Could I get a Red Bull sponsorship?

So it's been over a month since I updated here.  It's not that I've had nothing to say, but just not the energy to say it. Or, more so, I just haven't had the energy to pull up this website and use my fingers to type across the keyboard.  And just saying that makes me feel guilty and bratty.  Because, I am not working outside of the home and I only have two children.  Unlike, say, Michelle Duggar with her brood of 19.  She has time to procreate AND film a reality show AND go on the Today show to talk about procreation.  And the girl from Raising Sextuplets, who I just saw on People.com (where I log on to read "the news") got remarried, added two stepchildren to her litter and who plans on having more with her new husband.  What I'd like to know is how do these people have time to have s-e-x? Don't you have Mad Men episodes to catch up on when you have a spare moment?

In other news, we were lucky enough to have A's sister and fiance volunteer to spend their spring break with our children, which meant that A and I got to take our first vacation without them! We spent 2 days in Vancouver BC, 2 days in Whistler skiing/watching cable in the hotel room, and a last day in Vancouver before flying home.  It was a really fun (expensive) trip, where I spent the first 2 days worrying about leaving my children, and the last day being sad the trip was over/anticipating seeing the boys.  So, for thousands of dollars I got to relax for two days before returning home to 2 sick children who are just now (almost a week later) shedding their devil skins to reveal their sweet, innocent selves. Ha. HAHAHA. They are still DEMONIC.

Seriously, this week has been a BAD one.  I have never come so close to strangling my children as I have this week.  I have permanent nail marks in my palms from clenching so hard while trying not to beat them, and you know in books when they say the heroine bit her lip enough to draw blood to keep from screaming out loud and you think, that's impossible, who would do that? Well, now I know who would.  I WOULD.  All f-ing week long I have done just that.  And, I still may have yelled a little more than I wish I had.  And, I feel bad, especially knowing that they have been sick, but I had to do something that didn't involve anything illegal, immoral, or just plain wrong. And then I put T to bed tonight, all clean after a bath, smelling yummy, angelic, and he whispers over and over, and then into the monitor after I go downstairs, "Night night Mommy, I love you. Sweet dreams. I'm going to dream about you.  You're my best friend..."  And all I can think is "thank god you're redeeming yourself, or else I might never talk to you again. And can you please let me sleep for at least 7 hours tonight?"

Great Clips

So, we had some crazy hair up in hurrrrrrre.  Maybe it's becasue I have boys, but I just don't really bother with hair styling. I mean, what's the point? Put on a hat? It becomes a mess.  Wrestle on the floor with your brother? A hot mess.  Put a bowl of yogurt on your head and declare it a hat? A tangled, sticky rat's nest that I'm lucky to even get the globs out of.  So, I ignore it.  But when this walked downstairs for breakfast and then wouldn't let me wet it down before going into public? HAIRCUT TIME.

Also, everytime I looked at this business

I thought of this

and that's just not good. But now, my baby is a full-blown toddler. Sob, sob. No more wisps, no more curls...

Much, much better.

New Kitchen: Phase I (out of one billion)

I haven't written much about our house lately and that's because we haven't done too much to it in the past couple of months.  The holidays, visitors, and stuff took over and so we've become accustomed to sitting in a house with sheetrock walls.  I'm sick of it, to be honest, but unless we win the lottery, it's bit by bit.  However, we did just purchase a new stove and refrigerator with a commission check A finally received (or will receive by the time the credit card payment is due?!). And let me tell you, praise the lord, because this is what we were dealing with.

A 25 year old oven range with illegible numbers on the dials so that one had to guesstimate where the correct temp was.  I couldn't reach the back burners well if anything was on the front ones, and I have a lovely burn scar on my inner arm to remember this ol' gal by. I never once used the top oven, though maybe I should have tried since the bottom wasn't calibrated correctly.  Every Thanksgiving was stressful with my MIL and I standing by, peering in at whatever was cooking, wondering just why it wasn't done after an extra hour of cooking? Once we moved in, I just assumed everything needed the extra hour, which it did, but then I usually burned it all anyways. 

New and calibrated

Here is the old refrigerator, the same model I had in the house I grew up in.  Good bye. 



The new fridge is awesome, and so, so clean! It's so big it looks like we don't have any food, my husband exclaimed! (And we actually don't have any food, but I let him believe the vast shelf space was the reason it seemed so)  I was *warned* it needs to remain as clean as the day it arrived, which I totally agree with. I just don't want to be the one to clean it.

So maybe now I'll go ahead and try out all the hundreds of recipes I have flagged as favorites online.  Why I stay up until midnight browsing Pinterest, drooling over recipes I'll never (afford to) make, I don't know.  Perhaps a new 5-burner gas cooktop will inspire me?



Disappointed

After deciding I was going to watch this season of The Bachelor I turned it on tonight, but late (T wouldn't stop asking for hugs and kisses - sweet and cute, I know, but I JUST WANTED TO WATCH TV) to see who the guy was, hoping to catch up.  But upon seeing Ben Flajnik, I realized I would never be able to get hooked.  I know reality TV is fake, but I don't think I could ever get past wondering at every moment of the show WHY any woman would want to date this man (boy? woman?) other than for fame or money.  There's no way I'd be able to watch women cry over him without wanting to slap them in the face.  His Bio on ABC says he's 28, but I'm pretty sure he was one of my students a few years back. 

Admittedly, I have not watched the past several seasons, mostly because I just didn't have the attention span.  But now having (mostly) recovered from the first year of G's life, which left me too drained to enjoy shitty tv, I was really hoping for some quality crap.  Come on, ABC! If someone is dumped at the alter last season, can't we assume there was a reason (maybe, looking like a 17 year old?) and find someone new and attractive to showcase?!

I guess I'll go fold laundry.

The party's over. Welcome 2012!

Alllllll over. Thank god. Do you ever feel that way? My family has been in celebration mode since mid-November with a birthday, Thanksgiving, another birthday, Hanukkah, Christmas and several more birthdays.  Just when I thought we were done, and I was ready to hunker down in my sansibelt pajamas for the next few months, we were invited to a family-friendly New Years Eve party which was fun, but NOW, we're starting clean slate.  There have been too many presents, too much food, way too much alcohol, and my fingers seem to be waaay too permanently swollen.  Ugh.  It's time for water and spinach.  Happy New Year!

Eastbound and back "home"

We're back! We survived Holiday Travel, which was actually not as bad as I expected.  We totally, completely, weirdly-suspiciously-unlike us-always, lucked out by getting onto a direct flight from MO to VA, rather than the delayed stop-over in Chicago we had been booked on.  The boys behaved themselves, for the most part, and no one punched me in the face due to their occasional whining.  (A special holiday shout out to the family of two young girls seated one row behind us who beat us in the highest decibel contest.  In their defense, the cabin pressure was unbearable for a few seconds there, even for me. Those poor, poor little girls.)

Our flight back was not as wonderful, having to stop in Chicago, which never makes any sense to me.  Our layover was longer than either leg of the flight, and it's a given that meltdowns will occur if actual travel time is interrupted.  So, all we could do was walk back and forth on the flat escalators and consume 4,000 goldfish (3,764 of which were ground into the rug in our terminal. Luckily, we had our own personal janitor who followed us around with a manual vacuum, making sure crumbs didn't pile up too high.  She was also a helpful distractor because the boys loved watching her and I'm pretty sure they were dropping a Hansel and Gretel-like trail of crackers so she would follow us.  T decided he wanted to be her when he grows up so he can use that "special thing", which I told him he is welcome to use at home any time.  Also, T wants to be a shuttle driver at Dulles.  I reminded him that as long as he can support Mommy in her twilight years, he can be whatever he wants).

Overall, our trip was fairly uneventful with only one minor embarrassing incident.  Though I am fully aware that airport food is not cheap, I ordered a panini and orange juice to find out it was going to cost me $15 - literally all the money in my wallet, including change.  After a totally polite exclamation of surprise - I said $13 for a sandwich?! the guy looks at me and says, really? is that too much? all sarcastically, implying I am a loser if I don't pay it.  So, I asked him to void the sale. He tried to tell me he couldn't and that I'd have to pay.  I guess the cogs were already turning deep inside the specialty sandwich factory, which to my amateur eyes just looked like the little old lady behind him had fired up the big toaster. I was like, Seriously? You can't just take 4 steps to tap her on the shoulder and say, hey Gladys, never mind on that panini? Maybe yell out, HEY, FORGET THAT PANINI? Or how about whistle to get her attention and draw your finger across your throat? As I'm trying to help him realize that he indeed can void the numbers he just punched into the cash register, T is realizing that we might walk away from the food counter with nothing, so he begins to clutch the orange juice bottle, crazed and wide eyed yelling "No Mommy, I NEED this! I WANT this juice. THIS IS MINE."   You'd never know he'd opened hundreds of dollars of gifts in the past week.  So, cue my sweat mustache, I shove cash back into my wallet, rip the OJ from T's sweaty paws, and march/run away.  Could have been worse.

A guide to holiday travel, with kids

Beware! If you are traveling by plane for the holidays and you are one of the few who won't have children in tow, consider this fair warning. Because there will be many of us - MANY of us - sitting behind you on the plane, kicking your seat.  In fact, most of the moms in my playgroup today said they will be flying somewhere this week, so I'm guessing that every plane will be filled to the brim with wee ones, screaming, crying, flailing, and whining.  Part of me feels bad for those of you who hate traveling near children.  The other part of me laughs at you.

Look, I used to be one of you. I once preferred to sit next to someone with clean underpants (actually still my first choice).  I'd have rather not be jostled by anything else than turbulence.  However, being heartily equipped with empathy, I usually felt bad for the poor parents with the kid throwing themselves on the floor in a tantrum and always felt awful for the little infant who cried at take off because her little ears hurt.  I never understood how an old grandma could huff and puff and roll her eyes as if the crying was impossibly interrupting her SkyMall reading. Or why the guy in front of me thought it was a good idea to tell the guy behind me that he better shut his kids up...or else.  That resulted in fisticuffs over my head, which scarred me for a long time. I swore I'd never fly with kids for fear of bodily harm.

Let me also add that those of us flying with kids do not want to be flying with kids. Air travel with children is one of the most stressful things I have ever done.  I once flew alone with both boys, 9 months and 3 yrs, from VA to CA with a layover in TX.  You do not. know. stress. until you have made this trip. I was drenched in sweat for 12 hours straight as I tried to not lose my children. THAT was my goal. Not to make sure others had a pleasant trip, but to make sure I arrived from point A to point B with the same number of bodies - alive- that I left with.

Oh, you curmudgeons might say "Well, why don't you stay home?" or "Learn to control your kids in public!"  But I don't care.  I want to be with my family for Christmas and my money is as good as yours.  And trust me, I do try to control my kids in most instances, but at 30,000 miles above sea level all control is out the window (hopefully not literally -har har)  I cannot make my 16 month old sit completely still.  I can only try so many times to get my 4 year olds finger out of his nose and to stop screaming about wanting more M&Ms, but I have to pick my battles.  And to me, boogers are not worth it.

So don't turn around and give me a rude look every time my kid makes a sound or jumps around due to his sugar high.  That's the nature of air travel.  I suggest you bring your earphones and jack your Ipod up as high as it can go, have cash on hand to purchase mini bottles of alcohol, and remember that your flight will be over in just a couple hours (unless we sit on the runway for hours).  That's my plan too.