So I wrote a little something for Yahoo!....

And they published it!!!

It's nothing fancy or particularly special, but for my first actually published piece, I'm fairly stoked about it.

Now I feel compelled to go buy a tweed jacket. And maybe some horn-rimmed glasses.

Though I'll never be as cool as HRG

Sociology of Marvin the Martian

My textbooks came today.

*dunh dunh dunh*

Yep. Fall quarter is officially just around the corner. Slightly over three weeks away.

I can feel it lurking, staring at me, daring me to once again maintain my 3.9 GPA and my sanity simultaneously.

It's not an easy feat, and thus far I've done... well, not too bad overall. Oceanography nearly killed me, but that was awhile ago, and the scars are finally beginning to fade.

Too dramatic, you say?

I assure you, it's not. That class was brutal. I swear it left me with a limp.

Anyway, this is my LAST fall quarter ever! Well, unless I go to grad school. But right now the thought makes me gag slightly, so I'll put a pin in it until... indefinitely...

So yes, Last Fall Quarter.

This is quite possibly my last "not scary" quarter. Winter will be when I laughingly try to juggle an extra course load, and Spring is when I'll be doing my utterly terrifying degree capstone.

This quarter I'm taking Intro to Philosophy, because I love nothing more than blithering on about metaphysical nonsense, and Sociology of the Family, because it genuinely sounded interesting (and the other sociology class I wanted ended up being canceled for this quarter, so plan B).

My main stress for this quarter (besides the "new class" jitters) is the fact that I will be moving right in the middle of it. Which means that I'll need to arrange internet service before we're even in the house, because I will absolutely not be able to wait two weeks or, god forbid, have to attempt dial-up or DSL! It also means that I'll have to do all of my assignments while also packing, loading, and unpacking my entire life, once again.

Le sigh.

I swear, somewhere inside my brain is a tiny little sadist...

Or just him...

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)

Dear NICU Nurse

This blog post by Heather Hucks really struck a cord with me, as my daughter was born premature.

While she was one of the lucky few who only have to stay a week or two extra, there is still a measure of understanding and appreciation of the NICU nurses who work tirelessly behind the scenes to care for each teeny, tiny baby.

It's stressful and chaotic and sometimes heartbreaking, and as Hucks discusses in her post, I don't think those nurses get enough credit for everything they do.

Digging out and drying off

So the skies have cleared above Colorado, but the devastation will last for weeks, if not months. As you've probably heard by now, eastern Colorado, from just below the Wyoming border, all the way down past Pueblo, was hit by massive, record-breaking rainfall, flash floods, and widespread damage.

Roads were ripped up, mudslides took out everything in their path, people were trapped by rapidly rising water, and many communities became their own little islands, completely cut off to the rest of the state.

Seven people have now been confirmed to have died, though that number is expected to rise in the days and weeks to come. Currently, over 1000 people are still unaccounted for in Larimer County. Over 600 are unaccounted for in Boulder County.

As a resident of Larimer Country, I can tell you, there are no words to describe it.

Our neighborhood became its own little island for a few days, though the water has begun to recede a bit. But we were one of the lightest hit areas, something that definitely weighs on you. We were lucky. So many more were not.

As reported by CNN, Army and National Guard helicopters are in the air today, trying to locate and extract as many people as possible. With hundreds, if not thousands of people awaiting rescue however, it could still be a long wait. Those who choose to stay behind in their homes are facing weeks without power, running water, and cell service.

Hundreds of homes and business have been totally destroyed, and countless more are severely damaged. The extent of the damage has been compared to that of Hurricane Sandy. The cost just to repair the roads is already estimated in the hundreds of millions of dollars.

If you are able to donate food or supplies, please do so. Contact the Red Cross for ways to help. Thousands of people need it.

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.

Good news Thursday

That's an understatement!

Sweet Baby Jesus, today has been a good day. I feel a little uncomfortable getting too excited about it, because I have that superstitious side of my brain that feels like if you openly acknowledge something good, then it will end up going away.

But after such a long string of struggles and obstacles and bad news and letdowns, today was a breath of fresh air.

So first of all, our new mortgage guy did our official credit pull yesterday in order to start our financing paperwork. I was a little nervous, because he said he would call us first thing this morning to give us the update on it, and he didn't call...

But it turns out that he was just busy with a couple of closings today. Phew!

The Husband spoke with him early this afternoon, and our credit is... well... quite wonderful! Not only did our scores jump up fairly significantly since the first mortgage guy pulled our credit in May, but that stupid credit reporting that gave us so much grief a couple weeks back is GONE BABY GONE!

My guess is it fell off due to its age.

You know, just like it was supposed to. Just like we told the previous mortgage guy it was supposed to. Just like we told the collections company itself that it was supposed to.

So suck it, Alaska!

Muhaha.

I think they already did...

So the new mortgage guy has several more closings tomorrow (lucky bastards), so it looks like we will have to wait until next week to sign our disclosures and lock in an interest rate. But our paperwork is good to go. Which is an indescribable relief.

Then after that little tidbit of fabulous news, I spoke with our builder. I had been trying to get in touch with her to see if she had ordered the carpet we picked out last week, and she's a tough lady to get ahold of. But I did, and while she hasn't ordered the carpet yet (apparently she's doing it tomorrow), everything else is ordered and we are totally on track to be done by the end of October!

She also said that the only potential snafu is the well. The well water has to pass very strict regulations (apparently some of the strictest in the country... which I guess is good for water quality) and it takes at least two weeks to complete the process. If they pass the first test, we're good to go. If they don't, however, it can be as long as six more weeks to get it re-tested.

It's like a government regulated Punxsutawney Phil.

Anyway, if the well fails, that pushes back our closing date several weeks, which sucks in an unbelievable way and totally screws us over.

BUT!!!

Being the blessed soul that she is (or decided to be today, anyway), our builder said that in the unlikely chance that the well fails the particulates test and has to be retested, we can go ahead and still move in and just wait until our new closing date! She knows had badly we hate our apartment and how badly we want to be in the house, and I guess she felt sorry enough for us to grant us early occupancy.

And I'm more than willing to take her pity if it means getting in my house on time! So that was excellent to hear.

And then, to make a good day even better, we found out that The Husband is getting a 2% raise! I mean, nothing life changing by any means, but more is more, and we're more than happy to take it!

So, like I said, today was a good day.