Did you know?

Did you know....

that the car line at school makes me want to pull my hair out. One strand at a time. People. It doesn't take 5 1/2 minutes to tell your kids to have a good day. Open the door and toss em out. Works for mine. :)

that cereal tastes best at night. Fact.

that Crayola cannot throw any product at me that I cannot get out of the fabric on my couches. Or the beds. Seriously, if it can be drawn on in this house, it has been. 452,000 times.

that I HATE to shop, unless it's Hobby Lobby....I could spend all day there. Not sure why. I'm not even crafty. I can knit though. Scarves. Plain ones.

that I want to go to NYC so bad I can't see straight. Except that I'm kind of (a lot) claustrophobic, which might not be conducive with the 8 million people that walk on the sidewalk all at the same time. Touching. Shudder.

that college football makes me happier than food. and I think we all know how happy food makes me.

And that, people, is some Monday random for you.

You're welcome.

stuff

I am not that fabulous at updating this blog that often. I try to remember the funny things said and done in this house, and most days I do well just to remember take my glasses off before I fall asleep.

And let me tell you, it's your loss. These kids pull stunts and one-liners that are truly marketable. I just can't remember them when I try to.

Trying to remember why I started this post.....

Maybe I'll just share an embarrassing moment of my own. Don't deny that sometimes you like to laugh at somebody else's expense. Like that time Julie told the homeless clients on the way in to work one day "It's a great day to be outside!"
Sorry Julie, but that will never cease to make me chortle.

Anyway, onto my own embarrassment. So, about a year or so ago, while at the dentist, I was under the influence of "dentist office happy gas". They have to give it to me because it takes dangerous quantities of lidocaine to numb me. Plus I'm a wuss.

Moving on. I'm laying there, telling the dentist and assistant how nice they are (yes, we all wish I could have happy gas all the time) and this thought pops into my head. "Did I just pass gas?"

Only I don't know if I said it out loud. And that's not exactly something you can casually ask your dentist if you said. And it's not really a question you want the answer to, mkay?

So now I'm paranoid when I have to go to the dentist. I just KNOW after I leave the room they are like "there's the freak that asked" ....well...you get the point.

Why do I admit these things?

First day of school

Well, the giddiness has worn off and the effects of early mornings are setting in. Don't mistake that for complaining, I'll take early in exchange for figuring out yet another way to entertain 3 bored children.
I feel like I should explain, lest anybody think I don't adore my children. When my children get bored, some sort of something comes over them and I'm convinced they conspire a thousand different ways they can destroy something in this house. Or on each other.
I'm serious, they don't complain about being bored, they just...do stuff. Like get into the flour jar and dump it in the corner of Davis' bedroom on all his shoes. Why? I mean, it would be great if I had an idea.

It should be noted that Davis refused to speak to me for an hour after dropping the girls off at school. I had to pack a lunch for him because he was feeling left out. So I let him bring it with us in the car and he wanted to bring it in the school while we dropped the other two off. I'm pretty sure he thought I couldn't say no to him staying at school when he had his lunchbox and everything.

I ended up having to take him to Hobby Lobby to look at the Christmas trees before he would forgive me. I've never gotten the stink eye from one kid so many times in one day.

Anyway, first day of school went great and the girls loved it. So did mom.
:)

6 days, 8 hours, 25 min and 57 seconds

until school starts!!!!!! Sweet Moses, I don't know if I can wait that long!!

I love my babies, but they are reminding me about every 5 minutes why I firmly believe teachers need a HUGE raise.

Kennedy will be in 2nd grade; Finley is starting Kindergarten. I. am. old.

Speaking of old, I saw this odd looking freckle on my leg and started to panic about all the time I've spent in the sun and why didn't I listen to my mother when she said to always wear sunscreen and why can't I just be happy to be pasty white and how come I never wear the 100 spf they say I should wear....

it was a bit of dried chocolate ice cream.

I mean, really? I wasted chocolate ice cream?

Le. Sigh.

because everyone should blog on their birthday...

31. Thirty-one. Seems ominously closer to 40 than 30 did.

On a random note, I am loving the power that facebook has to remind even my kindergarten teacher that today is my birthday! My narcissism is b.e.s.i.d.e. itself! I've got to quit using that word, I'm really not narcissistic. Most days, anyway. I just like to be wished happy birthday!

So...a few days ago my dryer decided to go on strike. For no reason at all other than it was just done with me. We think the fix will be a 9 dollar fuse, so the laugh is really on the dryer. Anyway. All of this led me to the laundromat today. I was almost forced to sell a kidney to pay for it. Seriously, laundromat owners are ROLLING in it! I break out in hives just thinking about how much I paid to wash a little laundry.

Cool thing happened there. An older(ish) lady walked in and began to vent her frustration with her current landlord. There was a lot of cursing and gnashing of teeth, but I finally got her to take a breath and was able to share with her details of a project we have at 7 Hills called the Ficasso project. It is a Hud-funded program that assists people who are in danger of losing their housing and provides them with short-term assistance with rent and utility bills.
I was really worried I would offend her by mentioning it to her. But. She hugged me and wept. Literally wept.
She must have told me 42 times that I was a "blessing from God". And then proceeded to punctuate that blessing with several curses. I loved her instantly.

I was reminded again today of how blessed I am to work in a field that I am passionate about. I was also reminded how closely His eye is on the sparrow.

Now I know why the dyer gave up for no apparent reason. There is no such thing as no apparent reason.

what a week

VBS was this week. So were about 12 monsoons. Not a great combination. For different reasons than you'd think.
For example, my children turn into wall climbing, destructive little hellions when it rains more than a couple days in a row.
Who am I kidding, it doesn't take rain to turn them to hellions. Pretty sure it's in their dna.
Anywho.
Take my irritation with my own children, then put me in charge of like 12 other children. That I have to be nice to. Cause it's church. Not a pretty picture.
To put one more straw on that already sagging camel's back, I didn't get to go to work this week because of Ryan's work schedule. (not blaming him, btw) People, I need time away from my kids. It keeps me from being committed. And we all know how short a trip crazy is for me anyway.

Man it feels good to complain. I'm pretty decent at it, no?

A few more confessions

Today, when the kids were fighting for the 287th time, I did nothing to stop it. And by fighting, I mean punching, kicking, the works. Mostly it was Finley. You gotta watch out for that one, she will cut you.

I let them run around the house naked because it just wasn't worth the fight. It was, however, worth it when a neighbor came to the door and all three of them ran up to say hi. Still naked.

I let them watch A LOT more t.v. than they usually do. Now I'm hooked on icarly. Seriously, I added it to the dvr. The shame.

There are still a few hours left in this day, I'm sure I will add a couple more "mother of the year" moments before it's over.

Or maybe I'll just break out the "sleepy vitamins".

bugs, and why they should all die

Honestly, I don't care what part in the eco-system the bug, any bug, plays. I just want it dead. Except for lady bugs, because who kills those?

I am happiest outdoors, don't mind getting dirty at all, and most of my hobbies are outdoor ones. I am only a girlie girl on two occasions: shoes and bugs.

I can brave a lot of things, but when a bug starts buzzing around me, I immediately turn into a hysterical, hissy fit throwing hot mess.

Now you know.

something different

My sister and her husband have been in China for the last 6 weeks, specifically the area that was devastated by a massive earthquake. I'm not sure I can mention exactly where they are, they always have to be so careful, but I wanted to share a post with you that they made last week. They refer to each other by their Tibetan names.
Anyway, I wish this post could be shared with the world at large. I am so humbled by it.


Tonight I am feeling maybe one million things. Here’s the deal. I need to brush my teeth and all before I go to bed but there is only one bathroom in the house we’re staying at and our friend is taking a shower. So here I am, 12:49 am, mind reeling, teeth fuzzy, thinking and pondering and so so tired but still aware. So until the bathroom is free, here I am with you.

We leave in 4 days. FOUR DAYS. The sound of it makes me sick in the pit of my stomach. Oh if only I were enough like my Lord that a day was a thousand years to me… I just feel unfinished here. I have a strong suspicion that much of that has to do with the fact that I didn’t make it down to the earthquake city… and therefore did not really get to say goodbye to the friends I lost and the city I lost in the way I think I had hoped to. But strongly thematic of this trip has been a request from the Beloved one to die every day to my own poorly scrawled plans and accept with joy the thing He gives me to do for that day. I cannot judge His plan as unfair, incorrect, or insufficient. He gave me a lot of love and a lot of people to give it to in this city and oh, I just HAVE to be okay in that. 

I’m just… how can you explain love? I have wanted a million times to explain perfectly to my family why it is that I come here. Why it is I can leave them for months on end even though when I do it feels like I am being torn limb from limb and I miss them like crazy while I’m gone and so on and so forth, if I were them I would wonder why on earth I do this. Sometimes even while I’m here I wonder why I do this. Why make life so much harder? Well… I have tried now for years to condense this into a charming anecdote but am hereto unsuccessful. I will tell you instead that:

It’s sitting here in the dark, chilly mountain night with my toes close to the breezy window and the tiny smells of incense and butter on the air and the little floating song from somebody else’s window.

It’s laughing hysterically with a total stranger taxi driver who slugs Dondrup and says “Hey did you watch that American soccer game last night?” and makes fun of how the Americans played. It’s getting to know a little of his life for 9 minutes, learning he has a son that’s 10 years old, learning he was born in this city, learning where his child attends school.

It’s sitting for hours in a living room with 30 nomads I can hardly communicate with and playing language games and absolutely rolling on the floor with laughter when one of them hollers out to my husband (in English) “You are handsome boy!”

It’s drinking the 8th cup of tea in a house where the family can’t afford new clothes to put on their own backs. It’s their offer to feed you dinner. It’s their attempt to give you a small trinket that is really something special to them, just because they consider you their friend.

It’s dressing up in their clothes just exactly the way they would wear them and being told you look absolutely beautiful instead of being scoffed at.

It’s seeing a teenage monk on a bicycle chasing a younger monk who is running down the sidewalk, both of them laughing so hard they threaten to crash, red robes billowing behind them, their humanity laid bare like their tiny muscled arms.

It’s holding a sweet baby that’s almost the same age as my new niece at home and thinking, how different, how very very different their lives will be.

It’s spending hours and days at the hospital with a beautiful precious girl who, short of a miracle, will never live a normal life, will never learn to read, will maybe never leave her home, because of something that’s quite treatable where I come from.

It’s seeing my Aji do something so thoughtful and sweet for a Chinese woman he doesn’t even know. It’s seeing the look of revelation on the Chinese woman’s face and the micro-scale reconciliation between the two ethnic groups there in that moment in that noodle shop.

It’s acquiring a friend and a dear brother and meeting his family. It’s spending time in their home and drinking their tea. It’s climbing mountains together. It’s taking long bus trips together and playing Uno to pass the time. It’s living in the same house. It’s cooking his meals. It’s getting a call on April 14th that his house collapsed in the earthquake and he is gone. It’s grieving deeply. It’s throwing up from sadness. It’s coming back here and deciding to honor his death by loving the people he loved. It’s doing good in his memory.

It’s the other life I live over here. These things are a fraction… a FRACTION… of the million ways that this place has my heart. I’ve seen, and I’m responsible. And I’m ruined. And I wouldn’t want to be rebuilt. I am ruined for life that is not life at all. And I am in love to the hilt with life that is real, true, sweating, bleeding, breathing, painstaking, breathtaking, REAL LIFE.

The bathroom’s been free for a long time now. But the can, it is opened, and the worms, they are everywhere.

Vegas, Baby!

Las Vegas. What can I say? It certainly lives up to the hype. I saw so much this weekend, I haven't been able to process it all.

Maybe 2 1/2 minutes after we walked into the hotel lobby to check in, I saw this lady that looked to be AT LEAST in her 70's or so. Probably 6'5'', not skinny, with a purple dress that barely covered what desperately needed to be covered, and hooker shoes. I know, I'm not supposed to say hooker. But there is no other way to describe those shoes.

It was pointed out to me that since she looked like a linebacker, walked like a linebacker...she was probably not a she.
People, I don't know these things. I was just horrified that somebody's grandma was working the lobby at Bally's. Not sure how much better I feel about it being somebody's grandpa. shudder.

Welcome to Vegas, right?

And that was just the first 5 minutes.

The rest will have to be told in person, it just can't be described on a blog. Plus, there are at least 3 of you that haven't forgiven me for saying hooker.

I have to give a big shout out to both sets of grandparents for watching the kids while we were gone. Wouldn't you know that 2 out of the 3 were sick while we were gone. It was puke fest 2010 at Mimi and Pappy's house.
I want to feel bad, but people, that's an entire weekend of puke I avoided.

Random

For those of you that don't know, I work at 7 Hills Homeless Shelter.

Today, I was talking to one of the clients and he told me to come close so he could tell me something (he was sitting at a table, I was standing). Anywho, I was prepared for anything, and he tells me my zipper is down.
It was fabulous.

Another client just looked at me when I walked out of the office, shook his head and said "Child. That hair."
It's the humidity people. (think Monica in that Friend's episode)

Anyway, this is not a too hilarious blog post, but it is about people that I have come to adore and am honored to serve, so I wanted to share it with you.

And that is all.

Oh yes. He did.

I can't believe I am going to make this public, especially since I may never be able to show my face in Springdale Library again...

The kids and I were at the library this week. We were all in the children's section when, from across the room, I see "the look" come over the potty trainee's face. I rushed over and asked him if he needed to go to the bathroom; he wouldn't reply - just kept pulling on the back of his shorts.

So, I took him to the bathroom and found...evidence...that he had an accident.

Here's the thing...

There should have been more evidence. It just so happens that he refused to wear underwear that morning, so he just had his shorts on. And I kept getting a whiff of something in the children's section.

So we left. Hurriedly. I mean, I don't KNOW that he left a little extra something there, but I really didn't WANT to know if he did. There is only so much humiliation this gal can take.

 My apologies to the sweet lady that was working in the children's section that day. My son likes to hide things.

Wouldn't it be great if just one day didn't revolve around my son's bodily functions? Hello!

I'm the mother to "that" kid

I am the mother to "that" kid...
The one who, upon the first day of no pull-ups, decides to park it underneath his art easel in his bedroom and...well...poo.
And because that wasn't enough by itself, proceeds to "paint" the sides of the easel with said poo.
Somebody please tell me their kid played with their poo and turned out ok.

Now that I think about it, Finley spread it on her arms and legs a couple times.

At what point does this start reflecting poorly on me?

Confessions

I'm pretty sure my husband doesn't read this blog, so I'll take a chance here.

Also, it's Sunday - I'm not Catholic or anything  - but any Christian worth their salt will admit that we need confessionals in every denomination. Especially the Baptist ones. Just sayin'

Back to the confessions:

I have, on more than one occasion, let my son stay in that dirty diaper just an extra 3 or 4 minutes until dad could get home. At which point I tell the little stinker to go give daddy a big hug, and then feign surprise and horror that he has produced yet another doody. It usually goes along the lines of "What?! He's stinky? He must have JUST done it!"
What can I say? It's lame, and it works, so there you go.

Here's another one. Yesterday in the car my aforementioned son called his sister a butt munch. Butt. Munch. COMPLETELY inappropriate, I know. And yes, I bit back the smile and told him that we don't say such things. To which he replied, "Daddy taught me".  All of which I should have been perturbed about, except that his comedic timing was impeccable, so I went ahead and felt a little proud of him.

One more thing and then I have to go to church before the guilt swallows me whole:

I really do know how to plug the dvr into the t.v., work the remote, clean up the dog poo and wait for it...change a tire.
I just don't want to, ok? And as long as the husband is buying that I'm too pitiful and dainty (choke) to do any of the above, what am I going to do, ruin it for him?

Negative.

So...about 4 Hail Mary's and I'm good, right?

BAH!

It's time for a little whining. Get the cheese...and the drumroll...or whatever it is a drummer does after a dumb joke...

Tuesday nights are not what you would consider exciting, right? Unless you play co-ed softball for your church.
Then, Tuesday nights become the nights you get to knock the crap out of a little white ball and not care that your children are pouring dirt on their heads.
It's also the night you discover the distance from home plate to first base is like, double what it used to be.
It's a night that you remember how great it feels to play ball at twilight in the spring, and how good it is to hear the "ting" of the softball bat. Well, considering my strikeout record this year, maybe I'm not too familiar with that one.

But mostly, it's a night that you get to be around some amazing people; people you wouldn't have thought could be so cool.

Except that this Tuesday, it's raining. And thundering. And irritating.

Busted

I stole an idea from my Mom when trying to get the kids to clean their rooms. We play these little games where we pick up all the red things, all the round things, you get the idea. Occasionally,  when they protest, I pull out the big guns and remind them I have a direct line to Santa.

This has worked for me far too long apparently.

Recently, after smugly watching my little elves clean their mess from another room, I hear the oldest monster tell the middle monster "Mommy tricked us, she doesn't have Santa's number. I checked."

Since when can I tell my kids the moon is made out of cheese and not have them believe me???

So, like any mother in a tizzy and trying to defend a good fairy tale, I whipped out my phone and called Santa himself.

Note to self. Use the mute button next time before you hear this: "The time is 4:45. Temperature 70 degrees."

I'm so busted.

Let me break it down....

Here's how this day went. Ready?

Wake up on the a.m. side of 6 o'clock to 80mph winds.
 Hide in the (small) closet and listen to three children alternate between being scared for their lives and wanting their stinking pancakes.
Drive to school in torrential rain. Okay, that part wasn't too bad, but it irritated me nonetheless.
Be productive and fold 3 loads of laundry, only to find out that the two youngest monsters have colored themselves blue, as well as the left arm of the couch.
Le sigh.
Find out that my almost 3 year old son can climb a lot better than I thought he could.
Clean up a dumped bag of mini-wheats.
Trip over hot wheels and curse.
Quickly manufacture a kid-friendly definition of said curse.
Repent for both offenses.

And that, folks, was all before 9 a.m.

Next time you wonder where my crazy comes from, refer to the above.

Why not come out swinging?

Alright, I'll go ahead and do justice to the title of this blog and  tell you that my kids have a pet name for children's Benadryl. They call it their sleepy-vitamin. Mother of the Year, no? What can I say? They work. Really well. I was reading the back of the box the other day to see if I could give them anymore than I had already, and it stated in small print "Do not use to make a child sleepy" Hmm. Clearly written by someone who had never enjoyed the bliss of children in a Benadryl-induced coma.

Don't get me wrong, they don't get it very often. I don't want them building up too much of a resistance, lol.

My sanity is very closely tied to the amount of sleep I get, so no judging, ok?

Kelli

*disclaimer* my children do not get benadryl very often at all, so hold your calls to CPS. this blog is solely for my own amusement and no children were harmed in the writing of it.

Goooood Mooooorrrrrning Blog Spot! Or insert other annoying title that is equally unfunny and desperate for viewing.

So...I'm new to the blogging world. My narcissism is literally doing backflips.

There a hundred things that run through my head during the day that no two year old could appreciate, so I will send them out to cyber-space. I am fully aware that I may be the only one to read this, and that's alright. I had one whole follower on Twitter, I embrace the loneliness. :-)

I'm going to try this blogging thing to keep friends and family updated on our goings on.

Maybe I'll even figure out how to add pictures of my sweet monsters!


Kelli