clickmom

See Ya, NaBlowingInTheWind

I have this odd feeling thinking about how it is the last night of NaNaRowRowRowYourBoat (gently down the stream). I did it! I blogged every night (or day) and sometimes even more than once a day. There was no back dating for me, I even blogged on vacation, and I never whimped out with a two sentence post, or someone else's quote (and that plagarism doesn't count for me because I posted multiple times that day!!) and I am a proud blogger right now. Usually I post almost every day so I entered this feeling just a bit cocky, and thinking how easy and natural it would be for me to just go ahead and post every day. I was surprised early on to find myself feeling a bit pressured. I had a couple of panic attacks when I couldn't remember if I had posted that great thought I had had or if I had just thought about posting it. But, damn I can't tell you how glad I am that it is over, no more compulsory blogging, and I can just go back to posting because I think someone out there will get a kick out of what I have to say.

Adios, NaBloPoPoMe.
(I almost got it right!)

PS I really want to win a prize.
No, I mean REALLY want to win a prize.
Like in a sick way.
Like when I think I am going to win the lottery week after week after week.
And wonder how I'll spend that money.
But check out my last post, you know I am hiring a maid!
Y'know, when I do finally win.
The lottery.
Only now the odds are better, and I want it so bad.
I even know which prize I want to win.
But it's a secret.
Shhhh.

a really messy peek

Okay, it is put your money where your mouth is time, and since you asked, I shall deliver. First Danelle (and dink(y) too) wanted to see a photo of me and the husband and I decided on TWO photos, you lucky readers. One is us on the boat in Alaska, please note here that in a successful attempt not to freeze to death I am wearing every sweater/fleece I own under that windbreaker, also, you should know that I am kind of a tall gal, the husband is not lacking in the height department either. When my boys say "My Dad is bigger than your Dad", you can pretty much rest assured he is. The second is a photo that I took of us at a Yankees game last spring. What I love about the second photo is how gorgeous my hair looks, and especially how none of my gray is showing (ok, there is one short one but I won't tell you where it is) and ho wmy hair ever so thoughtfully curled under my good chin at the exact right angle to camoflauge my other less invited chin. Don't I have nice hair? At Thanksgiving grandma said it was bland, so I am all hung up now. (Not really) Also, I really love this photo because my face looks pretty thin (for me), this right before I fell off the diet wagon, so it is a good as it got. Oh, yeah, my betrothed is in that photo too, right, I remember him.

Danelle also thought it would be nice to see my closet. Funny thing about my closet, it kind of represents my mental state. ahem. You must know that during the holiday I did every thing I could to keep my mother from going upstairs and seeing the condition of my closet. Do not judge me internet, I think I may need professional need help.

And to show you that opposites do attract and that my marriage is proof of opposites attracting, here is the husbands closet:

I have to apologize to dink(y) because I had every intention of taking a photo of the husband's wallet to represent what I like about him (and this would make him so proud, which is really why I was going to do it) but he is working his butt off this week and we have pretty much not seen each other except for a few minutes in the morning when I am too crazed and yelling "Put on your socks! Where is your homework?" to stop and take a photo.

Which is nice, but really, who needs order when you can have a mural of Evan's first art on your closet wall.

Jodie wanted to see my favorite place to blog, and much like my closet, the blogging area is also representative of the state of my mind, which is obviously somewhat chaotic, kind of disorderly, but you know, loveable and cute all the same. I have two places to blog, one is a delicate ready to die lap top which is really buried in bits of paper and other stuff down stairs and the other is a real computer up stairs, which is in my studio and is supposed to be my little private haven away from it all, except I have never spent any significant chunk of time away from it all, and pretty much Matt gets to use my studio when he needs some private time away from his brothers. Still, I was sitting in the studio today and so you get to see the studio view. I'll have you know that this photo was taken while I was on hold with AppleCare right before I realized that the reason why I couldn't get my new camera to down load was because I plugged in the video camera instead of the new point and shoot. Ooops.

Oh, I almost forgot to show you the backseat of my vehicle. I have to be honest here, normally you can shovel the garbage out of the back seat of my vehicle. I am the mom yelling "Don't kick anything out of the car!" every morning when the kids jump out at school, except for exactly three weeks a year, and those three weeks are the four days that my mom is visiting and the three days afterwards which happens about three times a year. The day before she arrives, I usually grab a couple of hefty bags, empty out the car, go to the swanky car wash where they wash and vacuum the car, and get pulled over by the owners for that extra vacuuming they do for the real slobs who can't be vacuumed out in the 90 seconds that the car is on the drive through line for. So Mom was just here and the back seat has not really ... ripened yet. Yup, that's me, car pig, so here is the infrequently clean version of our trusty transportation, Sylvia. (Please note the blue light saber on the floor because heaven forbid a boy is caught without his light saber)

The husband thinks I should show you what happens when I overestimate Sylvia's turning ratio. He is practicing being a supportive husband, but hasn't gotten the hang of it yet, so since I don't actually care about being a girl who bangs into steel beams disguised as cushiony poles with her massive vehicle of destruction that lost this battle, here is what I did to Sylvia (And the car wash guys put the duct tape on there as if it had some magical running board restoring car washing powers or something):

And that is that!

Don't hate me cause I was tagged

Motherbunny tagged me to do tell you six weird things about myself. Since I try so hard not to be as weird as I fear I might be this was quite a challenge for me. I had to poll the kids and also little sister, who I was sure could list 60 weird things about me, until I recognized that some of the things I intuitively know are freaky she shares with me, so I blame the genetic pool. For example, I am a bit compulsive about cutting my toenails. I can't stand to have little white strips on my toes, and clip them right down to the quick. I recently found out that little sister does the same thing but she says it isn't weird because long toe nails are gross. See what I mean?

Here we go now:
SIX WEIRD THINGS ABOUT ME:

1. I know the lyrics to every top 40 song written in the first 35 years of my life. Some people find this annoying since I also feel the need to sing the lyrics of every top 40 song written in the first 35 years of my life out loud. I sing in the grocery store, department stores, the car, Starbucks, anywhere there is music. I am the one freshly bathed person you absolutely do not want to be stuck in the elevator with.

2. My food issues make me weird. I am already gluten (all grains including the tasty and delicious WHEAT!) free and I just found out I am also sensitive to TURNIPS, BEETS, FLAX SEEDS and MUSHROOMS. Do not ever even think of asking me over for dinner. I will make you cry.

3. I hate getting flowers 99% of the time. Let me explain. 99% of the time I am getting flowers because the husband has done something incredibly offensive to me. Why would I want a reminder of that sitting on my kitchen counter? Especially a reminder that I am supposed to add fresh water to every day, and wipe up whatever falls off of it every day? It's just more cleaning in my life. Also, I happen to think that flowers don't count if you call the florist from your desk at work and ask them to send over a bouquet and charge your account. Flowers only count, in my book, if you pick them out yourself, and consciously choose ones you think the person you are giving flowers to will like and hand them to the person. My first love (who eventually dumped me, by the way) used to bring me a little bouquet of flowers every Friday on his way home from work and I never recognized this as anything special until I told the girls I worked with and they were jealous.

3. I have every herb and spice ever dried and put into a jar in my very large spice drawer.

4. If I talk to someone who has an accent it takes me about 5 minutes to adopt their accent and then they look at me kinda weird and say things like "I didn't know you're hispanic."

5. One from little sister-I usually do dishes once a day, in the morning, and don't mind at all going to bed with a sink full of dirty dinner dishes.

6. Another one is from little sister- If I sweat at all the little fuzzy hairs around the back of my neck curl up into these tight frizzy balls of curled up hair while the rest of my completely straight hair remains straight and silky. (It's like having two heads of hair in one!)

OK, so now I am supposed to tag 6 other bloggers. I'll tag some who I know and some who AI have been stalking for a while who have likely never even heard of me. I tag Danelle, Heather, (not that Heather, jeez, give me some credit) Abigail, Kelly Well, Schnozzfest, and Losing True.

And I left a comment on all 6 blogs, (cause it was in the rules that I had to) begging (pleading, on my knees) for them to play along. But you know, I say, if you want to play along, then play along wether you are tagged or not. Go ahead, you know you want to!

my little corner of plagarism

Stolen from Danelle:

“Ask me to take a picture of any aspect of my life that you’re interested in/curious about - it can be anything from the house I live in, where I work, the backseat of my car or my favorite shoes..anything!

Leave your choice here as a comment, and I will reciprocate by taking the pictures and posting them in an entry as a reply to your request. That way you get to know a little bit about my life.”

I will post the requested pictures on Thursday, the last day of NaBloPoMo.

(You have to ask me by noon Thursday to get in though)

does what ever a spider can

In the car this morning taking every one to school, Matt began to speak rather openly about being on the Autism spectrum. Evan asked if that meant that Matt had learning problems. "No," I answered "for some kids it means that, but for Matt it means that he has trouble tuning anything out. When we are walking around all day we don't realize that there are many things we don't even notice, but for Matt it is different. He sees, feels, and hears everything around him, that is why sometimes crowded places get overwhelming for him." Evan, completely enchanted and with big saucer eyes says "Cooooool, spider senses!"

when the party is over

Evan and Josh need to be picked up from school at the end of the day minutes apart. Since Josh's school is within walking distance and Evan needs a lift, I often ask Matt to walk over and get Josh while I drive over to get Evan. Josh loves this arrangement since it means that Matt, who is way more playful with Josh than I am, isn't rushing off to get anyone and can linger at the playground. Like flies to honey young children are incredibly attracted to Matt, who being the sweet and gentle and the incredibly imaginative and caring young man that he is, often manages to entertain entire gaggles of young men while their mothers stand on the side lines chatting. Moms love Matt.

Yesterday was one of those days that Matt picked up Josh for me, and also gave him some after school playground time. He was playing some sort of Star Wars game with the 5 or so kids Josh knows, and eventually ended up on the ground pretending his legs had been light sabered off by the stick/light sabers the youngsters were wielding. The young boys surrounded Matt, still gripping their stick/light sabers, and stood for a moment regarding an imaginary wounded and legless Matt lying on the ground. Matt looked up at the boys with pleading eyes, hoping for a token offer of assistance to his now maimed character. One child reached out his stick/light saber and began to silently poke Matt and then uttered a single word which indicated to my very sensible son it was time to go home. Matt jumped up, brushed himself off, and called the game over. Matt tells me the stick happy boy said "Pinata" and that was the end of that.

PS Matt didn't like my second hand version of the story so he wrote his own. His is called: The Story of What Actually Happened With The Sticks And The Munchkins, and it goes like this:

"Has all munchkin land gone mad?!" I shouted, as the children who still remembered me as a battery-operated tree began to gnaw furiously at my ankles. I sprinted off, with many pleas to join their munchkin rebellion, but they would always change views to whatever opposed my latest offer. I reached behind me to pick up a stick, and turned around to see about three young men, my brother included, holding sticks longer in length than mine, grinning wickedly. I ran like the dickens, but as I ran only more and more mad munchkins began to appear from behind the bushes and metal bars of the playground. I was running as fast as I could, when one of them cut my legs off, so to be fair I fell to the ground and pleaded for mercy like the cowardly battery tree I was. They began to prod me, and their leader shouted, "PINATA!" I FIRMLY drew the line, but it took some time to get them to stop tapping me into submission with their branches.

Two posts in one - both of which include the word DOG

1. In the DOG HOUSE

It was a hectic and busy weekend. It was nice to get my house back, and also, the peace and relative quiet. At least the amount of three boys quiet that I call quiet. I have long since forgotten what actual reality quiet is. Sunday morning, my first morning of relative solitude, the husband enters the shower, just as I am finishing up with a nice back scalding, burn the holiday off moment of attempted relaxation. He sits down on the little bench and timidly says that he mentioned me during a discussion with my parents. This is bad, I feel my heart begin to race and stare silently at the husband while secretly beginning to catalog every house hold implement we own that can be used to kill. He then proceeds to tell me that he informed my parents that I had gambling issues because of some family vacations to Las Vegas my family took when I was about 9. I begin to scream. What man who wants to live tells his in laws something like this? Issues?!?! I have issues?!?! You know where I want to shove my issues?!?! Especially when I do NOT have "gambling issues"? I just have no interest in it. Naturally, I yelled at the husband, I stomped my feet, I threw my arms around, (they may have gently brushed up against him) I fled the bathroom and called the parents and left a less than calm message on their answering machine, completely disrespecting the husband and letting them know that under no circumstance should they listen to anything that my clueless betrothed manufactured in his emotionally incompetent brain.

Then I brought Matt to Boops' to hang out with her kid, and vented to Boops and her boyfriend who talked me out of cutting the husband's brake wires before sending him on a down hill errand. They explained to me that this may have been some kind of bizarre attempt at defending me to my parents. The hilarity of the husband defending me by creating new reasons for my parents to believe I am the psycho they already think I am broke the tension of the situation and enabled me to turn off the steam that had been coming out of my ears and come home ignoring the knife drawer. No steam, but still pissed.

2. DOG STENCH

In the meantime, I had let the Devil Dog come with me when I dropped off Matt. She runs with Boops' dog, and being fairly confident that Devil Dog wouldn't run away or anything (but knowing that if she did run away I would certainly be able to cope with the lack of guilt and would most likely pretend not to know her if who ever found her managed to hunt me down in some kind of futile attempt in making me take her back) I let the devil hang out outside while I moaned and bitched away inside. When the devil dog finally did come in, Boops and her boyfriend said she smelled, you must know that I find a smelly dog to be terribly embarrassing, so I said that she always smelled weird when she came back from the dog sitter (see just blame the dog sitter!) and that she had been there while grandma was at my house over the holidays. Then I got close to devil dog, and OMG it was the stench of rotting animal corpse, known well to this dog loving ex-city dweller with a blatant disregard for authority as well as leash laws. I reluctantly brought the devil home, her fragrance was overwhelming. First thing this morning I brought her (technically I dragged her) in to be groomed, which was interesting, since the last time she was groomed was up in utopia, and if I have any issues in my life, it might just be with groomers.

I threw away the devil's regular collar, since there was a death toll smear of putrid on it, and I had already washed her irreplaceable (at least not instantly replaceable) electric fence collar with two different kind of soaps to combat the deeply embedded scent of death. For the record, all natural lavender hand soap does nothing to abate the stench of cadaver. Matt was helpful though, thinking that me washing an electronic collar might just be something to see. I saw him grinning at he prospect of fried mother. He even laughed a little under his breath.

I have taken before and after photos, (new camera to replace old faithful) if I could figure out how to download them, you would see the devil really needed the grooming, her ear hair was very early 80's David Lee Roth and her toe bushes were down right Cro-Magnon dog, not the overpriced 21st century high strung pure bred that she purports to be.

3. back to the DOG HOUSE

When my mother finally got hold of me I found out that the husband told her I had ABANDONMENT ISSUES because she had left me and little sister in day care during the world's most boring Vegas vacation ever when I was 9 years old.

All in the name of showing support for your spouse.

bummer posting cause I have to

*sigh*

This was a long weekend, and if I could I would freeze the world and spend a whole delicious day lying around in my pajamas not speaking a word to anyone. But I can't. Bummer.

I think I was still on the adrenaline rush of holiday prep/relatives/house guests right up until I dropped the folks off at the airport yesterday (see Evan's parting comments below) because the husband took Evan and Matt to the movies around 6 and I sat down to watch Wallace and Grommit with Josh, and fell into a deep satisfying coma like sleep, which naturally means that I was up eyes wide open until 1:30 this morning tossing and turning in bed. Naturally I could fall asleep now, at 5pm Sunday evening, when it is already pitch black outside, on the worst night of the week, since it means back to the grind tomorrow. (You know the grind, it means nagging the kids. Nag to get ready to go, nag to eat, nag for home work, nag to bathe, nag nag nag)

I am also not looking forward to tomorrow since I found out last week that there was finally an indication of what is wrong with me from one of the tests. It seems I absorbed some things were not supposed to be absorbable, and this means that there are some blockers missing between the cell walls of my intestines. This condition comes about from a variety of situations, all of which I can own up to, and causes a person to become toxic since things that shouldn't pass into my blood stream are passing right in. All my symptoms except for the stabbing abdominal pains can be attributed to this condition but worst of all, it's not something that is generally accepted by western medicine practitioners. The internist I chose is more open minded than most, and he ordered some less than accepted by western medicine tests, which heralded the alarming results.

Dr. Mensch is going to chat with my chiro about some kinesiology and they are going to come up with a plan for me together which I am sure involves major diet restrictions, possibly food/meal substitutes for a while, taking large amounts of friendly bacteria, and another step or two I was too shocked to remember, and am too tired to recall. There will be major changes for me and hopefully major recovery, I am just not looking forward to the process. I can't even tell you how much weight I have gained back, and how miserable that makes me feel. I haven't had any exercise at all in over a month, and need to get moving again. I don't want to sit around getting fatter and weaker until I end up in the same shape I was in before the whole get back into shape lifestyle change. Every time I think that maybe I'll go back to the gym and ease myself into something something happens that tells me I am still not well. If I am lucky, the count down to health begins tomorrow.

what not to say part two

Evan and I dropped my parents off at the airport today. We hugged and kissed, said our goodbyes wished them a safe journey back to Florida, and pulled out to begin our own journey home. No sooner did I leave the terminal did my cell phone ring. It was my mom, she had forgotten the post Thanksgiving obligatory bag of turkey sandwiches for the plane ride home in the back seat of my truck. I told her not to worry, we would circle around and get her those sandwiches. That is what we did, as we approached the terminal for the second time in ten minutes I spotted my mom and her old lady bleached teased yellow fuzz hair loitering in the departures area awaiting her bag of delicacies, I lowered Evan's window so that he could perform the excess poultry hand off. Mom reached out her arm, Evan held the food filled plastic grocery bag out his window and shouted just loud enough for every one with in 50 yards to hear "Here's your weed. Where's my money?"

man day

Today I told the husband and boys they were going to have a guy day while I had my nails done with my mom and grandmother. It took Matt and the husband about 40 seconds to decide what they needed to do on a guys day. Manly activities under consideration included farting, spitting and peeing on a tree. I reminded them to bring along the bongos.