Making Dinner--A Play in One Act

Action takes place in a kitchen  small kitchen. Mother starts on stage. To the right of the mother we find an oven range with flames on, and to the right of the flames...knives.  On the counter there are several items that need to be chopped, heated and/or sauteed. The actor playing the mother will attempt to move quickly from the counter top, around to the refrigerator and back. This should not be made easy for her by the other actors. Occasionally she will be manipulated off stage. 

(Set should be designed to include a circular traffic pattern which will allow two small children to race around--as if on a mini track--behind the mother, bumping her closer to the open flames as they pass by.
Set also requires a dishwasher that opens flat creating a low, but wide hurdle for said racing children).

Prop list:
Cups
Knives
Bottle of wine
Food to be prepared
Cutting board
Dog dish with MAX painted on the side

Cast:
Mom (30's-40's)

Occasionally there is reference to "Max" the dog. No dog is needed on stage.

Child 1 (10 yr old boy who is feeling fragile and passively concerned he might be terminal with all the "flu-like" symptoms he has been having)

Child 2 (8 yr old girl who is apt to be ecstatic or deeply depressed at any moment. These moods need to be able to switch on a dime---much like an insane adult)

Child 3 (6 yr old boy who thinks life is amazing and wonderful and full of loud energy. Actor should study Will Ferrell in Elf for direction)

Child actors are encouraged to talk over each other as if no one was talking at all. Frequently.

Lights up

Child 1: Mom, when I look at something for too long, I get really sick to my stomach.

Mom squeezes past child standing by dishwasher to get butter out of fridge.

M: Why don't you go lie down for a little bit, Buddy. You haven't had much to eat lately.

1: But when I lie down, I...

2: Mom! Watch my dance! (daughter runs offstage, cranks up "So What", by PINK and runs back in striking a pose)

1: Hey! I was talking...

2: Mom! Watch! ("So What, I am a Rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you..." she is dancing as if having taken Pole dancing lessons on the sly...)

1: Moooommmm...

M: I think it's best if you go lay down for a bit... (Butter has burned in the pan. Rinse and repeat)
Child one moves off stage...

2: Mom are you watching? (Danna na na na na naaaaaaa Danna na na na naaaaa....)

3: Mom! Guess What!

M: Where did you just come from? (squeezing past both children to get to the fridge) Can you guys stand somewhere else?

3: I was drawing outside in Daddy's office. And look! I have 4 papers!

1: (from offstage) Moooom...

M: What Buddy?

2: Mom! Are you even watching me?

1: I just got a really sharp pain in my chest.

M: Is it still there?

3: And on all the papers, I have drawn dragons! And we are all dragons! And we all have powers! Do you want to know what your power is?

M: I do.  (And glancing over at child 2) I am.

1: No, but it felt really weird.

2: Mom! Watch!

3: Well, Max's power is that he has tornado legs! He doesn't get sucked up in them, but bad people do.  And we all have wings! Even Max!

2: Mom! Did you see that?

(Butter has burned. Rinse and Repeat.)

M: (addressing all things) I did! That was awesome! Where did you learn that move?! I love the dragons, do you want to go work on them in the living room? Take your brother this ice pack. It might help.

3: But, do you want to know my power?----

M: I need you guys out of the kitchen.

3: My power is all the powers! That's why I have all the colors!

M: That's very clever. I keep burning the pan and dinner is not getting made. Please. Go someplace else for a bit.

3, 2: Okay.

1: Mom, can they not be in the living room? I'm trying to rest.

2: I have an idea...

(2 and 3 begin to chase each other around the kitchen like a wolf chasing a chicken. As dinner progresses, the dishwasher is lowered)

There is bumping, squealing and leaping. 

M: GET OUT!!!! (Mom happens to be holding large knife from cutting vegetables)

(2,3 giggle and go upstairs)

For a few minutes, there is silence on stage, Mom pours glass of wine, flips fish...sips and calls upstairs.

M: WHOSE TURN IS IT TO SET THE TABLE?!

Footsteps are heard running down the stairs.

3: Oooh! Mine! I love setting the table!

2: Ugh. Not dinner. What are we having?

1: I don't think I can eat.

Scene

Patience, young Jedi...

Humbled once again. Just when I throw my hands up, stomp my feet, and wish for a magic wand to solve all...the answer appears. I just needed to be patient. Time is an amazing thing, and if we can slow ourselves down long enough to move at "time's" pace, it will all be fine.

As documented in the previous "blog" I, was feeling particularly defeated by the sport of wrestling and our sons.  Apparently, it takes all of us getting to that special level of frustration, mixed with undocumented hours of practice to generate one of the biggest "highs" in wrestling history (of our family) ever.

As the practice started, just like last weeks and the weeks before, the boys encircled their "head coach" looking clueless and defeated.  The "head coach" (aka...you) said, in a loving, gentle and compassionate tone, "Get outta here! Go find someone to wrestle. I can't deal with this every time."

And minutes later, begat unto us, were two wrestlers. They were not only trying, but mauling, in fierce frustration, and succeeding with great glee!

While typing this, it feels very contradictory to their natural demeanor to applaud and celebrate such aggression, BUT this is not a celebration of "attacking" it is a celebration of determination, and perseverance. And the smile on their faces, after succeeding was priceless.  Not only did they prove they could do it, but they proved to themselves that they really DO get less hurt if they try...which is incentive enough all on its own.

I have to admit, for the first time. Ever. I am actually looking forward to Saturday's tournament.

I may bring a sedative or something just in case though...

Proud of our boys.

The answer I have not...

Where's Yoda when you need him?

I don't know what to do. I don't. I just keep sitting here wishing for a magical parenting manual to appear in which I would thumb through the table of contents to "sports and children" and then quickly flip to the back of the book for the answer---just like I did in 6th grade math. Damn the later lesson taught of sixth grade math.

My hope is that at the back of said book there would simply be a very factual and precise answer that says "If this...'child hates it', 'weekends full of tears',  than that...'quit'."

But it's not that black and white. And there is no book. And I think, like many in the workforce, that I need to go on furlough in order to return with a clear perspective.

Because what I need that book to address would involve way too many footnotes. But for the sake of seeking inner peace, I imagine it would look a little like this (Which by the way, is yes, truly all in my head on a regular basis):

If "THIS"

* Child said he wanted to do the sport.
** Child encouraged father to be head coach.
***Child wants credit for doing such a hard sport.
****Child does not feel like trying at practice nor tournaments.
*****Child swears he is trying.
******Child has been seen standing around with his finger in his mouth staring into space.
*******Child says he DOES like said sport.
********Child is getting hurt every weekend due to lack of effort.
LOTS OF CRYING
*********Parents don't want to support "quitting"...however...
**********Child swears he does not want to quit.
***********Child often says he wishes he didn't have said sport tomorrow.
************Child takes pride with friends that he is in said sport.
*************Father is watching own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
**************Mother is paying to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
MORE CRYING
***************Mother is driving great distance and surrendering each Saturday until MARCH to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
*****************Parents are encouraging the concept of "trying" through a delicate, scientifically precise method called "shaming."
******************Mother is emphasizing the importance of "trying" lest her babies get beat on.
*******************Mother has seen them be successful and wonders where those kids went.
MORE CRYING
********************Children SWEAR they want to do said sport.
*********************Children SWEAR they are trying, as they move up a level on Plants vs Zombies while waiting for next match in the bleachers.
**********************Mother and Father start to doubt every choice they ever made starting 10 years ago as they drive thru Carl's Jr. on the way home every Sat.


Than "THIS"
*Drink whenever you can. And smile and nod. It's their path. Not yours. Viva "detachment parenting!"

**Or not...you should be their guide. Teach them right from wrong.

***But, you can only do so much...you can't do it for them.

****But what if they are doing it "to please" not because they want to?

****That is not up to you, they need to figure that out for themselves.

*****But at what price?

******I give up too. Perhaps pop a valium before a tournament...

Yer a Nus...

Last night, before you got upstairs to tuck the kids into bed, this happened...

"THAT IS SO INAPPROPRIATE!" Came the shrill reprimand of our 8yr old, scolding our six year old for something...anything.

"Bring it down a level. What is going on?" I said as I entered the room with stacks of folded laundry for each kid to put away in the morning (which is code for never).

"He keeps saying 'anus'!" Our 8yr old explained, disgusted while pointing her finger in outrage at the tiny culprit standing on his bed in his Star Wars Lego briefs.

I can only guess that given the level of outrage, and the tiny six year old's fingers firmly grasping the band of said Lego briefs, that he had been providing physical evidence to accompany the word.

Now, I would like to think that it was the late hour at the end of a long day that provoked the following, but it may have just been that I needed a timeout...or that we were out of wine...

In a loud and clear voice I began my finest speech to date as a mother...

"STOP SAYING ANUS! I'm tired of hearing 'I see your ANUS!' "That's his ANUS!' 'She's showing her ANUS!' 'What if you could see his ANUS?' ANUS ANUS ANUS ANUS!"

This worked marvelously as everybody started giggling at the crazy woman yelling "anus" in the doorway.

The six year old said, "But it's a planet." Trying to find a legal loophole.

I explained that the planet is "Uranus." Pronounced "Yeranus."

To which he replied, "Yer A Nus."  And giggled.


I think that's when you came up...

Sea Monkeys Do...Sea Monkeys...

Because you are allergic to cats, and we have a dog, and all our daughter wanted for her birthday was a live pet---preferably a cat, I made the executive decision (because in my microcosm of a world I am a CEO and COO and sometimes a CFO) that we should all live out our childhood dreams and get Sea Monkeys! Yes, the bizarre little creatures that used to be on the back of comic books that took 6-8 weeks to arrive! Now with Amazon they are here in a matter of days---look how far we've come.

SO...the Sea Monkeys were a hit.  They even made it to school for Show and Tell in their earliest days of "hatchery."  However, had we waited a few more weeks, we could have had an entirely different Show and Tell.

Take for instance the other morning...

"Mom! The Sea Monkeys are fighting!"

"Hmmm...I don't think they are fighting..."

"But they are hooked on each other!"

"Yup."  And at this time, I want to be more mature, but I...we gotta get breakfast and...well...Sea Monkey Sex Talk just is not on the menu this morning.

"But they are attached?!"

"I think they might be trying to have a baby."

"Oh you and daddy don't do that anymore..."

I started to get defensive...and was about to say, "well not as much as we..."

..."because you don't want any more babies..."

"Yes," I said thankful for the pause for reflection, "that is true."

Documenting for a future defense

I approached our daughter today, not unlike one approaching a grenade with no knowledge as to the status of the pin. She seemed happy. She was laying on our bed playing with the iPad.
"Hey Sweetie."
"Hi Mom," she said without looking up. So I cautiously continued...
"I was thinking we could take a look at your wardrobe and see what you might need. New pants, leggings, tights, skirts?"
"MOOOOM!" she dramatically flipped on to her back, relinquishing the iPad, "Why must you terrorize my life!"

Really? Really?! I looked at her for a brief moment while my brain began "googling" ways to survive the next 10 years.

"So....'No thanks' ?" I responded.

She giggled and went back to the iPad.

It's 3pm. I'm drinking and looking for her birth certificate. I could swear she was born in 2005, but that would only make her 8.

Celia and Jungle Boy

I don't want to brag, but while you were sitting, alone at your desk, talking with adults, alone, and occasionally surfing online....alone.  I had a morning with our 6 year old that you could only dream of.  It went like this...

"Mooooom! Do you want to play the monkey game with me?"

"You bet, Buddy." I had no idea what that meant.

"Okay. You are the kid and you want to buy a monkey and I am the monkey and you have to go to the store to buy me. Your room is the store and my room is your house."

"Okay." I started to head upstairs to play but was stopped at the landing.

"But first you have to ask your mom."

"Are you my mom?" I asked him looking up from the 9th step.

"Yes."

"Okay.  Mom, I really want a monkey. Can I buy one?"

"No."

Wow. I tried to hide my shock and joy. Short game.

"Bummer," I said heading down the stairs.

"No, Moooooooom," he half laughed at my stupidity. "You have to keep asking for the monkey."

"Oh," I said returning to the 9th step. "Please?"

"A monkey is a lot of responsibility," said my 'mom'.

"But I really want one. I am responsible and will take good care of it. Puhleeease...."

"Well, they also cost a lot of money. And their food costs money."

I was trying to anticipate the length of this game...I was not sure at this point if I was gonna get the monkey or not.

"Oh. Well how can I get money?" I probably should've just said that I was broke and it wasn't gonna work out. I wanted to get off the stairs.

"Well," said my prepubescent male mom, "you can do jobs to earn money for the food."

"Okay." Guess I'm getting a monkey.

"But, the monkey is $1000.00"

Or not.

"Well, how can I ever get a thousand dollars?! I'm only..."

"8. You are 8. And your name is Celia."

"I'm only 8."

"Well, lucky for you there is a race starting and the winner gets $1000."

"How lucky! That is just the money that I need for my monkey."

I then performed a series of drills and sprints up and down the hallway with myself, and SPOILER ALERT, won the money.

PHASE II

"Now that you have your money, you can go into the pet store---which is your room, remember?"

"Yup."

I entered the pet store and the pet store owner, who bore a striking resemblance to my mother, showed me where the monkeys were kept. They were jumping on our bed.  (The part of the monkeys--all 3---will be played by the store owner)

As they began jumping up and down the pet owner introduced each one.

"This is Bodjo. He is free, but he is naughty."

As if on cue, Bodjo began acting very naughty.

"This is Singah. She is free, but also very naughty."

Bodjo was loud and threw poop at you, Singa tried to rip your face off.

And then in the corner, a very sweet monkey named Jungle Boy came crawling out, climbed on me, and gave me a hug.

"I'll take this one," I shouted to the pet owner whom had mysteriously disappeared.

"It's a thousand dollars!" Shouted a voice from around the corner. 

Wait, where was my monkey?

"I have exactly a thousand dollars!" I shouted back and handed over my winnings.

I took my monkey home and fed him, and played with him, until it was time to take him to the park---the hallway.  By now, this 8 year old monkey owner needed coffee...especially if we were going to the park....and as we stepped out of the pretend upstairs world,  she noticed the time.

"Jungle Boy," said Celia, "I need to vacuum, dust and do some laundry. Would you like to help me?"

He ee-ee-eeeed "yes," and eagerly followed me downstairs, but sitting on the counter was the iPad. And thus, "poof!" the demise of Jungle Boy.

Fairy Tale Romance

Once upon a time there was a semi-stylish 26yr old who worked in the city among skyscrapers and subways.  She drank lattes, smoked Marlboro Lights and owned a key fob to her office. After socializing/working with adults all day she would often meet up with friends and/or colleagues for several drinks at a trendy downtown bar. Male friends would often buy drinks for her--on their own accord. One day, she couldn't help noticing how cute and fit one of her coworkers was, and wondered whether she could seduce him.

She could. And she did.

She was so amazing, that he decided to stick around and sealed the deal with the conception of 3 children. The children were so magical and cute that the once semi-stylish woman traded in her knee high boots and mini skirts for jeans larger than she had ever worn, old t-shirts/ cozy worn sweaters and comfy socks. She apparently lost her hairbrush in the deal, but replaced that with a coffee pot. Giving up the smokes for everyone's sake, she began collecting full wine bottles--a never ending project.

As the kids multiplied and grew older, her skin began to stretch down towards its home, "Mother Earth" and she found new and creative ways to lift it up or tuck it deep down in her newly formed waistline. Her work day started at different times each day---sometimes 4am, sometimes 2am, but most days 5:30-6:30.

As she gleefully falls down the stairs in a half sleep she blindly smiles as she slaps PB and J on one sandwich and nothing with anything nut-related on the other two sandwiches.
As the eggs start to dry out on the stove she lovingly shouts upstairs (going against everything she has told her children not to do) "COME EAT BEFORE IT GETS COLD!!!!"
Shouting wakes her up and she realizes that she is standing in the kitchen working with knives and an open flame. Averting disaster, she puts all hazzards down and makes a cup of coffee.

She can hear the songs of praise coming from the other room, "Eggs?! I didn't want eggs!" And as the little angels eat, she runs (yes runs because now she only has 3 mins to shower) skipping 2 stairs at a time, to get ready. She turns on the shower and glances at her phone. Determined to make some forward progress she plays Candy Crush, alone in the steamy bathroom, on the toilet.

It is not long before the angels are banging on the door to brush their teeth. Shower is turned off, and she emerges miraculously dry and in the same clothes.

Setting a personal goal to race the children's teeth brushing with the ability to get dressed and be at the door, car keys in hand, she frantically scours the room for something that fits.

As everybody gathers at the finish line, heading out the door to embrace another amazing day, she hears one of the angels say, "I hate school."

And knows, looking around the house at the dishes, dust and laundry awaiting her return,  its gonna be a great day.

Never a dull moment...

I wanted to fill you in on the latest "proud parent" moment...

I went to school to pick up our youngest, and third child on the path to matriculation at the International Peace School.  And when I arrived, one of the teachers kindly escorted me into the private quarters of the office and shared the following story.

"So...your son and I were talking privately about owies and boo-boos and showing our different scrapes and scars on our legs. And he said that he was really tough and didn't cry once! And I said, that I did cry when I got this owie on my leg from falling off my bike, and that I even said some inappropriate words...and then he said, 'like f*ck?'

Day done. Pouring wine.

potatoe/potato

Our 6 yr old's friend's family is spending the year in Abu Dhabi.  This has come up often when he has asked where is "Jonah?" Today while driving to school, he pointed to a store, and said,"that's where Jonah is." I said, "No sweetie...he's in Abu Dhabi." To which he replied, "Oh, I thought you said, Hobby Lobby."
Then after pausing for a minute, continued, "That makes more sense, because a year would be a really long time to be in Hobby Lobby."
"Yes. Yes it would."

This is you

While shuttling the troops to gymnastics, I found a "crank it up loud" worthy song on the radio and indulged.  When the song ended, our children were crying.

"What happened?"

The 6 yr old piped up first through his tears, "She's being so mean to m--"

"NO I'M NOT!"

"Woa." I interjected. It was my subtle way of saying "Stop f'ing yelling!!!!"

"BUT I'M NOT!"

Another "Woa."  This time it stretched a little like such, "Wooooooaaaaaaa."

"MOM!"

"Seriously. Please stop yelling."  The need to clarify had become apparent.

"He started it by taking a cookie and saying, "This is---"

"No, I did not start it. You did."

"That is a lie!"

Can I get a  "Woa!"  
With a little staccato emphasis this time.

"Until you guys can stop crying and yelling and using strong words that will upset each other like 'liar' 'lying' etc., We can't sort this out. Here," I said passing back a broken piece off the interior of the car, "it's a Peace Part."

Side note---when our third child earns his "Peace Rose" from school we will keep it in the car. One upstairs, one downstairs, and one mobile unit. There will be f'ing peace all over this goddamn family.

And thus, the Peace Talks began...

"Jackson, you started making me upset by putting the animal crackers in his mouth and biting their heads and saying 'this is you.'"

A small hand stretches across the car to reach for the part.

"I'm not finished. And, I started to do it back to you to see how it made you feel. And then you kept doing it. So I kept doing it. But then you said, 'okay no more' but I didn't get to go one last time."

The hand extends out.

"I'm still not finished. And why did you not let me play Skylanders when we were at home, and you said I could be Cynder?"

The part is passed.

"First of all," began our 6 yr old, "wait Mom, did you just go through a red light?!"

"No, it was yellow when I entered the intersection, so it's okay."

"Oh. I just thought maybe you went through a red light."

"Jackson!" Our daughter cried out, "You are supposed to talk to me."

"You are not allowed to talk unless you are holding the rose," he corrected.

"It's NOT a rose," she said correcting the correction.

"Whatever. So, first of all, you were the first person to eat the cookie and say, "this is you."

"No. I wasn't!"

"You are not allowed to talk right now!"

I moderated a tad here..."Let's use quiet voices as we talk this out, please. And please wait until you are holding the rose."

"It's NOT a rose," they said in unison, finally agreeing on something.

"You know what I mean. We are almost to gymnastics, you guys might want to solve this."

He continued, "All I know is that you ate the head off the cookie first, and I wanted to do it one more time so it was fair."

The part was passed.

"I did not eat it first, you did, and I am just really sad by all the lying that happens in the world. It happens a lot at school. And I am not a liar. I speak truths. And I wish that people would just be kind and respect each other and stop making things up to hurt people's feelings. It would make every day so much better. But, I will always speak the truth."

Can I get an "Amen?"

"Yea, I like the truth too. And you can be Cynder when we get home."

The car came to a stop. "We're here! Hop out!"

"And then maybe we can play animals after Skylanders?" added our daughter.

"Yea, or even before if you want."

As they walked into gymnastics, like the car ride never even took place, I thought that perhaps the next UN meeting or gathering of Congress might have a chance if we just passed out animal crackers and started with looking over at Syria and maybe, while taking a bite saying, "This is you!"

Bad Mommy

So Friday night was our friend's 40th.  It was a wonderful party, full of fabulous people, and the never ending glass of wine. It was like magic. I would drink, toast, sip, but it would always be full. Amazing. And since I had a "driver" on this particular night which is very rare, I continued to indulge in the magical, bottomless wine goblet.

As the night wound down (or up, depending if you stayed later than I did) I arrived home fumbling with door keys at 11:30pm.  And has I tried to put my car key in the house door, I silently prayed that the streamers had already been hung up, the cake had been assembled and frosted, balloons blown up, and all the presents had arrived and been wrapped---for tomorrow our "baby" was 6.

Well, not really being a religious individual, it was painfully obvious that my prayers were to go unanswered.

As the entryway circled around me, I visually made out not one single streamer.  And as the door jam supported my passage into the kitchen, I also saw that there was nary an assembled cake.

I grabbed the Gorilla Tape and stretched a long piece (sticky-side up) across the counter top and frantically ripped strips of streamers to create a "birthday curtain" for the bottom of the stairs.  Sticking it to the ceiling, I heard your groggy voice from the couch, "Stop using that tape. It takes the finish off, and it's expensive."

"Okay," I said louder than I needed to pressing the tape on firmly and then accidentally and confidently skipping a stair down to the floor and with as much regard for your comment as a teenager said, "I won't do it again." (Let me apologize in advance, for our daughter's teen years).

I then stood in the dark kitchen with a headlamp and began to assemble a two-tiered rainbow battered, out-of-my-league even if there as light and I was sober, cake.  It was to be a magic portal for the new Skylander Giant that was supposed to be here.  But nothing was here.  The floods had triumphed over UPS and now a little six-year old would not only not have his presents, but he would especially not have the only thing that could save this cake.

As the cake crumbled into pieces, I slapped on gross amounts of icing to act as superglue in this giant mystical rainbow mound of sugar. I then stuck brownie bites all around the side. Surely, brownie bites had to be worth some points.

I stuck the cake in the microwave, for safe-keeping, strung up balloons, and went to bed, feeling like the worst mom on the planet.  Fortunately he would have a gift from his great aunt, and some cards to open, and hopefully UPS would be there in the morning.

7am came really early.  And as I longed to sleep in or vomit, I just lay there berating myself for poor decisions.We did our best to stall until 8:30, crossing our fingers that UPS would save the day.  But they would not save the day, because they would now not deliver until Monday. And we couldn't pick up the package either.

Our six year old, bounded down the stairs, blew through the streamers, and said, "One present?"  And before we could explain and apologize, said, "Well, that's okay. It looks pretty cool. Oh! and there are cards!"

It was all I could do to act like this was an awesome party.  It was so beneath my expectations, and plans, and yet...he was genuinely happy!  He had to be the healthiest member of our family at this point---he honestly projected his surprise and disappointment, and then overcame it quickly and had a blast.  I had to wonder if he was just a "lesson" to behold at that point, or if he had been let down so many times, that like and orphan child with no shoes, he was just happy it was warm outside.

So that I didn't cry in all my hung-overness, I chose to believe the former. And stood in awe of his character.

Gardener Extraordinaire

As you may have noticed our five year old has a small crop of produce sprouting in our window boxes. He checks them daily and it is often the first thing he will tell anyone he sees.  His enthusiasm is wonderful and contagious.  Which made it all the more wonderful, when spotting a pile of bird seed on the ground, he inquired, "Bird Seed?! If we plant that can we grow birds?!"

Freezer Genius

So our freezer, crapped out the other day.  Other day...being about 10 days ago...I called the manufacturer. The following is the series of events that have taken place in an effort to restore "freeze" in the freezer. True story.

"Hi, our freezer has stopped "freezing" and says 43 degrees on the screen."

"Okay. What you need to do is hit the power freeze button, and the freezer temperature. It should say -4."

"Okay."

"Have you done that?"

"Yup. I pushed the button. It said, -4 for 2 seconds and is now back to 47 degrees."

"Okay. What I am going to do is enter your information into our system. Give the freezer some time to reset and see if it fixes itself. If not, call us back."

"Okay. Thank you."

Several hours passed and our freezer now said 58 degrees. Self-fix outlook poor.

So I called back. This time I got a very kind man from India.

"Hello?"

"Hi. I wanted to see about scheduling repair for our freezer."

"Oh-kay. Have you called us before?"

"Yes."

"Oh-kay. Let me see here."

"Oh yes. I see that you have called us before."

"Yes."

"Yes. I am going to ask you to please follow the following steps."

"Okay."

"I need you to turn the temperature way down on your refrigerator and freezer for a while and call us back."

"What?!"

"Are you not me understanding?"

"No, I understand you, I'm just not sure why I need to damage my remaining food that is in the fridge by freezing it. My refrigerator is fine. My freezer keeps getting warmer."

"Mam, I am just trying to do what it says in the manual, before I put in a service ticket in case it fixes itself."

"I appreciate that.  I think I need a service ticket, please.  It's not fixing itself."

"Oh-kay. What I am going to do is put in a request for service. A technician will call you in 4 days and ask if you still want service.  If you do, he will tell you when he can come out to fix it."

"4 days?"  I then felt a twinge of "snobby USA entitlement." As if to say, "Oh...My...Gaaawd. I cannot...live for 4 days without a freezer."

"Yes, Mam."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

"Yup. Thanks."  And I hung up.

5 days later...there is a message on my vmail from an appliance technician.
I call the number.  Number no good.  I listen to the message again.  Number no good.  In a "Do do dooo..the number you have reached is not in service, please try again..." kind of no good way.

So I google the name of the company.  It turns out the company is based in Washington state.  Had I only known to attach the 509 area code, it would have been no problem at all. Silly me.

I call the manufacturer back.  I got the same kind gentleman from India.

After reacquainting ourselves, I explain that the technician who called me was based in Washington.

"So, he cannot come to your house."

"No. Because I live in Colorado."

"And that is too far?"

"It is a (holding all expletives inside) plane ride."

"Oh. Well, let me see. Where do you live?"

"In Colorado." I start pouring some wine. It's 3pm.

"So...let me see. I am sorry for the confusion. I have the wrong address for you."

"Hmmm," I say while sipping.

"So, do you still need a technician?"

"Yes," I said, "The freezer did not fix itself." I'm catching on.

"Okay. This is a number for a local company in Colorado Springs, they will contact you shortly."

"Thank You."

"Sorry for the confusion."

"No problem. Bye."

2 hours later...right before closing...

"Hi, this is Lisa from Shox Appliance and Engineering. Do you need to schedule a repair?"

"Yes."

"Okay...well we are pretty backed up...how about the 9th?"

"Sure."

"Do you want me to schedule it, or do you want to wait and see if it fixes itself?"

In my head...."Seriously."

What I say, "Yes, please put me down. And if it miraculously fixes itself, I'll cancel."

"Okay. We have you down for Monday the 9th."

"Thank you. Bye."

From the other room...

"Mom, can we—"

"No."

"But.."

"Just, No."

childhood thoughts...

Had our own "What is Goofy" (circa Stand By Me) conversation today.  It was "What if Wolverine was a doctor?"

"He'd be really good at surgery," I added.

"Yea, but he wouldn't be able to stop cutting..."observed the eldest.

"Yea, he would just be like, 'chh chh chh...oops!'" our sound-effect 5 yr old added.

"Yea, someone else would have to stitch him up," noted our daughter---local surgery expert.

"What if Max, our dog (the 5yr old has jumped topics mid-Wolverine debate) was like a motorcycle, and you could sit on his back and you could twist his ears like this--he gestured a "revving" motion?"

"Yea." The older two said in unison...either bored or daydreaming about riding their dog.

Days of the week...

I wanted to let you know, that I went and got the kids a few "essentials" for back to school.  Namely, underwear and socks.  Found a bunch of really cute and affordable pairs for both the boys and our daughter. I got her an entire set of "days of the week" socks. Each cute, colorful sock says Monday, or Tuesday, or ...you get the picture.  I felt really good about this until 15 minutes after we got home when my brain turned back on and I realized I had just set the stage for a school morning nightmare.

"MOM!!!!! Where are my TUESDAY socks?"

"Dunno. Probably in the wash. Wear a different pair."

"BUT TODAY IS TUESDAY!!!

Sarcastically, I will want to yell up, "You're goddamn right it is. But in our hearts it feels like Saturday. But on the f'n Saturday socks."

Instead, it will just be the image of a broken woman, me, hitting her head against the wall, saying "Stupid, stupid, stupid."  Cuz, I did this. All by myself.

The walls have ears

And by that, I mean literally, the walls. That is the only explanation I can come up with for what has become our new normal. Upon declaring that "This house no longer suits our family," the house has slowly begun to implode. On the glass have empty side, it appears to be giving us the finger. On the half full side, however, it is ensuring that the new owners will have lots of brand new, better than ever---certainly better than we ever treated ourselves---stuff. And you can't really put a price on that kind "do good" feeling. But if you could, it would definitely be in the thousands.
It started with the fence...and then it was the wiring for ceiling fixtures in various rooms, then the washing machine...and this morning our freezer crapped out.  As I was reading to the kids tonight, a strong "lighter fluid" aroma came billowing down the hallway.

Obviously, not one for the story, the house decided to light itself on fire.

Client luncheon

In an effort to preserve sanity, I decided to pretend that lunch with our 5 yr old was a business lunch. (Yea, I recognize the irony in the sanity preservation goal). I have to say though, the lunch went surprisingly well. He explained that he is part monkey because he loves bananas and climbing on things and that his sister is part cat, because she has claws and hisses, his older brother is part star wars, his father is part gorllia because he is strong, and I (me, your wife) am "part human and part 'knows everything in the world.'"
In closing, perhaps I should go back to work because clearly I am closing deals left and right. When's the last time your client told you that you are part "knows everything in the world."

Stop the Ride. I Want to Get Off.

Somewhere between arriving in Illinois on our trip, driving back to CO, and then the first day of school...I decided I was done. Game changer...change of course....no idea which way to go...just get me off the ride. My desire for a home with individual kids rooms, more than one bathroom between the five of us (only accessible by entering our bedroom), a finished basement, a garage, and a neighbor without a massive weed problem (drugs on the left, actual overgrown plants on the right) had come to a head.  I was ready to offer up our house to anyone walking by with a checkbook. Time for change. Grab your floatation device and jump.

But...I married you. And so we do not jump...we responsibly map out our year of household updates, improvements, and savings so as to get the best value for our home and ideally move at the most convenient time at the end of the school year.

And thus, we begin pouring money into our home so it can look nicer for complete strangers than it ever did for us, and then, brilliant people that we are, we will choose a beautiful large house that has "potential" for those with "vision" which is code for "no walls."

So...we started on the fence.  The fence, which we are now on our third weekend...of said fence, is up.  It had ivy and roses preserved.  Said ivy and roses were accidently chopped down by cute, helpful, five year old. Other part of fence must now be rebuilt as well. It's no longer aesthetically nice down our side of the house...but it's sturdy.

FYI...in the midst of "fence"........

School has started for 2 out of 3 children. 4th grade seems to be a slice for our eldest after week one. He is happy, excited and will soon, God help us all, be practicing the saxophone. 2nd grade is already filled with overdramatic little girls who have unkind things to say and have been taught to preface aforementioned unkind things, with "Not to offend you, but..."  It would be so much funnier if the girls just came out and said, "I'm going to offend you now."  I think that's what I'll tell our daughter to say instead.  Maybe she can turn 2nd grade into one giant "roast."

We have also experienced torrential floods, which have rocked the worlds of many. We have been fortunate to not be in a risky area----Add one point to the house "Flood Free!"

I have been commissioned by our daughter to create a stuffed animal for her---per her design.  She has been micro-managing the crap out of me, which albeit irritating, is probably the only way the thing got finished within the week.

Both our dog, and Sprinkles the Unicorn, have had birthday celebrations.  Max is 10, Sprinkles is 1 month. Each year, she ages a month in unicorn years...we should by stock in whipped cream.

Our five year old would like to have a farm. He is doing his dammedest to create one in our backyard. We started with very ambitious window boxes and are crossing our fingers for a spring harvest, before someone else lives here.  I told him that we could make a bigger "farm" and grow more vegetables at our new house---it will be part of our "vision."

Our kitchen light has a short. Not sure how that happened, but it is often that I am cooking by candlelight, if I have not prepared dinner by 5:30pm.  It was really romantic when our dining room light also had no connection and we would walk with the candelabra from the kitchen to the table in a procession not unlike "Phantom of the Opera."

I have to tell myself we are practicing for our house of "vision."

Wanted to let you know that the 4th and 2nd grader seem to be in, what I would call an "Alpha War." This is especially heated when it is between the two of them, and just plain irritating when they try to pull that shit with me.  They each believe that they know best, and/or how things are "going to go down." This is not flying with me. Because, as everyone in this family knows, I am Alpha. I have more crazy than any of you. And my crazy is earned.

Wanted to let you know that I am really trying to channel my "outer adult" and embrace the simultaneous renovating and purging required for our next responsible step. But, be forewarned, my inner child is refusing to step away from the ledge, and won't take off her floatation device.  Like I said, "...more crazy than any of you."

Daniel Google

We have a wonderful, sweet, kind, squirrelly 9 going on 10yr old boy. Often patient and thoughtful, he picks his moments to verbally "poke" his family members by mocking or making a joke out of everything they say. This goes over really well with younger siblings and tired parents. As a form of rebuttal we occasionally blame him for things totally unrelated. For example, the Blackhawks let a goal in, we would yell, "Damn You Aden!"  It starts pouring rain, "Damn You Aden!" Fortunately, this makes him giggle and smile. Clearly our family has issues. Overtime, he observed that "Damn You Aden" sounded a lot like "Daniel Aden!" Thus, in order to continue abusing our child without the world knowing and judging, we started saying, "Daniel!" instead---generating the same internal giggles without all the bad looks.

As our journey continued, we found yet another way to "play" with our eldest. After being on this earth 9+ years, he knows pretty much everything.  So we've decided to use no other source for our information. Got a question? He's got the answer. Thus the name "Daniel Google" was born.

"Daniel Google, what time is checkout?"
"Um. I'm pretty sure it's 12pm."

"Daniel Google, is it going to rain?"
" I think it will later."

"Daniel Google, are there tolls on this route?"
"I don't think so."

I think I may make magnets or bumper stickers that say "I 'heart' Daniel Google" as a tribute to nine yr old boys everywhere. They are truly magical.

You and Me and the 30 day war or "the other woman."

The 7 of us have been in a close, confined, mobile space for over 30 days. (That alone should be a reality TV show.) And I'm sure by reading this you are thinking that in that time I have lost the ability to count. But when I say "7" I'm referring to: you, me, 3 kids, our dog, and "her"---we'll call her "Mac." Deceptively petite, she slips in and out of your briefcase with ease. She boldly asserts herself on your lap for hours upon hrs. Often temperamental, she preoccupies all your time and energy with no regard for the woman schlepping the other 5 passengers across the wettest part of the country this summer. In fact she only paused moment when yet another woman, "Andrea" stole the show briefly causing us to fear for our lives as we ran from her windy and watery wrath. I recognize that Mac is the source of our livelihood, but methinks she dost protest too much. She did not help with laundry, she did not talk to me nor allow you to talk to me. She often transmitted hostile correspondence between you and the outside world. She had little to no interest in Universal Studios. Could've cared less about "Winter" the tailless dolphin. Zero desire to play in the hotel pools. May have taken the night off for Bourbon Street, but you had the kids. Demanded AC over an ocean breeze, late nights over family breakfasts. In fact the only thing she did right on this trip was die on our way to Lexington, KY. We all took a deep breath of fresh air and then as our hearts dropped into our stomachs, realized we had to go buy another one.

Here are the cliff notes for what you may have missed due to "Monopolizing Mac-Ticia."

1. It rained a shit-ton on this trip
2. I'm the reason people consistently have clean clothes. Not her.
3. Keep me away from hammers or the bitch gets it
4. It would be best if we had a conversation and maybe held hands. Preferably over dinner..at a restaurant...without children...without Mac...with cocktails. Immediately.

I think I prefer fake fishing

So...my aunt got the kids fishing poles. And I am thankful for the lesson I got on setting up the line with weights and hooks. I know that I fished a little as a kid---I have pictures holding up my fish. I don't, however, have any recollection of baiting the hook with live, moving worms nor trying to get the fish (that's fighting for its life) off the hook.

I learned this morning, that somewhere between quitting smoking, having children, and participating at a peace-loving preschool for 7 yrs, I've become soft.

It was really uncomfortable and upsetting to bait the hook, and even more so as I struggled to get it out of a small fishes throat.

I'm a wuss. A worm sensitive, fish appreciating wuss. I don't think I can take them fishing again. And they want to go in the morning...early. So, I'm thinking, if you go to bed early you could wake up and make some special father/child memories tomorrow am. Memories of worm slaughtering and fish killing. make sure to take pictures.

Xoxo

Know what you want

As we travel down that endless highway, we do stop from time to time at the occasional Burger King, Hardee's, Taco Bell, Wendy's, Carl's Jr, Subway, and other fine establishments of health. Due to the frequency in which we visit said places one would assume that everyone would have their order in mind when pulling in the drive-thru. After all, there are only so many options. And we've been coming here at least once a day for the PAST 17 DAYS!!!!! So when our children could not make up their mind, and the rain was pouring in through the window onto my lap, I made choices for them. These choices then resulted in disappointment and pouting, which trickled down into a loud lecture on how there is no reason they should not know what they want to eat.

Fast Forward to lunch the following day...we made an announcement so as not to catch them off guard.
"Guys, we are turning into Wendy's right now. Burgers and chicken...think about what you want."

I pulled up to the little box, rolled down my window and our youngest called out, "I would like fries and a glass of wine!"

Shoot me.

After 2 weeks, we made a pact

Tonight we made a pact---it was unspoken, it lacked eye-contact, and stretched across the cavern between us with clarity unlike any cellular plan. We would go back to the hotel and kill each other. The vat of patience that embarked on this journey had run dry and as we listened to our soaking wet kids (whom had jumped into a large fancy public fountain in Charleston) go back and forth about who was right...

"Mom, she thinks there are no roads and houses in the mountains. Is she right?"

"There are roads and houses, but not major shops and strips of retailers. Those tend to be down in the valleys of the mountains, not the peaks."

"Seeeeeee," our daughter replied taunting.

"See?!" Our eldest was confused, "You are not right."

"Si means yes!"

Appalled, our son responded, "We're not speaking Spanish?!?"

"Si!"

"No! You're wrong."

"Si!"

It was in that moment when we found ourselves too tired to say shut the fuck up, let alone search for a kid-friendly equivalent and the absurdity of childhood injustices had become so brain boggling and exhausting that I felt your desire to throw yourself from the moving car and thus, the pact was made.
Cuz I'll be dammed if you're gonna leave me holding the bag.

Seek shelter...or a wife

After a harrowing journey trying to outrun a Tropical Storm, we settled into Charleston around 9 pm--last night. Just in time for Hawks Game 4, I might add. (Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?)
As the game started, and our spazoid children earned us a "noise complaint" from below (apparently of you keep them cooped up all day in a car in a storm they get a little restless) I took them down to the indoor/outdoor pool. Its outside in that it lacks it's fourth wall---on purpose. No sooner did they start swimming when I heard a painfully loud and unpleasant siren. The other women sitting poolside did not even flinch, but they looked immersed in conversation and maybe didn't hear it.
It stopped, and I thought perhaps someone went out the emergency exit door. But then it came again. I couldn't help thinking that this was some sort of tornado or storm alarm and that we needed to "take cover." However, before pulling the spazoids from their natural environment, I interrupted the women at the pool to see if they heard the alarm as well or was I crazy?

"A tree frog," they replied as they exhaled and ashed their cigarettes.
"Seriously?!"  My lack of southern twang and enthusiasm for a frog made it clear that I was not from "these parts."
"Yup, he's looking for a wife."
"Wow, " I said thinking that with that approach there must be a lot of single frogs.
"Yup. You can hear'm, but you'll never find'm. If you hear a really deep sound, that's a bullfrog."
"Fascinating," I replied and then sat through a few more audible attempts at unrequited love.

As I sat there, I tried to imagined what this "mating call" translated to...was it as simple as "who's your daddy?" or slightly more specific such as, "who has a flat screen showing game 4?"

Either way, it stopped before we got out of the pool. Some frog was getting lucky tonight, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say, probably not the one that hopped in the storm all day with the tadpoles to get to the screen in time to watch game 4.

A is for Andrea...

A is for:
Andrea
All day rain
Almost getting washed away
Ambitious driving
Acting like you can see the road
Asking children to stop screaming
Acclimating to the new position of your shoulders in your ears
Advil
Anticipating tornadoes
Additional hrs on the road
Accidental timely departure
Arrival safely in SC
Adventure

No molestar

"No molestar" is the Spanish equivalent of "do not disturb." In our last hotel we had a large magnet that we slapped onto the door when we left our springer spaniel/German shepherd in the room. Couldn't help but laugh at the idea of saying "no molestar dog."

This place was just sketchy enough to have to make such a request/disclaimer.

Universal Studios (to the tune of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer)

You know ET and Spidy, Transformers and Simpsons...The Hulk, Harry Potter, T-Rex and the Minions...but do you recall the most special park moment of all?

"Mommy my feet are tired.
They have never been this sore.
And if you ever saw them---
Can you carry me to just one more?

This line is taking hours
Hey, can you stop touching me!?
When's the last time you kids took showers?
Mommy, I have got to pee!

Then one rainy summer night,
Daddy came to say,
'Black Hawks Play Game 3 tonight
Mind if I slip away?'

Oh how the kiddies begged him
'Just check out this funny ride'
And then to the bar we'll join you
To watch the game dry inside.

As we restlessly stood in line,
You stared at the clock
Are you freakin' kidding me
I'm about to pull my gloc.

Orlando is 30 hrs
And that's if you drove straight through
Call on your psychic powers
You know the right thing to doooooooo.

I blame you

Upon arriving in Naples, Fl, I asked our kids if they knew where we were. To which our youngest replied "at the bottom of the penis!" and then singing the chorus of  Bohemian Rhapsody added, "...very very frightening..."

Heads or tails?

Journeyed to see Winter the famous dolphin with a prosthetic tail. Stayed for the sting rays. Turns out we don't need a trampoline. Just a salt water tank where we can reach in and touch our pet sting ray. It'll keep'm occupied for days.

Dinner at 9:30. In public.

We discovered a great Irish Pub in Pensacola for dinner on the night of the 27th. It had dollar bills hanging down covering the entire ceiling and stapled to the walls. Each bill had a signature from the "donor" and on the wall was a news article about a kid who was charged with stealing when another store recognized the signed money with which he was trying to pay. I want to thank the pub for placing us near that info as this story served as the perfect answer to "why can't I take just one?" because unless its in print and framed, the same answer just doesn't hold up.

The other highlight of the evening was the circular green mint that each child got at the end of dinner. They quickly licked it a teeny bit and stuck it to the palm of their hand. Each one then began talking over each other as if down in the "pit" at the NYSE.

"Mom! IronMan wants you to be quiet at dinner," my eldest would say but was not given enough time to demonstrate with his palmed mint because someone else jumped in with,

"Mom, pretend you are bad and IronMan--"

Not  giving up the fight it continued...

"Mom, IronMan wants you to be quiet at dinner--"
"Mom, pretend you are bad and IronMan---"
"Mom, IronMan wants you to be quiet at dinner---"
"Mom. Mom, pretend you are bad and IronMan--"
"Mom! IronMan wants you to be quiet at dinner--"
"Mom," (voiced our middle child) I don't really like the--"
"Mom, IronMan wants you to be quiet at dinner--"
"Mom, I don't really like the --"
"Mom---"

"OH MY GAAAWD. YOU GUYS ARE INSANE." I shouted in intense whisper mode. And not one of you is saying 'Dad.' He's sitting RIGHT NEXT TO YOU."

They smiled and giggled a bit.

"Let's  get out of here," I suggested while scooting out of the booth.

And as we all scooted..."Mom, but imagine IronMan wants you to be quiet at dinner..."

Shoot me.

N'awlins

The lesson on May 26th, in the great outdoor classroom of Bourbon Street, was intended to be one of culture, diversity, street performers and acceptance of things that appear strange. Instead it turned into a "how to hold your liquor" conversation when you are 21. And what you can act like if you don't. And then our eldest looked to the right and paid no attention to the two women in bras and garters but was horrified and confused (displayed by jaw dropping giggles) by the 24x8 naked girl on girl photos that surrounded the entrance to said "establishment."
Clearly the hr had crept up on us and it was time to get off this street. I tried to shift focus to "beignets for breakfast." But who am I kidding? I just gave our 9 yr old the gift of life size porn. I'm pretty sure that qualifies me for an automatic nomination for Mother of the Year 2013. Pretty sure.

Send lawyers, guns and money

Summer vacation day 3...

Check into glitzy motel at 1am. Check.
Watch hookers work. Check.
Pass out with chair blocking door. Check. Check.
Good friends good food. Check. Check.
Re-enactment of Stephen King's Carrie, played by 9 yr old boy with vicious nosebleed at midnight. Check.
Depart at 5am. Check.
Introduced to Texas' finest at 87 mph. Check.

On to New Orleans....

C'mon kids, Austin is famous for flash floods and we're here just in time!

Despite the Brady Curse, I would like to thank the "god of family vacations" for guiding my keys just to the left of the open grate as they slipped from my hands while trying to unload the car.  Thank you thank you thank you.that was a small heart attack at 1 am.

We traveled down the large state of Texas. Everything is bigger in Texas, including my ass. We got burgers and soft drinks in "contraband size" cups...easily 32oz.

Today we get to visit with some great friends, provided they don't live on the other side of the flooded region. Otherwise, we're gonna need a bigger boat.

28 days later...Cue Summer Vacation

Remember that Brady Bunch episode where they all went to Hawaii and Greg wore the cursed totem and the whole trip was eerie and a bust? I would say that we are experiencing our own very special 2 hr episode in which it opens with a dead bird on the sidewalk. A little bit of "good luck suckahs" to help us out the door. The next curse to befall would be the "smashing of the driver's finger in the door,"  followed by the "lost files" that allowed us to perform a 2 hr "trial run round trip." Then in an effort to up the "anty" we did not depart until 8:30 for what promised to be a 6.5 hr drive. Silly Rabbit, that's not including the seizure inducing lightening storm and car wash simulating rainfall. Rolling into the glitzy motel at 5:30am, we told the kids that we were gonna sleep for 4 hrs and hopefully they would still be in the room when we woke up. Now, as you sit at the desk cranking out something asked for today but wanted yesterday, I am reminded that we have to check out by noon at which time we will hopefully meet a dear friend for lunch before taking on the 8 hr drive to Austin. Who's idea was this?!? Whosever it was is gonna need a stiff drink come Florida. In fact, she may just blackout for that portion of the trip.

Shananananana Sha na na na na!

Day 52---a thousand words

As a Mom, I am apt to have a picture of one or all of my kids on my phone's "wallpaper." After letting my eldest borrow it to play "Sketchman" I got it back with a new "wallpaper."


  This is a priceless display of what it is to have a 9yr old boy.

It's the crook in his elbow....

Day 51....mutha f'n pistachios

"Mom!" Our youngest shouted, "We are learning about Kings and Queens and Lords and Ladies and Olden Times!"

"I know," I responded, "Did you want to tell your brother and sister some of the rules for eating properly as a prince and princess?"

"Yes! You have to put your napkin in your lap, and you cannot eat until the Queen takes a bite, and you cannot get up from the table until the Queen is finished, and...." he trailed off bored with his own wisdom and migrated towards the TV.

Meanwhile, the other children were circling the kitchen, packing their lunches and trying to say "apple" while holding their tongues---have you tried it? It doesn't quite come out "apple," more sounds like a term for  the place from which poop plummets. Anyway, while this was happening the large CostCo size bag of pistachios hit the ground and covered our kitchen floor... not unlike a small mollusk mosaic.
And I just felt very entitled to release a "GOD DAMMIT!" displacing all my daily frustration.  Thus the kids looked at me like "ooooh....you just said a bad word...we're gonna tell...."  And en lieu of apologizing, I, Mother of the Year, chose to make this a continued moment of shock and awe...

"Yes. I did.  Shall we all say whatever words we're dying to say right now?"

Their eyes doubled in size, as did the grin on their face, and all 3 of us (the youngest was MIA) sat amongst the sea of pistachios and began to giggle and swear.

"Shit!"
"Piss!"
"Asshole!"
"God Dammit!"
"Dick Ass Man!"

"Woa. That's a loaded one." I said caught off guard by my 9 yr old's enthusiasm.

"No. That's someone's name. Really. It's Dick Assman."

"That's terribly unfortunate," I replied remembering that I thought I had heard that before.

"Okay. Is it out of our system?"

"One more," said my son, "Getting giddy with fear and excitement."  He glanced over for approval.

"Nows the time. Get it out of your system, and then lets move on. You guys know that these are not words you use, right?"

"Right" they answered in unison.

Sitting back on his heels he pulled his elbows back as if revving up and opened his mouth wide and let out a "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU......CK."

It wasn't even angry... it just felt dangerous to say. We then cleaned up the pistachios and had a relatively pleasant dinner, not unlike the Lords and Ladies from "Olden Times."

ummmm...14 days later...

Day 1:
Where to start...is it a morning at the preschool when a tiny dish of tiny silver beads spills not once, but twice in a matter of minutes? Destined to serve as a strategically planted distraction by the charming little child who would then coat himself in paint while my hands were filled with tiny hazards?

Day 2:
Or is it trying to do laundry without having to re-wash or re-dry the same loads?

Day 3:
Or is it trashing our house by hosting a play date with multiple friends to appease our depraved children on the day before we have company arriving?

Day 4:
Perhaps it's finding out that the IRS wants our kidneys?

Day 5:
Or that in order to keep driving our car we need to put $$$$ in to it?

Day 6:
Or is it picking up a child from school only to learn that a friend that we just had over whacked him in the face to be funny?

Day 7:
Maybe it's the daughter who whines and pulls and whimpers for us to get in the car as soon as possible so she can immediately start the homework that she would like me to do?

Day 8:
Could it be the epically stoic meltdown of rebellion when asked to please set the table?

"Please set the table, it's your turn tonight."
"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrgrggggg!"
"I already put the place mats out and the silverware is in a pile on the table. I just need you to put the silverware in the right place with the napkins."
A few clink, clanks, pinks, and plops were heard. And I re-entered the dining room. My "helper" was gone and the silverware was placed in a way that Picasso might have envied.
"Can you please come back in here?" I called out.
She returned like a battered, mute prisoner.
"I will show you where the silverware should go on this mat and then you can do the rest."
She gave me her best Ally Sheedy Breakfast Club glance through her bangs, and I returned to the dinner I was burning.
We ran through this cycle twice more...and then had dinner.

Day 9:
Or the eery declaration by our 5 yr old that "dying is sad, but burying people is fun."

Day 10:
Per chance it was the tooth fairy whom arrived on time, left money despite the fact that the child left teeth on the dresser instead of under the pillow and still left the child disappointed. "I wanted Daddy to see the tooth! Can the 'tooth fairy' " he said gesturing with finger quotes around the title, "still show him?"
"Yes," I said discovered and defeated though still willing to throw in a third person reference, "I'm sure she can."

Day 11:
Or the time sensitive tantrum that occurred minutes before we had to be somewhere else, involving the immediate need to remove a "meow" from her Build-A-Bear Kitty. "I want to make her meows myself!" she pleaded through tears.

Day 12:
Maybe it was the moment in which while I was making dinner, our eldest child started singing his multiplication homework, to the tune of "Gangham Style" which he put on loudly in the background, while our daughter pulled at my arm and pleaded for him to turn it down as she needed to focus on learning how to tell time on her homework, as our 5 yr old started break dancing with the dog, on the floor, in the middle of it all.

Day 13:
Or could it be the endless coughing virus that has plagued the state of Colorado?

Day 14:
Or the swift removal of said "meow box" at the mall 3 days later and then promptly losing our 5 yr old.  Perhaps that is where to start....

I would like to thank the mall security at Chapel Hills Mall.  You gentlemen do a fine job and I feel better knowing you are there. I will do my best to keep my son chained to my body from now on as he terrified me greatly by disappearing into thin air at the exact same time a single man sitting at the mall also disappeared. Yes, I am profiling. He was white, single, and at the mall. It was scary. I had, for the first time ever, that feeling that our life as we knew it was over and we were going to become a tragic CBS special or a Dateline topic. I wanted to vomit. And as I ran over to the woman at the smoothie kiosk, who promptly called security, I feared that she would not be able to help me.

She quickly got on her cell phone and calmly explained the situation. She then pulled the phone away from her face and asked, "Is he wearing a black hoodie, with a nike swoosh?"
"YES!!!!!!!" I could not believe it. It was the lotto. We won.
"They're bringing him down now."
"Down?' I thought to myself. "Jesus, how far did he get?"

I wanted to drag him out of that mall by his ear, but it was clear he had gotten pretty scared on his own. Although the sucker and stickers that security gave him didn't hurt.
As we walked through the mall to get back to our car, he proudly wore not one, but two mall security sticker badges, displaying to all the impression that his mother had lost him not once, but twice.

Day 37---"Mom has never been THIS confused"

"Mom has never been THIS confused," said my son as I pulled on the school doors...again.  My face was still scrunched and perplexed as I pressed my nose against the window to confirm that the dark school really was closed.
"Huh?" I said looking around at the empty street.
"Can we wait in the car?" Our shivering children asked holding their coats in the wind.
"Sure," I answered slowly looking around.  "Is it really closed?" I said out loud to myself.
I looked on my phone for school closures. On the site I chose, it had no information. I looked around... again. Peered in the window... again.

And then a horrible thought crossed my mind.  I started searching my phone for news.  Did N. Korea flip out?  Is this a nationwide lockdown?!

I couldn't find any info, so I called our friend who's child was next in line to be picked up for the other school, in a different district.

"Hey!"
"Hi!"
"So...."
"All the schools are closed."
"Seriously?!"
"Yea," she started laughing.
"Yea, I'm at one..."
"Oh, no!"  Laughing harder...
"What's going on?"
"Snow day."
"SHUT UP."
"Yup."
"It's a WIND DAY. Not a SNOW DAY."
"There's supposed to be snow coming.  And I guess they are worried about black ice."
"Ummm...the roads are fine."
"That's too funny."
"Okay then. Well, happy snow day. This is crazy."

I hung up the phone. Instantly, the kids asked if they could have friends over or go to a friend's house.

I paused, and then said, "No.  Apparently we are having a big storm, so everyone is staying home. No one wants to get caught out in the storm."

It's almost noon, and there is still no snow.

I want to be a weatherman.  The only job where you can consistently give misinformation and not get fired.  I'm rooting for you though, weather people, and I'm determined not to leave the house...just in case it snows.

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

So instead of school I'm trying to get Spotwise, who is getting into "treats" out of my "office."

Day 36----while you were in your "office"

Dear Todd,

I regret to inform you that while you were in your "office" this morning for an extended period of time you missed the grand event that took place on our second floor.  There were tickets involved as it was "invite only" and the dress code ranged from black tie to tragically chic. Remarkably, we all found something we could wear.
Are you dying from the suspense?

It was the Spring Line 2013 Spotwise (The stuffed leopard) Fashion Show.

She strutted down the multi-taped 8.5 X 11 paper runway in an array of outfits synchronized to themed music.  Her acrobatics were phenomenal. Clearly she's a pro.

Despite the challenges of a stuffed leopard fashion show, the only real obstacle was the audience.  The younger gentlemen who escorted me to the event, had a hard time sitting still.  They had a strong urge to "mess" with the stuffed leopard.

This came out in different dance moves, an occasional push-up over the runway, or some sort of Russian kicks mixed with break-dancing dangerously close to said runway.

Through much discussion and physical restraint the show went off without a hitch. Though I do think an increase in security might prove beneficial for the 2013 Fall Line.

I'm gonna go make a cup of coffee now, and then lock myself in my "office."  Tag. Your it.

Day 30--35...Dear Flu Virus

I'm calling you the Flu, because otherwise I don't know what you are.  You are by the far the worst intestinal, fever inducing, body-aching thing I as an adult have yet to experience.  Being on the other side of it now, I must say I feel quite triumphant, but am nervous if you might continue to grow stronger off of those you have not yet killed.

As I've been talking with people, there are many of us, apparently enduring your assault.  And those of us all seem to have one thing in common.  We have no "sick days" in which someone else steps up to fight the good fight.  What this means is we are trying to schedule your attacks on our bowels and intestines around pick-up, drop-off, meals (which often causes gag-reflex issues, acid reflux and some inner mouth vomiting just in the preparation), bedtime and any other thing that might HAVE to happen in order to keep our kids occupied and fed.

I'd like to address two things with you, Flu.

1. Ya picked Easter Eve?!?!?!?!  Please add to the above list of scheduling the responsibilities of said Easter Bunny. Fucker.

2. And secondly, thank you---yes, thank you, Flu---take this one as I will never thank you again. But thank you, for assaulting my husband simultaneously thereby allowing a side-by side comparison of two (the mommy and the daddy) enduring the same illness at the same time.  While horribly painful, and our home is a mess, I believe this simultaneous occurrence is as rare as spotting a leprechaun.  And it is this way so that the battle of which gender is tougher while sick can continue.  My dear Flu, the gift you gave me among all the horror and destruction was a white flag--waved by my spouse, as I assembled baskets, cooked Easter dinner for the kids and hid every egg.

In the words of Miss Piggy, often quoted by my five year old son, "I'm a woman! I am strong!"

Day 21-29...wtf in the key of E...

Dear anybody with more energy than me and an absurd amount of money,

Please come take over for a good solid month.  I would still like to spend time with my husband, dog and kids...but on a beach...at a place where kids have their own supervised activities as well, so that I can feel at peace as I sleep, eat, drink, and read on the beach (between sessions of surf lessons or just boogy boarding) knowing that they are learning to swim with dolphins, or surf, or snorkle, or make something out of a wonderful seashell that cannot come back through customs.

And may there be a dog hotel that makes our pooch feel spoils that surpass the joy of laying next to me in the sand on a leash.  And while we are away for said month, may there be a magic fairy that cleans our home from top to bottom, organizes all things and makes us feel like we are entering a new home upon return.  Or better, yet...it could be a new home in a crime free neighborhood with sidewalks and garages and everything moved.

I do have so much to be thankful for, and realize the spoiled attitude of the above comment, but it's where my head goes when my reality has been the following:

I feel the past week it is best sung in the following medley...

Starting with the tune of...Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head...

"Glassware keeps falling on my head,
Slid off the middle shelf and toppled to the floor,
Shards are evermore...
So, glassware keeps falling all around it keeps falling

We're out of cups.
This sucks.
We can now drink from our soup bowls
Got my wishes
Far less dishes
And think, I had not yet had my coffee
Eeeeeeeee"

And then mixing in a bit of "Pressure" by David Bowie...

"LOTS OF VOMIT!
Coming down on me, coming down on me, yup it's just me.
LOTS OF VOMIT! Falling from one child, and then another child, while you're asleep.

The sheets are disgusting, and bedding is crusting, I think I might run away now....

but

THERE'S MORE VOMIT!
Coming down on me, coming down on me, yup it's just me.
LOTS OF VOMIT! Falling from one child, and then another child, while you're asleep."

And then to bring it vintage..."Three Coins in a Fountain..."

"Three kids to the dentist,
Each one seeking happiness,
One tooth got extracted,
Two kids await their fate.

Make it mine! Make it Mine! Make it Mine!"

And to close..."Love lift us up where we belong"

"Who knows, what tomorrow brings
In a world, where my plans are shit (doo doo doo dee doo doo)

All I know, is what I think we'll do
But that could change, as often it does

The road.................is long

There is illness, and bills to pay
But we chuck those aside everyday

Woa woaaaaa

Love lift us up where we belong
Where the children cry
And we don't know why

Love lift us up where we belong

From the world below

Where the traffic's slow......"

Focker. Out.

Day 20---Charlie Babbit

I drove our 5yr old "Rainman" and his friends to school today.  He greeted them, once they were buckled and the car was in motion, individually with a "Good Morning."  And then I just listened...

"I only have one more wrestling practice and then my dad will give me 30 dollars."

I so badly wanted to interject with a correction realizing that nothing I said was gonna make it any better.  We had not promised him $30, but we had told him at the beginning of the season--when momentum was at a stand still and the interest in wrestling was non-exisitent...a time when tournaments had gone from a fair battle to our child laying on the mat in the fetal position wishing someone would make it stop---we told him if he worked hard all season he could earn (in the way bribes are earned) 3 SkyLanders figures.  And well, he rallied. He has been a wonderful participant ever since and on Tuesday, the last practice, it will be time to pay up.

"So, then on Tuesday, I will have $69 dollars!"

"I thought you said, '30 dollars'," his friend corrected as I sat impressed that a 4 yr old listens.  It must be 5 when the the ears breakdown.

"Yes, but I have $39 already at home in my bank and so when my dad gives me $30, I'll have $69." He smiled thinking about the larger number and then added, "I didn't just make that number up, you know? I have $39, and he's giving me $30. Which makes $69. But if he gave me $40, it would be $79. I wonder if he could give me $40?" He sort of asked and commented at the same time.

"Yea..." his friend politely contributed.

"BUT, If he gave me $100. then I would have $139. That would be a lot. I could get a lot of Skylanders with that. Almost 14 Skylanders, because they are about $10 each."

(Defintely a lot of Skylanders, defintiely. I'm a very good driver. A very good driver).

"Do you think you would get Hot Dog?" asked his friend, familiar with a couple Skylanders himself.

"Ummm...I dunno. Maybe. Hot dog is pretty cool and I don't have Hot Dog.  But I would like to get Prism Break for sure."

Then from the back of the car, the sweetest little 3 yr old voice, much like that of Cindy Loo Whoo from the Grinch called out, "Can you teach me Skylanders?"

"Yes. I can teach you. You can be Cynder or Whirlwind."

"Yes," she replied sweetly, "I know how to play those games."

"Those aren't games," he corrected, "those are skylander characters. You can be those."

"Ooooooh," she said nodding. And added a little bit later, in her little Whoo voice..."That would be hilarioussss."

Day 19--no legs

Our  5yr old called for me this morning in loud desperation,
"MOM! MOOOOOOMM! MOM!!"

Thus, I came running down to find him in the tub.

"What is it?! Are you okay?"

"Yes," he replied calmly as if he were not just screaming my name. "Look at my feet and legs," he instructed.

"They are under the bubbles," I observed.

"They are GONE," he corrected with utter amazement at his own magical skills.

"Oh no," I replied equally stunned, "What are you going to do? How will you get out of the tub? Will you have to pull yourself on your belly-button?"

He looked at me as if to say, "How have you survived this many years without me?" And then explained, "No. I will have to bounce on my head."

"Ah Ha," I conceded, closing the conversation.

And as he sat in the tub, squirting soapy water between his cupped hands, he reflected on what he just said, truly adjusting his day in his mind for the life change he had just made in that moment, and without looking up, added with great introspection, "That is going to be hard."

Day 18

Somedays are just like this. For everyone. And sometimes, someone pokes their head over the hole and waves, and sometimes someone pokes their head over the hole and throws up.

Day 17

Sometimes I like to do the laundry just so I can get the sensation of my house launching us to the moon.

Day 16

Several songs keep playing in my head today. One references a "jet plane departure" another mentions "Jack leaving out back and Stan making a new plan," and yet a third hums something about Arbua, Jamaica..."

Don't worry, I'm sure it has nothing to do with our altercation this morning.  It's probably just the warmer weather...yup...no worries...that suitcase has always been packed.

Day 15---dinner is burnt

Cuz I'm here. At the computer.
Stick it. Me first. Blppppbbbtttt!!!!!

Now if only someone would make me a non-burnt dinner.

Day 13--swf seeks rock band

Our daughter loves to sing. Loves. To. Sing. She is often making up her own lyrics and finding ways to rhyme anything and everything.  Also picking up on various rhythms from other artists like Adele, or Ke$ha as she improvises.

Take Ke$ha's song that begins, "woke up in the morning feeling like P-Diddy..."

She will take that and run with it. And the other day she did...

"Woke up in the morning and I had no hair,
Thought about my mutha but she wasn't there,
Went to the bathroom and grabbed my brush
Signing to myself, 'I can't see no frush.'"

And on...and on...

What made this particular day unique however, was when her 9 yr old brother politely suggested that she might want to "hold off" singing until she has a band.

When she looked at him confused as to why that would be important, he replied, "I just think you might be embarrassed without some music in the background. You are not that good yet."

All hugging each other and thanking him for his honesty and constructive criticism---was so not the rest of the drive home.

Day 14---I have to poop

Never have I had to say so much, to many, many times.
It did not occur to me when I started to "glow" and get excited about becoming a family, that this little bundle of mutual love and genetics would, if I really really love it, preoccupy my time in such copious amounts that when I say to them at age 5, 7, and 9, "Just a minute" those words bounce off their head without a single interruption of their thought.

For example...Door swings open....

"Mom, he was hitting me and I was trying to---"

"Can this wait till I'm finished?"

"--stop him, by putting my hand out--"

"Can you give me a minute, and then we'll all talk about it?"

"--towards his nose, and I didn't mean to make it bleed---"

Enter crying wailing child with bloody nose.

"She hit my nose...(loud shriek at the sight of blood)...she hit it on purpose."

I wadded up a huge ball of toilet paper. "Take this," I said pressing it on his face. "Now you guys need to give me a minute."

"But..."

"Please!"

"But..."

"I HAVE TO POOP! GET OUT!"

And they walked away giggling---best of friends.

Day 12---they're really freakin' loud

And our house is really freakin' old, and I'm listening for plaster to fall from the ceiling, cuz they are young and thunderous, and having fun and should be able to do what they are doing.  Ideally they should be doing it in a finished basement, or large backyard, but for now the second floor will work. Because I'm hoping for a new ceiling fixture in the dining room anyway.

Day 11---the human child comes without a manual

And dammit someone should write one.  I quit. I am so tired of trying to figure out the correct way to handle the "new" situation of the "new" growth of a male or female small person that I'm certain to find myself, shortly, standing in the center of the room with all three of them around me having a full blown turrets moment in all my explicative glory.
I don't know what to do on a regular basis and it's exhausting.  The only redeeming piece to all of this is apparently neither does anyone else or a damn manual would exist.  I mean a REAL manual...as if factual operating instructions could make sense for every child. For example:

"If the child is suddenly moody and acting like an ass to his/her siblings, simply take out the yellow wire and place into the white input valve." pg. 64

or

"If child becomes despondent with random outbursts of anger, simply unplug main power source and lay child down for 8-10 hrs." pg. 57

or

"If child cannot stop repeating your name while you are having a phone conversation with uptight, arrogant surgeon, while picking nose and eating boogers, a simple re-boot is needed." pg. 34

or

"If child refuses to go to bathroom before bed, simply unscrew the plug and drain out all water before bedtime to prevent anger at 3am when the sheets are wet." pg. 16

"For diarrhea, see pg. 17"

But, as that is a reality for no one, we have books on alcohol abuse and AA mtgs.

Day 10

Dear Sweet-Dreaming Sleepy Todd,
The chili can not stay cooking on the stove all night and doors should probably be locked.

Your welcome,
Me (saver of the world, one fire at a time)

Day 9---training in bomb disposal

I could have written this same title, years ago and would no doubt be talking about diapers. However, now at age 9, 7, and 5 the bomb has become less olfactory yet far more deadly. It's the bomb of exhaustion and hunger with 3 mouths, 3 tudes, and 3 extra curricular obligations. Now, any good bomb diffuser knows that you start that day with a bag of individual snacks at pick-up with names on the bags so there can be no possibility for a "She ate MINE!" moment. I learned today that only one child likes raisins. Had I made a superior snack choice it would've been smooth sailing, but the dual discontent for a large part of the snack was like cutting the wrong wire. The second thing any good diffuser knows is that if there is waiting involved--as in no two activities happening at the same time, a craft, iPad, book or my phone must be available. And they must not be made to share. I had only packed my phone and was waiting on a call from a Dr. Soooo that was another wire gone awry. But we hung tight, quickly making it to the next activity during which the phone was available, but the boys had to be sequestered in the car, much like throwing an exploding bomb into the ocean, in an effort to contain the pending explosion. After gymnastics, we quickly drove to Subway for a speedy pre-wrestling dinner. All that had to be done was get the food into the melting children before time ran out. They were able to start on the chips while we waited for the sandwiches to be made, which was a lifesaver. And then I ordered a six inch for our 9 yr old who, as the sweat poured off my forehead in fear, balked that it was not a foot long. He was quickly directed to the beverage area, while the other two fought about where to sit. I redirected them to the chips and quickly brought over their sandwiches. As they sat quietly eating--as if starved for days, the little horns on their heads started to submerge and the smiles came back. I felt as though I had found the right wire with 2 seconds left on the clock.
So, yes, I'm F'n tired. I just saved the world today. Again.

Day 8--I've become a cliche

Today I ran into a school building in the middle of the day to pick up our sick child. I did so "type cast" as an overwhelmed, last one on the list, stay at home mom. My hair, pulled back in a ponytail, was all messy and "nest-like" on the top as it had been under a hat for the colder part of the morning. Still donned in black yoga pants, which draped over my holey gym shoes. On top, a white zipped up Fleece to protect from the chill in the air and a lovely coffee stain straight down the front as a result of attempting to load up the recycling in the back of the car while holding the mug with a "dishwasher damaged" ill fitting top in my hand at the same time. It allowed me to lift the hatch and pour coffee all over me---as if intentional. A thing of beauty. I was a walking cliche of defeat. Defeat who refused to be defeated. Tomorrow is a do-over, if I so choose.

Day 7

I was playing with our 5 yr old at school today--we were pretending he was a tiger and I bought him and was taking him home. I noticed a toy "ride on" car and asked the "tiger" if he knew how to drive. Cuz he would need to get us home. He said that he did not, but that he could "connect wires." He then went over to the toy and did a very convincing pantomime of hot wiring a car?!? Apparently my "tiger-ease" is not as good as I hoped as I clearly must have asked if "he had a car?"

Day 6/Sunday: Our "day of wrest"

Today, as you know, was the CO State Tournament for 1st yr wrestlers. Our last tournament of the year. Our last Saturday of racing out the door at 7:30am and driving 40+ mins to sit in a loud, stinky gym of angry adults while we cheer our boys into manhood. With each grapple, a lesson in resilience and drive and determination. A lesson in "no matter how many times you get knocked down, you get up again," and a lesson for me that no matter how loud a parent cheers for their child to push on your child's neck you cannot hit them.
Like an atheist being dragged to church every weekend, I have gradually come to embrace the sport of wrestling, some of the time. When our gentle 9 yr old pinned his opponent at the State Tournament, I liked the sport. When our 5 yr old took 3rd in State, I liked wrestling. When a former State Rookie Champ wrestled our little guy into the ground because he felt the need to wrestle 1st yr wrestlers again even though he was not a first year...I wanted to jump the perimeter and hold the little cheater down on the mat while inquiring his father on the sidelines as to why he is so insecure that he feels he has to put his son on the mat with 1st yr wrestlers in order to dominate--with no regard for the safety of these kids who are not on a level playing field, you fucking Tool!!!

Hmmm...perhaps I need to do my own training. The desire to throw some people around is strong with this one.

Day 5

It has happened. Our first child has crossed-over.  Not only does he believe he knows more than we do...that happened a while ago, but now other adults are also smarter and apparently carry the correct vocal range that allows for their info to penetrate his ears and make their way into his brain.  To be specific, a dentist or dental/hygenist, or "tooth educated person" came to their school the other day.  While I was driving home he presented us with a tutorial on how to brush our teeth.

"You are supposed to brush in circles. Not side to side."

"Yup, that's a good idea," I replied.

"Also you need to brush the surfaces of your teeth and not just the front."

OH MY GAAAAWD. This is why they have cavities. They can't hear me. And they go to bed before we brush our teeth. He must think we are toothless cave people who have been scraping our teeth with sticks. This info should not be news to him?!?!?!?

 "Also swishing water around in your mouth can act like a toothbrush."

"After you've brushed?" I inquired, "Or with toothpaste too...like if you don't have a toothbrush?"

"Yea." "Or just water sometimes."

Chalk one up for me I am smarter than the "tooth educated person. "Just water is not brushing your teeth.  "I'd prefer you include some brushing or toothpaste should you find yourself without a toothbrush." (15-love)

"Yea," he said nodding, his ear canal slightly narrowing as my sound waves approached. "But if you didn't have toothpaste, you could just use water." (15 all)

"Well, let's make sure you at least have access to toothpaste, then." (30-15)

"Yea," he half-laughed, thinking about something else already I'm sure. Ear canals fully closed. Stupid Mommy.

There was a lull, and then.

"But, if you didn't have toothpaste or a toothbrush, you could just use water." (30 all)

"Worst, case scenario, I suppose that's better than nothing. However, I'm not sure what situation you may find yourself in where you would not have either." (40-30)

"Mom, the light's green." (deuce)

"It sounds like you are trying to find a way to not brush your teeth." (match point)

"What?" (deuce)

"Please use your toothpaste and toothbrush to practice what you've (shockingly) just learned." (match point)

"Un huh." (deuce)

And then a play from a quiet viewer in the stands, his 5yr old brother calls out (having studied planets lately),"UR ANUS!"

Car breaks into laugher. (match point)

"Mom, the light is green again." (match).

Day 4

In updating my resume, I've added "talking clock."  I'm sure that somewhere it is just as necessary in the real world as it seems to be in our house. It's ironically the only words I say that anyone hears--perhaps because it never goes beyond 5 syllables. "7:23!", "7:35!", "7:43!" I occasionally throw in a "people" when I think I might have their attention for seven syllables, as in, "7:45, Peeee-pole!"
Dear God, I'm a cuckoo clock. With a tude.

Day 3

I'm totally not gonna get soup tonight. I really really wanted some. But apparently when one decides to go to the grocery store in a fog after swim lessons, it's best to have your wallet with you. Shame on me.  So, refusing to be defeated I made a suggestion: ultra nutrious drozen or frozen (f'n autocorrect) pizza for the kids, and for us: Chinese delivery--you can get whatever you want, I just want soup. But it is 8:15 and this town closes at 9 and wrestling practice has started in the kids' room between all three male occupants and if someone "looks into the half" one more time we may never eat. I really want the boys to feel confident at the State Tournament this weekend, so I will not allow myself to break it up. I just wish there was maybe a soup fairy--our tooth fairy's far more punctual, "type A" sister or brother, perhaps.
My "soup fairy" just came downstairs, sighed and punctuated the sigh with profanity. The little Seinfeld Soup Nazi just sang out in my head.
But wait, through what yonder light does this fairy appear with the ancient papyrus of choice? We have but a wee few minutes to decide!!!! SOUP! I shall have soup.