I really hate the pop-in

My house was clean two days ago. No one decided to stop by two days ago. My house has returned to its natural state of chaos and disarray. I entertained five drop-in visitors this afternoon.

Why does it always happen this way? There were at least 12 pairs of shoes at the bottom of the stairs, a huge pile of laundry within eyesight, clean laundry draped over the railing, and a pile of odds and ends I was trying to go through but from which I apparently got distracted. And that was just what you could see from the door, heaven forbid I invite anyone in to see the real mess.

The best was when Kitty's friend's dad came to pick up his daughter.  Here comes Chickie with her dirty chocolate face, her pool cover-up unzipped all the way revealing a soggy diaper, and her hair greased and tangled from sunscreen. On her way down the stairs she stepped on the pile of mail I left there a few minutes prior and proceeded to make a slow slip to the bottom. In my jaded mother-of-soon-to-be-four way I just kind of watched it happen, while I saw panic flash across the dad's face. She was fine and I laughed it off like "dumb baby, she's gotta learn to watch out for the mail, duh".

Or how about when the super clean, organized, whatever neighbor decided to stop by looking for Jared? He has an uncanny knack of popping in at the least opportune time. There was one time I pulled into the driveway while sternly telling the kids something important and when I turned to get out of the car, there he was, just standing there.  Weird.  Anyway, tonight he stopped in after John and Kitty had each enjoyed a can of cream soda on the porch.  Naturally, I've trained my kids to leave empty soda cans anywhere but the trash, so when this neighbor came by he had to step over the empty cans, awesome.

If you're going to drop by, please do so every third day, thanks.

I opened a can of peaches that said "No sugar added", took a bite and gagged.  A closer inspection revealed "sweetened with Splenda" on the bottom of the label.  What a waste.  Not only did I inadvertently buy the no sugar added peaches, but I hate the taste of artificial sweeteners (with the big exception being diet Dr. Pepper, whatever).  Are peaches in their natural state of sweetness that bitter? Why can't there be unsweetened peaches? Would I buy them?

And while I'm thinking about sugar, here's the thing- when I'm pregnant it makes me feel yucky. It leaves a taste in my mouth that I can't get rid of unless I counteract it with a savory option.  Sugar makes me feel more nauseated within about ten minutes.  For some reason though, I still find myself trying to enjoy all the prevalent sugary snacks that surround me. You would think if it made me feel bad I wouldn't want it, but I still eat it.


Chickie finishing off the jar of peanut butter, no allergy here!



Squelch their confidence-- my parenting style

A few weeks ago Kitty brought home a permission slip to audition for the school variety show.  I tried to put off filling it out for days, but she persisted. 
"What are you going to do anyway?" I asked with a real lack of enthusiasm. 
"Hula hoop!" 
"By yourself?"
She was so excited.  I was so apprehensive.
"I wish you would discourage her from doing this," Jared said on more than one occasion and I wholeheartedly agreed. 
"You're right," I should have said, "We really need to squelch this unfounded confidence before it gets out of hand."
That's the kind of parents we are-- realists who don't believe our children amount to much.

Kitty loves to play goalie on her soccer team.  I end up sitting on the sidelines cringing every time the ball comes her way.  I am not kidding, I'm wincing and flinching the whole time.  The thing is, Kitty is a pretty good little goalie.

We just got back from the hula hoop audition.  She did better than I expected and we find out on Monday if she made the cut.

As a side note, however, the music she hooped it up to was her favorite song: "Gone Daddy Gone" by the Violent Femmes.  Call me crazy but I don't think it's a very obscure song, but when the CD didn't play one of the teachers found a version on You Tube and when the song was finished everyone in the room was like, "I liked that song, who sings it?" and the guy says, "Gnarls Barkley" and I say "The Violent Femmes" at the same time. And everyone else was like, "Oh, the Violent Femmes did a version?" What?  Am I really the only one who knew that song even existed?

New post about nothing

Chickie LOVES Kitty's soccer shoes. She wears them every chance she can get

The other day I saw two attractive ladies, both with buzzed heads.  I wondered if they were recovering from cancer, but I really didn't care because I wanted to get the same haircut. 

No congratulations necessary, really.

When people say "congratulations" I usually read it as "good job, you really tried and succeeded!"  This is neither a time when I've done a good job, nor really tried to succeed.  In fact, this is the opposite, a fluke.  A blessing? Yes.  But I'm still struggling to see it as such.

Baby number 4 is on the agenda for middle October.  That's right, another one.  Just when I was certain (and I mean certain) our family was complete, we were dealt a real game changer.  If I was old before, I'm even older now.  It takes longer for this body to bounce back-- I was still working on it from nearly two years ago, so it's awesome to go through the whole thing again. It took until my first appointment to really believe it was true.  "There really is a baby in there," I said aloud, as if the vomiting and exhaustion weren't proof enough.

So when you see me around and I look just a tad more disheveled than usual, remember that I survive on a very delicate equilibrium in my life and right now it is way out of whack.  It has taken four pregnancies for me to learn this about myself.  I don't feel good so I don't shower.  I don't feel good so I don't do dishes.  I don't feel good so I wear my yoga pants for weeks on end. I don't feel good so I don't fix my hair (oh wait, that happens even when I feel ok). I don't feel good so I don't write clever blog posts.

I love my babies (and usually my children) but I don't love being pregnant, remember? I just figure this is one determined little spirit that we need in our family of determined little spirits.

So there it is, my big announcement. 

Maybe I should take a cooking class

Hello Kitty

"Maybe you should take a cooking class."

That's how Jared woke me up the other morning. I didn't know if I should be offended or offended.  He wasn't trying to hurt my feelings, in fact, I think I know his motivation.  You see, Jared has a philosophy about cooking, if you enjoy it, you will be good at it.  He knows I don't love making dinner every night and so in his caveman brain that means I must not be good at it. The problem lies in the fact that he is a picky eater and I can't always read his mind. 

This is only after I cleaned up the explosion

Regardless of Jared's intention, I stewed over the cooking class comment for days.  I decided to make his favorite cookies just to prove him wrong (technically baking not cooking, whatever). But when John and Kitty heard, they insisted I make their favorite cookies instead, and because I like their favorites better, I went with the kids. 

It was going well until we were out of brown sugar.  No problem, I thought, I'll just use regular with some molasses and call it good (I know how to cook).  And it was good until I went to the cupboard and realized we were out of molasses and that I had substituted brown sugar in my molasses holiday cookies. So... I went with Plan B: regular sugar.  Done.

I mindlessly added ingredients with expert precision telling myself I knew how to make darn good cookies, even without the right ingredients. I was lost in thought about my mad baking skills when I added the flour and instead of moving the "lock" lever on the mixer, I moved the speed lever to full blast. Flour blasted the kitchen, me, Kitty, Chickie, the dogs, everyone. It was awesome.

The cookies turned out fine, by the way.  My confidence? Better than ever.

One of my helpers

Turned my back for a second and she decided to make a baking soda mess to rival the flour.  She didn't like the taste of it.

I'm having an affair

It started years ago with "This American Life".  I would wait all week for the Sunday afternoon episode.  If I was traveling, I would desperately search for the local NPR station so I wouldn't miss anything. Life only got better as technology advanced and I could download the podcast, and eventually have access to every episode via the app.

There have been others, "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me", "Fresh Air"... but lately it's gotten worse.  Enter Netflix.  I was officially the last person on the planet to sign up for Netflix last month and it has ruined my personal relationships, my sleep habits, my life.

"Downton Abbey" became my everything.  Only after I searched every shady internet site for free streaming of Season 2 (since Netflix doesn't have it) did I get smart and go to the source, PBS.com. I started resenting my family for making me feel more like a servant than the lady of the house.  I started wishing we would dress for dinner and go on riding parties. I wanted to send a handwritten letter on a small piece of parchment and seal it with wax.  But most of all, I studied Maggie Smith and her clever delivery of insults.Now I wait every week for the latest Season 3 episode to air and worry what I will do when the season is finished.

For now I have "Mad Men" to fill my time.  I spend every waking moment thinking about when I can sneak in another episode. I am ashamed to say that I dragged poor Chickie into this one.  I cue up an episode every time she's up in the night. She's come to expect it, pointing to the wii remote the minute I sit down in the dark room to rock her back to sleep. I won't be surprised if she starts wanting to smoke and pour a drink every time she starts a conversation. In fact, if you are trying to quit drinking and smoking (or if you don't want to start) I don't recommend watching.  Oh, that Don Draper... so troubled and complex...

And with "Breaking Bad" lined up in my instant cue the obsession is sure to continue.