Happy Turkey Da-zzzzzzzzzzzz

Too much tryptophan. Turkey is good.

Flag is now officially planted for the day.

More tomorrow, after the shopping frenzy. The plan is to leave by 6am to score some good deals.

My credit card is already whimpering.

Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all.

This Will Be Short

...because we're packing up to head out to Ohio. It's going to be a 5-hour-drive that will likely take closer to 8 hours, what with all the other yokels driving to somewhere or other. Like us.

Still need to dig up the Pack 'n play (which may or may not be full of basement spiders. Fun!) Still need to figure out if I have enough clean underwear and diapers to get us all through the next few days. Still need to figure out how to make the dog's crate fit in the back of the van properly with all the luggage.

It's going to be a long day but, assuming I survive the trip, I will be sure to continue my NaBlo duties from the K&A homestead.

Asta Lasagna! Don't get any on ya.

Under The Wire, But Who Can Sleep Anyway?

Do you want to know how close I came to going up to bed, and forgetting to post today? Because it was really, really close.

BUT here I am, in under the wire. This post may be totally pathetic, but the beauty of NaBlo is that it still counts.

So, here's a quick recap of the past 12 hours:

The house - still a mess.
The husband - finally home.
The children - abed.
The pumpkin pies - baked.

And as for me? Well, tragically, I am not baked. I am simply exhausted and ready for a nice long slumber in my bed. You know - that bed over there. The one that has no sheets on it because I didn't actually get around to pulling them from the dryer and putting them on.

It has been a long, tortured month. But my husband is finally home. And - tomorrow? Well, tomorrow - when Jack comes bouncing into our bedroom at 6am demanding crepes and cartoons - I can finally say two of the most spectacular words in the English Language:

Daddy's Turn!

At least until around 7am, when I'll have to get up anyway to get us all packed for the trip to Ohio. I'm beginning to feel a serious empathy with the Energizer Bunney. This is not easy, this going, and going, and going, and going......

Still. The going gets easier with a buddy. Even if I did manage to forget just how horrifically loud he snores.

For a few minutes there I thought the dog had somehow snarfed down a chainsaw, or perhaps a wounded grizzly had wandered into our bedroom by mistake. Imagine my conflicted emotions when I realized that, no, that sound is just what I will be sharing a bed with for the rest of my life.

Then again, after the many weeks of trying to live this life without Big Daddy T giving me the occasional pep talk or slap to my backside? I guess I can re-learn to live with the snoring. And maybe invest in some breathe-right strips... After all, we need to show some compassion for the moose.

The ones making the trek from Canada to answer the mating call.

The Internet Ate My Baby.

The internet did not actually eat my baby. But he is now on streaming internet video.

This morning I got Toby up. I changed his soggy diaper. I dressed him.

And then? He saw a toy bird and began flapping like it was a nervous tick, all the while screaming "FIE! FIE!" Which, while it sounded quite Shakespearean at the time, is actually just toddler-speak for "fly".

I don't know why this bowled me over, except it's the first time I've actually seen him put a physical concept (birds. they fly.) with an inanimate representation of an object (hello fake parrot from the pirate costume!) and attempted to demonstrate to his mother, who is clearly too thick in the head to realize this on her own. Honestly, he was all "Like this, woman - Have you not been paying attention?"

Of course, I had to attempt to recreate it on film. And quickly, so as to get it online for his father to view before he gets onto an airplane in 8 hours. (8 hours!) It definitely lost something in the translation, as he lost all toddler superiority the second the camera came out and immediately became a very tiny circus performer.

(Sidebar: For instant circus-related giggles, check out Alice's post at finslippy last night. I'm still snorting into my latte.)

And 22 hours after Big Daddy T's flight takes off, he will be home, and there shall be much rejoicing. Oh but fie, FIE!, that the house should be such a disaster - and me but a slave to the machinations of my own mind, which will torment unceasingly with the slings and arrows of wifely guilt should I not but bend to the cleaning of it.**

**Quite possibly the worst attempt to complain about housecleaning in Elizabethan tongue ever. But hey, how many people can even say that they have tried? Also, it allowed me to use the whole "fie, fie" thing and bring it back in, full circle. At least when I go off the reservation I commit to it, people. As evidenced by my incredibly dry, pubescent-boy-like voice on this video clip. What can I say - it was before my coffee. The dry air is not kind to my vocal cords.

Just be glad I did not sing.

And now, with no further ado, behold and adieu....
(Weird mood today. Honestly.)

Fly Away Little Bird from Melkist on Vimeo.

A Sudden Quiet.

I should probably have a sense of foreboding. After all, it has been a quiet and uneventful Sunday here in the hills.

Toby woke up from his nap about half an hour ago, and Jack is now quietly entertaining him while Toby contentedly remains in the crib.

Jack and I snuggled in one of the big leather recliners and watched an episode of SpongeBob while Toby napped, after the boys both actually ate their PB&J's at lunch.

Chloe the cat is sound asleep in a furry lump on my lap, while Gizmo the dog snores noisily in his favorite wing chair. Cassie the cat is in her spot-of-choice on Jack's bed, snoozing.

Pumpkins are roasting in the oven, soon to be mashed and baked into pie for Thursday's feast in Ohio.

It's a rare, perfect Sunday.

*********************************************

Update: This entry was started earlier this afternoon. Before the dog threw up again. Before the boys got into UFC Deathmatch mode. Before I was elbow deep in pumpkin puree and screaming "assistants".

Still? A rare, perfect Sunday.

Yet More Useless Information.

It's time again for another installment of Things You Didn't Need To Know! With your host...
uh... that would be me. Hi!

I had all these great ideas for a post on deep, thoughtful observations on parenthood. After all, I am still in hot pursuit of the whole Zen Parenting thing. Well, maybe not so much hot pursuit as, say, lukewarm. After all, the sink is full of dirty dishes, the dog threw up in his bed again last night, and I have yet to convince Jack that running around the house in the nude is not a great idea - especially when the outside temperature is in the 40's. But hey - mox nix. I'm still looking for the Zen in our Zoo, however slow the going may be.

So, instead of poignant navel-gazing, allow me to share yet more useless personal trivia!

* I once ran for student government. And lost. Spectacularly. I try to remember that experience when I am afraid to try something new for fear of failure. (Which happens often.) I lost, I survived the embarrassment, and in the end it really wasn't such a big deal. One of these days I'll be brave enough to jump into things without so much fear. I could learn a lot from Toby -- 2-year-olds are spectacularly fearless.

* I took the van to get the oil changed and the exterior washed this week. The inside, however, remains reminiscent of a third-world disaster scenario. I'm half-convinced there may be a family of raccoons hiding somewhere among the rubble. And perhaps a midget.

* Monday owes me. OH, how Monday owes me. Big Daddy T has informed us he will be returning on Tuesday afternoon -- just in time to leave for us to drive to Ohio 24 hours later. Want to guess who will be doing the driving? I'll give you a clue -- NOT the one who will be so screwy with jet lag that we would end up plowed into a tree in the middle of a field somewhere in Pennsylvania. Nope, just the one who will be so screwy with the CRAZIES that we might end up in Camden, Maine. Because Camden is beautiful this time of year.

* I'm actually getting a real domain for this little burg. It will take a few days to be fully in-effect, but by the end of the weekend AumMom dot com should be completely operational. Don't get too excited, as nothing else is actually changing yet. I may get around to another site redesign in another 5 years or so, but let's not make any promises we can't keep, okay?

* She's intelligent, beautiful, insightful... and, incidentally, recently awarded me a prize! The fab-tastic Mocha Momma is feeling under the weather right now. Be sure to drop by and tell her to get well soon. You can tell her that Mel sent you as you bask in her glow. Just try not to stare at her wings.

Easy As Falling Off A Vlog

I continue to ponder this idea of the mythical Vlog, but when they say the camera adds 10 pounds it is a horrid, horrid LIE. Unless I really do look that much like Roseanne Barr pre-surgery... in which case I may as well give up and live on raw cookie dough. Mmm, cookie dough....

I'm sorry, what were we discussing? Oh, yes.

I'm finally working up the nerve to begin work on the first official video broadcast from these here hills. Feel free to email suggestions or requests to melkist at gmail dot com. It may or may not include such gems as an interview with Jack, answers to reader questions, and Toby's rendition of the word Turtle. Because I am still not over the cuteness of the whole "Tuh-tull" thing. Prepare to be tortured with it repeatedly in the future. Should you find you don't enjoy the experience? You can rest easy in the knowledge that you have no soul.

Resistance is futile
but cookies are awesome.

What it will almost-definitely not include: My face or a guided tour of my house - that is unless it would secure me some FEMA disaster relief funds to pay for a cleaning crew and a stylist.

When All Else Fails....

Today was the Thanksgiving Feast for Jack's class at school.

We enjoyed a feast of turkey, homemade macaroni and cheese, rolls, and of course my fancy contribution - Stove Top Stuffing. Obviously, after slaving away to make this delicacy, I am spent.

Okay, so it's also possible that my inability to fall asleep before midnight any night this past week could be to blame for my exhaustion.

Either way? This is a sad, sad excuse for a post, but it's all my sleepy brain can muster.

BUT! When all else fails? Cuteness saves the day. Allow me to distract you from my lameness with the following adorable images.




See. You've forgiven me already, haven't you. Oh, internet. So quickly distracted, it's almost too eas--- OOH! Look! The kids are watching Ratatouille again! I think I'll go join them...

Santa Ain't The Only One In Red This Season

Thanks to my awesomely spectacular friend Molly, who kept the boys - and fed them dinner - and did not let them kill each other - while I went shopping ALL ALONE, I was able to locate and secure a fabulous, frilly frock (ooOOoo alliteration abounds!) for T's upcoming Company Christmas soiree, as well as my sister's New Years' Eve wedding.

It's red, and strappy, and has a little black tulle just peeking out from under the flouncing skirt. There are tiny black dots on the fabric. There's a dangly black sashy-type-deal in the front that secures with a sparkly broach.

In light of the fact that my wardrobe of late has involved suspicious levels of denim and sweat pants, it was a bit of a rush to try on floaty, swirly, feminine duds. I even splurged on a necklace to complete the ensemble. It felt decadent. (Which, by the way, is incredibly sad, as the dress was on sale for $32.95 and the necklace was a whopping $10. Plus I had a gift card for $10 off, so even with the yummy, chunky, plum-colored sweater-coat I couldn't resist, my grand total was only about sixty bucks. "Let them eat cake!" etc. etc. etc.)

So I am all ready for holiday season. Except for the actual holidays... Those? I am entirely unprepared for. Fabulous dress for formal occasions? Check. Gifts for the kids? umm... Gifts for the husband? Ohh, wouldn't YOU like to know.***

***(As T is my most devoted reader, I will not be able to disclose the details of his gifts here. Suffice it to say that I have one particular item up my sleeve that will go down in our history book. And NO, Baby, it's not the xbox 360... so you can go and take a cold shower now.)

Since I had kids, I find that the pressure to be done with holiday shopping seems to start earlier each year. By the first of November, people are telling me they've been finished since June while I quietly begin to freak out.

But that, my friends, is why Al Gore invented the internets. After half an hour on Amazon.com, I think I have at least figured out what the major gifts will be this year. I got a few things ordered, and put the rest on my "wait" list to catch in the After Thanksgiving specials. I may be cutting it close, but I think I might just get Christmas together in time to avoid last year's debacle. Staying up till 4am to put together and wrap kid toys is not recommended. Especially when your kid will be up at 6am to rip the paper off while you attempt to scrounge up some enthusiasm and snort enough coffee grounds to stay awake until dinner.

Okay, so chances are we'll probably end up in the same situation this year. And chances are that, in the long run, it's a key part of this whole parenting experience. In fact, if watching "It's A Wonderful Life" on the midnight movie (or whatever the tradition may be for your particular flavor of holiday) while trying to read the over-complicated assembly directions for a child's toy with bleary eyes is not already a required right of passage for parenting -- well, it definitely should be. There's a clarity that comes with smashing your thumb for the fourth time while attempting to assemble an item meant for 2-year-olds.

We are but the simple slaves to our tiny masters. And, when it comes to holidays, any pain and frustration is dissolved in the untempered joy on their little faces. At least until the spending hangover kicks in sometime around mid-January, that is.

But hey. At least the Season of Insanity also gives me an excuse to wear something pretty.

As I sit here in my seriously shabby pajama pants (the ones from Old Navy with the whales on them, oh irony) and my Beatles "Let It Be" t-shirt (Toby keeps pointing at John Lennon and saying "Dada!" Yeah, I have no clue what that's about.) I realize.....

I am really, really looking forward to a night out in a pretty dress.

Hola! Soy Mama.

With all the travel in his father's life these days, I suppose it's no surprise that Jack would begin to think of going to exotic places himself. I mean, we keep talking about how Daddy is at the Castles (Prague), Daddy is in "Singaport", or Daddy is at Big City (NYC).

The sister of my next door neighbor, and our sometime babysitter, just returned to Mexico. The kids absolutely adore her, and we were all very sad to see her go.

Then, one of his classmates from preschool apparently went on a week-long family vacation to Mexico.

So I really should not have been totally surprised that Jack would eventually decide that he, himself, ought to be headed out on some globe-trotting adventures. But none of these things prepared me for the note on his school report card today.

"Jack told us during opening exercises that he is going to Mexico this weekend - AND that his teachers are invited to come, too! YEAH!"

Thank goodness his teacher has the sense of humor to handle these situations. I didn't even have to explain that, no, we're not really headed to Mexico. At least, not yet.

On the car ride home, I felt like I should discuss the topic with Jack. Of course, he was dead certain that, oh YES, we ARE, in fact, going to Mexico this weekend. I explained about buying plane tickets, arranging a place to stay, the time and expense of such an adventure. I said maybe, maybe in a year or two we can take a cruise that stops in Mexico. Wouldn't that be fun? On a big boat?

Jack: Yes, Mommy. But we're going to Mexico this weekend.

Me: No, we're not.

Jack: Yes, we are.

Me: Tell you what? How about we get Taco Bell for dinner tonight instead? That's.. uh... sort of like Mexican food.

Jack: Can I have a quesadilla?

Me: SURE!

If only every parenting dilemma could be solved so easily. And come complete with an assortment of delicious hot sauces.

NaBloPoMo Day 12: When Mondays Attack

So this morning, as per usual, I came stumbling down the stairs in search of coffee before I started breakfast. I got the kids settled in front of a cartoon with their milk so could have a fair chance at making the scrambled eggs without small bodies between me and the stove.

While getting the boys tucked into their la-z-boy recliners, I noticed that one of the cats had chewed on their favorite catnip-laced fabric mouse toy and then, of course, yakked on the carpet. Beautiful start to the day.

Because I have developed a strict "No Cleaning Of Cat Vomit Before Coffee" policy, I trudged back upstairs to gulp down a cuppa and got the scrambled eggs cooked. Then I called the boys up for breakfast and got them set up at the table with their plates.

Finally, it was the moment of truth. Paper towels in-hand, I bravely marched down to face the inevitable. Oh how full of tragic bravado was I; Napolean facing my own personal Waterloo, with no inkling of the impending Doom.

I found myself standing over mouse toy and vomit puddle thinking "I really need to ask for a raise". Then, I kneeled down and prepared to face the task at hand.

Oh, my friends. There is nothing quite like the slow-motion realization that what you are looking at is not at all what you first assumed. That it is, in fact, much much worse.

You see, it was not, in fact, the well-loved mouse toy there on the ground. Oh no, it was not.

Instead, I came face to face with the half-eaten corpose of an honest-to-god rodent. The feet were entirely chewed away, and one dead eye stared pitifully up at me below the gorey hole where once the poor creature's brain resided.

Yes, apparently one of my cats is a zombie; it had consumed the mouse's brain with surgical accuracy.

Oh! But wait! What is this? Here - just visible in the mess of regurgitated cat kibble? Why, it's a bit of recognizable brain matter. Mouse brains a la vomit, right here on my family room carpet. Isn't that just lovely.

There are many reasons I got married. Today, the top of the list is having someone else around to cope with partially-digested brain matter. This is so not in my job description.

Why, Yes, I AM a big pansy, and thank you for noticing.

Monday? Oh, it is SO on. You can meet my at the bike racks after school, because I am going to kick you into next Friday - and Friday is big and burly and grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. Friday is going to do things to you that they haven't even thought of at Gitmo yet, things that would make Dick Cheney shudder with horror.

What's that, Monday? Oh, you're sorry about the mouse brains? Yeah. Right. Sure you are. You're just saying that now because you know your hours are numbered. Wait, what now? You'll bring my husband home the next time you roll around? Don't toy with me Monday. I will cut you.

Okay, stop crying. Sersiously, STOP, you're giving me a migraine.

You swear you'll get Big Daddy T home next time? Next Monday will bring him home, in time for a few days of quiet before Thanksgiving? You're willing to swear it?

Okay, Monday. I'll give you one chance to make this right. You get him back here to me and the boys, and we'll forget this whole dead mouse/mouse brains in the kitty vomit incident. Like it never happened.

Oh, and Monday? Just remember - you screw me on this? It won't be just Friday who's got my back. There are 5 other days of the week, and you don't wanna know why they call Wednesday"Hump Day".

Truth In Advertising

As I was going through some old photos the other day - presumably preparing to someday put the mountainous pile of snapshots into some sort of album - I came across some photos from our wedding. (August 16, 2002.)

I didn't remember these photos. I vaguely have a sense that my brother Scott took them, and gave them to us at some later date.

Most of them are actually far superior to the professional shots taken by the photographer.

A few of them are the kind of priceless, spontaneous, totally honest moments that you come to treasure the most. It is among the photos fitting this category that we find undeniable evidence that - my husband? - He totally knew what he was getting himself into when he married me.

Any claims to the contrary? Mere spin, Baby.

Not so much "blushing bride" as "thppppbbbbt!"

C'mere and give ush a kish...

This Is Your Brain On Motherhood.

We had a great time yesterday and today, visiting Grandmommy last night and going to two very different birthday parties today.

The first was a kid's party - my niece turned 2. It was cuteness and sweetness and light-hearted adult conversation. It was pink cupcakes and mini quiches. It was... restful.

The second was a grown-up's party - an old co-worker friend of mine. It was raucous and sometimes loud (as people kept playing with the volume on the iPod) and I had a chance to catch up with a lot of people I worked with in another lifetime. It was strange, and made me a bit nostalgic for that old life - the life where I worked and laughed and had working lunches and inside-office-jokes. I was called "Bubbles" (An old office nickname. after Bubbles the Power Puff Girl. It's a long story) for the first time in nearly 6 years. People who knew me when I was single and carefree and putting toys all over my cubicle got to see me again -- married and chasing after the boys and generally being responsible and grown-up and whatnot.

One of the young office guys (one I would not have expected) has grown up nicely, married a lovely woman, and now has a spectacularly gorgeous 5-month-old baby boy who I very nearly smuggled out to my minivan to take home. He was THAT cute, people.

And, in case you can't tell from the rambling, half-coherent nature of this posting, I have driven somewhere between 250 and 300 miles in the past 30 hours. 6 hours of driving since yesterday afternoon. My leg is killing me and my head is swimming.

Add to this the fact that the boys took turns not sleeping last night (alternately taking the opportunity to scream bloody murder as I trudged up and down the stairs from guest room to downstairs recliner) and I am fried. I am literally oozing around my house, staring vacantly at chores I will need to do tomorrow. Realizing the dog will have to be picked up from the kennel in the morning. Bargaining Jack into his bed with promises of a special breakfast tomorrow.

Cheerios are "special"... Right?

Will Be Busy. With Visits. And Shopping.

The rest of the day promises to be.... well, more than a little bit hectic. So, as I have just finished tidying up from the meeting this morning. (At least, as much as I intend to tidy up. The food is put away, the chairs are straightened, and there are toys all over the place, but today? The toys can wait. I'll get them on Sunday.)

The parade planning went well -- and I didn't even curl up into the fetal position in the corner ONE time! Well, at least not until after it was over, but that was mostly due to my inability to coherently list the rest of my tasks for the day and get us packed for an overnight with Grandmommy.

Now I'm busily googling directions for our destinations over the next 2 days (Road Trip! With kids! By myself! Should be awesome. I'm expecting to have an aneurysm by Sunday.)

At the moment, though, it's a relief to be getting out of the house. Left to my own devices, the kids and I spend entirely too much time at home.

And I frickin' miss my husband, y'all.

So we're hitting up T's Mom's house, dropping in on his niece's birthday party tomorrow morning down in Southern Virginia, and stopping off at the birthday party of an old coworker friend of mine on the way home. Also? I just discovered that there is a Steve & Barry's en route to home as well.

Fabulous houndstooth coat? You are SOOO mine.

Everybody Loves A Parade.

We've lived here in Country Town, USA for just over 3 years now, and I have yet to attend the annual Christmas Parade. Every year, though, (except last year - the slackers like me were apparently in control last year) the local mothers' club puts together a float and the moms and their kiddies walk and/or ride in the parade and toss out candy to the onlookers.

This will be my first year participating.

Tomorrow, I am hosting the official Planning Meeting for the float --- which basically means I am providing a room and some munchies for the group of mothers to brainstorm ideas while our offspring entertain themselves in the toy room.

And coffee, of course. Most of the mothers I know would go ahead and just hook up a caffeine IV drip if such a thing were available or advisable.

Now, usually I attempt to be a Super Awesome Hostess. I figure it helps cover the fact that I am really not much of a joiner and.. well, that I am about as socially able in these situations as a walrus on the subway.

This time, however, I put down the Martha Stewart guidebook and slowly backed away. Muffins from the store bakery, some Rold Gold pretzels, and some candy corn were procured. I spent my time, instead, running the vacuum cleaner and folding 2 weeks worth of clean laundry.

Also? I came up with an idea for our float. It involves foam board, masking tape, and textured spray paint. I know, screams genius, right? (Either that or best date EVER!) I'm going to sketch it up and toss it out there tomorrow as a possibility. Look at me! Joining in and everything!

So here I am, ready to brainstorm. Ready to socialize. Ready to welcome other women-type folks into my mostly presentable home.

I've got my game face on, Baby. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this thing.

My safe word will be "Pomegranate".

Textual Healing, Video Appealing

I love you like a ninja loves black masks!

Best random text message from an absent spouse EVAR!

Big Daddy T is in the final leg of Singapore Sling Part Deux. Of course, he still has a 1-day journey to Kuala Lumpur before he comes home next week, but it won't change his actual home arrival.

Thank heaven for small favors, people.

In the interim, I have been attempting to take video and photos of the kids at his request... because he feels like he is missing it! their lives! And, in spite of my attempts to reassure him that nothing very exciting has changed in his absence (I changed diapers! And did Laundry! The THRILL!) he is convinced that I am slacking in my duties to film the every waking moment of our children.

So tonight I hauled out the camera and pointed it at my nonplussed offspring. I got Toby to do our (now well-rehearsed) bit on film.

It goes like this:

Me: Toby, are you a turtle?

Toby: No! I'm not a turtle!

Except that his part comes out more like "Noh-eye-nah tuh-tull!"

You'll have to take my word for it -- the cuteness of it rips your heart out of your chest and holds it up for you to view the shivery, still-beating remains.

The big news here, though, is that I finally signed up for a Vimeo account and, assuming the moon and stars and my brain all reach the correct alignment, I will soon have chest-ripping cuteness to share with the world.

Prepare yourselves!

In the mean time, I'll be attempting to recapture the moment on film sans extras. You see, as I completed filming our exchange, I realized he had thrown in his other well-rehearsed bit...

Removing his diaper and peeing on the floor.

Wassap, Dawg?!

Remember when I promised that something interesting would be here today?

Lied. SOOOO lied.

So, instead, allow me to dazzle you with these photos of my grand protector and very hairy winter blanket.

You lookin' at me?

Officially, Master Django McQueen de Mardi Gras. Affectionately, Gizmo.

In spite of my mother's fears that he will someday go all disgruntled postal-worker on us and, say, eat one of the children, he is in fact a giant ball of needy, needy love. In his mind, he is perfectly welcome to help himself to your dinner and then curl up on your lap like a dog one-third his size.

55 pounds of pure muscle wrapped around a solid, angular frame is not particularly comfortable across one's lap. Especially with a bony elbow digging into your stomach. But what he lacks in padding, he more than makes up for in adoring looks and very slimy kisses. Also, he scares the crap out of door-to-door salespeople, which more than pulls his weight around here so far as I am concerned.

I can haz snugglz now?

So he's not quite as good for snuggling as Big Daddy T, but he'll do in a pinch... and he does like to watch Ugly Betty as much as I do. What more could a girl ask for in a four-legged companion? -- Unless it's wishing that he would quit with the chewing already. There's nothing quite as unpleasant as the sudden realization that a) the dog has been unnaturally quiet for the last 10 minutes and b) you left a dirty diaper in the playroom after a spot-change. These two circumstances can only lead to disaster... and a firm resolution not to let the dog lick your face for a while.

I regret nothing! ATTICAAAAA!

Soo. Tired.

Any day that begins before 6am is probably not a great day.

Today began at 5:45, so you can imagine that I'm feeling ready to stab out my eyeballs with a ball point pen leap tall buildings in a single bound. Have you ever been so tired you actually saw the road melting and sliding down the hill? Either I'm having acid flashbacks, or my brain is finally calling foul on me. I stayed up until 11 last night folding laundry (the horror!) and rising at the crack of unholy-dark-thirty involved scraping barnacles from my eyelids with a spackle knife. T'weren't pretty. To say the least..

So I dropped the kids off with my friend Molly, headed up for an early-morning session with my physical therapist (that's not a euphemism -- my back is still "in recovery" from the slipped/herniated/whateverthehell disc), then back to pick up the boys, home for a quick lunch, off to school, then off to the Dr. Headshrinker with Toby in tow.

Oh. And because I am obviously not intelligent enough to read the manual and set the clock in my car, I came out of therapy and thought "Oh crap! Time to get Jack from school!". I stood outside the class for a full 10 minutes before the strange looks from the administrators computed in my brain and I realized I was a full hour early.

Toby and I used our hour to refill my prescriptions and buy me a new watch. So now - the time? She is on my body. Correctly. And then I DID read the manual to set the car clock and adjusted it for the switch off DST... only to make myself 10 minutes late to pick Jack up from school.

Greetings. I am Queen Genius Of The Universe. You may now proceed to worship my brilliance. Right after I remove this splinter from my foot and remember where I put my car keys.

It's 7pm, and my bed is calling me like a seductive cabana boy. Time to slug my way through some dishes, watch me a little Chuck and then surrender to the siren song of sleep.

Tomorrow? Something Interesting Goes Here. Because I'm sure reading about howmuch my day sucked is about as entertaining as... as...

As a big ole splinter in the big toe, perhaps?

Somebody Stop Me.

You know, I never really went through an intense "Nesting Period" with my pregnancies. I just sorta nested throughout them at a "set your phasers to stun" level. I never quiet understood the impulse to Accomplish Everything Now that other women have described.

It would seem that the fuse for that feeling was lit the day my husband started travelling again.

We are now officially in week 2 of Singapore Sling Part Deux, and it now seems likely that T won't be home for an extra week. 3 straight weeks in Singapore and, before that, 3 days in NYC. (For anyone who is keeping score, or who has missed any of the other thousand times I may have mentioned it...)

The fuse has officially hit the black powder, and I have become a nesting freak. Today I hauled the boys out in the cold and we made one of our painful voyages to the Home Depot. I say "painful" because we have never managed to make it out of that place with less than a half-dozen trantrums and many a tear. And, typically, only a few of those are mine.

Luckily the time change seems to have screwed the kids up so much that they spent the 30 minutes it took me to pick out trim and molding (for finishing off the bookcase) staring at the high ceilings in a daze.

So the bookcase is now 99.99999% completed, and all that is left is to caulk in the gaps and fill in the nail holes. And, of course, the therapy. You'd think I would learn my lesson but - au contraire, mes amies! - I am already enthusiastically plotting my next home improvement project.

Honey? Please to be coming home soon. Before I end up regrouting showers in my sleep.

Yes, I'm Burnt Out Already

Who knew that day 3 of NaBloPoMo would find me already devoid of anything to say?

How about some totally useless bullets describing my activities today?

- Took a hot shower in private. It took a couple of Pop Tarts and the Disney Channel to hold the boys' attention long enough, but by golly it worked. I even got to, like, shave things. Hooray for no more armpit chinchillas.

- Went to my violin lesson while my awesome neighbor sat with the boys. It was my first actual break from the kids in many, many days. Of course, I spent the entire time interally berating myself for not practicing enough and not improving as quickly as I would like... but hey! There was no screaming toddler glued to my knee!

- Mowed the back yard, which had become so overgrown I actually mowed over several of the dog's toys. It was a blood bath -- pieces of rubber squeaky hamburger everywhere. When I finished mowing (and cleaning up the crime scene) I spent another half-hour policing the yard for dog poop, becoming the human dung beetle with my big bag'o turds. It was obviously delightful; the one thing my husband neglected to mention when he was talking me into getting our Very. Large. Dog. ? They make Very. Large. Poop. For all I know, the dog could be swallowing neighbor kids whole. I'd never know - they'd be easily hidden in his gargantuan Poo Tootsie Rolls.

- Warmed up some leftovers for the boys for dinner. Gnawed on half a chicken wing for myself, then gave up and made a meal of Diet Pepsi and Cheezits.

- Sat down to record all of this for posterity, and devoted the bulk of the space to my dog's excrement. It's a proud, proud day, y'all.