I Saw a Werewolf Drinking a Pina Colada

::inhale::

The pumpkins are set out.


But the carve-able pumpkins aren't carved yet.

The allergen-free pumpkin chocolate chip muffins are ready.


But Griffin's school party isn't for an hour.

The tricks and treats are on the table.


But they aren't in goodie bags yet.

The house is decorated.




But the Lego jack o'lantern isn't put together yet.

The kids are ready to go trick-or-treating tonight.


But Darwin refuses to wear a costume.

::exhale::

And I Don't Know No Cool Lines

"Dar, let's change your diaper before we go get Griff from school."

"O-tay, Mommy."

"Oh. Darwin. Why didn't you tell me you have a great, big poop in your diaper?"

"Those are nice curtains."

"Your poop, Darwin! Your poop!"

"Those are nice, pretty curtains you make Mommy. Pretty, pretty curtains!"

Make-a One Man Weep, Make Another Man Sing

We didn't accomplish much of anything this weekend. But you know what? Sometimes you need a weekend to have some personal bonding time with the couch.


I did mange to stop at the music store and get some sheet music. Bet you can't guess which one I'm working on.

And I'm convinced the cheat sheet will enable the children to learn the keys with its magical powers of osmosis.


I also received my Halloween swap from Tamy. Holy smokes, that lady is crazy (in the good way, of course). Besides the pumpkin, spider wreath, candle and gravestone she also sent a witchy stalking (how bad is it that in order to remember to spell "witch," I first have to spell "bitch"?), faux-candies, treat baggies, paper skeletons, ribbon, miniature pumpkins and glow rings. Seriously, amazing.

Oh, to have more personal bonding time with the couch.

I'd Love to be the One to Disappoint You When I Don't Fall Down

I just got home from a torturous Parent-Teacher Conference.

What should have taken 20 minutes lasted over an hour and half.

So... you want an update of how things are going with Griffin and our school district?

They can suck my dick. That's how it's going.

Griffin's "permanent" Kindergarten teacher says she likes him. And that's where the compliments began and ended.

It seems that everyfuckingthing is a problem. He doesn't have good fine motor skills. Doesn't sit in his chair. Tattle-tales. Holds his pencil improperly. Basically, he's such a fucking failure, he might as well drop out of school now and I should set him up with his own apartment in the basement and hand him a pile of pot.

Because, you know, he's a total fuck-up.

Argh.

Not to live in a make-believe world or anything, but isn't the point of Kindergarten to teach kids the basics like standing in line and getting use to social structure and, oh, I don't know, maybe have some fucking fun?

Not throw a damn hissy fit because he's not reading, not have your eyes roll into the back of your head when he can't cut with scissors perfectly smoothly?

Oh -- and my absolute favorite part: bitch, bitch, bitch about his behaviors and then have the audacity to tell me my child does not have Sensory Integration Disorder.

Hey, you dumbfuck -- all that shit you just described? SENSORY INTEGRATION DISORDER.

Because, yeah, sure. I'm gonna believe a Kindergarten teacher who's known my son for less than three weeks instead of the Occupational Therapists I've been taking him to for over two years.

Yeah, lady. You're totally right.

So basically, it was a really shitty hour and a half. Really shitty.

But we left with what should be an understanding that she needs to keep me informed and in return I'll work with Griffin on the eight pounds of paper I carried home.


Don't get me wrong -- I have a large respect for school. I love school, if someone ever wanted to finance me and let me learn forever I would.

But in that same respect, school needs to have respect for its students and not have a heart attack when a five year old doesn't make his art like the sample.

It's fucking art for crying outloud. Art.

And some children progress in different areas at a different rate. Don't put me down because my five year old can tell you the difference between botany and physics even though he can't sound out words yet.

We're raising children, not fucking robots.

Celebrate Good Times, Come On!

"Aaron? You need to get all the stuff out of the back of the van."

"Okay."

" Soon."

"Okay."

"Like, now."

"O-kay."

"What are you doing on the computer?"

"Looking stuff up."

"What's so damn important you aren't getting up?"

"Stuff."

"What stuff?"

::sigh::

"What stuff?"

"Pinworms."

"Does your butt hole itch?"

"YES, as a matter of fact it does."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Have you been inspecting your poop?"

"As well as I possibly could."

"And you didn't notice any?"

"Not yet."

"So I guess I need to inspect your butt hole?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Dude. We're married. Wouldn't you rather have me inspect your butt hole? Who else are you gonna ask to look up in there?"

"Eeeehhhhh... I don't want to discuss it."

"It's physically impossible for you to look up there yourself."

"I know."

"And do you really want to make a doctor's appointment, pay a twenty dollar copay and have him look up there when I can do it myself?"

"Do you really want to look at my butt hole?"

"NOT PARTICULARLY. But you know, I took vows and shit. It's like my job. I think. Isn't it?"

"I don't remember a vow about promising to look at one another's itchy ass."

"Yeah, well, me neither but somone's gotta look at it. Would you rather someone else do it? Who would you ask?"

"Good point."

So... no appearance of a pinworm. But apparently we need to do the scotch tape test and put it under a microscope. Which means we need a microscope.

We need a super-awesome nerdy microscope.

And I really, really need for my husband to not have pinworms. That shit is gross.

If he has it, he got it from his great big business trip this summer.

And that's just super.

No Need to Whine Boy, Like a Wind Up Toy You Stutter at My Feet

Geesh.

screaming children

Yep. That's a really good summary of my life today.

The boys had dental appointments. Amazingly, no one warned me that taking children to the dentist would make me want to jump off a cliff and slash my wrists while falling just to ensure a good deadly death.

Don't get me wrong: I love being a mom. And I love my kids.

But damn it. Sometimes it's just a little much. Can I get a "fuck yeah!"?

Ah Ooooh, Got You Where I Want You (Yeah)

An unexpected thrifting find on Friday caused havoc in our lives this weekend.


Amazing how bringing in a piano (purchased for $100 - with bench) completely turns a house inside out.

Everytime You Go Away, You Take a Piece of Me With You

Aaron called ten minutes ago to say he's got a flight at 7:10 tonight for an emergency business trip.

Well. That's just super.

We're looking at Tuesday? Wednesday? Thursday? Seventeen years? Before he'll come home.

Gah.

So yeah. This little bit of news has pretty much wiped my brain clear of anything else to say.

Oh hey, I do have one more thing to say. Especially since this post is pretty much a bust anyway. Gah.

So, opinions from you all would be very nice.

My recipe site is pretty much a bust. This is mainly caused by the fact that I'm an extreme lazy ass and WordPress royally pisses me off. I absolutely cannot get it to do what I want it to do easily and basic life functions - taking care of the kids, laundry, working, freelance writing, gardening, picking underwear out of my butt - has just made it so adding the task of figuring out WordPress is just too damn much.

So, my question to you all is -- should I start a new (free!) (easy!) blog (here on blogspot) (remember! I'm lazy) for talking about food allergies in detail, about how we cope with the food allergies in detail, do food reviews in detail and post seriously easy, yummy recipes in detail (and yo, I've got the best name for it already: SHUT UP AND EAT).

OR

Should I just post all that stuff here?

Hmmmmm... what do you all say?

I Know I've Started to Think

So I've gotten an assload of inquiries about the bones and glitter. I got the plastic bones set and glitter set (because, you know, they had to be assholes and package them separately) at Michael's from the Martha Stewart craft line with the rest of her Halloween crafts. I got both of my sets 50% off because I just can't buy her shit full price.

Don't get me wrong, Martha's shit is awesome. It's just fucking expensive.

The colors in my glitter package are: heliodor (dark green), golden beryl (light green) and yellow gold (um... gold?). They are in super spiffy glass jars and the jars are still REALLY full after my glitter extravaganza that caused Aaron to have a nervous tick and tears in his eyes.

I also got some questions about that super rockin' bird fabric (my words, not yours; but I do think that was your point). I got my first yard of it at Sarah's in Lawrence, Kansas, whilst visiting my friend who needs a sitter so she and I can have another playdate sans the kids. We like to go to Sarah's and talk to the actual Sarah and give her lists of things we want her to order while we molest her fabric. See? Fun times for everyone.

It took a lot of searching, but I did find some more of that print here. Have at it ladies, I already placed my order.

And for the record: plastic reindeer are on my shopping list. Thanks for the idea!

It's Been a Long Day, Always, Ain't That Right?

Believe it or not, I have been crafting a little lately...


It all started when I made this adorable pillow for my very good friend's birthday. And duh, I wanted to keep it for myself. But didn't. Because I'm apparently stupid.

I have projects lined up in my head, if only working on them in my head equated to actually working on them. Dude. That would be so sweet.

And I've found a new obsession...


Glitter.

Oh. My. God. The glitter. I'm running around trying to find more things that need glitter applied. Want something glittered? Send it to me, I'll get it done real quick.

And I've Been Waiting Such a Long Time for Today

Pumpkin Patch Day is my favorite-ist day of the year.

No cooking is involved, no presents to buy and the weather is always perfect.

After HUGE thundershowers all day Saturday, we made our annual pilgrimage to the patch, about 40 minutes away.


Yes, as a matter of fact: this is the best I do at chronicalling the children's growth. Don't fucking judge me.


(Pssstt... wanna know a secret? Our mommy makes us have our pictures taken next to these damn pumpkins every damn year and every damn year we throw a damn hissy fit but she doesn't get the damn memo.)


The hay maze was Griffin's favorite this year.


"This is my bay-bee pumpkin."

"But Darwin, it's rotten. Don't you want another pumpkin?"

"No! This is my bay-bee. Mine."


See? Evidence of the rain.


For some reason, this didn't come home with us. Where the fuck did it go?


My favorite this year.


Thank goodness for tractor-pulled hay rides.


An even 100 pounds of pumpkins came home with us.

Now to figure out how they fuck they should be arranged.

We All Need the Clowns to Make Us Smile

So, just in case? You live under a rock? Or in Kansas? Today is Blog Action Day.

Kinda like an internet time-out, a time to point fingers at one another and focus on how we're all fucking up the Earth.

Which, okay, we are.

There are so many ways we are ruining the environment -- each and every one of through action and inaction.

And there's so much room for improvement. Honestly, everyone I know is working to improve the environment. We may not through free hugs and radical dancing, but we are doing.

It's not all that damn difficult to make small changes - as light bulbs burn out, replace them with those high efficient wiggly bulbs (yes, I believe that is what they are called on their labels, thank you very much); choose to purchase locally-grown produce, meat, dairy and eggs when available.

And hey, I've been going out of my way to avoid purchasing our favorite apples grown in New Zealand and choosing instead to purchase Washington state grown apples. It's not much, but it's a start.

One of the biggest (and most productive) changes we made was to no longer use any anything on our garden and lawn and to purchase as much organically grown food as possible.

Yes, it's a hell of a lot more difficult to walk around the garden and pull (or dig) weeds out by hand, to watch a fungus grow on a rosebush, but it's also so much better for all of us. The amount of birds, rabbits and butterflies have significantly raised in our yard and we plant plants for them as well (although it would be nice if you'd lay off my fucking tulips). Our grass has continued to grow despite six treatments of shit and without additional watering.

We've done other things to help out the environment and we want to continue to do more.

I'll be the first to admit it's kinda difficult breaking away with the Americanism of a disposable lifestyle and easily throwing things away without thinking first. But we're really working on it.

She Doesn't Like to Choose

CBS is really kissing my ass, trying to make up for canceling The Class in May.

(Which? Fuck you CBS. I love that show. Richie and I were gonna run away together and make smart babies who didn't have any food allergies.)

A couple of weeks ago they premiered The Big Bang Theory.

So basically they traded my one nerd for four. ::drool::



The best part of the show, perhaps, is of all our friends it reminds us of.



I love the nerdiness. It makes me drool.

But what surprises me about the show is how the nerdy boys do not make Penny feel like she's an outcast. Because anyone within the nerdy clique, okay -- on the fringes of the nerdy clique -- know that nerds are just as bad at shunning non-nerds and non-nerds are at shunning nerds.

I know this first hand.

Quite a few years ago (when I was still at KU -- pre-marriage, pre-children; hell, pre-engaged) Aaron and I went to Boston for spring break to go check out MIT.

(Yes, DUH, my husband is a nerd. We were discussing him going to MIT to get his Ph.D. in Artificial Intelligence -- he was accepted and everything.)

A friend of Aaron's came up from New York and arranged a big meet and greet at a bar in Boston. It was me and about 15 nerderific men. It ROCKED.

They talked String Theory. They talked Y2K. They talked electronics, gaming and gizmos. It was like I had died and gone to Nerd Heaven.

After a (long) while, one of them asked what I did. I replied, "Oh, I'm a student at the University of Kansas."

"What's your major?"

"Advertising."

"Huh?"

"Advertising. Through the Journalism school."

"Really? I didn't know people went to college to do that."

And then I had to give them a lecture about how advertising works. They had no concept. Then their eyes glazed over with boredom.

Do you know what that feels like? The ability to bore a nerd?

IT'S THE BESTEST DAMN FEELING IN THE UNIVERSE.

All 26 of them.

Shining Like a Work of Art

Autumn has officially arrived in Kansas. We celebrated by meeting some of our favorite friends at the park.




It's too nice to be stuck indoors today.

The Mist Across the Window Hides the Lines, But Nothing Hides the Color of the Lights That Shines

Today Griffin randomly invited a classmate over for a playdate and I let it happen.

Now, this may sound a wee bit bad, but I shouldn't have let that happen.

You see, Griffin has these grandiose ideas of huge playdates and parties. And when he invites kids over without asking permission first and then me allowing it to happen is usually a disaster. Especially when it's someone I barely know and I haven't had a chance to put a fresh coat of white paint on the ceilings.

But I digress: the playdate went well. And I'm convinced my freak-out and subsequent high blood pressure can count towards exercise for the day.

{I heart autumn}

{recycle}

I spent most of my morning bitching out my eating table.

Yes.

We have a love/hate relationship.

Our affair has been going on for nearly two years. My in-laws purchased our table and chairs two years this November ago after squeezing eight people around our itty bitty old table (which now makes a fabulous sewing table, thank you very much).

In any case, I love the table (and chairs) because they are cheap. And I mean CHEAP. They are Martha Stewart's Everyday Dining Table and Chairs (and OH HONEY, I got mine 30% off the price and the original prices were way below what they are now). I love the cottage-y/farmhouse feel of them. The chairs had a bad paint job and just figured, hey it looks worn already, awesome (after all, I am the girl who is tickled pink due to our floorboards peeling and exposing the old green paint underneath).

About a year ago I realized the table was oddly sticky. Like, grossly sticky. So I scratched it over and over with my fingernail. And? Blech.

Fast forward another year and honestly? I'M ABOUT TO TAKE THE TABLE OUTSIDE AND BURN THE DAMN THING.

Now, let me say: I'm a very laid back person. Okay, actually? I'm not.

But I am learning to not worry and obsess so much.

However, I just cannot seem to Let This Go, Oh My Hell.

Now, I really enjoy having a laid-back table. I think it's great. Growing up, my family had a very heavy, oak table that would get gray rings when a glass was placed on it and my dad would go apeshit. I wasn't allowed to paint or color at the table. Hell, I wasn't even allowed to do homework at the table. I never wanted a table that would make me go apeshit on my kids. Which is why it's a great table bu-u-u-u-u-u-u-ut...


I cannot get this fucker clean. Like, clean-clean. You know, PROPERLY CLEAN.

(I would like to say I increased the lights and darks to make it more noticeable; it doesn't look that bad in real life, but it looks a thousand times worse in my mind.)

I think what's happened, is over the course of that first year we'd spray the table with an soapy spray, wipe and go. I'm pretty sure it's a buildup of soap, dirt and skin cells and has make the table darker, slighty sticky and obviously gross.

Having the table look like this isn't good for my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Unless you're my kids. Then you're getting away with all sorts of shit while Mommy screams at the table.

I've tried the magic erasers (they work a little bit, but take a lot of elbow grease. also? they burn the shit out of my hands), goo gone (didn't do anything but make my house smell like oranges) (mmmmmm, oranges) and a wide variety of cleaners (which, guess what -- didn't do shit to help).

The only thing I've found that remotely helps is Windex Wipes. Not spray Windex and a paper towel, oh no. They have to be the Wipes.

If I rub-rub-rub-rub and curse and use five wipes and throw out my back, I can get a slight sparkley-white strip in the midst of dingy part of the table.

So my question to you, my dear internet friends, is what the fuck should I do?

I realize that once I get the table adequately uniform white, I'm gonna polyurethane the shit out of the table.

But how do I get it clean? Continue with the Windex Wipes? Lightly sand it and put a top coat of paint to match (in the hopes that it Actually Will Match)? Is there some other magical alternative I haven't thought of?

Oh My Darling, Will You be Here Before I Sputter Out?

Despite my absolute acceptance that I've been on death's door ("Aaron, I love you, I'll see you in our next life, kay?" "Woman, you are fucking crazy"), I am not dead. And apparently, I will not be dying either.

Or, at least, hopefully not.

The doctor says I have the flu. Surprise, surprise.

He claims it will be another two weeks or so until I have my "energy" back.

You mean, the "energy" I had before kids? Or now? Because dude? THERE'S A DIFFERENCE.

And then he said it would be back to "normal." Dude, again, THERE'S A DIFFERENCE.

In any case -- THIS IS THE REASON WHY THE FLU SHOT WAS INVENTED. So you wouldn't teeter on death's door for two weeks with another two weeks of "recovery."

Which, "recovery" consists of doing something for 20 minutes and laying down for an hour because the Earth? Is spinning. Spinning-spinning-whee.

In other words? YOU ALL NEED TO GET A FLU SHOT. Seriously. FLU SHOT. Get it.

And I? Need to lay off the fucking cap locks. Damn.

Despite the lying-down-ness I've been doing, I have been doing a few other things this past week, like taking Griffin to the Occupational Therapist for a re-evaluation of his Sensory Integration Disorder (verdict: he is good, does not need therapy nor and IEP; school needs to LAY THE FUCK OFF MY CHILD, he's developing normally) (suck on that, school). We have a few hand outs of things to continue to help his fine motor skills but otherwise? MY KID ROCKS.

(Laura: the cap locks should be used sparingly. Not every other sentence.)

Additionally, I bought some Goo Gone to work it's magic on my eating table (yeah, I need to write a whole damn post about the table) (it goes something like this: bought a white table, it's stained, can't get stains off, woe is me) (there's more to it, would you like to hear about it? like, tomorrow perhaps?) and it works of the adhesive on the floor as well, so I don't have to use the toxic stuff.

Yesterday, I also managed to plant a butt load (thanks Diane!) of irises in the front yard. I made Aaron tear up the ground for me. Because? I'm weak. And sick.

And now I need to go lie down. Because all this sitting up and typing words? Is exhausting.

(GET A FLU SHOT, PEOPLE. GET A FLU SHOT!)

So I'm Just Kicking it, I'm Counting the Days, I Hardly Can Wait for Us to Hang Out

Hi!

Am not dead!

Overusing gratuitous exclamation points to sound convincing!

Going back to the doctor!

Vomiting for 48 hours is totally not cool!

But the weight loss isn't too bad!

I swear, someday I won't be sick anymore!

And I will craft again!

Really!

I swear!

Because You Have to Make This Life Liveable

Gah. I'm tired of bitching. Really, isn't everyone else tired of hearing about my flu? About the bronchitis? Seriously? Raise your hands if you're tired of the bitching.... ::counting::... see? Tired. of. the. bitching.

I'm to the point where fuck it, life goes on. Even if that means hacking up a lung and shoving it back down my throat.


Not to say I'm going to turn into Sally Fucking Sunshine but come on. Life is good, right?


It at least has potential, right?


I mean, look at all that potential.

I need to get over myself. And my flu.

When You're All Argumentative

"Hey Mommy!"

"Yes, Darwin?"

"I have two hands!"

"Great!"

"You have two hands too!"

"Yes, I do!"

"Well, I have hair on my head!"

"Yes, you do. So do I!"

"Well, I have toes!"

"Yes! You do! You have ten toes! So do I!"

"Well, I have two arms!"

"Yes! You do! So do I!"

"Well, I have ears!"

"Darwin, it's not a competition."

"Yes, it is."

"Well, I have ears too! And you know what else? I have a vagina!"

"I have a vagina too!"

"No you don't. Boys don't have a vagina."

"Oh......... well, I have a penis. AND TESTICLES."

They Don't Know Where and They Don't Know When

I have fallen so far off the earth, friends are calling to make sure I'm alive.

(Hi Kristi!)

(Hi Shawna!)

(Hi Amy!)

Geesh.

Friday morning I was officially fed up. I told Aaron I wanted to go to my alternative doctor for treatment and we kinda, sorta got into a fight. Something about me saying I was really fucking sick and him saying something about I'm nearly over it.

After he left for work, I called the real family doctor (you know, as opposed to the fake alternative family doctor) and left immediately to make the appointment.

(The alternative doctor is expensive. And 45 minutes away. I don't take the kids with me to those appointments. If I'm spending $100 on an office visit, I'm doing it ALONE. Where I can get UNDIVIDED, PERSONAL ATTENTION. Like during sex. But not the same kind of attention. Get your head out of gutter.)

So I went to the mainstream doctor. Who used words like wow and - I'm not even remotely kidding - that's gross.

Nothing makes me feel as special as the doctor telling me something about my body is gross. I just get filled with warm fuzzies. Or maybe contempt and disgust.

So, the doctor diagnosed me with the flu (duh), horribly infested lymph nodes and bronchitis. Then he spent 15 minutes trying to figure out an antibiotic he could prescribe that I'm not allergic to.

Allergies are fun.

(Haha, and you all thought I just had food allergies. That's funny.)

(You know what's not funny? Hives. And ambulance rides to the hospital. And having a "flush" which ALWAYS makes my va-jay-jay burn.)

So, yeah, hi, I'm on a new antibiotic. And the side effects are KILLER. You know, things like dizziness and seeing things and insomnia and gastrointestinal issues. Wow, drugs rock.

One more day... one more day... and then hopefully a day after that I won't be SO DAMN CRAZY FROM THE DRUGS. Seriously, is this what ecstasy feels like? How about speed? Is this what speed feels like? If I weren't so damn dizzy I might actually like it. Well, except for the GASTROINTESTINAL ISSUES.

But HEY. I had an epiphany whilst at the pharmacy waiting for mah drugz to be ready.

About six months ago, the damn dental hygienist told me to change my mouthwash. She practically beat me over the head with a two pound bottle of new mouthwash, preaching the benefits, and made me promise to switch.

Well, guess what? The new mouthwash DIDN'T BURN. And guess how fucking sick I have been in the past six months? Guess!

Well, I don't know the answer to that -- but it's certainly TOO MUCH.

While I was at the pharmacy, I ran into a long, lost lover:


And ever since my mouth has burned like hell fire. I SWEAR, I'm completely done with being sick. This is ridiculous and out of control.