Not in on the joke

So life has been... a little nutso lately. In some ways, good. In other ways... well, see above.

As I discussed on here in a few previous posts, life has apparently had a sense of humor lately. Unfortunately, no one let me in on the joke.

First, the broken dishwasher saga really and truly turned into a saga. We just had it fixed this week for the FIFTH time. Yes. In the past seven weeks, my brand new dishwasher has worked for a total of about four days. I spent Thanksgiving hand washing dishes because the super-awesome customer service at B&B Appliance couldn't be bothered. I get it, they're probably super annoyed at us by now. But maybe if you fixed it the first damn time. Or the second... Or the third...

It got to the point where this past week we got our home builder involved. We only bought our appliances from this store because she convinced us of their stellar customer service and quick response time. We made it clear that has been anything but our experience, and reiterated what has been going on. She promised us (and yes, we got it in writing) that if this last time didn't fix it once and for all, she'd personally buy us a new dishwasher.

So we'll see what happens.

On top of that, Little One is sick again. For one, he has a double ear infection AGAIN (second time in under a month, poor dude). But the bigger issue is his tonsils. He has had overly-swollen tonsils for two years now, and no doctor, neither here nor back in Washington, took it seriously. I've taken him in to be seen several times, and every single time I was told that since he wasn't running a fever and they weren't impacting his ability to eat, breathe, or speak, they were fine for now.

Well, both ear infections he's had occurred without a fever. So clearly that's not necessarily a telling factor in my child's wellness.

And last week his tonsils suddenly poofed up so big that they were touching and he was talking like he had cotton shoved in his mouth. And he started snoring like a logger. And the right tonsil has this nasty vein running across it (I swear, it's like they're starting their own colony or something).

Finally, the doctor is taking me seriously.

Right now Little One is on uber-antibiotics to deal with the ear infection and to hopefully clear up whatever made his tonsils turn into monsters. Otherwise, it's looking like surgery. But, of course, we will have to make a separate appointment with a Ear, Nose, & Throat specialist. And because Wyoming has refused to acknowledge the Affordable Care Act, our insurance company is being... well, less than ideal.

So we're dealing with that.

There's really no stress like that of having a sick child. Especially when you're afraid he will stop breathing in his sleep.

In terms of work, my freelance writing has started taking off, though as they say, be careful what you wish for!

Two weeks ago I was hired to ghostwrite a two-part supernatural romance series. You know, fallen angels, ancient pacts, lost souls, the usual love story!

It's been a blast writing it so far. Much more fun than those medical articles I was doing for the difficult web clients. Who, by the way, pretty much fell into radio silence when I got sick last month.

(Did I forget to mention? I spent the first two weeks of November so sick with the flu that I couldn't get out of bed. It was the sickest I've been in years, and it was awful. Hubs got it after me, so he can attest that I wasn't just being a baby; it really was terrible.)

Anyway, so I haven't worked with those clients in awhile, and to be honest, I don't miss it. Writing this romance story has been so much less stressful, and has allowed be to exercise my creativity, rather than regurgitating dry medical data.

Well, this week I was invited to submit a proposal for another romance series, this one four parts. I was hesitant (hell, I'm still hesitant!) because the style of writing is much different than I'm used to, and the time frame is quite short. However, taking Tina Fey's advice, I went for it.

My proposal was accepted, and now it looks like I'll be ghostwriting two novel series! The first book of the current series is due by the end of January. The entirety of the second series (all four books) are due by the first week of February.

Suffice it to say I'm losing my mind a little bit. But in a good way. Mostly.

Finally, the biggest things we're dealing with right now is this little gem. Go ahead and take a sec to read it, I'll wait...

*twiddles thumbs*

*tries whistling*

*remembers can't whistle*

Oh you're back! So yeah, basically, powers beyond our control have essentially screwed us over. Like, big time.

After taking several days to process, we decided our plan of action was to try and sell our house before the drilling starts, because once it starts, the odds of someone wanting to buy right here drop significantly, to say the least.

If the house sells, we will rent a house in town for now, until we figure out where we are going to end up. Living in Cheyenne was never a long-term plan. It was only supposed to be for two or three years, and then we were going to find Hubs a new, fancy-schmancy job back in our beloved Seattle. However, his job here is really good, so it may keep us here longer than expected. Or not. We have no clue.

What we do know is that if we don't sell our house now, we will for sure be stuck here for several more years, until the drilling is done and property values increase enough to give us our value back.

If the house doesn't sell in the next month or so, we've accepted the fact that this means we're sticking it out here much longer than planned, and we'll just make the best of it at that point. We'll finish the basement, landscape the yard beautifully, develop the land more, build outbuildings, and basically make our 40 acres so damn desirable that the pump jacks won't deter buyers.

So besides spending my weekend working feverishly on my writing projects, finishing decorating for Christmas, attending my daughter's choir concert, and baking cookies, Hubs and I will be frantically getting our house ready to show. It went on the market last Thursday, and we have the photographer and countless local agents coming out on Tuesday to see the property. Gotta make it snazzy before then!

Because, you know, no pressure.

Like I said, life has a sense of humor. It'd just be nice to be in on the joke.

Not to be obnoxious, but...

I know. I'm sorry. I hate to be that annoying, braggy parent. But I'm a very proud mama today, so I'm just going with the bragitude. You've been warned.

My son is in 5th grade this year, but he has been taking 6th grade math. We just found out yesterday that, based on his grades, testing scores, and achievement levels, he has been accepted into the Honors Pre-Algebra class for next year, which means he will be taking math at the Junior High, even though he will only be in 6th grade. 

That whole thing is pretty cool, and makes me braggy enough as it is, but there's more.

If this Honors class goes well and he remains on the advanced track, he will begin earning high school credit for math… in 7th grade.

Yes. Algebra I is the beginning of the high school math credits, and that is the class that follows Honors Pre-Algebra. That means that by the time he is a senior in high school, the district will have run out of traditional math offerings for him. He'll have completed them all.

So, like I said, proud mama!!!

I wonder if I can start having him balance my checkbook for me…? Does weekly allowance cover menial budgetary tasks?

Why I Chose to be a Stay-At-Home-Mom

Here is the second article from a couple weeks ago.

Boom

Here's an article written by Doyin Richards, the guy behind the "parenting picture heard 'round the world" (or rather, around the internet, but same dif). He explains the backstory behind the pic, as well as the responses he has received thus far- both positive and negative. He then goes on to discuss his dream for fathers everywhere.

It's powerful, and honest, and awesome.

Ferklemped

Grab the kleenex before reading this… You've been warned…

Halloween Health: Safety Tips for Kids' Candy

Here is an article I published on Yahoo! discussing tips for Halloween candy safety.

Head colds and rocking chairs

I'm sick again.

I don't know what the deal is, but I've just been walloped the last few weeks with one illness after another. I assume my current levels of stress and lack of sleep probably have something to do with it. But if this is the way cold and flu season is stacking up, I'm totally screwed!

Clearly the next logical option...

Fall quarter is just around the corner for me, and I'm experiencing this weird combination of being excited and nauseatingly stressed about it. On the one hand, I'm the nerd that likes school and learning and challenging myself academically. On the other hand, I have enough going on right now that adding one more thing makes my brain hurt.

But I just need to keep plugging away at it. So close to being done, can't crap out now.

On the plus side, potty training has been going well. Monkey is managing to stay dry most of the time, and likes the reward of getting to pick out what color M&M he wants after a successful "go". Poops are still a solely-in-the-diaper thing, but I figure I'll address one battle at a time.

The end of the diaper era is nigh!

We went up to see the house this weekend. Seeing as how we live so far away right now, I'm not up in Cheyenne very often, and therefore hadn't seen the house in person in probably three weeks or so. It was very cool! The drywall is up, and most of the mudding and taping was done. The siding had also been started too. It looks so much more like an actual house now, rather than just some generic construction site, it was hard not to get all giddy about it. We're a month (ish) away from realizing our dream!

My favorite part of the house so far? As random as it sounds, it's the front porch.

It's huge! And it's just so pretty. And the way it is situated, it's almost totally blocked from the wind, so we'll actually be able to sit out there and enjoy it.

I'm very much looking forward to sitting on my giant porch in my cute little rocking chair with a cup o' tea and a good book. Because clearly I'm almost-30 going on almost-70...

Exactly

So I'm trying a new recipe tonight, and I'm a little concerned. It's the first meal that has sounded good to me in a few days. And that's the issue. See, when I'm sick, my tastes are usually pretty out of whack, so the fact that this recipe sounds really yummy to me makes me worried that it will actually taste like the feet of 18 dead frogs. (Nice visual, eh?)

We'll see. If it's yummy, I'll share it on here. If not, we'll just pretend we never had this conversation.

A lesson in futility... and bribery

Potty training.

It's probably the bane of every parent's existence.

It's a stressful, exhausting period of time when every trip to the store, red light, traffic jam, or busy restroom is cause for a mild panic attack.

And there is no "magic formula" because every kid is different.

Some master it in a couple of weeks. Others make you feel like you'll be sending them to school in diapers.

With my oldest, he never had a pee accident (besides aiming issues), but the logistics of choosing between standing to pee and sitting to poop resulted in a few... unpleasant surprises.

With my daughter, she never had a poop accident, because the thought horrified her. However, she would wait until the very last possible second before heading to the potty, and several pee accidents resulted.

With my youngest... well, we're still working at it. Things were going so well a few months ago. And then... I don't know. He lost interest. He'll ask to use the potty immediately after going in his diaper. No matter how many times I ask him if he needs to go, or have him sit and try, he just... won't. All diaper, all the time.

Le sigh.

Because there's nothing like futility.

So what have I decided to do? Well I'm going to take a page out of the Bad Parenting Manual and resort to bribery.

Yes, that's right folks. I need something to act as an incentive, something to ignite his interest in potty training.

And that something is M&Ms.

Step aside, ma'am, we'll take it from here

One for a successful pee. Two for a successful poop. (Get it, get it?!?)

Because I'm sick of diapers. He's almost three-and-a-half. I want the diapers to go away. And I'm going to find whatever way works to make that happen.

Parent Of The Year, over here.

Hey, it could be worse!

(That picture never fails to crack me up)

Cat sh*t and hissy fits

My oh my.

Today has been quite... trying. For my soul. My patience. My sanity. My caffeine levels.

Things started off fairly well. Alarm went off at the crack of dawn. I got up, rustled my two oldest children out of bed and did the herding cats routine to get them ready for school.

I then proceeded to rustle The Husband up by siccing the three-year-old on him.

Lunches packed, homework gathered, bedhead tamed, breakfast doled out, and hugs and kisses distributed, and the kids and The Husband were on their way.

Little One and I then snuggled on the couch and watched a few of his morning shows on Sprout.

(I hate to admit that I don't despise them as much as I should)

(Though I'm not overly fond of the new Wiggles line up, and I miss DirtGirlWorld and Play With Me Sesame)

(And the fact that I have enough knowledge on this topic to have an opinion is... sad)

Anyhoodle, the day progressed, and being that it was cold and rainy today, I had grand plans to drink tea and read David McCullough's John Adams. As my first cup brewed on the side table next to me, I snuggled under the electric blanket and began to read.

I could hear the cat in the bathroom, scratching around in his litter box. I paid no attention, other than to remind myself to scoop it once my tea was done (another of my unpleasant but necessary morning chores).

The cat meandered out of the bathroom and plopped down next to the coffee table to... ahem... tend to his bits, as he always does after visiting the litter box. Gross, but nothing new.

But then "The Thing" happened; the thing that always alerts me that something is not right with the cat. He jumped up, made this weird panicky "mreow" sound, and started walking in circles shaking his legs.

I have dubbed this the "poop shimmy".

And nothing good ever comes from it.

So I started following him around, trying to get a glimpse of what was stressing him out. I couldn't see it, but I started to be able to smell it.

I gingerly grabbed him, lifted his tail (to which he protested), and saw.... it.

Big ol' turd stuck to the base of his tail.

Le sigh.

See, my cat is an Asian Long-Haired. Which, from what the vet told me (because I'm clearly not an expert) is basically one step down from a Persian.

Dude is FLUFFY.

Which makes for utter cuteness.

But it also makes for a fecal danger zone around his backdoor.

This is resolved through regular bum trimmings. But we've been busy lately, and kept putting it off. Ironically, I had just told The Husband last night that this weekend we needed to give him a good bath and then trim him up.

Too late!

So upon discovering his little fur nugget, I descended into "EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW!!!!!" mode.

Still holding him (away from my body, obviously), I grabbed the nearest cleaning implement I could find, which happened to be Clorox wipes. I used two of those to pull off the biggest chunk of nasty, and then realized that- perhaps- those weren't the best things to use on my poor, poopy kitty.

I can just hear PETA collectively chastising me. I'm sorry! I panicked!

So I brought the cat into the bathroom, scruffed him to hold him in place on the floor, and used much more cat-friendly baby wipes to clean his bum with.

Ten minutes, twenty baby wipes, one pissed off cat, and one hand cramp later, his bum was as clean as I could possibly get it. I released him, and he immediately jumped in the bathtub to hide from me (and go to town on himself).

I scrubbed my hands until they were sore, searched the entire apartment for any possible dingleberries he may have dropped, and then plopped down on the couch exhausted. It's quite tiring holding a squirming, angry, growling cat in place so you can scrape poop off his butt fir.

Just so you know.

I finished my now almost cold cup of tea, but was too distracted to continue reading. I started laundry and puttered around for a bit, and then it came time for Little One's nap time. Amazingly enough, he didn't have a meltdown over having to lay down, which I (mistakenly) took as being a good sign.

He laid down, I checked on him about twenty minutes later to make sure he had actually gone to sleep (never a safe assumption with a three-year-old), and then made my second cup of tea.

The afternoon progressed fairly uneventfully, which I appreciated. But then I began to realize that Little One had been asleep far longer than usual. And it made me a little... apprehensive.

I was just about to go check on him when the door to his bedroom opened, and he came bouncing out, all bright and happy and chipper.

Again, my very wrong assumption was just that he had had a really good nap. I got him his sippy cup and a snack, and then went into the room to open the curtains for him so he could play.

And then I saw it.

A ball of red yarn on the floor.

Sprinklings of red yarn across his bed.

His Jessie doll (from Toy Story) tucked in a clump next to the bed.

And my daughter's craft scissors out of their usual pencil box...

Two and two quickly came together.

Jessie got a haircut!

Oy vey.

No wonder nap time seemed to take forever! He had probably been awake for at least a half hour or so, and had gotten creative.

Poor Jessie. It's not a pretty look!

So Little One got a talking to about not playing with scissors and not cutting people's or doll's hair. He went in time out for a few minutes to get the point across. And then he apologized and fluttered off to go play.

While I was annoyed at the haircutting snafu, I was prepared to let it go. He's only three, he doesn't know better, and it was only yarn.

But then things spiraled. Rapidly.

Little One asked for my help in pulling the Lego bin and toy box out, so I did.

And the hissy fits began.

You see, I made the horrible mistake of not putting the toy box exactly where he wanted it, on account of his request being unrealistic (I'm not going to rearrange bedroom furniture just so the toy box can go where the dresser stands!)

A meltdown of apocalyptic measures commenced. Time out ensued. And discussion of proper behavior, using our words, etc followed. He apologized, hugged me, and went back to play.

Upon walking in his bedroom, however, he remembered why he was been so ferklemped in the first place.

That damn toy box!

Cue another meltdown.

Another (longer) time out.

Another discussion.

More apologies, more hugs, and off to play again.

And then the toy box...

I think you see where the cyclical nature of my afternoon is going with this.

Suffice it to say, at some point in the battle over the toy box positioning, I brewed myself the third cup of tea.

It was desperately needed if I was to refrain from going nu-cu-lar (thanks Dubya for that!)

Finally, I just pushed the toy box back where it was to begin with. Problem solved, right?

Dear god no.

Enter the most epic breakdown in the history of toddlerhood.

He screamed. He cried. He growled. He called me names and told me he hated me. He tried to hit and kick me (a new development). He told me he didn't need me anymore and to leave him alone (good luck with that one, who's gonna change your diapers?) It got so ridiculously over the top that I had a hard time not laughing. It's also surprising how hurtful a three-year-old is capable of being!

Time out was the super-duper-Lord-of-the-Rings-marathon kind of extended version. He stayed there until daddy got home!

'Cause mommy was about to develop a drinking problem.

And then? The most annoying thing of all. Daddy gets home from work, and like magic, Little One is all better. Crisis over. Mood perfect.

Navigating the parent trap

My last post shared an article about that moment when you see your kids as they are; when you realize where you are in life, and you have that singular, acute moment of parental and personal clarity.

The thing that article didn't mention, though, is that this happens far more frequently. These little moments are not a once-per-decade occurrence. Hell, I have them a couple times a week, at least!

It's true, most of your parenting time consists of something akin to herding cats. You're running around in circles, trying to keep the peace; reminding the youngest one to keep their hands to themselves and use their words and not their fists; reminding the oldest one to speak kindly and stop bossing the others around like they're minions; and keeping the middle one from using her pillow as a weapon when her brothers piss her off for the zillionth time today.

In short, daily life is chaos. It's hectic. It's challenging. And some days you feel like an utter failure and want nothing more than to crawl back in bed, curl up in a ball under the blankets, and imagine yourself on a sandy beach sipping a very strong tropical cocktail (or three).

But in between those moments of Are-You-Freaking-Kidding-Me-What-Made-You-Think-Climbing-The-Refridgerater-Was-A-Good-Idea, there are moments of joy, beauty, and utter parental pride.

And yes, that occasional clarity where you see your children as individuals with unique personalities and relatable stages in life (as opposed to vindictive hell spawns seeking to make you crazy one "quit touching my Legos" argument at a time).

I have three children- Bug, Sweet Pea, and Monkey.

(Not their real names, obviously. I'm a hippie, yes, but not quite to that level!)

Bug is my oldest. In terms of personality, he is the most like me. He's very sensitive and academic. He loves to read, he has an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and dreams of being an architect or engineer when he grows up. He loves nature and being outdoors. He has a very high intellect, and he knows it, which makes for confidence and success in the advanced classes, as well as an insufferable know-it-all tendency (we're working on that). Lately, it's like he has suddenly become this childlike grown-up. I find myself being able to relate to him on a more mature level. We can have full conversations about geology or recycling or global warming or the sneaky intentions of marketing. Certain things he says, as well as certain actions and characteristics, floor me on a regular basis because they make him seem so grown up. At times he is all child. Other moments, total teenager. It's weird and heartbreaking and fun and emotionally trying all at the same time.

Oh yeah, and he started puberty. And that's been a real hoot...

Sweet Pea is my middle child. She was born premature, but is now the picture of health and vitality, though I still worry sometimes. She loves animals (like, straight up Little Miss Dr. Doolittle). She is funny, goofy, a show-off, and very artistic. She loves to draw and craft and create. She possesses a sheer joy for life that I admire and hope she holds on to as she grows up. She is athletic (she gets that from her daddy!) and confident in her physical abilities, but is also very timid and sensitive. She is wicked smart but still questions her academic abilities. We are working to build her up in that manner, but she still compares herself to her brother and has a hard time understanding that he is older and therefore farther along in school. She dreams of being a paleontologist and a veterinarian, simultaneously. She is also sassy as all hell. And beautiful. Daddy is going to need to invest in a shotgun as she approaches middle school! She is still young, yet I occasionally see glimpses of who she will be when she is older. Certain things she says and does are so teen-like that it freaks me out. She and I are also the most different in terms of personality, so I know that we will have our mother-daughter struggles as she gets older. I dread her teen years...

Monkey is my baby. Only he's not a baby anymore. It feels like he is growing up too quickly- I think he's trying to catch up to his older siblings. He is all boy- rambunctious, wild, physical. He loves to run and jump and climb and yell and tumble and explore. He has no fear, which of course instills fear in me! He looks the most like me, to an eerie degree. I can't yet tell whose personality he takes after the most, but he is very sweet and loving and kind. He loves animals just as much as his sister. He is intelligent and sensitive, but also adventurous and a little crazy. I think he'll be the one to end up spending a night or two in jail! But for something silly, like streaking through a football game, or tagging a building with an invite to prom, or some other impulsive dare-type stunt. He's also a ladies man already. I'm already working on my best glowering stare for the hordes of chicks he'll bring home that I will inevitably disapprove of.

Like any parent, I have my fears for my children. Besides the obvious fears of illness, injury, and outside threats, I also have individualized concerns for each of them. For my oldest, I worry about his social interactions. It's not easy being the smartest kid in the class, and I worry about him being picked on, teased, or bullied. For my daughter, I worry because she is very pretty, and also has the makings of the "popular girl". Girls are cruel, and I know firsthand just how murky and twisty Girl World is. I hope my sensitive baby girl doesn't get crushed by that world. For my youngest, I worry for his safety, as he is still very young. I also worry because he is so impulsive and outgoing- I don't want him getting hurt, getting in trouble, or getting into the wrong crowd.

My children can be mentally and emotionally trying, but they are also my greatest source of joy. Their spontaneous creativity, their joie de vivre, their genuine and unconditional love- they are amazing. I'm proud to be their mommy. And like any parent, I just hope I don't screw them up too badly!

Any parent can relate to this...

The Sweet Spot of parenting. That place where your children are big and little all at the same time. Big enough to participate in the daily goings on of life, but little enough to still want you around!

It's wonderful, and fleeting, and frustrating, and sad, and full of joy and laughter and fun.

Hold on while you can, it doesn't last long!

Lunatic salad with a side of crazy sauce

Holy geez.

Just when you think things can't any busier or weirder, life has a way of showing you up.

Sigh...

So first of all, cat ownership is proving to be challenging for my patience today. I think he's pissed we were gone all day yesterday, so he's gone completely mental today to make a point. And if I have to clean up any more spilled tea or pick up any more knocked over lamps, I may just lock him in kitty jail for the rest of the afternoon (and by kitty jail, I mean the little bathroom where his litter box is stashed). Because grrr.

So yesterday we were out of town all day because we had to head across the state to address some health concerns that my mother-in-law has been ignoring for far too long, and basically 'intervention-ed' her about it because her children are genuinely worried. My mother-in-law and I don't really have the warm-and-fuzziest relationship, so I was mostly just there for moral support for The Husband. I don't think anything I would have added to the conversation would have been absorbed anyway, so I just kept quiet. I am thinking about commissioning my health-expert friend to come up with a heart-healthy diet for her, though. Because despite our frosty relationship, it's not like I'm hoping she kicks the bucket any time soon (contrary to popular opinion, my cold black heart isn't quite that cold and black) (sshhhh, don't tell anyone).

Besides all of that, this week has also been crazy for a whole other reason. So awhile back I mentioned our crazy prepper neighbors with their guns and guard dogs and chain link fence. Well, it turns out maybe they aren't the scary ones after all (at least, in the grand scheme of things).

(Although, side note, they ended up forgoing the chain link fence in favor of a tension cable fence. Like, what they used for the dinosaur paddocks in Jurassic Park. Yeah. Not as ugly as chain link, but still...)

Anyway, we have this other neighbor, let's call him Crazy E for the purposes of this post. Crazy E has been well known by our entire neighborhood for being... well, a little whacked. When you first meet him he seems all friendly and jovial and whatnot, but after one conversation with him you realize that he's the "I caught a fish fourteen feet long... but I threw it back" kind of guy. He tells tall tales.

Okay, fine, that's harmless enough. Liar, liar, pants on fire, but at least it makes for entertaining stories.

Only... after chatting with him more than once or twice, you quickly begin to glean that something isn't right with him. First of all, he gives off a very distinct.... rape-y vibe. He has certain creeper qualities that have made all the women in this neighborhood avoid him like the plague.

Second, he has serious boundary issues. He'll just wander into your yard and make himself at home. Regardless of if you're just out working in the yard, or you have guests over and are having a barbecue or whatever, he'll just sort of invite himself. And not leave.

Third, he drinks. Excessively. Like, to the point of completely blacking out in his front yard in the middle of the day. Yeah. And considering he's A STAY AT HOME DAD, clearly that's totally uncool. Why CPS hasn't been called, I don't know.

But the fourth and final quality you eventually learn about Crazy E? Dude has some serious anger issues. I guess his across-the-street neighbors can hear him and his wife fighting constantly, which breaks my heart for their little boy.

Well, earlier this week all of these lovely qualities came together to form the perfect storm of crazy. Crazy E had been drinking heavily (no shock there), and was wandering aimlessly through the neighborhood (again, nothing new) when he discovered his across-the-street-neighbor's kids were playing up the road with prepper-family's kids. Apparently this set him off, so he marched home, grabbed his pistol, came back, and started screaming and yelling and raving like a lunatic about "so what, my kid's not good enough to play with your kids?" and "come out here and let's resolve this" and scary crap like that.

Dude was waving a handgun at CHILDREN.

Clearly, prepper mom called the cops, and four sheriff's cars arrived very shortly thereafter. It took them quite awhile to calm Crazy E down, and he was arrested on a weapons related charge.

Needless to say, I've had our alarm system armed 24/7 since.

But the scariest part for me? The fact that just hours after he was released yesterday, he was at my children's school volunteering in his son's class. Like nothing had happened. Someone who is clearly unbalanced, has access to firearms, and has anger and alcohol problems, and is still working in the classroom?!? I feel like I've seen this news story before...

So I called the school.

Up until this point I hadn't gotten involved, because the situation did not directly include me, and I tend to mind my own business until my involvement is necessary. Well, I'm sure as hell not going to have another Sandy Hook situation occur at my children's school, so you better believe I got involved at this point.

I spoke with the principal, who had just been made aware of the situation, and Crazy E is no longer permitted to have any contact with any of the kids on campus apart from dropping off and picking up his son. But apparently there isn't really much they can legally do to bar him from campus.

And that I have a problem with.

There has to be more that can be done to protect our children, especially in this day and age where gun crimes are committed on the daily. It's times like this where I contemplate getting involved in politics...

Anyway, Crazy E currently has a restraining order against him, and prepper-mom is planning to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law, and while I am not a litigious person, I fully support her decision to do so. No one gets to threaten children and get away with it. If it were my kids, I be out for blood too.

And the stupid thing is we moved out here to the foothills to avoid crazy shit like this. I just want to tend the garden, have our bonfires, and sit on the deck watching the sunset paint the mountain pink and orange.

Not feel like I'm living my very own rap song!

Blergh

Yesterday afternoon I had the *brilliant* idea to have one last special hurrah for the winding down of the kids' spring break. I thought it would be fun to surprise them and take them out to dinner and maybe do something fun afterwards. The Husband and I even discussed possibly going to see Jurassic Park in 3D (normally I don't do 3D movies- they make me motion sick- but I love me some Jurassic Park, and it would have been fun for the kids too)

So we packed up, and after a pit stop at the library to pick up some books the kids had on hold, we headed down to the Alderwood Mall. 

Now, I love Alderwood. It has great stores, a great atmosphere, and everything we need during any given mall trip. I've never had a bad experience there. Ever. 

Until yesterday.

(But it wasn't the mall's fault, so it's record still stands)

So we get there, and the first thing we do is head by the movie theater to check on times for Jurassic Park. Strike out. It's not playing there. The Husband looked it up on his phone, and turns out it's playing at the theater up the road, but there are only two times- 15 minutes from then, or 10 o'clock that night. We still hadn't eaten dinner, so going to the movie first wasn't really an option, and there was no way we were taking the kids to a 10:00 movie! So Jurassic Park was out.  *sadface*

So we park and head inside the mall, and then make a rundown of the plan. Eat, REI, Victoria's Secret, and then figure it out from there. Hubs had our REI dividend, and there were a few things he wanted to look at. I had two Victoria's Secret gift coupons to redeem. The kids wanted to hit up the Lego store (because who wouldn't?!?). And there were a couple of things I wanted to get at Nordstrom.

But first, food! Usually at Alderwood we just eat at the food court. We've eaten at Blue C Sushi before, but I'm not really a fan of sushi, so my options are limited there. We've eaten at P.F. Chang's numerous times (so good!). But we decided to branch out this time in honor of doing something special for the kids. 

Blergh.

This is where the evening went wrong.

We decided to try Claim Jumper. We'd heard of it before, and heard it was good, so we figured why not branch out? 

So we went and checked in at Claim Jumper, where we were told it would be 30-40 minutes for a table. The restaurant's atmosphere was nice, and we wanted to try something new, so we gave them our name, took the little buzzer thing, and wandered back into the mall to kill some time. 

I stopped by Starbucks, because I was cold and desperately needed caffeine. Then we headed across the mall to REI really quick to scope things out. Then we wandered back to Claim Jumper where we finished waiting for our table.

Once we were finally seated, we perused the menu, made our selections, and waited.

And waited...

It took awhile for our food to come, and once it did... well, it disappointed. Greatly.

The appetizer we ordered was... alright. Nothing special. Certainly not worth the $23!

Then our meals came.

Blergh.

My food was alright. They forgot my sourdough roll, but other than that everything seemed okay. Not amazing, but edible at least.

My oldest son's meal was burnt. To a crisp.

My youngest son's meal was forgotten and had to be reordered.

My daughter's meal was undercooked.

And The Husband's meal was so gross he couldn't even eat it. 

Talk about striking out!

Our server was lovely, despite all the mishaps, and she really tried to make it right. The Husband's and oldest son's meals were comped, and she threw in free desserts for the kids, and we still tipped her well because none of it was her fault. 

But even with the two free meals, our bill was $90.

$90!!!

For crappy food!!!

Blergh.

Finally our unfortunate dining experience was over, but by now it was 8:30, and the mall closed at 9:00. Suddenly our plans had to go into a condensed overdrive. The boys headed to REI, while us girls ran to Victoria's Secret. I got my free item and picked out a cute purple hoodie for the $10 off coupon, and then we headed back to find the boys. By this time the mall was on the verge of closing. 

So much for the Lego store and aimless roaming!

As we headed across the mall to REI, I suddenly started not feeling so well. It came in a wave, and then passed a few minutes later. We got to REI and were locked out because it was exactly 9:00, so I had to wait and sneak in once another customer left. We found the boys, and I helped The Husband choose between two pairs of those cargo pants that zip off into shorts. He checked out while I headed back through Nordstrom to the parking garage, completely forgetting that I had things to get in Nordstrom! By now I was starting to not feel well again.

We headed home, and within moments of arriving, I was sick.

I think I got mild food poisoning!!!

BLERGH!!!!

Never, ever, ever eating at Claim Jumper again. Ever. What a waste of an evening, and a total bummer on my "fun family evening" plans.

Luckily today our plan is to veg and watch movies with the kids all day, which suits me fine since I still feel kind of yucky.

Blergh.

Spring breaking

So the Easter food coma is subsiding, and the kids' Spring Break is in full swing. We have a busy week ahead of us, between movie marathons, game nights, play dates, sleepovers, bike riding, and maybe a hike or two if the weather holds. It seems to be that any break from school is the time when every parent tries to cram in as much stuff as possible that there otherwise isn't enough time for during the school year.

It can get a little crazy...

But it should still be fun. The kids are enjoying their break so far, and I'm enjoying not doing the crazy School Morning Marathon. The irony is that so far this week hasn't exactly been any slower or more relaxed than a regular school week, but isn't that the way of it?

Most nights so far we've been playing Wii sports, and suffice it to say, it's a little demoralizing when your elementary-aged children whoop you at bowling. Like, badly. Really badly. Sigh...

Monday I took the kids to the library, where I got my littlest guy his very first library card! It has a picture of a sailing bear on it, so apparently that's pretty much the coolest thing in the world when you are almost 3. Mental note.

We roamed the library for about an hour. My youngest quickly picked out three books. Two that had machines on them, and one that had a bear that matched the bear on his library card and was therefore a clear must-have.

My daughter was a little harder to please. She had a few very specific books in mind, but all but one of them were already checked out, which bummer her out. I persuaded her to try some Baby-Sitter's Club books, since I loved them as a kid and so far she's liked the books I've recommended to her (Beverly Cleary is godlike in this house!)

My oldest son had the hardest time out of the three, because... well, because quite frankly, he's read everything. He reads well above his age group, so all the books that are supposed to be at his level are way too young for him, and it seems like all of the books that are more challenging yet still age appropriate he already owns or has at least read. So we wandered awhile until we found one of the books in a series that he started reading at school. The book is probably close to 300 pages, but I bet he'll finish it in a few days. He's a book-eater, that kid. After finding that book, we pretty much struck out in the fiction section, so I brought him into the history section to scope out some books on Ancient Greece or Rome or Egypt or something like that, since he loves all of that. He ended up picking one about "heroic" people throughout history- men and women who changed the world in one way or another, like Dr. King, Helen Keller, Alexander Fleming (the guy who discovered penicillin), people like that. And it goes throughout history, not just modern times. And it's also a gigantic book, but again, he'll probably have it done within a week. That's my boy!

Yesterday we were supposed to have a Harry Potter marathon, but those plans were ruined by some unexpected errands that had to be run and ended up taking all freaking day, so we've pushed back the marathon until tomorrow.

Today, a friend of mine is coming over with her two youngest boys, one of whom is my oldest's best friend, and the kids are going to run amuck on our trampoline and jungle gym while us ladies chit chat. It should be fun! We haven't gotten to really see each other much lately, and the boys are in two different classes with two totally different schedules and they never see each other anymore either, so us two moms decided to carve out some spring break time for all involved.

Of course, this means I need to go get my house all spiffed up. Like, now. 

*Update* So for some reason this wouldn't publish earlier today, and so now it's a little out of date! My friend and I had a lovely visit while our kids all ran around causing chaos, and after they went home The Husband and I went out and tilled up some of the garden beds and got our corn planted. It's supposed to rain for the next few days, so the rest of the planting will have to wait, but the corn was the priority for now, so... success!

Artsy-Fartsy

So as of two days ago I am officially done with winter quarter!

WHOOHOO!!!

Now I get three weeks off before jumping into another round of crazy.

And so far I'm loving it!

Yesterday I did... well, pretty much nothing. I mean, I did my standard cleaning and housewifery requirements, but beyond that? I pretty much sat on my rear end and cross-stitched. I didn't sleep worth crap the night before, and was therefore pretty much a zombie.

A crafting zombie, mind you.

I grew up in an artsy-craftsy family. Quilting and crocheting and sewing and cross-stitching and embroidery and scrapbooking and ornaments and jewelry and stained glass and painting and all that brouhaha.

And I inherited? Very little of that natural talent.

I can sew.

Ish.

I mean, not in a straight line by any means. And I've pretty much only made napkins at this point. But my goal is to be able to make curtains for my living and dining rooms one day, to make tablecloths and napkins for the various holidays, to be able to make at least a basic block quilt, and to one day, if I'm brave enough, maybe sew a summer dress or something.

For now I stick with slightly crooked napkins.

I also want to learn to crochet. But I don't yet have the patience, so that's on the back burner for the foreseeable future.

BUT!!!

I can cross-stitch.

I mean, anyone can cross-stitch, so it's not like I'm gifted or anything remotely resembling talented.

(And I still can't do French knots to save my life, which irritates me greatly)

But I enjoy cross-stitching. There is something soothing for me in the rhythm and pattern of all those bloody x's. For some people it makes them crazy, but for me it's almost zen-like.

This is one I did a few years ago, when I first got back into cross-stitching as an adult. I love the saying, and use it regularly, so finding it in a cross-stitch pattern was serendipitous I guess!

First time out of the gate

After completing that (quite easy) one, I moved on to a slightly significantly more challenging pattern. Because, you know, why start slow when you can jump from zero to 60, right?!?

My most recently completed one

This one took me a long time to finish, because I ended up putting it down for a couple of years out of frustration (that whole zero to 60 thing). But I picked it up again last spring and just slogged through it, and now it's hanging in my hallway in a pretty black frame.

Now I'm working on this one.

Current project...

Needless to say it's going to take me awhile. My goal was to have the main stitching done by the time spring quarter starts, but I think that may be an unrealistic goal, as right now I only have the pink butterfly, the big white flower, and the little flower above it (and the leaves) done.

Because clearly doing things that are less complex isn't really my style!

After I complete this one, I have a really cool pattern that The Husband's coworker gave me. She actually designed it years ago when she lived in the UK, and usually sells them, but since I'm so awesome she gave it to me for free.

It's a map of Ireland, England, and Scotland, and it's really pretty. The entire pattern is in blues and greens and white, but she includes red thread so you can stitch in your own path when you visit over there, which I thought was a really cool touch.

When I finally go, I will be sure to map out my journey on my cross-stitch pattern!

Earmuffs!

I think every parent (well, maybe not every parent, but those of us with a normal, adult vocabulary)... can relate to this particular dilemma.

You have this sweet, innocent, tiny little baby, and it's all love and coos and cuteness (and diapers and spit-up and insomnia, but whatevs). And then one day you hit that milestone where your child starts speaking. Incoherent babble at first. But then, slowly, words start forming. Sense starts being made. You finally can communicate with them!

A breakthrough!

And then, just as quickly as the magic begins, it gets ruined. By a tiny little mynah-bird voice sitting in the back of the car when you're sitting in traffic with a particularly bad case of a stupid-driver-induced-mental-breakdown. Or when you stub your pinky toe on the metal corner of the bed frame. Or when you burn yourself cooking. Or when you hit your funny bone, which is NEVER funny!

(I mentioned how clumsy I am, right?)

Anyway, you're in the middle of your semi-crisis situation when the little voice pipes up.

"Sit?"

And no, they aren't giving the dog a command.

"Sit!"

They are repeating what you just said, only in their sweet little baby version.

You tell them not to say that word. But of course, you just said that word. So they give a wry little grin and say it again. And again. They giggle and say it. They frown and say it. They try it on with every emotion and situation they can think of in their sweet little brains.

Meanwhile you're sitting there shaking your head, acknowledging that while you likely weren't in the running in the first place, now you most certainly WILL NOT win Parent Of The Year.

Yeah....

Given that I swear like a sailor on leave, this situation has happened with each of my children. I explain to them that those are mommy and daddy words. I explain to them that they are not allowed to say them until they are grown ups. I explain to them that the word they just used IS NOT an okay descriptor for their sister just because she took the Lego piece they wanted.

But I have accepted the fact that my kids will swear.

And you know what? I'm okay with that.

While I have no patience for people who genuinely lack any other words to use besides curse words, I am not opposed to swearing in a situational or contextual manner. It adds emphasis. And sometimes, there really isn't a better word with which to make your point.

(It also has been proven to relieve pain! Thank you MythBusters!)

In spite of what my mother-in-law says, I do not feel that swearing indicates low IQ. I know several intelligent people (myself included) who also appreciate the satisfying use of an F bomb.

Here's my opinion on swearing, especially around kids-

Don't swear in front of other people's children. Common courtesy.

Don't swear just because you lack any other punctuative words to use or because you're trying to sound cool. Read a book and expand your vocabulary.

And DO NOT, under ANY circumstances, swear at your children or call them names. Ever. That's just Decent Parenting 101.

But it is okay to swear in front of your own children, as long as you explain to them appropriate ages and appropriate places for such language.

And besides, there are waaaaayyy worse things for kids to be exposed to.

After all, I'd much rather my child drop an F bomb in class than a racist or homophobic slur!

But that's just me.

Your inferiority complex is showing

So a couple years back when we were looking to buy a new house, we took many variables into consideration. Commute times, school district boundaries, quality of life, house-to-lot ratios, property tax rates, the whole kit and caboodle.

I spent countless hours pouring through Zillow and Redfin listings, saving certain houses into folders on my desktop, comparing amenities, yards, neighborhoods, etc, etc, etc.

(You say OCD? I say thorough...)

The house that we ended up buying was actually stumbled upon by accident. We drove out here to look at a different house, which we didn't end up liking, but while we were in the area we discovered this one. We proceeded to look at a few more listings, but we always came back to this one.

It stuck with us.

We were always told that when you found THE house, you'd know. Well, we knew.

The offer was accepted immediately, we closed (albeit a week late, but whatevs), and the rest is history. Happily ever after, right?

Well, not so much.

You see, even with all of that research, all of the time and effort and thought that was put into our home search, there is one thing you can't plan for.

One big variable.

A huge, glaring, pain in the ass that you can't predict.

Neighbors.

Now, the majority of our neighbors are great. Fun, kind, down to earth people. We have neighborhood barbecues and bonfires and there is even an industrial karaoke machine. Since we live in the middle of nowhere, our neighborhood has largely attracted cool, independent, low-key individuals.

With one exception.

One guard dog owning, high-calibre rifle shooting, neo-Nazi exception.

The neighbors a couple houses up from us are... shall we say... unpleasant? Anti-social? Downright scary?!?

They moved in six or eight months ago, and it's been interesting, to say the least.

The wife is... alright, I guess. Ish. She will half-smile and half-wave. Sometimes.

The kids are... well, hooligans in the making. Let's just say if my house ever gets egged, TP'd, or tagged with spray paint, I know who I'm pointing the finger at first.

But the husband?

Well, he's an ass. He's arrogant. He's a bully. And he's the most inconsiderate neighbor I've ever had. And having lived in a Quadrant Homes neighborhood, that's really saying something!

(Cookie cutter neighborhoods. Amirite?!?)

So this guy decided that it would be the greatest idea ever to install a shooting range in his backyard.

Yes, you read that right. A mother-effing shooting range. And we're not talking bows and arrows, my friends. Oh no. We're talking semi-automatic, high-calibre, military-grade rifles. You know, the kinds used to massacre children, theater-goers, and temple worshipers in the last few months? Yeah, those.

And the worst part? It's legal.

*facepalm*

Because we live in an unincorporated area, dude is technically allowed to shoot whatever the hell he wants on his property.

Never mind the fact that there is a house about a quarter-mile behind his. Never mind the fact that our property sits below his and any errant bullets put us and our children at risk. Never mind the fact that our entire street is a sickle-shaped curve and all of the properties are attached pie-shapes and dude is violating all of our safeties just to satisfy some itch to rapid-fire armor-peircing rounds into the woods.

Yeeeahhhh......

I have to say, it is the most disturbing thing to be sitting here listening to those guns going off.

*pop*

*pop*

*pop*pop*

*popopopopopopopoppopppoppoppopopopopopopopopop*

It makes me want to crawl under my kitchen table and assume the earthquake 'ready' position. I hate it.

And many neighbors (us included) have tried talking to him about how uncomfortable it makes all of us, and how unsafe it is considering the position of his targets in correlation to where the rest of our kids play. But to no avail.

Suffice it to say, I think I see an HOA covenant in our future. And while I hate to be "those people", because we previously lived in a neighborhood with highly restrictive covenants, and because we all moved this far out for a reason (the freedom to do whatever the hell we want), there has to be a line.

I don't care of you want to have chickens and goats in your yard. I don't care of you have raucous bonfires every night. You want to work on your broke-ass truck in your driveway? Have at it, big guy. But I sure as hell care if your hobbies are putting my kids in danger.

Take your machismo to an actual gun range dude.

No one here is impressed.

Welcome to the (rural) jungle

I live in a small town.

Not the creepy, seedy, get-jumped-by-a-gang-of-methed-out-12-year-olds kind of small town.

A cute, quaint, homey, historic small town. And I love it. I really do.

Except for one thing... The Mommy Mafia.

Now, the Mommy Mafia does not resemble an actual crime syndicate in any obvious way. They don't talk in muffled, Italian accents. They don't (at least, to my knowledge) bring guns and cannolies with them. There have been no horse heads or toll booth shootouts.

BUT!!!

They will inevitably make you an offer you can't refuse.

Or shouldn't, at least.

Because refusing lands you firmly in the persona non grata category of the elementary school social ladder, which is a precarious place to be.

That is, unless you are like me, and you simply don't care.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not antisocial. I'm not a misanthrope... (well, maybe a little)

I just don't buy into all the drama social crap that goes on in the parenting world. It's nonsense. These women act like they're the ones still in high school, and it would be frustrating if it weren't exceedingly amusing to sit back and watch. There is something both fascinating and sad about a 40-something woman wearing hot pink nail polish and chunky highlights. It's just...wrong.

Even more wrong is that these same women tend to be the ones whose 12-year old daughters walk around in booty shorts and spaghetti-strap tank tops, acting like they're a 22-year old co-ed at Mardi Gras. But that's a whole other matter entirely. Shitty parenting and the sexualization of today's kids is a whole series of blog posts unto themselves.

But I digress...

The Mommy Mafia.

Don't let the picturesque small town fool you. These women mean business. They're just as vicious as the metropolitan socialite mothers, only rather than Bentleys, St. Barth's, and plastic surgery, it's pampered horses, gigantic $80k pickup trucks... and plastic surgery.

And that offer you can't refuse (or risk social peril)?

Taking an official position within the PTA.

Laugh, but I kid you not. Welcome to the seedy underbelly of elementary school.

You've been warned.

Stricken

They got me.

I tried to avoid it.

I fought like crazy.

I tried so hard!

But they got me anyway.

It was a three-against-one battle, so the odds weren't in my favor.

But those darn, germy kids got me sick.

So I've been drinking tea like it's going out of style, and tonight I'm making chicken noodle soup for dinner in an attempt to cut this thing as short as possible. I have crap to do, man, and the flu isn't really conducive to reading assignments and case studies and the Teen Mom 2 marathon I have recorded.

(Don't judge)

(Okay, you can judge a little)

(It could be worse, it could be Honey Boo-Boo)

As an aside, I realized with shock and somewhat embarrassment today that I have never made chicken noodle soup from scratch before!

I know!!!

I've made tons of other soups. I love making soup! But for whatever reason I've never made the most iconic soup of all time.

Weird.

BUT! That all changes tonight. I found a recipe that sounds yummy, I got my shopping list ready, and I'm good to go.

Take that, flu virus!

One flu over this cuckoo's nest (well, three)

So as I think I mentioned previously, my kids are sick. The youngest one sounds like a chain-smoking gangster from a Godfather movie, and the older two have fevers, coughs, sore throats, the whole shebang.

Well, it started with my daughter last week, and she hasn't really made much improvement over the past several days, and now that both boys are sick too, I decided to take them all in to the clinic to get them checked out and make sure it wasn't anything more serious. You know, better safe than sorry, all that hoopla.

But here's the thing.

I hate the clinic. With a capital H.

The clinic is, in and of itself, a vector for disease.

You go there with a simple ear infection or whatever, and end up leaving with swine flu, avian flu, appendicitis, an ingrown toenail, and split ends.

It's like the intersection of every single illness in your entire county.

In short, it's just gross.

But what do you do? Avoid it and risk your kids getting worse? It becomes a calculated risk. Severity of current illness + odds of catching something new/worse + risk of current illness becoming bad enough to warrant medical attention later on anyway = clinic or no clinic.

Given the severity of this year's flu season, the ages of my children, and my propensity for hypochondriac-ism for said children... well, I decided it was worth it.

And it wasn't that bad. We were in and out in a decent amount of time (and several pumps of hand sanitizer later) with no ridiculous wait times or shuffling between rooms. I think when you make a single appointment for three sick children, they get that you aren't messing around.

I'm a donkey on the edge!

(Shrek quote, go with it)

So my kids have the flu. Mildly so far, and their lungs are clear, which relieved a lot of my panic when the word influenza was initially uttered. Bed rest, fluids, lots of Disney movies and boredom.

But now I'm on the lookout for swine flu, pneumonia, sinus infections, and especially those damned ingrown toenails. Pretty sure they're contagious too, no?

And I already seem to have caught the split ends...