Dirt

I've been working hard on my front lawn. When we moved in, it was basically 2 giant clumps of juniper bushes. Bad juniper bushes.

The husband was driving a monster pick up truck back then. He tied the juniper bushes to the truck, and floored it. We got one clump out before we began to worry about breaking the (company owned) truck.

Since then, the yard has sat mostly untouched. Don't judge me too harshly. You can't see the yard from the road.

We get these weird "flowers" around here.

Pretty, right?

Wrong. They hurt.

The spikes eat through every pair of gloves I've tried. The only way to get rid of them (b/c they multiply like crazy) is to dig them out. And when your ground is as rocky as ours, "digging" means taking a pitch fork to them.

So, I decided to attack the spike monsters in our neglected front yard. By the time I got to most of them, I had ripped up a good chunk of the yard. So I kept going.


And going.

While the kids enjoyed their new mud pit, I used the 3,742 rocks I dug up to make a new rock wall.



And now, while I wait for my delivery of "good" dirt, my maniacs are taking full advantage of the situation.




Sugar and spice, my butt.

Sentimental goop

Let me start out by saying that I know I'm crazy.

My kids are nuts. By 9am, we've already had one hit in the face with a baseball, and another bonked on the head with a bat. Enough arguing ensued to drive the dogs insane, jumping and barking like... uh... insane dogs. We've had syrup on the floor, bites taken out of crayons, and there's a plain (thank goodness) waffle on the couch. The baby has scattered the newspaper all over the living room, and I've tripped over 3 monster trucks.

There are definitely aspects of this whole 4-kids thing that annoy and exhaust me. The biggest one being a lack of local, trustworthy babysitters! But I recently realized something. I love the chaos!

I don't know how this escaped my attention for so long. I guess I was too busy or too tired to think about it.

There is a sick and twisted part of me that actually likes running the washer and dryer for what feels like 24/7. When I can see the bottom of the kitchen sink, I have a feeling of satisfaction, but there's also a bit of "now what?" Taking all 4 kids (or even 1 or 2, at times) to the grocery store can be a huge project but, in a strange way, it's also kind of fun. And there are times when bedtime is full of whining, some escaping, and often bickering across the hallway, but once in a while I actually have the patience to be amused by it.

So now, with the baby getting bigger, I have that itch.

It's really not a dangerous sort of itch, since the husband is 100% satisfied with our family size and busy planning our future lifestyle of island hopping and business shmoozing. Which all sounds peachy to me.
And I have no desire to add any more maniacs right now. I'm very content to be planning the upcoming school year and munching on toddler toes without any other changes. But I do wonder how that itch is going to feel in another 4 years or so.

In 2012, J will be 14, H will be 10, M will be 9, and C will be 5. I'll be 35.

All of a sudden, 35 sounds so young to me! I wonder if I'll be happy to be picturing my 40's as "free", or if I'll turn 45 and wish we had had (birthed, adopted, stole, whatever) more maniacs around.

Honestly, I think I will be happy and grateful for wherever we are at that point. I'm not really a person who spends a lot of time mourning "what could have been." I live life in the moment and plan multiple paths for the future, but I don't hang around in the past other than to enjoy the good memories.

I'm just having a very hard time nibbling on chunky monkey toes without wondering how much longer I'll be able to do that.

Stealing from Kristin

I only took this because I'm amazed at how many of our answers are the same. I get to type less!

If you get something out of a vending machine, it's most likely the: chex mix

A word you sometimes catch yourself misspelling: separate

You least want people to see you as: stupid. Not that it really bothers me all that much, but I guess that's at the top (bottom?) of my list.

You're a little scared of: messing up my kids

The least attractive thing you do in your sleep: snore

The number of contacts in your cell phone: Somewhere between 10 and 20. The baby tends to erase people.

How many of them are restaurants: 1 pizza place

You lose your cool when someone: interrupts my first cup of coffee

When you go to the drugstore, you often can't leave without buying: gum

Your dance moves can best be described as: a way to crack my kids up

The majority of your underwear is: Hanes organic cotton

Something you eat even though you hate how bad it is for you: french bread pizza

You think you're really not a great: housekeeper (I KNOW this)

How much cash is in your wallet right now: $7

The majority of your shoes are this color: black

You don't think you'll ever be able to get rid of your: belly fat

If your breath is bad, it's most likely because you had the: garlic

You feel embarrassed when you: cry because I'm mad. I hate when I do that!

The last public place where you used the restroom: I honestly don't remember

Something you don't like to debate in mixed company: religion

You don't think you can pull off wearing: anything that requires a complicated bra. Or no bra. Yikes!

Something you own entirely too much of: fabric. Clicking "Buy Now" is much faster than sewing.

Someone you would love to see in concert who might bring down your street cred: Barry Manilow

The last thing that you spilled on yourself: toothpaste

If you were on a reality show, the producers would likely portray/characterize you as the: the loud, flaky one

My investment tip of the day.

I love music. Rock, pop, metal, country, ska, oldies, even some rap. I'm not cultured enough to appreciate classical, but it sounds pretty, I guess.

My kids love music, too. If I burst into song, my one year old starts to point at the iPod speakers. Maybe he just wants to drown me out, but he's definitely acquired a preference for Pink over Tom Petty. Then again, he can see Pink dancing around half nekkid on the iPod screen, whereas he's never even seen a picture of Tom Petty in any stage of dress.

We own several music video games. I have to admit, they can be a lot of fun, even after hearing the same songs played over and over again. Being Mom, with the ultimate control over day time video game playing (until Dad gets home and hogs the games) helps quite a bit. Once I start "seeing" the songs in green, yellow and red squares, it's time to shut it down.

I think it's about to get out of control, though.

The husband just bought an electric guitar and amp. For himself. He's taken up lessons. J begins piano lessons on Monday. The girls have decided it's time they learned to read music AND play the recorder AND keyboard. And the baby has a drum kit. A real drum kit, complete with cymbal.

Have I mentioned that I live in an itty bitty house, barely bigger than the Partridge family's van?

It's been a while since I've taken any music lessons, but I assume that the importance of practice hasn't changed in the past 20 years (see, I AM old).

I think it's time I found a place with free wi-fi and yummy muffins. And I suggest that everyone run out and invest in Wyeth. Advil is my headache medicine of choice.

I think it's over.

It seems like we've been together forever, and I've fallen into a comfort zone. When I wake up, you're always there, willing to step up and help me out, but something just isn't right.

I know that a lot of it is my fault. I haven't been very good with the whole preventative maintenance thing. It's just so hard when I'm being pulled in so many other directions... I've let you down, and I'm not sure I have it in me to fix things.

As things have gone down hill, my eye has been wandering. I'm not proud. I never expected to have my heart stolen. I was just going to look. But I don't think I can resist the temptation any longer.

Once I figure out finances and details, I'm going to replace you.

I'm sorry, Mr. Coffee, but I'm hopelessly, madly in love with another.
My new love

To Kristin, with love

Not really.

I love photography. I'm not all that great at it, but I usually shoot enough to get at least a few good pictures. I get so excited about a good shot. Capturing one split second and being able to savor it forever is a concept that always amazes me.

But I hate being in FRONT of the camera. Not just "Oh, don't take a picture. My hair is all windblown." More like, "Get the camera out of my face before I smash it into a million pieces and make you eat them."

Still, I decided to suck it up (and in) for Kristin. Of course, the first time I put lip gloss on in weeks, and I wind up looking like I got smashed in the mouth with a tub of Vaseline or something. And I still haven't put Photoshop on my computer since it crashed.

I reserve the right to delete this entry at any time.

I'm old. And WalMart is scary.

This weekend, my cousin S and his girlfriend, A, came out to the boonies to visit. It's still a funny concept to me. S is more than 7 years younger than me and, as the oldest child of the family, I grew up wrangling all the littles whenever our families got together, and became the official babysitter once I was old enough.

Looking back, what were our mothers thinking?! I couldn't have been more than 14 when I was left with my 2 sisters and 3 cousins. At 31, 4 of my very own offspring can be more than I can handle!

Anyway, I spent the weekend with my Power Ranger-loving, Cheeto-hogging, can't-sleep-without-his-teddy cousin, who has just passed the GMATs and drinks beer. Weird!

His girlfriend is a fantastic girl, and it's easy to forget exactly how old (how young) she is. Until you realize that she doesn't know who The Who is (are?), and she's never seen Johnny Depp without eyeliner. While my formal education was just about over, hers was barely beginning. And it makes me feel old. No matter what she says. She can, however, participate in intelligent and entertaining conversation, which is more than I can say for most people my own age. Either that, or she's too polite to point out that I talk too much without realizing it.

It turns out, my little cousin has a lead foot. I had planned to run to our "local" Target and the grocery store before they arrived, but they made the drive in record time. In effort to save time, I found myself saying "I'll just go to the Super WalMart." And then I suckered A into coming with me for support.

I used to be a WalMart shopper, but that was when I lived in a relatively affluent, semi-metropolitan area. There was no escaping the long lines and crummy customer service, but that WalMart was typically packed with soccer moms. I don't think my current WalMart had a single minivan in it's parking lot.

We saw a family who seemed to have great difficulty understanding the implied meaning of "excuse me" which, in my world at least, is code for "get your ass out of my way." They seriously just stood there and looked at us we were speaking another language.
Then there was the man who has a fear of guavas. Apparently, Tropicana Twisters should be approached with caution. Bad things could happen. Fortunately for this man, there is a strawberry and banana flavor, and he was quite proud to announce that he knows strawberries! Hmm. He didn't comment on bananas, though.

Throughout the entire store, I kept falling into my bad habit of walking away from my cart with my purse sitting right on top. That's a bad habit in any location, but I didn't realize just how bad it was until the one time I did remember to take my purse with me, and came back to my cart to find a young man touching it, inspecting it's contents. I don't know if it was the rude Jersey or the rude hick in me coming out (or a combination), but I hissed at him. Yes, I hissed. He didn't notice. Or he didn't care.

The husband has forbidden me to take the kids to our WalMart. I think he may be kidding, but he really doesn't have to worry about it one way or the other. This was my third visit there in the 3 years we've lived here. I've had my fill for the next 12 months.

I think I've also eaten enough to last me a few weeks. What is it about having guests that compels people to make disgusting amounts of food? I have a pretty large refrigerator. Typically, I do a big grocery store trip every other week, and we still have room in the fridge. This weekend, I shopped for 2 days worth of food, and ran out of room.
I fully intended to to spend yesterday afternoon at the pool, but I was terrified that everyone would sink to the bottom like stones. Plus it's no fun wearing a bathing suit when you're all bloaty and close to a food-induced coma.

Hopefully, the kids will polish off leftovers in the next day or two. Me, I'm actually craving rice cakes today. I also have an enormous amount of housework to do. There's no better way to bring all of your clutter and carpet stains into focus than sitting with guests and looking at your house through their eyes. Who knew that ceiling fans could collect dust while in constant motion?!

S and A survived their weekend with us, and I hope we haven't scarred them too badly. They were able to sleep through my kids, my cats, and my dogs in the wee hours of the morning, so we either really beat them down, or barely effected them. If they ever come back, I promise I'll take them swimming and we won't go anywhere near WalMart!!