Friday, July 23, 2010

Upfront warning: This post will have many more pictures than words because I am thoughtless (as in without thoughts) and lazy.

I'm so happy we seem to be able to make it to the Hemlock Fair every year.

It's been nice to see the kids grow out of their fear of rides. (Though Katie never exhibited this trait)

They all love to go on these rickety portable death traps, and I love that you pay one rate at the door (or not in our case, thanks to a very nice family friend with connections) and can ride unlimited rides.

And here at Hemlock, not only are there rides but there are plenty of farm animal competitions to entertain and educate the suburban families who live so close to cow country, but still don't really understand where milk comes from.

I love sheep.
So uncluttered with stress and worry.
So oblivious to our world's economic and sociopolitical problems. (I'm just trying to sound impressive, is sociopolitical even a word? Maybe I mean political and socioeconomic)
I like to watch them wander around their pens, bumping into each other, not even caring about the oil spill or Haiti relief.
But my favorite moment is when they open up their mouth, look up and bleat like "c'mon people, feed me!"
Or maybe it's actually "I'm bored, get me away from these stupid gawking city people so I can end world hunger."

Either way, would somebody explain this to me? Because apparently these two have decided to take take matters into their own hooves and stop the madness as Wonder Twin Powers superheroes.

As is customary every year we attend this event, we choose to go on the day there is a monsoon.

But in denial, we kept plugging through the rides and food, ignoring the ominous skies.

Ha Ha Ha! Mommy, is that a twister behind you?

Naw, that's just some black clouds and green skies and eerie silence. Now hang on to something sturdy.

Fortunately, we were already safe in a nice spacious building, eating happily when the torrential downpour hit.

And we stayed up waaay past bedtime.
But it was well worth it.

Monday, July 19, 2010

The moons and stars and constellations and universe and Elvis must have been aligned because last week, I was lucky enough to get away from disgusting children's bodily functions and visit here.
Even if ever so briefly, I had a glimpse back to the pre-children days. No feeding bottomless pits, no whining, no fighting, no noise.

Such a nice time spent with other adults. (never mind the two young'uns, they were very well behaved and more importantly, NOT MINE to worry about)


Except not so much when sharing a pull out bed with this sibling. No complaints from me though, the bruises I received for being an obnoxious little sister and not letting her get any sleep were well worth the time spent away from home.

Because all too soon, the house will sound like this again.
Though I am really excited about the baby, I'll keep this little mini vacation in the front of my memory as my go-to Calgon place of peace and tranquility.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Let me just vent a little here and sum up the past two days and explain why my boy, who is usually the one to give me the most trouble is for once, not at fault in any way and my angelic girls are responsible for my slow road to madness.

Yesterday I decided to take the kids to the beach. Just to get them out of the house while it was still only hot as opposed to sweltering. Now I love going places, but I really didn't want to do this.
Tim needed to be sleeping as his new work schedule has him working crazy hours so he was unavailable for help. Also did I mention it was hot? Not melt your face off humid, but hot.
So after what felt like an hour's worth of preparation, (pack toys, eat, potty, water bottles, sunscreen, etc... don't forget the potty part, cause that's important.) we left for the beach.
Nice shady spot, not too much seaweed, perfect.
20 minutes later, Katie ran to me grabbing her butt and saying "potty, ma ga go potty!"
I say "But you went before you left! You can't have to go! I made sure! What is it? Do you have to pee or poop?" (as if that made any real difference--I'm not sure if I have the patience or even want to teach my child how to pee in the water, but we just got there and even I wasn't ready to leave.)
She was grabbing her behind so that answer was obvious. "Are you sure? Because I made sure you already went before we left?!"
*more butt grabbing, then the smell hit and I knew it wouldn't be pretty*
At this point, I did what any normal clean sane person would scoff at but I am not normal anymore. I was alone, hot, hormonal and pregnant. I took her into the lake and washed her out a little while the happy beach goers looked on in what I am sure was utter disgust. (I like to pretend they didn't know what I was doing thanks to my swift and stealthy cleaning skills) I just did a quick once-over, and then we headed back to the van. By the time we reached the van, she had pools of poop and lake water running down her legs. Pretty. She was a trooper though and didn't even bat an eye when we got home and I wouldn't let her in the house. A quick hose down and we were ready for lunch and maybe some sprinkler time afterwards.
Doesn't she poop again in her freshly washed bathing suit during sprinkler time?!
I take Shannon and Daniel to daddy's second job to get his schedule and hopefully his pay check. (got the schedule, but due to the stupid law or something, I can't get his check for him.)
While there, Shannon complains a bit about a sore tummy. I didn't think much of it, she says that any time she has gas or is hungry or is bored.
You see where this is going. Now when I was a kid, I can't even count how many times I threw up in the car. Poor mom, she never complained and I never realized what a pain it is cleaning upholstery in a confined space.
In 95 degree and humid weather.
In the cramped backseat.
Pregnant. (ok mom wasn't ever pregnant when she had to clean up my messes but I'm still going to play that card as much as possible)
How did this kid manage to get it all over the seat, the belt, her brother's seat, the seat in front of her, the back of the seat in front of Daniel, and the doorway??
Another hose down.
And as I type this, I hear her making a noise I can only hope is because she is watching someone get kissed on tv and is embarrassed and not because she is getting sick again. Because it's the same noise. A squeaky little smushed mousy sort of a noise. And I can't tell the difference.
I don't tend to ask God for specific things like I need more spending money or please send me some babysitters stat, but this time, I'm asking. Please let me be able to go away for a couple days to the lovely cottage on the lake that I've been hoping to be able to go to. (work schedules and jury duty have made this possibility shaky and very last minute)
I promise to come back home. (maybe)

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Though you wouldn't know it from looking at the usual state of our house, I am sometimes a bit overly particular and a smidgen of a control freak when it comes to the cleanliness or even pick-upped-ness of our home. Let me stress, this place is never fully clean and I am not a germ maniac and given the choice between dusting and napping, I'll always choose a snooze. But after I have been cooped up for periods of time, I tend to get a little bonkers and maybe go a little wacky about the small stuff.

I have been known to threaten extreme consequences if I see crumbs on the floor or jelly caked on the table or "Do you have to get the play doh out today? Really? Because I just vacuumed." You'd think being from an artsy sort of background, I would be more tolerant (encouraging even) of a child's creative initiative.

Not so much really.

When the kids ask to paint or to play with the moon sand, I don't see imaginative little minds hard at work, I see crusty paint blobs on the underside of the chairs and teeny tiny bits of "sand" coating our dining room table. (that stuff is the devil's creation-nothing gets it all up except repeated contact with human limbs, like say while trying to eat a meal and you lean over to pass the potatoes and when you sit back up you realize your arm is coated in a fine layer of minuscule sand particles much like the ineffective abrasive scrub used to remove the crayon marks on your six year old's wall. Not only does the crayon not come off, but the wall is now covered in a sticky sandpaperish substance immune to water and washcloths)

I should have known better when, while down in the only place I can have a phone conversation and actually hear who I'm talking to, things got quiet upstairs. Then I heard sort of rolling /banging noises on the floor up there. "Oh, they're just playing with the trains." I thought. At least nobody's crying or anything.

My first clue should have been Katie at the bottom of the basement stairs, playing with the shop vac and clutching a wet paint roller.
"Why is this wet honey?"
"Because we ceening wif it"
"Oh, that sounds nice..."

As I reached the top of the stairs, I could hear Shannon in the living room, prancing around and singing happily. She was dusting everything with the feather duster. Which we just bought for the kids to play with anyway, so no biggie. Except that she was dusting things like the stove and the table top, and I kept imagining microscopic dust mites all over our food, but whatever.

"Wow, are you cleaning? Nice job."

Daniel was a bit more adventurous.

Nervously entering the kitchen, I saw that the floor was soaking wet. "Wha... haape..." I squeaked out and as I panned the room, I found 3 bowls full of water placed on the floor each with a disintegrated paper towel in them, a sopping wet paint roller (you know, the thick kind for textured walls?) and Daniel in the living room clutching a sad wad of saturated paper towels, wiping all the picture frames with it.

"Aren't you proud of us mommy? Can we have a dollar now? For cleaning up so well?"
"Yes kids, nice job! Wow! You guys did this all by yourself? Great!"
"Just let mommy teach you how to clean next time." I say calmly through clenched teeth with all my will power as I mop up the soggy dog/cat fur clumps on my hands and knees.
Could have been worse. At least they only used water right?

Monday, July 5, 2010

A moment of silence for the slow and (quite pain-free actually) cruel death of my blog.

That's about the only moment EVER that anyone will see all 3 kids with their mouths closed. Goonies, I mean Ultimate Cake Off must have been on.

Well, I have more important things to say, so [sing it] "Overture, curtain lights! This is it. The night of nights. And oh what heights we'll hiiit... On with the show this is it!"

When I was little, I hated the water. Swimming lessons were not helpful. Stick my head underwater? Are you kidding? Jump off the diving board into the deep shark infested end and yeah right, sure you'll catch me. I don't think so.

So when my kids hesitate around water, I don't really push too much. Unfortunately they've inherited my fear of all those unknown critters that lurk in the water (especially lake water) and they have not yet shown signs of their daddy's ease in the marine world. And he used to be one of those awful teenage swim instructors that coaxed little ones to their certain death by claiming to "catch" them after they jumped. We all know they never catch you. It's part of the "I'll just throw you in the water and THEN you'll HAVE to swim techniques. I'm not a fool. I never bought it and now my kids don't either.

This concerns me. The youngest one was the first to actually get in the eel-infested water and the first to show no hesitation about getting on one of those aqua motorcycle thingies.

There's my girl. Completely dry and very aware that the creature from the black lagoon is alive and well.

What? Now who can I count on to keep me company far far away from that awful seaweed which we all know is actually the evil spawn of the Loch Ness Monster trying to snatch ignorant yet arrogant little swimmers to the depths of the bottomless lake?

He's the man.