we've already discussed that the way to her heart is through pure unadulterated girliness. Meanwhile, here are some pics of birthdays past. How cute is my little Pwincess Beauty?

This was right after she ate pizza for the first time.  It was a hit.  :-)

Birthday #2.  I remember not being able to find half of the things I wanted for her cake when I went out, so I made due.  Still, she seems to have enjoyed it.  that sucker was filled with ice cream, too!  Yum!

And the McDonald's party from last year.  She *had* to have  Tinkerbelle cake.  She enjoyed this party even if it did violate my very basic hatred of all things McD's.

Creative Mom- Embrace the Girliness

My beautiful daughter, in all her girly glory.

Before I was a mother, I really wanted girl children. I remember distinctly that I wanted girls, and, although I would take whatever I got, not having much choice in the matter after all, I remember that I fervently hoped that I would win the chromosomal lottery and be blessed with a houseful of girls when it came time to breed. I have no idea what I was thinking. I'm really very bad at being a girl myself, and I've never gotten the finer points of girliness. I remember having girl toys when I was little, like My Little Pony, Barbie, Cabbage Patch Kids, and the rest. For awhile, I even remember that my favorite colors were pink and purple. But, despite all of these things, I never really learned the art of truly being a girl. I like dirt, I don't do artifice or subtlety well, and I abhor most typical “girl things” like chick flicks, romance, and fashion. My husband says that he's pretty sure I am allergic to dresses. (My 6 year old actually accused me of not owning any dresses, then when I denied it, asked if I only ever wore a dress to marry his daddy. I actually had to wear a dress a few times to prove that I did, in fact, own, and could wear a dress, if I wanted to. It was horrible.) Now, none of these things are inherently necessary to define me as womanly. I have breasts, a uterus, and 2 X chromosomes, and in many ways I actually enjoy being a woman. I just happen to have no tolerance for the trappings of “girliness” that most people associate with being female.

That being said, I do enjoy many domestic things that many would say are arguably “womanly” arts. I'm a great cook, I like to sew, and I enjoy a huge variety of crafts like crochet. I'm not sure that those things are girly or womanly, since it seems to me that they are mostly just useful and/or creative endeavors, and if you're going to bother doing them, you should try to do them well. Still, even despite my domestication, as it were, I remain somewhat at a loss when it comes to most things truly girl.

Fortunately, my first two children turned out to be boys in spite of my fervent hopes to the contrary, because, as it became all too obvious when my daughter arrived, I really have no clue what to do with a girl who is not only female, but revels in every bit of her girliness. Make it pink, make it frilly, make it sparkly, make it as girly as possible and then make it just a touch more girly and there you have exactly what will appeal to my diva-tastic little princess. Not only that, but... the drama. Oh, the drama.

Of course, fundamentally I realized that boys and girls were different creatures before we had our daughter, but, oh, was she an object lesson in just how different, from birth, they are! From the early days she was far more sensitive and emotional than the boys ever thought about being. She has a flare for the dramatic that boggles the mind. I cannot explain just how girly she is, nor how this happened, given the stock from whence she came. Nevertheless, she is, for all intents and purposes, a girly girl.

I've tried to resist it to no avail, so instead, I've given up and decided to embrace it. Maybe someday she won't be the total girl she is now, and it will be fun to look back on these days and remember how she went full tilt after all the frills, ruffles, pink, glitter, frou-frou girliness that one tiny child could grab. This is why I spent today perched at my sewing machine, churning out skirts for my little diva. Well, not the only reason. My jacked up knee played a huge part in the decision, considering I'm on somewhat limited activity. But, nevertheless, I had a grand time coming up with these girly creations for my girly girl. Even more fun than that, however, was watching her dance, prance, and twirl about in them, thrilled beyond imagining at such glorious new girly duds.  (Forgive the picture quality.  Mr H was either just extremely jealous of the girl, wanted a new skirt as well, or was flying a flag really high in appreciation of special needs animals everywhere.  Sigh.)

Love this double layer pink and brown skirt.  

How adorable is this upcycled skirt, made from an old pair of jeans that were too short in the legs for Ms. Thang?

Another double-layered skirt.  I'm a sucker for paisley anything.  <3

Last, but not least, another upcycled pair of old jeans.  I love the switch from *pink pink pink* everything, but it's just frou-frou enough to keep Ms. Thang happy.  

I didn't really have a pattern for the things I made, because I just sort of made them up as I went, but they were very simple projects, and even for a beginner, a simple skirt like this is a fun and easy project. If you're a newbie to the sewing world and would like to try your hand at making some girly creations of your own, I've trolled the internet to bring you a couple of links to simple tutorials to similar projects to get you started. Have fun, and be sure to post back here with pictures of your girly creations!


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Injured Mom, Angry Mom - Just Call Me "Hopalong"

Just call me “Hopalong” for awhile. Remember when I mentioned the“something” I did to my knee in the brief novel I wrote the other day? Well, I finally went to the doctor on Monday and it turns out that it's highly probable that I've torn a ligament in my knee. By walking. Three steps. Indoors. I'm fairly confident that this gives new meaning to the term accident prone. I haven't gone for an MRI yet because my doctor said there's a chance the ligament isn't totally detached, and if it isn't, it may heal on its own. But, if I go for an MRI and there's a tear, then an orthopedic surgeon is probably going to want to do surgery. Since I would rather avoid all of that if there's a chance it might heal on its own, and since the doctor said it won't make any difference in outcome if I go now or if I go in 2 weeks, I'm waiting 2 weeks to see if it shows any improvement. Thus far that would be a big fat no, incidentally. Anyway, I'm extremely disgruntled by this whole thing. I do not have time to be seriously injured. Let alone stupidly seriously injured. If I'm going to be, for all intents and purposes, down one leg, I'd like to have a better story, at least. Maybe I got stabbed in the knee while breaking up a knife fight in a bar. Maybe I broke my knee, but it's really a blessing because I'm the sole survivor in a freak antelope stampede that wiped out everyone else in the vicinity. (It could happen. You don't know.) Maybe I wiped out while snowboarding and was pinned beneath a rock, living off of melted snow and rock moss for 3 days. You get my drift. But, no. I took three steps to talk to my dog and snapped a ligament. Fail.

That's my knee back in the summer.  This was the last time I did something really, really stupid and hurt myself.  

Worse than having a lame story to go with my injury is the fact that I really despise how everyone behaves. Before 11m today my leg was already killing me. Why? Because my child is a pain in the butt. Hunny took Mr. H out to potty before he left for work, then came in and gave the kids strict instructions to be well-behaved and helpful today since Mom has a gimpy leg and all. Not 10 minutes after he left, Mr. H started whining that he needed to go out again. I called for Eggy to take him out, but instead of just putting on his shoes and taking the dog out, he argues with me that the dog can't possibly need to go out since he just went out. Sigh. Um. I don't care? The dog indicates that he hasn't been watching the clock, and he needs to go out, so just take him. (I should point out that I actually like taking the dog out, and since I hurt my knee, I find it extremely annoying that I can't take Mr. H out for his walks myself.) But, he keeps arguing, then when I've finally just said to suck it up and take him anyway, he decides he needs different pants. He was already wearing pants, but apparently he needs different pants. To take the dog out. So, he starts wandering around the house aimlessly, on a quest for pants. Because, you know, there certainly aren't pants in any logical places, like... I don't know... His closet? Or maybe those wern't special “taking the dog out to poop” pants. Meanwhile, Mr. H is still making the whining, I've-got-to-go noise, and I'm getting more and more irritated. Finally, I just wrench myself up, hobble over and start putting my shoes on. The kids immediately start freaking out. “You can't take the dog out! Your knee is hurt!” But I'm too cheesed off to care. So, I mouth off about the fact that if E can't be bothered to take the dog out, and it's too much trouble, I'll just take my broken knee, and take my whiny dog, and go out myself, and if I fall and get hurt, I guess he knows the correct numbers to call.

Mr. H: For the love of all that is holy and good, a puppy gotta poop, here, people.  Someone just suck it up and take me out, already!!!

Mr. H and I hobble outside, down the steps, and around back, where he proceeds to deposit possibly the largest pile of doggy excrement I've ever seen, proving that he did, in fact, need to go out. Then, I hobble back into the house with the dog, load the dishwasher, and put in a load of laundry. By the time I was done, my knee was throbbing, of course. All of these are things that Hunny specifically told me not to do before he left, but, I was just so mad. I mean... I wait on everyone around here all the time and it's asking too much for someone to take the dog out when my knee is all jacked up? Really? Logically, I realize that my kids are not horrible, self-centered brats, just typical kids. But, man is it frustrating to be in the situation where you can't do for yourself like you want to, and everything that someone does for you is done with resentment. Now, things could be much worse, and I'm not about to whine about how rough I've got it when I'm fully aware that I could have it ten times worse, but I'm betting that every mom out there totally gets the feelings that I'm talking about. I love being a mom. I truly adore my kids, but man is it a sometimes truly thankless job, with little in the way of appreciation or payback. And at no time is the depth of their ability to take you for granted as apparent as when you have an injury. Sigh. Okay. I'm done complaining. Probably. Okay, I'm probably not. But, I don't want to write another huge novel, so I'm ending it here.  Sigh.

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Unexpectedly Expecting - And It Isn't Me For Once!

After the short novel I shared with you yesterday, you'd think I'd be all out of things to say, but since I'm trying to be a more faithful blogger, and since I recently received some major news that I am now allowed to share with all of you, it's not. No, I'm not pregnant. Remember, I told you that one of the things that happened while I was in the wilderness listening for banjo music was that I started my cycle. My womb is a barren wasteland. But, someone else has a womb that is not.

Several days ago I got the phone call. Not THE phone call. Not, like, “Go! Now. Your special ninja skills are necessary and the president needs you to fall down on some terrorists and stop their evil plot!” (Falling down is about the only ninja skill I have, so I imagine that's the only one I'd get a call about.) No, I got the call that I am going to be an aunt again. Not great aunt, which is plausible since I already have one adorable great niece and several nieces and nephews who are now of breeding age, no, just aunt of the garden variety. But, this seems somewhat bizarre since I am the only one of my parents' 4 daughters who hasn't had her tubes tied, and although my brother did recently remarry, I'm pretty certain she had her tubes tied as well. Hm.

It turns out that, 9 years after she had her surgery to prevent this sort of thing happening, the sister who is closest to me in age is, well... pregnant. After what she assumed was a waste of $10 of home pregnancy test turned out to be positive, she had lab work done to confirm it. Also positive, and dating the pregnancy at around 7 weeks, it turns out she was expecting. She then had an ultrasound to make sure that the baby was growing where it was supposed to be, rather than in a tube, and lo and behold, there in her uterus was a 7 week (give or take a day) baby with a strong heartbeat. So, although to say that we were somewhat surprised is a bit of an understatement (Especially my sister, who took the test at my parents' house because she was so sure it was a waste of time and money.), we are all now very excited about the prospect of a new little baby to love. (Also, pretty much everyone who hears this story ends up looking around all shifty and hoping that their tubal doesn't fail. The squirming is pretty fun.)

Upon hearing the news, once I could speak again, I said two things. 1) “This baby must have been meant to be,” and 2) “Better you than me, sister!” I stand by those statements, however, the fact that my baby girl turned the ripe old age of 4 yesterday does make me slightly green with envy at the idea of a new little baby to love. But, as an aunt, I still get to do all kinds of loving and spoiling... and then give it back. Heh heh heh....