A Month, You Say?

Really? It's been almost a month?

...

Wow. So that... happened.
...

I don't have good excuses or flowery prose to describe all the very intense reasons I haven't had time to post lately. Someone thought I must be exaggerating the other day when I said my days are scripted down to 5 minute intervals.

I wasn't.

But today was supposed to be spent with extended family, eating the Secret Gumbo Recipe and lounging in front of the fire. Instead? OH, the universe has funny plans sometimes, and now we're snowed in. People, there are a good 10 inches of snow on the ground with more falling and no sign of let-up soon. I gave in and made belgian waffles and now the boys are snuggled up downstairs watching Frosty the Snowman on DVR. I recorded it last night.

In lieu of coherent words to string together for you, allow me to ramble like a tired hobo and share with you some of my infinite wisdom. Or, as a once and never friend once shouted at me to my dismay, 'You know a lot, but you don't know everything'.
But I do know a lot that is dubiously useful! My useless trivia - let me share it with you!

1) Clarinets. Have you ever noticed how much more adeptly they were used for comedic musical effect in the sixties? You hardly ever hear a wry clarinet solo in today's modern television and holiday specials. It's a travesty, really. (See: Frosty the Snow Man, circa 1960's)

2) Dog sweaters. You mock them until you get sucked in, and then the next thing you know you are squeezing your poor pooch into a too-small turtleneck sweater that she probably outgrew about 3 months ago just because it's adorableyou are demonically compelled she's freezing. Really.

3) This probably doesn't deserve its own number slot, but I Just realized we probably don't have enough toilet paper to make it through to the other side of this blizzard. I guess we'll start with the dog sweaters and then move on to the dogs...

4) Thankfully, we are all stocked up on sugar. HOLY DIABETES, People! I'm 10 pounds down on the yellow brick road to my pre-baby figure, and the entirety of my acquaintances are attempting to sabotage this progress with a never-ending parade of Christmas Fudge, cookies, candy canes and festively wrapped Hershey Kisses. Okay, most of those might have been intended for the children but what sort of responsible parenting would THAT be -- for me to let the kids gorge themselves sick on sugar and die of a diabetic coma? I'm self-sacrificing, really. It was just taking one for the team. Also, I might have just busted the button on my new "look - I lost 10 pounds!" pants. (I can neither confirm nor deny.) (Totally Unrelated Side Note: if you happen to see a green khaki button somewhere on my kitchen floor, please set it aside for me along with my dignity.)

5) Okay, fine. I also split open the seat of my jeans at the post office. It wasn't pretty. Thank God for hoodie sweatshirts large enough to double as impromptu butt-skirts.

6) A few weeks ago an elderly Asian neighbor was out on the corner dancing around at 8 am. In his boxers. I was ready to make a non-emergency call to the police department or stop to see if he needed help when I realized he was actually doing martial arts exercises. Man was like 70 years old, but as I got closer I realized he was ridiculously muscular and also scarily good at roundhouse and vertical kicks. And exercising at 8am in his underwear. I think that might be my favorite thing I have seen all year.

7) I don't think I really have a 7, but I was getting into the groove and trying to think of something else useless to share with you. I mean, this snow isn't letting up any time soon, and my husband keeps muttering something about "vacuum" and "laundry" like I'm supposed to be able to focus on something so mundane when we're all probably about to be marooned in our house with nothing but a frozen turkey and box of fudge for sustenance. Hrm. I wonder if the sweater should be removed before one attempts to roast a small dog. Just, you know, as a purely academic exercise....

No charge for the wisdom imparted, just maybe send some moose jerky and few handfuls of dried berries. And if you don't hear from us in a few days, we've either frozen to death in the new tundra that was our home OR we've headed for Fiji and warmer climes. But probably the first one.
Cheers, everybody!

Absence of Writer and Abs.

Wow, you guys. I am really bad at this. THIS. You know! *gestures vaguely around*

The last weeks and months have been a blur of capital BUSY. I wake up, I get the kids to school, I run around and do errands and chores and start my work day, I pick Toby up, I work all afternoon, pick Jack up from school, settle the kids in with snack, get dinner started, eat, put kids to bed, and end my evening in a vegetative state in front of the television.

Lather, rinse, repeat - 5 days a week.

And the thing is, really, truly, it's fantastic. I'm frazzled, I'm exhausted, and I'm having trouble keeping straight the day of the week or remembering when I last put on mascara... and I honestly feel like I am in my element, at last. I really do. I'm earning a paycheck and helping support my family, I have purpose every minute of my day, and despite the fact that nearly all of my favorite pasttimes have had to be put on hold for the moment, I am about 99% content. And still managing to love and smooch my charming offspring and spouse and not yell nearly as much as I usually do.

I am also 100% in need of a way to find time to update this here blog regularly, because my brain pan is getting pretty full and I really do require the exhaust valve of WRITING. Even bad writing. And technically speaking, I *could* have spent Midnight to 3am last night doing that - the writing thing - but it was otherwise earmarked for... (*looks around to be sure we are alone, then leans in and says in semi-shamed whisper*) the Twilight - New Moon movie.

THERE! I said it. Also, in case you are interested, the award for best acting officially goes to Taylor Lautner's abs because OH-EM-GEE. I think I had my first cougar moment. Seriously, thanks a lot Chris Weitz for throwing that in my face and reminding me that I am too, too old to be drooling over jail bait. JAIL. BAIT. And yes, if a 30-year-old man was drooling vocally and publically over a 17-year-old actress I would be totally disgusted and probably call him bad names. I feel the appropriate level of shame for squealing like a tween at several key (and usually shirtless) moments in the movie. And I have to live with myself now!

And yet ...still totally toying with the idea of making a cafe press shirt that says "Team Jacob....'s Abs" because HALLO 8 PACK! And while we're at it... Hallo the rest of you shirtless werewolf types! And, uh, a casual nod in the direction of Edward's shirtless torso because.. meh. Rob? Honey? We both know I've been faithfully adoring you from afar these many months... But, Sugar? I REALLY hope you did a few sit-ups between New Moon and Eclipse. Pasty White is not easy to wear well -- trust me, I'm an expert on the particular subject -- but my eyes are still kinda sore from the glare of Shapeless Shirtless Edward after basking in the glow of the Honey-Rich Buffness of the aforementioend shirtless werewolves for the other 2 hours of the film.

Also, note to self, apparently there is a very good reason I don't usually go see movies after 11pm. That is obviously prime "Crazy" time for developing inappropriate crushes on teenage movie actors and composing abstract monologues to fictional vampires with sadly non-six-packed fishbellies.

Aaaaaand... at least for now.... that's all she wrote.

The Facts of the (Married) Matter

The curse of the broken mag charger looks to be broken today, thanks to my awesome husband who is picking a new one up for me at Best Buy this afternoon. (In spite of the fact that I got a ridic speeding ticket yesterday - one which I truly didn't earn. That would make this my second bogus ticket this year, but the last one I paid because - while I was NOT doing the speed the officer stated, I knew I was speeding and I wasn't going to quibble over the difference between the 73 I was doing in a 65 and the 80 he claimed I was doing "based on his visual estimation".) (I was hoping for good karma for my honesty in paying the price for my speeding.) (My estimation of karma's fairness was highly inflated, obviously.)
So I got a ticket yesterday for going 38 in a 25, only I was not going 38 in a 25. My van won't even get UP to 38 between stop lights, which is where I was supposedly doing this mythical 38mph, and apparently karma wants to bite me where the sun don't shine because now this 2nd offense = double fines and Hooray, kids! Christmas is officially CANCELLED! OY.

*pause for deep breathing exercises*

SO! In light of the fact that I have the worst habit of falling into bad luck, and also of PMS'ing approximately 25 days out of each cycle, I figure I owe it to the HubCap to publicly thank him and maybe fill out an entry on my sad, neglected corner of the web by admitting some things I would never admit to him in person.
And with that... away we go.

5 Things I Really Hate To Admit To My Husband But Are True.

1) It doesn't really bother me when you grab my boobs while I'm washing dishes. I would have told you so sooner, but I was waiting for you to recognize that it does not, in fact, constitute actual foreplay.

2) You snore a lot less than you used to. That said? When you DO snore, it is still akin to jackhammers clearing out a lot in my skull. But still, not nearly as common an occurrence as it was a decade ago. I just like to tease you about it because it's one thing you can't prove me wrong about one way or another. (Unless you secretly set up a recording device in our bedroom, which I'm fairly certain would be grounds for divorce in any state. Plus, my brothers would woop you but good.)

3) Your butt? Still looks just as cute in those jeans. I just don't like to admit it because my own arse is officially the size of Texas. But that's petty of me, so I'm letting it go. (It helps that I finally started to lose a few baby pounds and am now merely wearing "Ridiculous Size" pants instead of "Ludicrous Size".)

4) You probably haven't noticed, but I'm working on enacting the principle that me having a bad day does not, in any way, get improved by making your day worse. I'll keep working on it, and next time you can totally have the last beer from the fridge. And I promise not to pout about it - not even a little. Also, I will try to stop hogging the remote.

5) When I said "I'm not sure how we would work it out" and "we can talk about it more later" what I really meant was "Yes, of COURSE I want to go on a free trip to Arizona with you, but I am too exhausted to work out the particulars". I was hoping you would pick up on that and take care of all the arrangements, but I ran out of things to fill out the last number on this list, so I am translating from Wife Speak for you. You're welcome.

So, Baby? Thanks (in advance) for the macbook charger that will allow me to get all caught up on the rest of my laundry list of computer chores, and let me dust the cobwebs offa this place.
**Not to mention upload the photo of me in my smokin' hot "Mominatrix" shirt from the super-hawt Kristen Chase , otherwise known as "She who makes being the mother of 3 look way sexier than it actually is".**

Cuz, Baby? You are, and shall continue to be:
the monkey to my banana
the black mask to my ninja
the peg leg to my pirate
the Orb of Inquisition to my cloak of +5 agility

You. Complete. Me. (and my laptop, Angelina, who also thanks you.)

Hallo.

Hello, internet people.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Oh. That. Yeah, I know I haven't been around lately.
No! It's not you! It's me! Totally me!

The last month has been a blur of new routines, soccer practices, cub scout meetings, neighborhood drama, birthday parties, and whathaveyou.
Basically I've been running around here like a chicken with a bad haircut, and using my new phone to do all of my internet communications. (If anyone knows how to set up blogger to work on the iphone, I can send cookies!)
I didn't realize how long it had been until I got the advertiser notice that it had been 2 weeks since I posted new content.
2 WEEKS. Let's just let that sink in for a moment, shall we? I honestly had no idea - NO. IDEA.
So here we are and I feel like I should offer you a cup of coffee and a danish, and we can sit and kvetch for a bit, except that I really don't have the time this morning.
Tobin is now in preschool 5 mornings a week which is.. yeah, I can't really talk about that, but he is. He's 4 now! And everything he does comes complete with action poses and sound effects and Lots! Of! Exclamation! Points! Everything he does is the MOST - EVER! (Mom! I just jumped the most highest jump ever! Off of the bathroom counter!)
Jack is kicking first grade's arse. He got straight A's on his first ever "letter grade" report card. I just sprouted 3 new gray hairs. (On my chest, most likely.) He earned his "bobcat" rank at cub scouts. He is seven kinds of awesome.
And Milo. He is 1. He is pulling up on everything in sight, and will be walking momentarily. Because everything happens at once, obviously. He naps while I work every day, which means I did something amazing in a past life to deserve a kid so accomodating. He is fully weaned, which - we're not going to talk about that. Because if we talk about the fact that my baby is really pretty much no longer actually a "baby" in technical terms, I will start thinking about how we were pretty sure this would be our last kid, and then I'll be back to where I was whenever the hell I was talking about maybe possibly trying one more time for a girl or just for another baby because BABIES! and I will now pause to take a mental breath because that might be the most disturbing run-on sentence in history and my therapist (if I could still afford one) would totally have something to say about how I go on and on and blab when I'm trying to run over a topic that I really don't want to talk about but fortunately for me my ADD gives me a good exit because -
Hey! Look! Something shiny!
To sum up, I am back... -ish. It's November, which means NaBloPoMo, and obviously I missed day 1 yesterday, so I can't technically participate, but in honor of the month I will attempt to at least get back to posting on a normal basis. Posting regularly will be much easier when I manage to get a new mag charger for my macbook. (I've gone through 2 of them now. Not excellent.) Until then, I will be light on photos and probably heavy on the sarcasm. Which, you know, lowest form of humor and all that, but I go with what I have. Welcome back! You missed me desperately, didn't you? heh.

Moblogging?

I Don't Even Know.

Oy.  And Oy again.

When Milo was born, we told ourselves "probably".  Probably this would be our last baby.  3 babies, 3 baby boys, and a whole lotta hell ravaged on my poor body.  2 battles with PPD that were powerful enough to leave us gasping for air and paddling with battle-weary arms for an ever disappearing shoreline.

"We'll give ourselves a year to think it over.  We won't make any decisions until he's a year old."

And that seemed like such a nice, safe, vague time in the future.  We knew it wasn't really vague -- no, it was exactly 365 days.  But we thought maybe by then we'd be able to untangle the web of emotions around it.

The long and the short of it is, I'd be happy with another baby of any gender.... but.  But.  We'd really like to have a girl. Each for different reasons; Trip would have to enumerate his own, though I suspect they would mostly have to do with me.

And me?  My relationships with other women have always been complicated.  When I picture a daughter of mine, I picture a girl like me.. but better.  One who would share my passion for books and art and cooking but not my addiction to junk food.  A daughter who - with a girl child's empathy - would come home at the end of her school day and see that Mommy's had a bad day, and climb in my lap for a snuggle.  

My boys are snugglers, too, mind you.  But they snuggle to make themselves feel better.  I'm okay with that; I know it's my job to make them feel safe and loved when they are scared or upset.  I LOVE that part of the job.  

But some days, I have to admit, I daydream about a daughter.  A little bookworm with red ringlets and big brown eyes who would grow up to be more than a daughter... who would grow up to be a friend.  

Milo celebrated his first birthday last week.  We've made no decisions -- there are no announcements here.  Just me thinking out loud and probably sharing too much.  

Also, I'm totally PMS'ing so.. you know.  Take it all with a grain of salt and please pass the chocolate.

The Life List: An Intro.

Maggie over at MightyGirl is one of my internet heroes.  She can make absolutely anything seem stylish and fab.  She makes just existing look like more fun than a human being should be allowed.

This year she was awesomely (and deservedly) fortunate to have Intel sponsor her to accomplish 10 items from her "Mighty Life List".  You should go read about it here, it rocks.

It has inspired me to start thinking about my own List.  I've never been a great goal setter, but part of this process of facing my fears and becoming a bigger, better person has been learning to do just that.  A list of goals that have no definite time deadline, just "Things I Will Do While I Am Yet Living" appeals to my new desire to be goal-oriented, as well as my incurable need to daydream.

SO! Without further ado...

Happy Birthday, Milo!

Training for the new job, getting the office set up, cleaning out the basement (not at all in that order) and general madness: check.

The insanity continues, but this does not stop the march of time.

Today, my Milo - my rosy, rolly-polly little bugaboo - turns 1 year old.  As always, it's bittersweet. But him? He is ALL sweetness.

Happy Birthday, Little Man.

I've had him for a year.  One unforgettable, joyful, incredibly sleep-deprived year.

It's been a good year, and (as you can see, Miss J!) Milo helps inspire me to rock the lipsticks.  Here you are.  Me. Lipstick. Milo.  A happily matched grouping if ever there was one.  *grin*

Year Without Fear: Challenge Edition!

Ah, year without fear. How easily you have blended into the mundane of the every day.

I declare it shall no longer be so!  

I'm failing miserably on the whole "get in shape" part of my self-challenge.  Not for lack of ANY effort, mind you.  I'll shortly be attempting the Butt Kicking Kill that is P90X.  I've cut back my caloric intake as much as possible while still nursing Milo.  We've begun the weaning process, which deserves a post all its own once I can write it without the weeping and the gnashing of teeth and rending of garments.  Once nursing is complete, I can really get on the Calorie Restriction train. (It's a very slow train.  Sluggish, even.  It runs on very little fuel.)

I'm sorry, where were we, again?

Ah. Yes.  A Year Without Fear.

Well, I decided to open it up for suggestions.  Kinda-sorta.  I'll filter through the suggestions and pick a few challenges to attempt.  I'm not explaining this very well, am I.  

I'm asking for suggestions.  Crazy (but not TOO crazy) adventures for me to try out.  They can't be too expensive (because we're on a limited budget here. So, you know, no skydiving.  Not that I would attempt that, mind you. Did you know life insurance doesn't pay out if you die doing something stupid? Like jumping out of a perfectly good airplane?)

So DE-LURK, my friends, and offer your suggestions.  My brain is tired and I am fresh out of ideas.  Between soccer practice, scouts, school, preschool, and various and sundry other items on the Master Laundry List of daily living, I am going to have to work extra hard to find time for this, but find it I shall.

I've issued myself one challenge already:  Make time to go on our annual pilgrimage to the Maryland Renaissance Festival.  The fearless part? Go In Costume.  And take photos for your mocking pleasure. Huzzah!

Ready: GO!

Busy, Busy Bees

The biggest bumble bee I have ever seen decided to grace my flowers.

And I? I decided to finally put the macro setting on my point and shoot to the test.

I think it gets an A.

Toby started his first official "First Day Of Preschool"  Since he started mid-year last year, he was the only kid having a first day last time.  This time he got to be part of the general excitement of the crowd of tiny humans waiting for The Door to open.

How much fun is it to put this kid in clothes, you ask?

I cannot begin to tell you.

Victorious! He totally wins at Noodle Art.

Wednesday night was Jack's second Pack Meeting for Tiger Scouts.  It was the kickoff for the annual popcorn fundraiser. (Unrelated aside: Who wants to buy $200 worth of popcorn so the kid can get the marshmallow-shooting bow and arrow prize?  Because.. yeah.  Hate them for dangling that in front of the kids, especially one whose mom is an EPIC FAIL at sales.)

They told the kids to wear the jersey for their favorite sports team, but since we only just got the pieces all together for his cub uniform... well, there was no talking him out of wearing it to pack meeting.

The AWESOME. It burns my eyes!

Also, I refrained from mentioning at pack meeting that I find the uniforms

just a teensy bit "Hitler Youth"-ish.  Because I have a tiny scrap of impulse control left.

On Thursday, my BFF Sarah's daughter, Violet, came with us to get desperately needed pedicure.  This girl is the anti-birth control for women who have only boys.  If I didn't already wish to have a baby girl... this child would ignite that covetous fire under my butt, I can tell ya.

Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!  LOOK AWAY FROM THE PRECIOUS!!

Finally, we celebrated another successful week of "Staying Out Of The Crazy House" with cookies.  (Incidentally, also our celebration ritual of choice for holidays, births, deaths, PMS and Tuesdays.)

Tobin and his future Missus.  I know this because one minute they are best buds, and the next minute one of them is getting punched in the nose by the other.  It's a fairly even split.  Pre-destined true love if ever there was.

Really, Universe?

If I had known that was all it would take, I would have started a long time ago with the hopeless, anxiety-ridden Walmart Applications.  

Walmart in West-By-God-Virginia is like Walmart in other places times eleventy-hundred.  Mullets there are not even usually worthy of note, because they are as common to stumble upon as jumbo cases of toilet paper.  I've even seen the occasional be-rat-tailed child.

The universe has some sense of humor.  As I was giving up hope, after turning in *I can't remember how many* applications around town, a job I started courting over a year ago suddenly became a possibility again.

And just like that, I'm whistling while I scrub underneath and behind my refrigerator.  

Read that last sentence again, because that? Is some freaky stuff right there.  That is one of those chores that usually sits on my "to do" list for a few years, until my husband finally notices my shaking hands every time I get in the vicinity of said appliance.  Then he does it for me, and silently wonders once again how he ended up hitched to my very special, 100 proof brand of crazy.

He's just lucky, I guess. 

We Return To Our Story (in pictures)

Still trying to get you all caught up, dear readers, on the rest of this slipshod "how I spent my summer vacation".  Let's begin, shall we?  

This summer we joined a CSA and each week we pick up a share of fresh produce, which we have been using to make a lot of this:

Overpriced, mass-produced delivery pizza 

can kiss my sweet onions.

I helped my Mother-in-law make a cornice-thingamajig to hang above her bed and drape luxuriously around her, uh... luxurious? (I really need more adjectives, people) bed. 

Looks cozy, no?  Reminds me of The Homestead Resort in Virginia. 

Swanky!

Remember the newest addition to our little menagerie?  No? Allow me to refresh your memory:

This was after she ate my pepper plant. Again.

But at least she takes care of her own accommodations, right?

A nest? I mean, I knew hamsters did this. Dogs? Not so much.

She looks content, though, doesn't she? 

She probably just finished pooping somewhere I don't want to know about.

At least I can still depend on THIS dog to be somewhat sane.  

Even if I AM pretty sure he was laughing at me in this photo.

Probably because his sister-dog just pooped somewhere inappropriate.

And then my husband got his throat cut by  a big dude with a jack knife a presumably qualified surgeon who removed Cyril the Cyst and made sure there was no Cancer up in there.

Also Trip was forced to wear a funny hat. And then pose so I could mock him for your entertainment at a later date.

You call THAT mocking?  C'mon now, once more - with feeeeeeling:

Notice how they call the warming-gown "Bair Paws".  

Because spelling it "Bair" totally reduces the irony

of having your "Bare" behind flapping in the breeze.

As he prepared to leap up from the chair 

and stab me with the dull parts of the IV pole 

if I did not put the damn camera away, already.

So then we proceeded to the first day of first grade.  Which was also, coincidentally, the last day that the kid would let me pick out his clothes for him.  Apparently he was doing his best to let me down easy, because:

Two weeks later I would find myself on the losing end

of a lecture on the evils of putting love notes in his lunch box.

Which he had to open in front of all his friends.

Next time, kid, I'll pack a bigger note. With lipstick kisses.

And then it was over.  Summer was gone, and it was once again time for the time-honored tradition of the country County Fair:

Second verse, same as the first:

Jack: Here! Take our picture with... uh... Look! Goats!

Toby: NO! NOCAMERANONONONO HULK SMASH!

Me: Milo! Look at the bunnies! Ooooh and baby chickens! BABY DUCKS! 

WOOKIT THE BABY DUCKS!

Milo: *Cackle-snort-grunt* (ooh! Look! I have elbows!)

And nearly all the rides were just the right size.

Except the ones he couldn't ride because his brother was shorter than the arrow

and the ones that Mommy said "NO!" to, because they made her want to puke

just looking at them.

So they rode together while baby Milo and I wrestled for the camera.

And Toby clung to the handle bars

while his big brother hollered encouragements into his ear 

and I looked on and grinned like a fool.

A lucky, lucky fool.

Fare thee well, Summer.

Aaaaaaannnnnd.....  FIN.

Hiding Under Freeways

Freeway underpasses where I live? They are probably not like freeway underpasses where you live.  I have lived a lot of places, y'all, and even in the nicer areas I found that underpasses where a place for graffiti and old urine and the occasional homeless person.

Not so in West-By-God-Virginia.

If you listen close, you'll hear the air whistling through the car tires overhead.

Unless the sound is smothered by the lullaby and hum of the river.

We spent one of the last lazy, luxuriant afternoons of the summer wading in the warm waters of the Shenandoah.

Mom? Can I just lay in the water, Mom? Can we stay here forever, Mom?

NO. CAMERA. NO. Good day, Madam.

I SAID GOOD DAY!

And they didn't fight.  Two tiny adventurers admonishing each other 

not to take off their shoes.

Sitting happily on the sidelines, he didn't miss a trick.

It helps to come stocked with crackers and sippy cups.

Me & My Posse.  My little Neopolitan Trio. 

(And yes, Milo's hair is still coming in red.)

Like I said.  My freeway underpass? Pretty much kicks your freeway underpass's ass.

Woman's Head Explodes. Story at 11.

The past couple of weeks have been some of the most... stressful? Insane? Homicidal? I run out of acceptable adjectives, and yet still I do not find the mark.  Trip had surgery, and it went well. His recovery could be going better, but we should know more about the odd pains he's having after his surgical follow-up on Wednesday.  I'll post a recap of the fun another time.

On the plus side, there is the arrival of my newest niece - Miss Bridget Elise.  Admit it - you want to dunk her in chocolate and nibble on those cheeks. 

Also on the plus side, I DID promise you David Beckham photos and, no, that was not simply a shameless sweeps-week tactic to keep you on the edge of your seat until I made it back here.  Honest. See?

You are so welcome.

So there was that.  And, actually, it wasn't the hilight of the night. Well, anyway, it wasn't the ONLY hilight of the night.  Here are a few more:

Instead of shelling out the $30 for the official kids' Team T-Shirt, we made our own DC United shirts.  Black T shirt from mega-store: $4, plus fabric paint. 

The above pretty much sums up their typical reactions to the camera. Jack is all jazz hands all the time, Toby is more "meh. blergh. NO CAMERA!"

My photogenic Honey. 

Still not amused by the camera, Mom.

Again with the wearing of my Tired Eyes. 

It was a long night, but well worth it and THANKS be to DC United for playing LA so I could drool over Donovan and Beckham.  Also for tying at 0 to 0 so that I didn't have to feel torn between the home team and the hot team.  Yes, I am that shallow when it comes to my sporting events.

It was a busy week.

I have things to report.  I have photos to post, which may or may not include David Beckham with his shirt off.  (Hint: his abs are even more spectacular in person.) (Even from 150 feet or so away.)

Right now, though, I have my tired eyes on.  Want to see them?

These are my tired eyes.

 They are much like my regular eyes, only now with Extra! Luggage!

So, yeah. Right now? Heading to bed. Hoping to less-tired the eyes. Also hoping to be able to form coherent sentences after a good night's sleep.  See you later, internets.

Bobbing Like A Fishing Lure

It's been a strange week.

Let me start this off by saying that from now on I'll be dropping the "Big Daddy" moniker and just going with "Trip".  That's his name, my husband.  Well, actually, it's still a nick name, but it's one he came by honestly.   And since this is going to be mostly about him, and since I'm tired and in an odd mood today, we'll just throw it out there.  

So Trip has a cyst. On his neck.  A BIG cyst that appeared overnight-ish a few weeks ago.

A large, unexplained growth on the neck is never a good thing, right?

Turns out it's a thyroglossal duct cyst.  That's not important to you.  What might be important to you (okay, it's important to me, so pretend to be interested!) is that he'll be having surgery next Tuesday to have it removed.

The surgery is called "The Sistrunk Procedure" and involves the removal of several bits and bobs from his neck, including part of the hyoid bone.  (I'd link it, but I'm lazy. Wikipedia any of the above and you'll find out more than you ever wanted to know, I assure you. I'm still scarred from the pictures.)

There's a very small chance that all of this is somehow related to cancer.  But since I have firmly, repeatedly reminded him that I have forbidden him to ever get cancer (It's in the marriage contract. Read the fine print.) well, then it's obviously not cancer.

I decided to name the cyst.   I call it "Cedric", which somehow that makes it seem less threatening. 

A few days after Cedric is removed, we'll get the lab results.  These will, obviously, confirm that Cedric is a benign, if incredibly rude and uninvited, visitor to my husband's body.  

I've been bobbing up and down this week.  One minute I'm above water, rushing around to collect the laundry and run a load of dishes and attempt to locate the vacuum cleaner.  The next moment I am sitting on the couch, staring at the family photo hanging on the wall and thinking about the worst that could happen.

I'm sure it's normal to worry in this situation, but I can't decide if trying NOT to worry is just making it worse.  Instead of a nice, even level of anxiety... I'm bouncing up and down like those little red and white bobbers at the end of a fishing line.

I'm not sure I want to know what it is that's biting on the hook.

Phobia #4328965342: Babysitters

I've been a mother now for just over 6 years. I know, right?! Stop that insanity. Only it's true, so it's not technically insane in the dictionary sense, but insane in the sense that I should not be allowed to be totally responsible for small humans.  

I was a damn fine babysitter, though, back in my day.

Funny enough, though, in all the time we've been parents, Big Daddy T and I have never really been ones to hire babysitters.  We've borrowed the odd services of family and swapped kid-watching duties with other parent friends. (You know: You take our kids Friday, we'll take yours Saturday, etc.)

It's not that I don't believe there are good babysitters, or that I'm afraid I'll come home to find the babysitter has slipped all the kids a rufee or bedded my husband or anything.  It's more that I'm terrified to leave anyone else the responsibility of these small humans because I don't trust that they will care about them as much as I do.

I recognize that this is patently ridiculous, as nobody else will EVER care about my kids as much as I do.  It's part of the mommy Job Description.  

So finally, when my neighbor/BFF, Sarah, suggested her babysitter might be worthy to be responsible for the temporary care of my 3 small, loud people, we decided to give it a go.

It was like tasting Ambrosia, y'all.

We went out. Alone.  Try #1 we took the baby with us to the movies, with disastrous results, but after that?  Try #2 we went to dinner at the new Wings Place in town, and then a live music show at a local bistro.  It was heaven. All 3 kids were in good hands, and we hadn't a care in the world.

This afternoon we celebrated our 7th anniversary a day early.  We left Courtney The Awesome with our 3 monkeys and headed out to see The Time Traveler's Wife.  Only, I suck and may have mentioned a time or two that my ADD prevents me from - you know -functioning like normal humans, so we MAY have ended up at the WRONG theater and been unable to see our movie.  Okay, so there's no may about it, we did just that, but then we ended up wandering around town and grabbing sangria and chips with guacamole at a hole-in-the-wall mexican place. Then we headed to a 250-year-old bar with a patio surrounded by old-growth trees, where we sat in a wooden swing hanging from one of the branches and sipped cold beers and talked about Life. And The Universe. And Everything.

Facing this fear has been entirely positive, and now I am left only with the regret that Courtney is headed back to college this week.  Which means I am now sans babysitter once again.  

This is what I imagine it was like for Val Kilmer's character in "At First Sight" when he got vision for the first time, but then lost it again.  And if you think I'm being melodramatic YOU DO NOT HAVE CHILDREN.

So facing this particular hurdle in my seemingly endless series of fears? It's been good.  Now who wants to come be my au pair? (I hope you're not adverse to My People doing a background check and taking a urine sample. You're totally okay with that, right?)

What can I say?  I'm a little protective.  It's a virtue. (Shut up, it totally is.)

How Much Ado Is Too Much Ado?

So how have YOU been, internet?

I know, I know. I got you all riled up about photos and adventures and a night out and blah, blah, blahgety-blah-blah, and then I leave you hanging.

Sorry about that.  What can I say? It's been a rough week.

Meeting up with bloggers is not something I expect to every thoroughly get used to.  I'm not good at cracking the code of social interaction when I'm "The New Kid".  When I was growing up, every two years (or less) brought a new move, and it usually took me a good year or two to find my groove and feel at home.  You know, just in time for another move.

When I was 14 we moved to California and finally stayed put for the next several years.  I even got to attend a single high school for all 4 years (something few of my siblings were able to do).  The only problem? Being a mormon in California was probably the worse possible place to be for a kid like me.  I was gangly, just coming into my height, totally unaware of my body or my appearance.  I had been told I was chubby my entire life, and I simply accepted it.  

When we arrived in California, I was actually a trim 135 pounds on a 5' 6" frame.  I felt fat.  I had a weird accent from living all over the place, my clothes were hopelessly out of style, and I hadn't the first clue how to put myself together or fit in with the kids around me who seemed just effortlessly cool.

By my junior year of high school I was 220 pounds on a 5' 8" frame.  I had given up on clothes, and my bleach-blonde hair had gone through various stages of being dyed brown by my sister (I spent half my sophomore year being questioned about the odd green shade, what with brown dye over bleached hair turning a lovely shade of puce-brown), and finally dyed a little-mermaid red to cover it.  I ate lunch at my locker, hunched over my dog-eared copy of Nicholas and Alexandra, rather than put myself through the cringe-inducing spectacle of trying to make conversation with the kids from my church group at "their spot" on the back lawn.  

By my senior year I had tried every possible way to lose the extra weight, and finally settled on running and walking as much as my body would tolerate.  I slimmed down to a healthy 140 and let my natural hair color grow in.  I still hadn't the foggiest idea about clothes or makeup or hair products, but I had found a group of friends who seemed to "get" me.... or at least to accept me as I was.  It took 4 years, but I finally felt at home.

Then I graduated and headed for Provo, Utah and BYU.  It was the final straw, and the beginning of everything else.  After 18 months, I moved to the East Coast and started again for what felt like the last time.  Maybe because it was the last time I would have to "reinvent" myself; or maybe because it was the first time I didn't have to, and could just discover who I was.

All of that backstory (this new honesty, it stings a little sometimes) is to say that so much of that feeling of "other-ness" rears up again when I put myself somewhere new.  I struggle to read the social cues, to pick up on the dynamic of the group.  The major thing that has changed is that I no longer base my sense of self-worth on whether or not I fit in.  But I still try to connect, and I hope that never changes.  Maybe I'll get better at this with practice.

So I made the 90-minute drive to Baltimore, stopping along the way to meet up with the lovely Miss Laurie, who was kind enough to take me under her wing to get me into the city.  

Once we arrived, I met (or re-met, as the case may be) some of the wry babes from MamaPop and a few of their friends.  What follows is the abridged story, in photos.  

What you won't see is how I giggled awkwardly at regular intervals, tried to make a point to talk with each person there one-on-one and, failing that, retreated to "Hey! I make cakes! My weird hobby, let me show it to you!" and basically, yeah, I'm pretty certain by the end of the night everyone there was wondering who had invited the crazy redhead, anyways, and should they start talking restraining order?  But, at least outwardly, everyone was lovely and funny and kdiddy is wicked hawt. (Sorry. I'm partial to redheads. What can I say?)  Although I don't think I'll ever get used to watching 6 people sitting in a row in a club and all twittering on their phones.  (in best old lady voice "you kids today!" etc, etc.)

And so, without further ado (because, good gravy, that was a lot of ado!) I present:

Babes In Baltimore:

Going out on the town. This is my game face.

Laurie and Sarah rocking the black. Aren't they lov-er-ly?
Wherein I learn it is not wise to attempt to startle the sweetney in its natural habitat. She sees ALL, y'all.

See, now I had always heard you could tell you'd had too much to drink if the tip of your nose was numb, Mizz Tracey.  But I suppose this would work, too... (now please don't kick my arse..)

Baltimore Gal and kDiddy have a heart-to-heart.

(Love, love, LOVE the green dress. LOVE!)
Disnazzio allowing me to make her totally uncomfortable.  And why, yes, she IS just as charming and delightful as that adorable smile would suggest! 

Um. The end?

Why Jump Out of A Perfectly Good Airplane?

I'm not the most adventuresome soul, come right down to it.  Big Daddy T disagrees with me on this, and loves to point out that I am only on the East Coast because a decade ago I took a flight from California into the great unknown.  He doesn't believe me when I tell him that was not brave, it was self-preservation.  The only way for me to find my way in the world was to start my adult life far away from everything familiar.  It was the only way I could learn to break out of old habits and roles and figure out who I am.

It took years (and a good bit of therapy) to figure out there are words to describe some of the things I struggle with.  Depression. Social Anxiety.  Attention Deficit Disorder.  These things don't define who I am, they're just descriptors of some of my personality quirks.

As part of this ongoing Year Without Fear adventure, tonight I am breaking out of my comfort zone once again.  Other than attending BlogHer in 2008 (which was exponentially less scary than it could have been, thanks to Kelly's sheltering wing) I have never gone out all on my own to meet up with Internet People --  unlike my husband, who still has friends he made on a BBS circa 1994, when most of us still had no idea what, exactly, this whole "internet" business was all about.  (DC Tavern, Hollah!)  

So tonight, I'm heading to my first official tweetup.  I'm driving into Baltimore all by my little lonesome to meet up with some fabulous ladies and do some booty-shakin'.  (That sudden lightheadedness you feel? That is my anxiety-ridden-mother's gasp of horror, sucking all the oxygen out of the atmosphere.)  

Right now I'm busy squelching an anxiety attack of my own, but for a totally different reason. What if they don't like me? What if I'm my giddy, awkward, nerdy self and they don't get me?! What if I drive all the way to Baltimore and I chicken out and can't go in? What if, what if, what if...

So, yeah.  There's that.  I'm hoping to have it under control before I need to leave because, ya know, probably not a great idea to drive while hyperventilating. And yes, I do know how ridiculous this is.

I'm bringing the camera, and I shall return and report.  You'll notice I'm not worried about ME liking THEM.  (In fact, I'm more worried about coming off as a weird fangirl, since Sweetney is one of my most favoritest bloggers and is it inappropriate to lick someone you've only met once before who probably doesn't remember you anyway and oh my lawdy can I make this sentence go on any longer - I bet I can!)

While you are waiting - breathless, no doubt - for the follow-up report on this excursion, allow me to leave you with CUTE BABY to distract yourself.  You're welcome.

Even covered in mashed peas... he is a tiny, delectable slice of AWESOME.

Without Fear

Sometimes you have an epiphany in the middle of a grand, life-changing moment.  This has happened to me before - when my children were born, when I got married, when I got my fist tattoo.

This is not one of those epiphanies, though.  This one came to me over the brim of my coffee cup as I was noshing on a lemon-zucchini muffin with raisins in it and feeding small bites to the baby.

So far, my Year Without Fear has had mixed results.  I have been bolder in making grand changes in my life, the changes I have been wanting to make but was waiting on "someday" to start.  I have been less bold in making changes I know I should make but don't really want to. (Hello, diet and exercise, you dirty, dirty words.)  I started a container garden (only moderately successful), I switched to cloth diapers (VERY successful) and I joined a CSA (Holy Freaking Successful and Hi Farmer Billy! You're adorable!).  I've been cooking healthier meals for my family, eating nourishing foods like Beets, and doing my best to slay the dragons of depression and anxiety in my head.

In one aspect, however, I have not yet begun to fight.  I don't know if I have ever mentioned before (oh, maybe once or twice or eleventy-billion times) that I have trust issues.  Very few people get past the outer rim into the stratosphere of my inner emotions, let alone down to the hot-molten core.  

When this journal-of-sorts changed from a simple chronicling of my daily life into an outlet to share myself, it was freeing and terrifying all at the same time.  When family and friends found it and began to check in on me with regularity, it was just terrifying.  Over the years since, I find I have slowly begun to lock back up the vault that had begun to open here.

I never thought of myself as a closed person.  I've begun to see how much I have become that way, though.  I should have read the signs sooner; I should have seen a red flag when I went through postpartum depression and nobody but my husband had any idea, or had the first clue how bad it really was.  I'm realizing that I can't expect people to know how I feel if I don't share it.

And so it is that the next step in this continuing journey of self is this: I choose to reopen the vault.

To some family and friends, this means you are going to be allowed to see parts of my heart I have never revealed to you before.  You may not like everything you see.  I have spent my entire life wanting to be a writer while yet shutting down any creative expression that revealed too honest a part of me.

To the rest of you - my intrepid fellow-explorers, my friends at All Mediocre, and the rest of my Internet Peeps - after being with me as long as you have, I know you'll be the first to say "it's about time" and then embrace whatever is to come.  Because you have always done that for me.  Because even when we disagree, you embody the live-and-let-live philosophy I began to learn about in the wilds of Northern California.  (It tends to happen when you live near Berkeley for any amount of time.  Maybe not IN Berkeley, but I hear they put something in the water there.)

ANYwho, the can of worms is being opened.  It's time to practice what I preach.  It's time to let the monkey out of the bag. You know, so-to-speak.  

No more hiding. 

Come On And Ride The (CRAZY) Train

I've been slowly getting my energy back (I'm crediting the vitamins. Hello B12, and where have you been all my life?!)

The children have been acting somewhat more human that usual, too.  

My husband has been falling over himself to be Mr. Helpful, especially after I dared him to go 24 hours without acting like a playground pigtail puller.  (You like that alliteration, don't you.)  He even managed to do it -- he didn't tease, cajole, or otherwise provoke me for 2 entire days, actually.  And suddenly we were done bickering.  (Coincidence? Oh, I think not, Mr. T).

So I should have been on cloud nine.  Everything seemed to be coming together.  

And then, last week, I started falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon again.  I started crying for no reason.  I started snarling like a rabid she-wolf every time anyone came near me.

That's about the time I realized it had been a good 6 weeks since my last period.

...

Mull that over for a moment, won't you?  You'll recall I have 3 boys ages 6 and under.  Also, 2 cats, a dog, and 1 Beta fish.  My baby is exactly 10 months old.  So, you know, perfect time for a pregnancy scare!

...

I have never been so happy NOT to see that second pink line appear.  Or the second pink line on the second pregnancy test I took.  Or the third.  Or the... well, you get the idea.  See, the tests kept coming up negative, and yet... no visit from Aunt Flo.  The weeks rolled on. And on. And on.  My mental state got worse and worse, and I sorta became convinced that a positive pregnancy test was only a matter of time.

So you'll understand when I say I was about ready to throw a parade, complete with ticker-tape, when the crimson tide finally rolled in.  Relief! Not another baby!  Congratulations, WE ARE NOT PREGNANT.

So, of course, we celebrated this reprieve the only reasonable way.  Reasonably INSANE, that is. Because I am crazy.  If you doubted it before, you will doubt no longer.

Into the midst of our finally settled existence, wherein my hormones finally kicked into proper gear and the rabid she-wolf went back into hibernation, I decided to drop a grenade.

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the newest member of The Family Aum.  Meet Her Ladyship, The Duchess Stevie Nicks of Cue Ball.  We call her Stevie.

Her turn-offs include being left alone for any amount of time (even if you just needed to make a tinkle and PLEASE, dog, for the love of Bob, stop crying outside the bathroom door!), and sleeping anywhere that is not in our bed, preferably curled up next to your face on the pillow (which is cool and all, except when you wake up in the middle of the night and find yourself face-to-face with doggy taint. I don't care HOW cute she is, there's nothing cute about a dog's bung hole.) 

All that said, HOLY HANNA MONTANA, how cute is she?!

Some Moments Are Just Perfection.