I meant to write this day before yesterday but got distracted several times.

I accomplished my entire list on Monday.

1. Take a shower.
2. Brush teeth.
3. Put on makeup.
4. Perfectly french braid Cara’s hair for gym.
5. Figure out where I put Ollie’s form for gym so he can start this summer.
6. Make dinner.
7. Get to sleep before midnight. [It was a few minutes after midnight.]

The lump in my throat was gone Tuesday. In fact, it started to get better soon after I wrote Monday’s post. Maybe I really should write when I feel like shit and then that will fix things? So is writing akin to talk therapy for me? Tucker’ll be happy if that’s the case since writing is a hell of lot more less expensive than therapy.

Tucker’s going to be all like:

Not feeling very motivated today just kind of…

Ollie and I haven’t gotten into it today and after the hell of the past two days, I consider a fightless day [Knock.On.Wood.] a blessing.

Like I could get through a post without at least one gif. It’s what I do, folks. It’s who. I. Am. Not really. They just make me happy.

And now I have to write the post I owe Atlus for the Game of Thrones game that hit Tuesday. Not looking forward to that post very much; I don’t like having to be “mean.”

While I’m at the Type-A conference this summer, Tucker and the kids will be at the beach with his family.

Tucker has threatened to wear this:

Because of this possibility, I'm *very* glad to be missing the beach trip.

Any of these adequately express my feelings.

I’m sure you’re asking: “But why, Amy?! Why would he embarrass himself and all of humanity and adorable kittens by wearing something like that in public?! Has he no shame?”

Simple answer is he’s obsessed with this:

Save. Me.

Anytime you read something where I say I’m NEVER GOING TO do something or where I say I’m GOING TO do something, just know I’m full of shit. Case in point? When I wrote that I was going to stop breaking up fights between Cara and Ollie.

Let me clarify.

It’s not that I necessarily mean to lie; I have good intentions. However, my follow-through kind of sucks.

All of that basically means this

which almost always turns into this

and I’m all like

then Ollie’s all like

and Cara’s all like

and I want to be like this

but I’m probably more like this

and then I

and then they

and this is how I feel at the end of it all

This has been my week.

Image | SHAUN>D

Maybe we never completely stoppedwith issues. We’re all about issues around this house; Tucker and I might start renting them out. Renting the issues not the kids.

You don’t rent kids. You sell them. Or so I’ve heard.

Anyway.

I grabbed a bowl of beans–cold soup beans can’t be beat–and climbed into bed with Tucker to watch a video on the iPad. So we’re just laying there and Cara makes her first appearance.

Cara: I had a nightmare!

Tucker: You haven’t even been to sleep. Go to bed and don’t come back in here!

Cue bare feet slapping on the hardwood as girl child runs from our room. There was also hysterics complete with screaming.

After almost six years of dealing with Cara and her drama, we’ve gotten quite good at ignoring the outbursts.

Five minutes later:

Cara: OK. I had a daydream nightmare.

Tucker and me: A what?

Me to Tucker: So would that be a daymare? [As soon as that was out of my mouth I knew it was lame. I can't be a comic genius ALL of the time.]

By that time Tucker and I had started giggling and which Cara took as her cue to climb up into our bed. We kicked her out. It’s important to show no fear in such a situation; children can be quite dangerous creatures.

She came back.

We kicked her out.

She came back.

When it was all said and done, Cara had pulled her Hello Kitty blanket and a pillow into our room and was lying on the floor.

She slept there all night.

I think that is what they call a stalemate.

This is one of those posts where I had a bunch of little things to write about but nothing that inspired me to dedicate much time to writing a post on each thing.

Make sense?

On to the little things.

My text to Tucker, “Can we hire a nanny?” I never got a response.

From Tucker: “Rabbit feet are pokey.” and “I wouldn’t suggest you go out there for a while. It’s rather larval and they were none too happy I took away their dinner.”

Explaining the national debt to a five year old isn’t my idea of fun.

After serving a fresh fruit salad–containing fruits Cara loves–and a ham and cheese sandwich I get this [complete with rolling eyes]: “But can’t we have pizza or something? I’m fine just eating ice cream.”

Our house has been taken over by flies. At any point in the day there are at least three flies. We don’t own a fly swatter. Rolled up magazines seem to work best at smashing the bastards. Coloring books not so much. I can’t decide if the flies are due to the fact we have cows and horses behind our house or if they’re leftover from “Roger.” That’s what Tucker’s taken to calling the rabbit. Wonder if Tucker’s Jessica?

My son can’t seem to grasp the concept of opening a door. FIRST you turn the knob. SECOND you push on the door. Dude’s not a stupid kid but he can’t seem to work our backdoor correctly the first time.

“IN OR OUT! IF YOU OPEN THAT DOOR ONE MORE TIME SO HELP ME…I’LL COME UP WITH SOMETHING…” Threats kind of fall flat when you don’t have anything good to finish it off with.

I’ve felt this way all week. About everyone:

She dressed herself; you can’t see the bright red “cowgirl” boots.

He says he’s a doctor. Not sure I want to know what kind.

“He kicked me in the vagina!”

“She kicked me in the penis!”

Image | Richard 'Tenspeed' Heaven

We heard the mail truck–the thing is seriously loud–and the kids and I went out to see what the dude had left us.

Some of our neighbors were outside and I was wearing less than flattering attire so I turned us around and as we were about to head in, I saw a serious case of dust bunnies. Upon further examination, I realized it was actually bunny hair. A quick look around the porch revealed a bunny. A very dead bunny.

I sure hope the mailman didn’t leave us a dead bunny instead of the mail.

Image | brentdanley

I told him I didn’t have a checkbook here–which I don’t–and that I don’t have any cash–which I don’t. He kept snaking his neck around and trying to look into the house. He asked if there was a better time for him to come back. I told him Tucker gets home at 1730 so he might try then.

OF COURSE it was AFTER the dude finally gtfo that I realized I had just told him I’m alone with two kids and a dog. I’m a fucking idiot.

And why was it that Sophie decided to be a good, quiet dog the whole time? A quick glimpse of an intimidating looking pit bull would have been helpful…just as long as he couldn’t see her tail wagging.

SO not answering the door again.

Yesterday was one of those days parents are supposed to remember and reminisce about as they’re sending their kid off to college or maybe watching them be walked down the aisle.

Or something.

That’s why I’m writing this. So I won’t forget. To win against the memory monster because I know I’ll forget this day if I don’t write it down.

Yesterday we registered Cara for kindergarten.

The permanent record IS REAL! Ack!

Cara crowded me when I was filling out all of the necessary forms and I was short with her–lots of times–since I was so paranoid about messing up the PERMANENT RECORDS. My penmanship is passable, at best, and years of typing everything hasn’t done anything to help the situation.

Oh the pressures of a permanent record and she hasn’t even started school!

The weather held until we got home which was great except it was hotter than a two-headed snake in Hades.

Then the wind started and the driving rain. The whole thing was short lived and we were rewarded with this:

and then this:

I guess yesterday held too much awesome since this is what the kids looked like this morning:

Not amused.

Not amused either.

My song for today:

And I have no clue why I titled this that. Just go with it.

Is it bad that I had to search the site for “Happy Birthday, Sophie” so I could remember how old the dog turned yesterday?

As we were getting ready for bed, Tucker stuck his head out of the bathroom and said, “You realize that dog’s TEN now, right?

“No. She’s nine. Really. I think. OK. I’m not sure.”

We then spent at least five minutes trying to figure out how old this damn dog happens to be. Tucker and I do this exact same thing when we try to figure out how long we’ve been married. Pretty sure we should start writing this stuff down.

So, Sophie, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, you bitch. That’s funny because she’s a girl dog and a pain in our asses.

Note the disdain in her eye. I woke her from her nap.

Image | Mykl Roventine

I’m so done with it I could take it to Gamestop right now, trade it in and not be the least bit sad.

I’ve logged almost 386 hours with Skyrim. This isn’t a game I’m giving up without a second thought. Me and those dragons have developed a mutual respect and what would all the horse traders do for business if I wasn’t killing mine and/or getting the horses killed all the time?

So, for the time being, I’m retiring Skyrim. The first Skyrim DLC should be coming out soon and it’s sure to be a doozy. I’m content with putting the game away–or maybe trading it in before it looses too much of its value–and finding another game to entertain me until the DLC hits.

Such a tease...

Note that kill cams for magic and ranged combat are included in the new patch. The mounted combat? One of the things I was most excited about at E3 last year; it’s about damn time we saw something about it.

What about you? Done with Skyrim? Still haven’t played it? What are you playing right now cause I’m in need of a new game.