The 3am badge of Parenthood

Aaron can handle vomit like a boss. Kid puke ain't got nuthin' on that guy. He cleaned up the bedding while I cleaned up the kid, and then he took him back to bed and was asked to "pwease sweep in my bed wiff me and howd da frow up bowl for me when I gets sick?" Aaron didn't even hesitate to say, "sure buddy, I'll sleep with you, come on let's go." 

Dearest Corbin, you have rotten luck catching this tummy bug today, bug you won the jackpot when you scored Daddy. 

I married a very good man.

iPhone Blogging

Check it out, I'm blogging from my phone. 

Baby has had a fever since Saturday. Soren had a scheduled well check yesterday anyway so the pediatrician checked him out and everything looks fine, no explanation for the high fevers. We left with a charge to monitor his temp closely. 

Other than that, Soren is one healthy and happy little guy! And "little" is right...his growth is par for the course of a Willy baby. At 9 months, Soren is 17lbs 7oz and will probably only gain another 1-2 lbs by his birthday.  All of my babies grow like weeds until they hit 16 or 17 lbs and then stay around the same weight until they are one year old. He went from being a chunky hoss to a skinny soren with an appetite that can be matched by no other. The kid loves food. The other night he downed an entire bowl of quinoa salad with bites of mango, red pepper, green onions, and black beans in it. He feeds himself bananas and cut green beans and cheerios and loves just about anything you put in front of him.   

This morning, the fever finally broke but he woke up covered in spots! Hives? Heat rash? No clue, but the timing following the fever seemed too perfect to be coincidental. So back to the doctor we went and this time we left with a "most likely" diagnosis of Roseola. There's really no way to know for sure. It could just be a heat rash from sweating his fever out, we may never know.  I'm just glad we kept him home from church on Sunday when he was contagious. Now that the fever is gone we're home free and doc says life should be ready to partay this weekend. Until then, I will be here, doing what I've been doing for the last 5 days straight: snuggling my cuddle bug baby! He's been lethargic and wants to be asleep in mama's arms all week. 

It's sort of like having a sleepy cuddly newborn again. 

Roseola isn't so bad after all. 

Goose Egg

Boy + wooden headboard = hematoma (aka "on Sundays we wrestle, part II")

True sign that summer is here

 

 Um....she did shower, last night, I promise.

The Circus Called...

I'm throwing up.
Reese is throwing up.
Quincy is throwing up.
Corbin cried all evening, which leads me to believe he wasn't feeling well, and will be throwing up shortly.

Corbin fell onto a stick yesterday (on his face) and now that eye is nearly swollen shut.

Quincy and Corbin got into a push and shove match with a door between them and the results were Quincy's forhead splitting open and a big, fat goose egg.
It's been a day.

When it rains, it pours. Tonight at my house, it is pouring vomit and I'm at breaking point.
I'm so hiring an army of cleaning ladies to come sanitize my house next week.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

She has the gift.

What's Wrong With Miracle Whip.

Notice that this post title is written as a statement, rather than a question.

This one's for Angie and all you other miracle whip lovers out there. (I know who you are!)

Let's get one thing straight. Miracle Whip is gross, and I think I have a pretty fair argument.

Fact: Miracle Whip is NOT mayonaise. At all.

To illustrate this, I have come up with an analogy:

Miracle Whip : Mayo :: Root Beer : Dr. Pepper

1) See? Not the same thing.
2) One is preferred over the other only by people who have once lived in Utah or Idaho.
3) While the two products appear to serve a similar purpose, one is not an acceptible substitute for the other.

Fact: Miracle Whip is living a lie.
Really, the packaging should just say, "Bottled Fraud".
Why? Because Miracle Whip is not mayo, but it pretends to be, and what's worse--- it doesn't even do a good job as a fake!

Yet, there are so many people out there who have accepted this stolen identity, that it continues to get away with it's evil facade. The victims being what-could-have-been delicious, non-soggy sandwiches, fallen to tangy weirdness that can only be described as, "what's wrong with this sandwich? Did the meat spoil? Why is is sour?"


Down with Miracle Whip!
I say, "Bring out the Best Foods and Bring out the Best!"

Things I Survived

I threw my back out yesterday. I've narrowed the cause down to either wrestling with Corbin or lifting the freezer by myself to level it. Either way, It hurts like nothing I've ever experienced, and I spent my day changing ice packs and hittin' the ibuprofen.

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

We took a small outing to the library, this morning. Corbin's behavior there could be compared to that of a fire breathing dragon in a ...well a library still works for this comparison. The good news is that I scored 2 movies (Miracle on 34th Street and It's a Wonderful Life to add to our Christmas movie collection) and 3 hard cover books (The Secret, The Glass Castle, The Thirteenth Tale) for $8 total from the For Sale section in the back. Hopefully, it will take me a month or two to get through them, because it's going to be as long before we are welcomed back into the library with a smile from the ladies behind the counter.

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

During naptime today, Quincy wandered out and said, "Mom, there's poop in my room."
Me: Poop? In your room? Why? Hey. You've got chocolate on your face..."

Wait.
Noooo.

I went back to her bedroom.

no.
No.
NOOOOO.

It was like a minefield.
I don't even know how she did it, I really don't. More than anything, though, I wish she hadn't tried to clean it up herself.

With ALL of the clothes from the dirty hamper.

and her bedding.
and the curtains.
and Reese's bedding.
and all of the stuffed animals from Reese's bed.

No surface was left untouched.
Is I scrubbed (which my back did not appreciate) and started a 2nd load of laundry (this is not including the pieces I simply threw away because there was just no coming back from the devastation), I looked around and seriously considered just closing the door and boarding that bedroom up.

Why, Quincy? Whyyyyyyyyy???!!!!

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

We fed the sister missionaries dinner the other night. As soon as they entered the kitchen, the girls ran up to them and announced, "Guess what?! We have a rat in our kitchen!" Nice.

Stay Classy San Diego.

Mousetrap

R.I.P Little Fatty.

Wanted: Dead or Alive...but mostly dead.

A few nights ago, I accidentally left the door that goes out to our garage from the kitchen open all night long. Oopsie. I've squished a couple crickets, but no biggie, right?

Wrong. There is a biggie, alright. A big FAT mouse. He ran across my kitchen floor when I flipped on the light in there at 6 am and he scared the crap out of me. My house is clean. I have like 50 stray cats in our yard. How the CRAP did I get a mouse? Sick!

I'll tell you how. HENRY. We frequently see little critters coming in and out of his garage, and last time I was over there, the floor was a carpet of rodent feces.

Dear Mouse,

Why? Why my house? You had a freaking paradise set up across the street with your pals. The kitchen alone is a smorgasboard. Were you crowded out? Did the fruit fly colonies hog the rotten fruit pile? What about the bathrooms? The toilets are full...that seems like the kind of thing a nasty little critter like yourself would be interested in. Why did you come to my house? Now I feel all icky and want to move. Also, I'm afraid to take off my shoes and it is 103* outside.
Curse you, tiny beast!
I am armed with dcon bricks and enough traps to kill an army (just in case you have any little friends, but I really don't think you do). You are going to die.

-Meg


Dear Henry,

Your house is disgusting. Now that you've attracted mice, do you know what are going to come next? Snakes. I don't do mice, I definitely don't do snakes, and I don't do well with hoarders. Expect a visit from the Health Department very soon. Also, you probably should not be driving while taking hydrocodone. You also probably shouldn't continue taking hydrocodone if you're describing its effects as "just the same as water".

-Meg

I cleaned my garage today (finding a mouse in your home will drive you to absolute insanity.) I'm sorting, scrubbing, and purging everything I own. Nothing is safe from the wrath of my ScotchBrite sponge. I even cleaned my cleaning products. Hopefully Little Fatty came over on from Henry's on his own and doesn't have 20 cousins slummin' it with him in our crawlspace.
I'm so grossed out I can't breathe. I don't think I'll sleep until Fatty is dead.
I'll blog more later. I need to go finish bleaching everything I own.

What's that smell?

It's time.
Let's talk about Henry.

Remember Henry?
He moved into Carl and Barb's house directly across the street.

He is a Hoarder. A REAL Hoarder. The kind that end up on the tv show.

Lately, the smell from Henry's garage has become so bad that we just can't take it anymore.
But who do I call? The health department?

One day, we were in the driveway and there was a particularly bad smell wafting over from Henry's open garage. It is always open, which is why we have so many stray cats now...they are surviving on mice from Henry's garage.
I am 100% serious.
Imagine the worst mess you have ever seen, then throw food and animal feces on it.
You are picturing the view from my kitchen window.

So anyway, the smell was so bad, that I was trying to talk to my parents in the driveway but I started dry heaving instead. Sick.


I lost it.
Between heaves, I was standing in the street, throwing my fists in the air, sweating and screaming at the pile of garbage, "Ugh, Henry! CLEAN your freaking nasty house! It's disgusting!"

"He's not in it."

huh? Oops. Henry was right behind me, walking up toward his house from a garage sale down the street. I probably should have been embarrassed at the time. Instead, I was sick. and MAD.

Henry was pulling a cart FULL of more crap that he'd bought at the garage sale! He asked if something was wrong.

Now or never, Meg.

"YES, something is wrong. Your house is messy and it smells bad. I don't like looking at your garbage all day and the smell makes me throw up."

Henry looked surprised, "is it a bad smell?"

"Uh, YES IT'S A BAD SMELL!!! It smells like rat urine and cats and rotting flesh and sewage and garbage! It's disgusting! Either clean your gross house or keep the garage door closed so we don't have to see it or smell it."

Then (like a coward) I turned around and walked away.

OK. I realize this was not my finest moment. Just so you don't think I am dead inside, you should know that the guilt of my horrible behavior did come and it hit like a bag of bricks, or a bag of garbage, if you will.

When we got home that night, Henry's garage door was closed.
It stayed closed the next day, and the next.
And the next.

It did not help that the lesson in Relief Society that Sunday was about loving your neighbors and bringing them closer to Christ. Of course it was.

Yeah. Remorse was slowly going to kill me. No one deserves to be spoken to like that. I wasn't even speaking, I was screaming, crying, and gagging. It was quite the tantrum. How UN-Christian of me. I know that I could have said something to him, but I didn't need to do it that way. I am so embarrassed. I think Aaron and my parents wanted to curl up in a ball and die after witnessing the show.

I needed to apologize.

But here's where my pride sneaks (read: marches) in.
I don't like to apologize. (I know, who does?)
I love being right and I hate admitting I've let my sharp tongue get the best of me. I've said a lot of stupid and offensive things to people (just humor me and act surprised, ok? I'm not feeling very proud of myself at the moment, so let's not go there), but never anything like this. I mean, I've apologize for being rude or snarky or whatever, but let me just tell you right now,

"I'm sorry I called you disgusting and screamed in your face" is not something I thought I would ever have to say.

I confess:
I found excuses and justified reasons to not apologize for 5 days.
Henry's garage did not open even once.

What if I broke him with my horrible words? Maybe he honestly has NO CLUE that he has a hoarding sickness and I was the one to bear the news? That has to be worse than hearing "you've got cancer" for a guy like Henry. I had to talk to him.

With Aaron's encouragement (he is so wise) I prayed for humility and courage to apologize. I might have prayed that it would be easy. I know that part isn't fair, but I did anyway. Just keepin it real for ya.

The next morning, I had an opportunity, and I knew it was time.
Reese and I heard the trash collector cruise past our house at 6:30am (why so early? They usually come at 2) We rushed outside to pull our cans to the curb and flag them down so they'd stop on their way back.

Henry's garage door opened.
I passed out.

Ok, not really, but you know how when you throw away a meat package or a really nasty diaper, and it sits in the metal trash can just cooking and festering and rotting in the heat of the sun day after day? Do you know how bad that trash can smells when you open the lid 5 days later? Bad. Real bad.

Sort of like how bad the smell that came from Henry's was when he opened the garage door for the first time in 5 days.

I held my breath, prayed for strength and a bridled tongue, and went over there and gave Henry a sincere, heartfelt apology. I really meant it. After a moment, he cut me off with a, "no worries" like it was water under the bridge.

To be that forgiving, I can't even imagine. If someone had offended me and MY home like that, I would have stewed over it to an unhealthy level and held a grudge for weeks. Not Henry. He was all smiles on trash day....which is ironic, because he never puts out any trash on trash day. His willingness to forgive made me feel even worse for how mean I had been!

Henry continued, "Next time, you just have to pat me on the back and say, 'hey buddy, you've got a smell!' Don't worry about it."

Oh the guilt! It was like I had kicked a puppy.

"Besides, I found the source of the smell."

Um, you burned your house down? I know the source, Henry. I'm standing in it.

Instead, I say, "you did? What's that?"

Henry proudly held up a gigantic black garbage back and I threw up in my mouth.
"60 lbs of rotten onions!"

Cue Janis from FRIENDS voice because oh. my. gosh.

My guilt left. My head exploded. I have learned pretty much nothing from this experience.

sixty. pounds.
60 pounds of onions! Rotten onions!
Who the crap buys 60 lbs of onions?! WHY did he have them? WHY did they rot? WHY does he live across the street? Why does he have no idea that he has an illness? WHY? WHY? Whyyyyyyyy?????


The following weekend, he brought his brother's truck home to unload into his house, full of stuff of course: several tool boxes, golf bags, a dining room table and a full set of chairs, one of those special assistance raised toilet seats on a stand with the bars, a cabinet, and TWO refrigerators.
And the garage remains open 24/7 again.

what am I supposed to be learning, here? Other than that it might be time to move, I mean.

"Smelly Cat, Smel-ly Cat, It's All Your Fault!"

I hate cats.
We've talked about this.
Perhaps not enough.
There are cats in my neighborhood. Strays, I think. Strays that think they live at my house.

I do not love them. I do not feed them.
When they get close enough, I throw rocks or spray them with my hose.

But they keep coming back. Sometimes, they bring their friends.

Last night, there was a cat meowing SO LOUD right outside our bedroom that Aaron and I woke up, got out of bed at like 1am and went outside to shoo it away, because it just wouldn't shut up.

Except it was pitch black outside and even with flashlights, we couldn't freaking find it! Torture!

The evil cat was hiding and whining, making us even more mad, as we stood in our front and side yard in our underwear and flip flops, waving flashlights and making that "pssst!" noise you make to scare cats away into the dead of night. We were tired and crabby, the cat kept meowing, and we could not figure out where the wailing was coming from to save our lives. From our bedroom, it sounded as though it was directly UNDER our bed, so we thought maybe it was stuck underneath the house.

While Aaron ruled out that option, I heard a second cat meowing at the front of the house, outside, in the bushes below our bedroom window. We found that cat (the same one that has been sleeping on our A/C unit but is too fast to catch and too smart to trap) and scared him away, and we eventually just gave up on the other cat-the louder one- and went to bed.

30 minutes later a HORRIBLE storm whipped through, drowing out any cat noises and I sort of hope it scared the cats away forevah.

As we crawled back into bed, I said to Aaron, "I bet you anything that cats didn't exist before the Fall of Adam. Surely they are part of that whole 'sorrow and contamination of the lone and dreary world that came along with pestilence when Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden."

He disagreed with good reason (something I generally lack) and we went to sleep.

I think tonight might have changed his opinion.

After dinner, we opened the front door to get a package and Corbin took off running toward our side yard. I chased after him and he stopped at the big red metal gate (another story, I'm officially a hick with a barn gate) pointed, and said, "Kitty! Meow! Meow!" I scooped him up and there they were.

Yes. THEY.

Kittens.

THREE kittens.
Two black and whites and one siamese (who was too fast to catch a photo of). ***I took these photos today. There WERE cats under our bed!!! That vent is directly below our bedroom window! My home has been violated by felines!*****

Clearly the evil spawn of the 2 horrible cats that whined at my slider all winter long, that I refused to let inside (ew! never.). Since they obviously did not freeze to death, they must have decided to retaliate and multiply in the patch of noxious weeds behind my house. I think they might be trying to start a revolution.

Why, cats? Really. A litter. Really? Why? Why me? Why MY house? I do not like you. Leave me alone! Be gone!

****Now, I don't mean for this to be offensive for you cat lovers out there (who, I'm sure, are quickly becoming both cat lovers and Meg haters). So please don't be offended (unless you are the proud owner of one of the cats in my yard...and in that case, definitely be offended because I don't have anything nice to say about them). I really do think it's nice that you love your cats. I just don't understand why the cats love ME. The reciprocity is not there.

So anyway, back to my theory:
Cats = evil.

So far, here is my supporting evidence:

1) We'll start with the obvious. Superstition: black cats = bad luck. I'll take this one step further and state that ALL cats = bad luck. Did you not read this post? I have a litter of kittens under my woodpile! Grossness. Bad luck AND evil, fo' shiz.

2) During our middle-of-the-night attempts to shoo away the moaning and wailing last night, we were eaten alive by mosquitos. I have about 50 bites on my legs alone. Now, we're all swollen and itchy---just how anyone would feel after leaving a kitty brothel, which is exactly what we have getting on in our backyard. What's more wicked than a brothel?

3) All Dogs go to Heaven, so cats go ---where? Ah ha! Need I go on?

4) Cats have nine lives. Why do they get nine? Because they pulled a Dr. Faustus and sold their souls to Satan, that's why.

5) The mean old fat nasty cat in Cinderella---what was his name? Oh, right. Lucifer.

6) There's a 90210/O.C. esque cheerleading show on CW or WB or whatever that vampire diaries network is called now called HellCats. I mean, what is that really? Hell-Cat? Is that a thing? No one knows, but the two words seem to fit together so nicely that there's a hit trashy teen drama series wearing it's title.

7) No one should ever wear a unitard. Like, ever. Head to toe spandex should only serve one purpose and Spanx has got that market covered. Unitards=wrong. Luckily, it is more difficult these days for the the innocent to be fooled into thinking unitards are a good idea, as the original name "unitard" went out of style and the evil intents and purposes of this horrendous clothing fad were revealed in the new name, CATsuit. Bad news, people.

8) Wasn't it the Ancient Egyption civilization that buried themselves with their mummified cats? Um...hello? Has anyone done any research to be sure that these people weren't actually killed and buried BY their cats?

and finally:

9) Don't even try to tell me that the pitchfork weilding comic cartoon depictions of the devil with the horns and the tail don't have an uncanny likeness to pointy cat ears and long skinny cat tail.

I'm just sayin'.

It's Good to Be Meg Willardson

It's good to be me.
Today I:

-started our summer reading program

-felt guilty that Henry's garage has not opened in 72 hours (another post. wait for it.)

-waited all morning for the A/C guy to show up. At 11 I called him and he acted all put out as though it was my fault he was so busy and wouldn't be able to make it after all (um, ya think? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.) He said he miiiiight be able to squeeze me in next week, but this week is too busy. Well, Mr. Fixit, you may have come highly recommended by friends, but that is what you told me last week, and that is WHY we had an appointment this morning. I had my Mom come pick up Quincy and take her to a birthday party for me, and I moved Reese's doctor appointment to the afternoon to make myself available for you. You didn't even call me to tell me you weren't showing up, so I think we'll be better off with someone else.

-fished Cowboy Boots out of a toilet bowl. No, not those kind of cowboy boots...
This kind of Boots...he's a cowboy. (yeppers, those are salad tongs.)

-moved that shirt to the "recycle bin" after seeing that photo.

-panicked after eating dinner, because I thought Aaron had taken the dirty "toilet tongs" out of the dishwasher to use them to take the hot dogs off the grill. (He didn't, but we all had a good laugh. Yes, I am just going to buy new tongs. Yes. You can come over for hot dogs.)

-lost a bunch of friends because they read my blog. hahaha! No really. Can we still be friends if you use my bathroom and find Boots in my toilet? Just tell me now ;)

-yelled numbers at a machine recording until it gave up and put a real representative on the phone to activate my new debit card (we canceled the other one because we thought it had been stolen, but it turns out I am just an airhead and remembered the cause of the high dollar mystery purchase-Quincy's ER visit for the quarter--less than 1 minute AFTER the old card was canceled. oopsie.) After forevah on the phone, my "immediately activated" card didn't work when I tried to buy lunch Chick-Fil-A. I have a hot date with customer service tomorrow for some PB&J's and troubleshooting.

-melted when temps hit 95* today. Ew.

-hit this cat with a rock before taking this photo. In my defense, I thought it was dead (he was sleeping). Aaron got him with the shovel. (in Aaron's defense, cats are disgusting and won't leave us alone.) Kitty got away. Point: Smelly Cat.
Dear irresponsible owners of the cats that think they live at my house,

I can't type what I really think about you and your disease infested felines because this is a family blog. Maybe on day when I haven't reached my word limit.

Until then, listen up:
Your cats flock to my yard like owls to Number 4 Privet Drive. There is now a $10 bounty out on your pets, and I will pony up some decent cash for anyone who permanently removes one of them from my yard. Dead or alive, I do not care. I am convinced that most cats sold their souls to Satan a long time ago, so I'm not really concerned about their mortality.

The traps are set,
Meg

-Took Reese to the doctor (ear infection). She did a great job waiting patiently for an hour to see the doctor. When she got home, she ran straight to her "good news journal" to write about her visit and put the sticker inside.

-Started a reading program with Quincy. She has a lisp, so I am going to go with a phonics program for her and see if it helps with her speech as well. Today we worked on some of the letter sounds that she doesn't know yet. Reese enjoyed reading the little books that came with the set.

-Filled a bunch of water balloons. It IS summer after all. The first two balloons lasted 30 minutes and were carefully cradled and carried around the yard. The rest were gone in 5 minutes of pure childhood bliss.





-Consoled the first water bomb victim. (Don't be fooled by the pathetic face. It's a ruse and she gleefully retaliated on her opponent just moments after this photo was taken.)



-Stuffed a couple water balloons in my shirt when Aaron came home for lunch and waited for him to notice. It was hillarious. I'm ten.



-I probably will not be laughing when one of my little girls copies my behavior and stuffs their shirt next week. It was still worth it.



-washed and dryed 4 loads of laundry, but didn't fold or put away one single item. My sheets are in the dryer and Aaron is happily asleep in a heap of towels and a spare blanket (love him.) I'm calling it good enough for tonight and will fold the lot tomorrow.



-the good news is that I found Aaron's pile of socks. I know that sounds crazy, but he's been missing ALL of his black socks for a week, now. They were under a lone shirt at the bottom of the whites basket and kept getting overlooked. Gross, but I am glad I found them because it means I am not crazy. I mean, who loses 10 pairs of identical black socks all at once?



-saw Something Borrowed with my mom. Laughed until I cried on the way to the theater, laughed in the movie, and laughed some more on the way home. Cute movie, great company.

-the hot, fresh, tiny cinnamon donuts weren't bad, either.


-called the police.

Yeah, you read that right. After the movie I dropped my mom off at her rental and headed home. There was a little old lady wandering down Trafalgar road. Some people were trying to talk to her but she wasn't speaking coherently. After they gave up, I rolled down my window and though she clearly had no clue where she was (or who she was, really), she waved her wicker handbag at my van to "get away". I left her, but felt uneasy the rest of the drive home. I called the nonemergency number and the police said they would send someone over to find her and make sure she is ok.

Did you lose your grandma? She's headed south/southeast on Trafalgar, near Commonwealth.



-researched how to clip the hens' wings. I may attempt it tomorrow.



I'm loving summer!

Good Eats?

I made a double batch of playdough this morning for my preschool.
I came into the kitchen to find Quincy gagging. She spit up a huge wad of playdough that she had tried to eat. Sick.

I can't get the girl to eat a piece of turkey to save her life, but quarters, playdough, and wads of toilet paper? Anytime. Gross.

Question.

Dear Cat Lovers,

I don't understand. Enlighten me.
No, seriously. Why?

-Meg

The KGB Will Ask the Questions!

Last night, Aaron and I cracked up laughing over a rerun of The Office where Dwight, Jim and Michael are telling knock knock jokes about the KGB. Funny stuff. I hadn't heard a knock knock joke--that actually made me laugh out loud-- in a long time (maybe ever?), but leave it to The Office to make it funny.

The conversation that unfolded moments ago proves that either my standard of knock knock jokes has lowered, or my kid is disgustingly awesome.

Reese: Hey Mom! Knock Knock!
Me: Who's there?
Reese: [giggle. giggle. bigger giggle. HUGE FART. explosive laughter]

totally gross.
but also kinda funny.

Sympathy

Reese threw up on the bus, today.

It was stopped at our street, and she threw up on a half dozen benches as she tried to hurry and make it up the aisle to get off.

If only she could have lasted 2 more minutes. 1 more minute, even.

My heart is broken for her.

Everyone has a school vomit story. If it isn't your own, it's about that kid that threw up on your bus that one time.

It's been 15 years and you haven't forgotten. I know I haven't forgotten about the time it happened to a kid on my bus.

I am holding onto hope that this won't be the case for my little Reese.

When she goes back to school, I plan to drive her for a few days to ease the sting of the awkward social recovery. I know I can't protect her from every bad experience, but if there's anything I've learned in 3 pregnancies, it's to have compassion for the girl with puke on her shirt. She knows it's there, go easy on her.

Anyway, she isn't really getting any better, either. No fever, but she's thrown up 5 more times in as many hours, each bout as bad as the one before. She can't keep even a tiny sip of water, gatorade, or a bite of soda cracker down. She begged me to put her to bed at 5:30, but came out covered in her own mess at 7.

Praying that she will feel better soon, and that the other children will not get sick.

Did I mention Aaron is in Orlando all week? We miss him.

***The photo is from earlier this month. The kindergarten classes held a big wedding for letters

Q and U (since they're always together). The boys dressed as quarterbacks and the girls dressed like brides. So cute! ***

NoBagelNoBagelNoBagelNoBagelNoBagel...

Happy Festivus, Everyone!
If you are not a Seinfeld fan, well...I'm sorry for your loss. You can go here to gain a full understanding of the beauty of this holday for the "rest of us".

Appropriately, Aaron served up bagels this morning.
And even more appropriately, the children protested.

And now the Airing of Grievances:

Dear Lawrence Blood,
I hate the cold sores. They are gross, unsightly, and even though they erupt on my bottom lip every single month, like a perfectly timed geyeser, I still have someone ask me if I got punched in the face at least once every four Sundays.

Let's find out who brought this awful curse upon our family and burn his or her name from the records of our family history books.

Cracked Lipped Monthy and Bitter About It,
Meg

Enjoy the made up holiday!
May your day be filled with Feats of Strength and your metal pole be extra tinsely. And remember,
"Festivus isn't over until you pin me, George"

Be Careful What You Wish For

This post would have been perfect for Halloween.

You are about to see something terrifying. If that's not your thing...well, just be prepared.

Tonight after the kids went to bed, and the house was silent, I heard something in my backyard.
Just outside the kitchen window, I could hear it, trying to get into my house.

scratch.
scratch.
scratch.



Ahhhhhhh!
Isn't it horrifying? Clearly, he's just waiting for me to fall asleep so he can come inside and attack me.

My neighbors are kind of terrible.

I built a fence to block them out.
One of them has since, acquired a bunch of cats.

Fences don't keep cats out.

This one, in particular, thinks it lives here.

Last week, one of my preschoolers stepped in a cat dookie in the yard. I prefer my students to smell like sweaty, happy, sticky, little boys and girls. Not like kitty poop. Poor kid. The feral cats have got to go, like, yesterday.

I've asked the neighbors if the cats are theirs, but NO ONE will claim them.

Well, I haven't asked Keith, yet, but they are dog lovers (remember, they cremated the last one that passed away? Fido sits in a box on their fireplace mantel). Henry says they aren't his, but they come in and out of his garage pretty frequently. That could be because his house provides unlimited access to food, but he says they aren't his and that he has no emotional attachment to them. (not yet, anyway...he is a hoarder after all, so it's really only a matter of time before they become his babies.)

Want a kitty? Please?

Are any of my local readers cat lovers (shudder)?

I'll award you $5, a lifetime subscription to Megalicious, and a free cat, if you show up with a cardboard box (or whatever you put cats in) and make kitty disappear.

I realize that this means I have broken my numero uno cardinal internet rule: never ever ever under any circumstance become a "post cute kitty pictures" on my blog/facebook page person. You all have a free pass to defriend me....I clearly deserve it after peppering the internet with cat photos tonight.

Call me Angela, but it actually does make me a little sad to see him sitting out there all cold and hungry. But then I imagine him turning on me the instant I let my guard down.

Or think about him juping up on my bed or (ew!) my countertops and stamping his little pee-pee littered paws all over the surfaces of my home and then going into my room and sniffing my pillow ....bleeeeech!

Someone come take him. He's free.

Washed Up

The floor beneath my washer and dryer was disgusting.
I imagine that a great deal of the water damage we found in the bedroom had actually come from a previous flood caused by the washer. The laundry closet looked bad the day we moved in, but I never really took the time to get a close look at it, because the movers just took the old washer and dryer out and put ours right in, so I never noticed just how bad the problem was, so never seemed to make it to the #1 spot on my priority list.

Then again, scraping all of the ceilings, and painting all of the walls and trim weren't #1 on my priority list either.

But here we are, getting new carpet installed tomorrow. So if I'm gonna re-do the floor beneath the washer, it might as well be this weekend so I won't have to worry about spilling thin set or grout on the new floor.

Out came the nasty old linoleum.

I wanted to throw up. I never realized just HOW gross it was back there.

Sick.

Kasey came over, and together we
-cleaned up and treated the subfloor
-measured and cut the hardibacker
-put down a layer of thin set and screwed the hardibacker in place
-made fun of how nasty gross my floor had been for 5 years without me caring enough to do something about it
-measured and cut tile
-installed tile with thin set.
Don't be jealous that I rock the hot pink sweatpants with the butt print on them.


then we painted the living room while the tile dried.

24 hrs later, I
-removed the ghetto-rigged shelves and discovered that one of them smelled like cat pee when you removed the contact paper.
-threw said shelf in the garbage, and regretted buying a house that now apparently had an owner that had a cat at one point.
-treated the water damage
-painted the walls an obnoxious green that will remind me of Spring when I'm doing laundry on a gloomy day in January. I had a good helper for that part. Yeah, she's in her underwear. Whatever. At least her dress didn't get ruined.

-grouted the tile
-put everything back together. (pretty new shelves coming soon.)
not perfect, but a good solution.
Start to finish 5 hrs. Just as predicted.
Can't wait to get some shelves back up in there, and see the front finished with the new carpet fitted nicely up against it.

What do you think about the green? Love it? Hate it?