Several random reasons you are glad you aren't my children

Let me tell you about my dream. The fact that I had a dream at all is indeed somewhat noteworthy. It is rare that I am able to sleep long enough or well enough to dream. Last night though, dream I did. I dreamt about a cartoon villain that sounded a lot like Aladdin's Jafar, he had an evil laugh, and his name was The Toddler's Apprentice. I don't think I'll be needing Freud to analyze this one for me.

I came across a blog post yesterday that made me laugh so hard I cried. I am going to give you all the link, but, please note that the father who wrote it was seriously sleep deprived and as a result, the post is very vulgar. It is also very, very funny. If occasional vulgar humor doesn't bother you, definitely click here.

The Little Lady (my 1 year old) has three pairs of shoes, or to be more accurate, she has one pair and two shoes. Hercules (3) has five pairs, or, to be more accurate, he has a pair of sandals and four shoes. Where, oh where, have all the shoes gone? I knew about the sock eating monster in the laundry room, but, this, this is ridiculous.

Let's talk about home improvement for a minute, shall we? My front door, the one that you may remember my grandfather started fixing last February? It still has an unfinished frame that needs to be trimmed and a two inch hole between the top of the door and the frame. My backyard, the one that was painstakingly (no, not by me for sure) cleared of poison ivy? It isn't finished either. Of course, now the ivy is coming back. Bugs. I hate bugs. There is a ginormous hole behind our kitchen cabinets between my house and the next door neighbor's home. It goes like this...we have the house sprayed and the bugs run from our side over to his. Things are great for awhile. Then we see the exterminator next door...and they come back to our house. It is a never ending dance, sort of like the one the steps do between our home and their mom's, only less pestilential. The roof isn't fixed from hurricane season two years ago. The stove has two working burners, but, since they are never the same two, it keeps me on my toes. The bathrooms? Are all working at the same time! Yay! For those you you still reading, the score is one for us, and five for this hole. Meanwhile, I hear my hubby's digs in Miami are sweet, but, as I've never seen 'em, I have to take his word for it.

I need to go and fix coffee now. The only caffeine I have as of yet consumed is the bottled, organic coffee from Costco (which believe me people, only looks like a Frappucino) and I am jonesing.

Today's plan? More frigging laundry. Which, will take place at the coin laundry, because, my washer is dead, dead, dead. Which is exactly what may become of me if the a/c is still out at the coin laundry. Friggin' Florida.

Sleep deprivation and awards (maybe, I might be hallucinating)

My three year old finally collapsed. After returning him to his bed approximately 1,999,999 times, I gave up and let him run around the family room while I sterilized bottles, played on the computer, and put away laundry. He has fallen asleep still holding a book on the bottom stair. It is 1:00 a.m. I used to love it when he napped during the day, but, I feel that way no longer, because even the shortest of naps overcharges his batteries and then we have marathon sleepy time struggles like we experienced tonight. I. Am. So. Tired.

Jen over at Diagnosis: Urine has given me an award which cheers me up greatly. Thanks Jen! The easy part is passing it on, six of my favorite bloggers are:

1. Monica at I'll Raise You 5


2. Tanya at Our 'Homemade' Family'


3. Cindy at Oh Crap! Life Lessons of raising 6 Children


4. Kim at Stuck in the Suburbs


5. Shosh at Day by Glorious Day


6. Stacey at Willowjak Boys

Now, should you want to pass on the love, the rules are simple, answer the following 35 questions in one word and name six of your favorite bloggers!

1. Where is your cell phone? desk
2. Your hair? thinning
3. Your mother? arrrgh!!!
4. Your father? miserable (kidney stone)
5. Your favorite food? dessert
6. Your dream last night? dream???!!!
7. Your favorite drink? beer (Dogfish Head 120 min. IPA, if you haven't tried it, you should!)
8. Your dream/goal? sleep
9. What room are you in? den
10. Your hobby? reading
11. Your fear? toddlers
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? SLEEPING!!!
13. Where were you last night? football
14. Something that you aren't? svelte
15. Muffins? top...
16. Wish list item? nanny
17. Where did you grow up? beach
18. Last thing you did? phone
19. What are you wearing? PJ's
20. Your TV? off
21. Your pets? many
22. Friends? who?
23. Your life? crazy
24. Your mood? weary
25. Missing someone? nope
26. Vehicle? Dodge
27. Something you’re not wearing? perfume
28. Your favorite store? Gymboree
29. Your favorite color? purple
30. When was the last time you laughed? Doctor's
31. Last time you cried? bedtime
32. Your best friend? Terry
33. One place that I go to over and over? store
34. One person who emails me regularly? sis
35. Favorite place to eat? Al's

What is purgatory?

The Catholic Church describes purgatory (loose translation will follow) as a temporal state during which sins are paid for in full. I define purgatory as spending two full days at the coin laundry, doing a dozen loads for nine people, in Florida, in October, in ninety plus degree weather, without air conditioning, because my washing machine is on the fritz. Could the Pope and whomever this may concern note that several of my markers are 'paid in full' please? Thanks.

Seriously, I think that I have been suffering from heat exhaustion yesterday and today from my laundry marathon. *Hubby, after many (many, many) years of scoffing at appliances as gifts, I am totally willing to talk about an early visit from Santa, during which the Sears delivery guy brings gifts in his stead*

My three year old who is resisting bedtime with all his mighty will is causing me to suffer from other types of exhaustion too. My patience is exhausted. My compassion, humor, mind, and body are all exhausted as well.

Please, please, please little children (and big ones too) stop talking to me. Just for a minute, or only one of you talk to me at a time, it would be such a nice change, such a big help...really.

Too tired to post*

My mind is mush. Waking my daughter up every four hours through the night for medicine, on top of two babies still requiring night feedings has taken a toll on me. I really believe that my daughter has an ear infection...not the Swine Flu or the Not Swine Flu. I was tempted to take her back to the doctor, but, instead opted to beg for antibiotics over the phone. Apparently, they aren't any more eager to roll out the Hazmat welcome wagon, as I am to be the recipient of it, therefore, they allowed me to diagnose my child over the phone. After two doses of antibiotics, my daughter's fever has broken and she is bouncing off the walls and begging to go back to school. Hmmm...

Meanwhile, my boys, who were written out of school for the week, in the event that we were nurturing the bubonic plague around here, are having a great time. I. Am. Not.

I am tired. Too tired to think. Too tired to post. Too tired to clean. Too tired to take off my make up. Too tired to read. Too tired to sleep. Grrr!!! It is the last one that is kicking me in the bottom.

I thought that a trip to the nail salon for a pedicure by the world's strongest nail tech would cheer me up. The leg massage part is awesome I say...until I got there and found out that my nail guy quit. Crap! Crap. Crap. The girls there (who are great, really) offered to give me a pedicure, but, I refused. I am a borderline diabetic and my heels show it, they crack, they split, they hurt. The girls there haven't the strength to scrub my heels with a pumice stone, and, a razor just makes a bad problem worse. *I* don't have the strength to scrub my heels with a pumice stone the way they need to be. So, I am in the market for a new nail tech, not necessarily male, but with strength equal to a 6' plus guy weighing about 175 lbs. Know someone like that? Anybody? No? I didn't think so.

I need to get the few tufts of hair remaining on my head trimmed. If I find out my stylist is gone, there is no telling what I might do!

*Disclaimer: This post is devoid of any real reason to be written, other than all the email I have received from IRL friends who assume my silence in this forum means that I and my bloodline have all succumbed to the swines. Please forgive me if you are not one of those people.

It's a pity party and you're invited!

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to you...

While I actually considered rewriting the lyrics to that song as my post today, I'm too tired.

My daughter has the flu. Maybe. She tested negative, but, apparently the test is only 10-70% accurate. We just arrived back at home from the urgent care place without any medication and with instructions to try to quarantine my nine year old daughter. I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants. Riiiight. When I voiced my concern (via maniacal laughter) the doctor suggested *any* unused room. I quickly informed her that the only room we have that is unused is the laundry room and that I doubted we could fit a bed in it. Then she suggested we send the babies or my daughter to family to care for. *snort* My grandparents are in Hawaii on vacation, my mother wouldn't take my babies on a bet, and my husband is 350 miles away.

Misery loves company...if you have already joined my ranks, please say hello!

Doors close and windows open

Well, the misunderstood adult children have returned. A touch apologetic, a bit shame faced, and no worse for the wear. They called last night about 170 miles away, they had lost their phone, had no money, and were totally out of gas. Of course, they also had no identification on them...so we are lucky indeed that a police officer took pity and gave them enough money for gas to get home, otherwise I guess I would have had to drive gas money out to them as they couldn't have claimed wire funds without ID. They were here before I woke up.

N is returning to his mother's house. S will stay here. It is really the way things ought to be. S fits into our crazy, loud, unconventional home. N fits well with his mom. Is it any small wonder that N is most like his mother, while S is more like his dad?

Hubby is back on the job. His tasks are plenty for this week, so we shall see how it goes. After a two week breather from his boss, he'll get another break while his boss is here in town this week. *Please note, that I am very proud of myself for being only mildly tempted to hunt him down and kick his ass while he is in the vicinity.*

Doors close and windows open everyday in this crazy, miserable, wonderful life!

Why I hate gravity and am loved by the Angels

Dear Victoria's Secret,

I promised myself (okay, fine...my husband) that if my new bra broke again within three months of purchase that I would be done with you for all time. Apparently, Victoria's Angels were listening though. Yes, my new bra did break. Yes, it was well within the three month self imposed limit. But, this time, instead of the under wire snapping, the strap broke. It happened while I was out to dinner with my husband. Who wanted to know why my left breast was sitting 3-4 inches south of my right one. When I explained that the strap on my bra had broken, and he himself noted the the difference between being with the Angels or without...he insisted I go buy a new bra from you. Like STAT.

Sincerely,

The woman who wants to know why everyone but V.S. assumes that all women larger than a certain size want to be minimized and are adept enough to hook 15 rows of latches????