An Iowa Mom

A Little Bit Of Sunshine

Simple fact:

As far as my girls are concerned ... taking a "swim" in my tub is the equivalent to visiting a water park for three days.  Five days if you turn the jets on.

Debbie Downer

OH WOW!!

I never imagined letting go of Jessie would be so hard.  It's been very difficult for everyone in the family.  Funny how it's the small things that are so bothersome.  Paw prints in the snow.  Spilled popcorn that would have normally been gobbled up.  The shoes kept by the door only used to take Jessie out. 

Those are the things that "get us".  And I know that it will get easier with time.  However, that time has not come yet and I don't feel much like writing.

So, I'll leave you with a little story of Jessie that took place a few months ago ... and made us smile. 

 

---

Originally posted October 11, 2007

Jessie has never really been talked about on this blog.  I don't know why, she just hasn't.  She was the first.  Jessie was here before any of the others.  I could explain the whole story of Jessie, but who really wants all the boring details.  So, I'll make it quick.

• Boy Meets Girl
• Girl Sees Puppy
• Boy Wants To Impress Girl
• Boy Buys Puppy

Let me introduce you to Jessie:

She is a Siberian Husky.  With the prettiest blue eyes.  More hair falls off this dog than one would ever think possible.  (This quick fact causes us to vacuum daily and purchase a new vacuum every other year.) She is dumber than a box of rocks.  Okay, so she's not dumb, Jessie is strange, or should I say has some "not so normal" tendencies. 

How do I put this?

We have the cleanest sliding glass door track in the neighborhood.  Probably the state of Iowa.  Maybe even the world. 

That's right, she licks the sliding glass door track.  She licks and licks and licks and licks.  I yell at her to stop and she'll listen. For about a minute and then she's right back at it.  This little habit grosses me out a bit ... but then I think of having to clean the track by hand and then I let her be.  I just leave the room so I don't see it ...

Anyway, Jessie must think the track to our always fingerprinted and smudged sliding glass door was clean enough because she recently moved over 2 inches to the heat register.  Now I have the cleanest one of those. 

-- Sidenote:  For those of you who don't think I'm very smart ... get this ...  I actually started rotating the register vents so that she cleans them all.  GROSS, isn't it?  Oh hush, her mouth is cleaner than mine.  And I don't want to have to lick them clean.  Besides, I couldn't stop her if I tried.  --

So ... today, I'm in the kitchen preparing dinner and I keep hearing this thud.  Over and over.  I call out to the girls, assuming they are doing something to add to their daily destruction of our house.  They don't answer so I go looking for them.  As I rounded the corner, I see Jessie dragging the register vent from her mouth.

THE DAMN DOG GOT HER TONGUE STUCK IN THE REGISTER VENT.

NO, I'M NOT KIDDING!

I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life.  Now, of course, as any dedicated blogger would ... my first thought was to grab the camera.  But, I really didn't want to post a photo of this pathetic scene.  PETA would be knocking on my door within hours and you know it. 

So, I'll leave you with everything involved and you can use your imagination to draw your own picture.

    +

Running Free

When Big Daddy and I had just been dating for a few months, and lived in separate cities, I was in Chicago visiting him for the weekend.  Just like every weekend.

Going for ice cream was a normality, and the pet store was right next door to the ice cream parlor.  And there was a really really really cute, down right irresistible puppy in the window.

A puppy I had to have.  A puppy that had no choice but to come home and be mine.  A puppy that turned out to be the best darned dog.  EVER.

Her name is Jessie.  And she has been with us from the very beginning.  Before our marriage.  Before any children.  There was Jessie.

Before the kiddos arrived, it was just her.  Doing crazy puppy around the around the condo making us proud.  Finding her spot in between us on the bed and mastering the way she could move her paws just so to PUSH ME OFF THE BED.

Jessie has never chewed anything in her life that she shouldn't have.  I've only heard her bark a handful of times.  She has endured many tail pulls, even more ear tugs, and too many body slam embraces to even count. 

Though I've complained about the amount of fur she sheds, and all the trips outdoors in sub-zero weather ... I love her.  She is a part of our family and I can't even begin to imagine what life will be like without her.

But, I'll soon know.

Today, Big Daddy and I are saying goodbye to our sweet Jessie girl.  It is time for her to run free in the great big yard in the sky.

I don't know how I will handle this.
I don't know how Big Daddy will handle this.
I don't know how the kids will handle this.

I do know that we will miss her terribly.

And that we will always remember her as a part of this family ... with a smile.

My Mommy Version of Boot Camp

I don't know about you all, but why on earth is it required for a mother to tell her son EVERY.SINGLE.MORNING to brush his teeth?  He's had to do it for 8 years now. 

EVERY.SINGLE.GOSH.DARN.MORNING.

Yet, each day as I'm cleaning up breakfast dishes and the boys are putting on their shoes for school, I say, "Did you brush your teeth?"

Drew, WHO IS 7, replies with the same words every time, "Yup, I sure did!"  The answer is accompanied with a smile, which lights up my heart.  My morning dose of Drew ... I don't know what I'd do without it.

Jake, WHO IS 9, TWO STINKIN' YEARS OLDER THAN HIS LITTLE BROTHER, with MORE EXPERIENCE AT THIS TEETH BRUSHING STUFF, also enlightens me with the same answer each morning.  "Aaarrrgghh.  NO!  I forgot.  Dang it, why do I have to do it every morning.  I just brushed them last night.  Can't I just chew a piece of gum?"  Jake also accompanies this reply with the same thing every day.  It's very predictable.  It's approximately a 7.2 second groan, deep from his chest, as he removes his shoes.  Then 16 stomps up the stairs and a slam of the bathroom door.  I feel like I'm in the movie Groundhog Day.  (Which I hate by the way.  I CAN.NOT.STAND.THAT.MOVIE.  Don't ask me why ... I don't have a clue.)

When he returns, he has more nasty comments ... and he tries to say them under his breath, so I don't hear.  But I know he really WANTS me to hear.  Do you want to know how I know that?  Because we go through this every day.  If he didn't want me to hear, he would have stopped doing it by now. 

While normally this caused me to backlash with yelling and threats of favorite things being taken away ... that is the case no longer.  Nope.

I watched the movie Coach Carter.  And I learned something.  Kids will ignore words.  In one ear and out the other.  Time out ... yeah, just gives them some more quiet time to plot their next act of destruction.  So .... now, when you backtalk or do something you KNOW is wrong in our house ...

That's right.  Push ups.  It really pisses the kids off ... and Jake can pump out 40 or 50 of them in his little fits of rage. 

You see ... it's MY fault that he doesn't brush his teeth ... and then MY fault that he throws his shoes across the kitchen because he has to go back up and brush his teeth ... again, MY fault that he slams the door ... and MY fault that he can't keep his words to himself when he returns ... therefore, he's mad at ME for having to do push-ups. 

It's so much fun being a drill sergeant, and I'm going to have the strongest kids in Iowa.  Jake may only be 50 pounds, but man, he'll have hellacious biceps.

I Believe ...

life takes you down certain paths ... for certain reasons.

This afternoon, I was a little click happy and found myself clicking from one blog, to another, and then to another ... and I found myself here.  How I got there ... I can't even tell you, but all that really matters is that I found my way.

At a time I so desperately needed to. 

And I read the following sentence and it made things crystal clear to me, when things had been rather foggy for awhile.

My child is different because he came into this world to make a difference.

Does that not make perfect sense?  Does that not make you feel so much better about parenting your children on the difficult days?  Or weeks?  Or years?  Those 14 words can put a halt to sleepless nights when you wonder what in the world you're doing wrong in your tactics.  Why your child can't be like everyone else?  Hopefully, those words will put an end to the constant analyzing and judgments that are constantly made inside your own head. 

I'm sharing this with you and I hope you'll, like me, remember it and repeat it to yourself when you so need to be reminded that what you are doing is the hardest job on earth, yet the most important.  And you're doing great.

That sentence just touched me.  It mattered to me.  And I wanted to share.

Alright, enough of this sappy crap ... I'm off to go yell at my girls for something ... anything.

Is She Trying To Tell Me Something?

Nothing like taking a nap in your winter coat!!
I wonder if Molly thinks we keep the house too cold in the winter?


The thermostat is set at 67.  What temperature do you keep your home in the winter?

I'm Really Just A Big Child

Okay, I swear I am ... just a great, big, giant kid stuck in a grown up body.  Yesterday, I found something to be hysterically funny ... and I'm sure it wasn't.

At least not to most normal, mature, responsible parents.

Molly had to make an emergency run to the restroom.  Once she safely and successfully made it to her destination she called out ...

"Oh man!  I have die-a-wee-ah!"

Emily, being a supportive big sister, ran into the bathroom to investigate.  "Yup, she sure does.  She really really has deer-a-reeeee-ah."

"I do, I do!"  Molly called out proudly.  "It's big die-a-wee-ah, too"

"And really stinky deer-a-reeee-ah!" Emily noted.

"That's right.  Big, stinky die-a-wee-ah!!"

Me, being the 36 year old grown woman in the house, let this go on for about 3 to 4 minutes because I had found that the way my two daughters discussed and pronounced the word diarrhea, while perched up on the pot, cracked me the heck up. 

In a big way.

In a way that involved my stomach to hurt and tears to roll down my cheeks.

That's something I did not know about myself.

I guess it's true when they say you learn something new everyday.   Either that, or I need to get out of this house more often.

I'd Never Miss A Party

It's happening again this year and you'd better bet your bottom dollar that I wouldn't miss it.  Last year I found some great blogs by participating and this year I'm hoping for the same.  Plus, you can win prizes!

Wanna come with me?  You can!  I don't want to go alone.

Come on!

A Modern Day Miracle

Guess what?

You'll never guess. 

Never.

It's unbelievable.

Barely comprehensible.

No way to describe it except to say it's a miracle.

A MIRACLE, I tell you.

The kids went to school today.  They did.  They really really did.

On time even.

I knew you wouldn't believe me, so I attempted to take a picture of them getting on the bus.  Only I fell on the ice, and took a picture of the sky instead.

It was almost as embarrassing as this bus experience. 

I said, ALMOST.

It's Either This ... Or That!

Sometimes giving your son a great big glass of chocolate milk for no reason ... just feels good!

 

That or it helps a mother cope with the feelings of guilt after writing on her blog that she doesn't like her children. 

Whatever works, right?

Why I Didn't Even Consider Homeschooling!

The announcement was just made. 

The kids almost couldn't believe it!!! 

After being off of school three days the week before last, several late starts and early dismissals last week, and yet to be to school this week ... they have canceled classes again for today.

It was a total shocker!

NOT!

It's starting to become quite the norm.  They are going to be making up snow days so far into June, I think they should just start contemplating year round school.

And it's renewed my faith in my decision to never even consider homeschooling my children.  Each day they are here and SHOULD be at school, the invisible "like" meter I see on each of their foreheads, is going down and down and down, further into the red.

Don't get me wrong, I love my kids.  I just don't like them very much right now.

I feel like I'm losing control of the structure in the house.  I feel like they no longer hear my yells and screams for them to settle down.  They have been running through the house like wild animals.  Hello?  I know they haven't been out of the house in days, but is that really necessary?  Can't they just go read a book for a few hours?  Take up knitting, maybe?

Earlier when I asked Molly to stop running with scissors in her hands, I heard Jake mumble to Emily that "Mom is so uptight lately!"

Hhhmmmm, I wonder why?  Maybe because I've had four kids in my face for the last 120 hours, whining and crying about how bored they are because they can't go outside and they don't want to play with the kazillion toys we have in the basement or take advantage of my "free access to video games for as long as you can play them before your eyes bug out of your head" deal. 

Now excuse me while I go find that butcher knife I'm going to need to slit my throat later.  I think I saw the kids with it in the basement yesterday.

Just Another Reason ...

why it's sooooo fabulous that BIG BROTHERS were invented:

*   *   * *   *   *

Well, I'll Be Double Darned

I knew there was reason I blogged.

To get the answers to all the mysterious questions in my life.  Well, they are either mysterious or I'm just too stupid to figure them out. 

But not you guys!  Nope.  I've got the smartest readers in all of Bloggyville.

The.Smartest.

That just scored me some points, didn't it? 

No?

Damn it.

Well, you all scored me some socks that I didn't even know had gone missing.  And lip gloss.

Check it out.

I didn't even know this little hidden compartment existed.

Now, if you could just crawl through my computer screen and help me brush through THIS:

 

And So She Does Share Afterall

Yup.  She sure does.  Molly has finally mastered the art of sharing ... as only Molly could.

She so generously shared her illness with Emily.

Aahh, the joys of having 4 children stuck in the house with CABIN FEVER (due to inches upon inches of fresh snow and winds that could knock a grown man to the ground), 2 of those children who happen to be sick now with a REAL FEVER (though they ARE sleeping), a dog who needs to go out, an empty carton of Pepsi, no new movies to watch because the mail didn't come today, and a growling tummy with nothing at all planned for dinner.

Good times, I tell ya, good times.

Oh wait, I think I have some wine left in that box in the fridge. 

Things are starting to look up.

Just wondering ... what do you all do when the weather and the virus bugs hit your house hard?  How do you keep from going insane?

The Sock Swiper

Can someone please tell me that I'm not losing my mind?  That's I haven't crossed over the edge.  You know, the edge that I'm always talking about.  The one over to the looney bin.  I think I'm one step away from entering into that world.

And it's not my kids that are sending me there.  This time, anyway.

What I am about to tell you is not a lie.  It's not an exaggeration.  It is the honest to God truth.

I bought the boys both a new 10-pack of socks. 

20 pair of socks.

40 socks.

I dumped all 40 socks from their packaging into the washing machine.

I put all 40 socks into the dryer.

I thought I was folding and matching all 40 socks together ... but when I came to the bottom of my laundry basket ... I found ...

I searched the washing machine.  I searched the dryer.  I searched the path I would take from the laundry room to where I was distributing the goods.  Then I searched all the other paths that I didn't even take.  Then I looked under all the furniture.

How is this possible?  Someone please tell me.  I really really want an answer.

Where the hell did this poor sock's match go?

A Parenting Roller Coaster

Our ride began yesterday afternoon ...

Up hill:  Molly put herself down for a nap.  You read that correctly, she went upstairs ... crawled into her bed and fell fast asleep.

Down hill:  Molly whined through her entire dinner.  I suppose I don't blame her, it was a tough one for a child to choke down.  You know ... chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, green beans, and chips.  The torture!

Up hill:  Molly went to bed for the night like an angel.  The neighbors were even over for a visit, their daughter went up with the girls and read the stories and gave additional hugs and kisses.  Big Daddy and I were lovin' life.

Down hill:  I drank a couple glasses of wine and found myself very very very sleepy about 11pm.

Up hill:  I crawled into bed at 11pm expecting a much needed full, hard night's sleep. 

Down hill:  Molly tip-toed into our bedroom at 3:30am announcing she "puke-ed in her bed".

Up hill:  I had clean sheets ready and waiting to be placed on her bed.  Her hair and pillowcase were miraculously not effected.  I think this was a first in my experience of puking kids.  And believe me, I have lots of experience.

Down hill:  I had trouble falling back asleep.

Up hill:  Molly didn't.

Down hill:  Molly awoke at 4:30am because she "puke-ed" again.

Up hill:  She managed to hit the bucket.  No mess.

Down hill:   Molly awoke at 4:45am because she "puke-ed" again.

Up hill:  I didn't wake back up and Big Daddy took care of it solo.

Down hill:  I was exhausted this morning.

Up hill:  So was Molly.  She napped.

Down hill: Molly has continued to get sick all day long.

Up hill:  She hasn't missed the bucket yet.

Down hill:  It's 6:30pm.  We are all tired.  Molly is still sick.  Crying at the moment.

Up hill: Bedtime is in 30 minutes for the kiddos.  45 minutes for me.

Down hill: Drew just announced that he doesn't feel good.

Hang on tight ... I'm sure the ride will continue ...

Just A Little Somethin' ...

to renew my faith in the innocence of children.  The sweetness.  The magic.  The importance of the little things.

And it always comes at the perfect time, doesn't it?  Never mind last night, today is a new day:

This was Emily as she drooled over her first school Valentine exchange:

"Oh MOM!"  she exclaimed as dramatically as only a four year old could, "It's everything I dreamed it would be ... and more!"

Somehow that sentence made me feel so much better about my being a mother.  And my parenting.  And my kids.

Hopefully I'll get one good kid out of the bunch.  I think my odds are pretty good anyway.

I Think I Need My Ears Checked

I know that today you are all over Bloggyville reading posts of love and happiness and hearts. 

And then you have me.  Good ol' Iowa Mom to come through again making you realize your children are like little pieces of milk chocolate.  Little slices of heaven.

Then you've got mine.  I love my children, don't get me wrong.  And I wouldn't trade them for anything.  Well, maybe a ... never mind, no, I wouldn't.  I wouldn't trade them for anything.  I'm sure of it.  Yup, pretty sure.

However, what is a mother to think when the following words come out of her oldest child?  A fourth grader ... who is 9 years old:

"Hey Mom, I'm gonna ask you 3 questions and for every answer I want you to say ... RUBBER BUNS AND LIQUOR ...  Okay?"

Yup, I'd never dream of trading them for anything  ...  And, I'll leave the 3 questions he asked me up to your imagination.   

Happy Valentine's Day!

Go hug your children.  And tell them you love them.  And be thankful they're yours. 

Because you can't have mine.

It's All About Her

This morning's post is simply a photo of Emily.

Why?  Because she wanted me to post it.  For no other reason have I put it up for all of you to see.  Actually, I'm not even very fond of the photo, but it is easier to upload it and make it the center of attention ... like Emily wants ... rather than listening to her huff, puff, whine, cry, scream, yell and drive me absolutely bonkers for the next hour or so, until she sees her picture on my blog. 

I mean, really, first she starts asking my blogger friends questions ... now she is demanding her photo be posted.

Here ya go, Emily.  Now leave me alone.  Why don't you just go get your own stinkin' blog?  Geez!

Because You Asked ...

I will reveal.  The amount of emails that I received asking about my shopping spree was rather funny to me.  I didn't realize you all cared.  And for those of you who don't ... just skip over this post.  You won't hurt my feelings.  I promise.

The photo below shows all the items I was able to purchase last Friday.  I only spent $200 ...

I was able to purchase a pair of jeans, a belt, 9 shirts, 2 pair of sneakers, 4 regular boring bras, 2 regular boring sports bras (ya know, for all that exercise that I might want to do), 26 pair of socks, some hair clips, some make up and lunch (which is not pictured).

Not too bad if I do say so myself.  Do you all have Steve and Barry's where you live?  Reminded me of an Old Navy.  The Sarah Jessica Parker line called Bitten, was okay.  And everything in the store was $8.98.  EVERYTHING.  The jeans that I bought there fit me better than any other pair of jeans that I have.  And I almost passed the whole store up.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that if ALL I DID was find a pair of jeans that I liked, in a woman's eyes, this would have still been considered a successful shopping trip.

I still have over half my money left, so I'm looking forward to another fun filled day in a couple of weeks.  I think I'll concentrate on finding shorts and summer dresses.

So, for those of you who really didn't care, yet are still reading ... thanks for hanging around.  And for those who emailed me asking what I bought ... there ya go, hope you're not too disappointed ... I didn't get anything exciting, but sometimes getting the necessities is excitement enough.

Who doesn't love new socks?

A Woman's Prerogative

I don't know about you, but here in our house, the question and answer ordeal that takes place on a daily basis is usually down right ridiculous.  Everyday they ask and everyday someone is all pissy about what I choose to make for supper. 

I usually don't care.  After all, in a family of six, there is no pleasing everyone.  Right?

Complaining on purpose, regardless of what I announce will be found on their plates that evening, is something I'm coming to figure out and expect.  I swear, if I said we are having ice cream and pizza for dinner ... someone would moan and groan. 

They are all out to get me.  I'm convinced.

That brings me to last night.  I was tired.  I didn't feel like cooking.  I didn't feel like getting up off the couch, but I did, because that's my job and you all know I strive to always do my best.  Martha Stewart and June Cleaver are my heroes.

Ahem.

So, the conversation went down like this yesterday ...

All four kids at different times, but within a 10 minute period:  What's for dinner?

Me:  Waffles

Emily:  OOOOhhhhh, I don't want waffles.  I don't like them.  You know I don't like them.  I am not eatin'.

Me (acting like a teenager and rolling my tired eyes):  Whatever.

Fast forward to dinner.

Emily:  Mom, can I have more waffles?

Me (using a snippy tone and again, acting like a teenager and egging on a fight with my 4 year old): I thought you didn't like my waffles.

Emily:  Well .... I just changed my mind.

I Am A Big Piece Of Chopped Liver

Today was a successful shopping adventure.  More on that later.

Upon returning home, Molly managed to run into a wall.

Yes.

My daughter just flat out ran into a wall.  For no reason. 

The daughter with the good eye sight no less.

Immediately following the accident I was trying to console her.  She wanted none of that.  She wanted her Daddy.  So I grabbed the FLIP instead.

Bad dream?  Go to the brothers.
Injury?  Beg for Daddy.

Whatever.

On A Mission

A long story very short.

One day a few weeks back I had lost it.  I wouldn't say I'd gone over the top, but man, I was teetering right there on the edge.  Big Daddy entered the house after work and I made a straight line directly for my bedroom.  I closed the door and didn't want to see another person until morning.  Actually, I didn't want to see another person until the following month, but I wasn't going to push my luck.

In the midst of my mini-breakdown, I had left 3 or 4 loads of unwashed laundry in the laundry room.  To my surprise, Big Daddy took charge and completed all the laundry.  I don't know whether he was trying to be helpful or trying to rub it in my face that he could complete it all in an evening, why the hell couldn't I get it done throughout the entire day.  Either way, it didn't matter.  I was done and I didn't have to do it.

This breakdown thing was better than I thought.

Anyway, the following day, he came to me and said that he couldn't believe the condition of my socks and bras and that I really needed to go out and get new.  It warmed my heart that he noticed my socks all had holes in them and that my bras looked like I bought them all in the 1980's and washed them daily on the heavy duty cycle. 

I didn't, however, go out and get any new ones.

Yesterday, Big Daddy returned from work with a handful of cash.  He threw it at me literally and told me to go shopping the next day. 

Which is today.

Friday.

The day my kids go over to the sitter for our "kid swap".

So I'm off.

To shop.

Alone.

To get stuff FOR ME!

I haven't done this in years.

I hope I remember how.

Thank you Big Daddy ... I love you so much.

And not just because you pay me to.

Even When They Are Sleeping!

My kids can get under my skin even when then are snoozing peacefully.  That's right.

The other night, or I should probably say morning, Emily emerged from her room and into ours.  Of course coming to my side of the bed and wanting to snuggle in with us.  A quick glance at the clock justified her desire and I threw the covers back to allow her to take her place between Big Daddy and me.

A few minutes went by and I said to Emily, "I'm surprised your sister is still sleeping."

Emily replied with, "She's not in her bed.  I don't know where she is."

"What do you mean she's not in her bed?"

"When I came in here, she wasn't in her bed.  I thought she'd be in your bed, but she's not." Emily exclaimed, happily, not realizing the panic that her words would send through me.

How is it even possible that every bad thought and scenario can run through a mother's head in the time it takes to jump out of bed and run out of her room and into the room of her daughter's? 

How could a kidnapper get in the house and steal my daughter without me hearing?  Or without Big Daddy hearing?  He sleeps so light that he wakes when I BREATHE. 

As I round the corner into her bedroom and empty bed confirmed Emily's story.  Molly was indeed missing from her bed.  My heart started beating a bit faster as I tell myself that it just couldn't be anything bad.  Of course not.  Hello?  How could that be?

She's a brat.  Who'd want her?  And if someone did steal her from us, they'd be returning her any minute.  She'd drive them absolutely crazy, right?  She was probably whining and crying at this very moment, sending them over the edge into insanity.  They'd be making that illegal U-turn on I-80 to hightail it back to to little ol' us.  Those mean weak thieves, they couldn't handle her even if they tried.

Yeah ... all this went through my head as I left her room and passed by the boy's room.  A quick peek inside before heading down the stairs revealed ...

Okay then, I guess I've been replaced.  Those bad dreams in the middle of the night ... are no longer comforted by her parents ... she goes straight to her big brothers.

Let's see if they can make her breakfast and do her laundry too.

I Don't Want To Brag Or Anything, But ...

I won the giveaway over at Iowa Geek.  Yup, I did. 

<tongue out>  <thumbs in cheeks with fingers waving> 

Naaa Na Naaa Naa Naaaaaaaa Na. 

</tongue out>  </thumbs in cheeks with fingers waving>

CRAP - I've been hanging out with my girls too long.  Sorry about that.  Just for giggles though, how many of you just stuck your tongue out and put your thumbs against your cheek waving your fingers around?

That's what I thought.

So anyway.  I WON!  Whoo Hooo.  I'm so excited.  First I win some great books over at The Bean Blog in December ... and now this.  I am one lucky girl, I tell ya. 

Who Wouldn't Wanna Be Me? 

Oh, just got a flash of Keith Urban singing and playing that guitar of his ... hold on ... whew.  He is sure HOT.

Okay ... seriously, I won.  And the package arrived yesterday in the mail.  It is wonderful.  Check it out:

Papers, stickers, stamps, ink pads, ribbons, a handmade photo card/album, set to make gift boxes ... CHOCOLATE.  GODIVA CHOCOLATE. 

Oh wait, I was serious when I said I didn't want to brag.  But ...

Iowa Geek holds a contest like this every single month.  So remember, next time I tell you to get over there and enter ... you should.   

I've Clentched The Award

On Saturday morning I believe I have finally clenched the award for "Mother of the Year".  Seriously, I've outdone myself this time.

The family was packing up to do our weekly "run" early Saturday morning.  No, we don't all jog around the neighborhood.  A "run" in this household means one thing and one thing only. 

We go shopping.

All six of us.

We load up and hit the stores.  Many times we don't get back home until late afternoon, unless one of the children has a complete meltdown past the point of no return.  On those days, we cut the "run" short so we can bring them home and throw them in bed for a nap.   Which is like a small little slice of heaven.

Anyway, Drew was moving a little slower than what Big Daddy deemed appropriate, so he knelt down to tie Drew's shoes.  Upon doing so, he was faced with a gigantic kinda big hole in the sole of his shoe. 

The same shoes he's been wearing to school everyday ... walking through the snow.

Oops.

Add the shoe store to our list of places to go.

Fast forward past Target, Wal-mart (yes, I am still forced to go there to obtain certain items), the bread store, Sam's ... and resume at Famous Footwear.

Now, I'm already feeling slightly guilty as we walk through the door, knowing that I've allowed my dear son to trudge around in the cold and wet elements for God knows how long.  But when he placed his foot inside the foot measuring thing-a-ma-giggy, I sunk lower than even I thought I could sink.

Drew measured at a size 3.  I slowly retrieve the hole ridden shoe he has been wearing.  The label on the tongue of the shoe read size ....

1.

Yes, not only did I send him out in totally unacceptable sneakers ...

they were 2 sizes TOO SMALL!

He never said a word. 

I never noticed.

I do believe this little "mishap" clenches the "Mother of the Year" Award for me.

Unless you've got something better ...

The Super Bowl Scrooge

I have officially named myself the Super Bowl Scrooge this year.  Yup, last year I was all about the big game ... this year ... not so much.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact I couldn't give a crap about either of the teams this year.  While I do love the game of football ... period ... I'm just not into this game.  It's boring.  If you think so too ... check out Animal Planet.  Honestly, it's a more exciting game than the one on FOX.

No party.  Not a sip of beer sipped.  There are no snacks covering the kitchen counter.  Shoot, I fed my family eggs and waffles for dinner.  We are even contemplating watching a movie.  It's "We Are Marshall".  That's football, right?

So, there ya have it.  I'm a scrooge.  I told you so.

What?  Did you think I'd lie to you?  Never.

Oops, there's the dryer buzzer.  Yes, I'm doing laundry on Superbowl Sunday.

God, I can't even stand myself right now.

It's A Bourne What?

If you've been reading my blog for a while you know that Big Daddy and I never go to the movies.  Not because he's too cheap or rude or selfish or uncooperative or anything like that ... but because I don't like to go.

That's right.  I don't like to go to the movies.

I like movies.

But I don't like to go TO the movies.

And I don't know why.  There is no reason in particular.

I should be in therapy.  But I probably wouldn't like to go.

ANYWAY, as I said before, I do like movies.  So we subscribe to the Blockbuster Total Access deal and we've been watching all the flicks that we've missed over the past 10 years, because of my wacko feelings about going to the theater. 

It's kinda fun.  I watch about 4 new movies a week and last weekend we watched the Bourne Identity.  The first of three "Bourne" films.

It was good.  I know ... you all watched it six years ago ... but I saw it six days ago and really enjoyed it.  I enjoyed it so much that I was going to put the kids to bed and watch the second one, The Bourne Supremacy that same darned night.

To make it even better ... we ordered pizza, poured some drinks, broke out the quilts, turned down the lights, flipped on the surround sound, opened the movie ...

and pulled out ...

Deadwood ... or some shit like that. 

Wrong movie in the wrong case.

It really sucked.  And I was really pissed. 

And I just really wanted you to know that.