Are We There Yet?

My husband’s hobbies include burning things

2012-01-27T21:26:00.003-06:00

Happy Friday, friends!

I am ushering you into the weekend with footage of our annual Christmas Tree Burn. Which was *conveniently* scheduled for the day IMMEDIATELY after the women's retreat I helped to plan, and four days before Art Fest. Despite being in the eye of the volunteering storm, the evening was fun--and alternately FREEZING and BURNING HOT.

Mike started this little tradition in the back yard of the house we are selling--not his *wisest* decision. When it was clear we were breaking oh-so-many fire codes, the event was moved to various fields that are not near ANY houses. Safer, but still terrifying. Fire just isn't in my blood, people; but it is for my husband and his brother, who once thought it BRILLIANT to kill the moles in his parents yard by pouring gasoline into their tunnels and setting them on fire. Um. THAT is how you catch an entire yard on fire, in case you're wondering.

For WEEKS ahead of the "BURN", as we'll call it, Mike would scour tree recycling sites--there was such an excitement in it for him, but to me it just seems like a TON of work. To burn something. And then it occurred to me, that this is what Mike thinks about Hobby Lobby, and learning the art of crochet (or fill in your craft of choice). A ton of work for a flower made out of yarn. Touche, Mike. Touche. If burning something is your creative outlet, then I say GREAT! Just don't do it in front of the children, lest they get the (genetic) idea to chase the varmin out of our yard with flames.

This weekend, I *might* start thinking about what life would be like if we weren't living in my in-laws basement. But I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like a crap ton of work, too. Update on the house coming next week. Peace out.

I ate the earth and it simulated the symptoms of rabies.

2012-01-26T21:39:00.000-06:00

Scratch that.

On Juice Cleanse Day #4.5, I wasn't starving, or bored--I was filled with RAGE. Deep, dark, heavy, RAGE--at my kids for eating a cookie at the grocery store, at the grocery store for selling food, at God for MAKING food, at Mike for noticing the smell of the kid's food, at the person who lent us the devil's tool (the juicer), at the farmers who grow food. You name it, I wanted to spew profanities at it and beat it to death. And then cook it over an open flame and EAT it. Enter the MADNESS.

On a normal day, the hours between 3:00-6:00 p.m. are undoubtedly, the hardest; I am most likely to snack on goldfish or cookies or whatever is sitting on my counters and wash it down with a fresh diet coke. During the juice cleanse, this desire is still present--however, when it is offered a sacrifice of natural fruit and vegetable juices, it becomes ANGRY. Like, foaming-at-the-mouth ANGRY. Being on a juice cleanse is a lot like having rabies, apparently.

So. I stuck with the plan and I drank the juice, and clearly I wasn't hungry anymore--but I had developed a violent hatred for lemons (previously my go-to fruit) and, as previously stated, I was just really, REALLY filled with rage. I made my kids what smelled like the MOST delicious casserole ever eaten by man, and then I cried a little, and then Mike and I went ahead and mixed ourselves up an asparagus/ tomato/ cilantro/ lemon/ broccoli/ eggplant combo, except that I also added a beet--and I'm just not sure what the procedure is on juicing a beet, because it tasted like dirt, and I'm thinking I should have peeled it. I did scrub it for like, 10 minutes, but there is just no way to make a beet NOT appear dirty (red flag). In any case, I heated it and tried to pretend it was soup, but who are we kidding, it was like eating the actual, unseasoned earth.

I should tell you, that Mike watched this movie "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead", and that's where this whole adventure into shock therapy started; I however, got the Clif's Notes version from him, and decided to *roll* with it. I kept waiting to feel AMAZING--and while I suppose I do have more energy to play with the kidlets, this is somewhat overshadowed by the fact that I feel as if I might kill them if they don't hit the "Proud Mary" routine on Just Dance 2. So then, I got online and decided to research this whole "juice cleanse"--and apparently there are some opinions out there that this is a REALLY bad idea, particularly if you are leaning heavily on the fruit juices, because it can throw your blood sugars WAY out of whack. And while I am throwing lots of greens into my juices, there is no doubt I am drinking something like 15 oranges and lemons a day. Too much? Because I think "the rage" might be me slipping in-and-out of diabetes. Or, it's possibly the toxins leaving my body, depending on who you talk to. I don't even know anymore. If I could put this in terms of aviation (why the hell not), I can't even tell the difference between the sky and the ground. Or I'm flying by sight in a fog storm. Or the oxygen masks are about to release, and I need to save myself before I help the children. It's baaaaaaaadddd, people.

I'm not gonna lie. I was so desperate, that last night I ate the broccoli out of the kid's dinner casserole. And it was freaking GLORIOUS--and that was the moment I knew the cleanse had worked magic, when I tasted broccoli and almost wept out of sheer GLORY. That broccoli was glowing and it has officially saved my soul--and I just knew I couldn't go back to a diet of strict juices. It would be irresponsible, really. I believe that after four days, I have been officially "cleansed"--but instead, am now aiming to stay with a combination of juices and a fairly raw/vegetarian diet for a while longer. This seems like a good compromise, and the right thing to do, because the rabies symptoms have subsided and I no longer imagine that the children smell like chicken all the time. Bonus.

As I continue to hallucinate on vegetables, I will keep you up to date. You're words of encouragement, or mockery, or you're advice that I might (inadvertently) smell like cabbage have made this WORTH it, friends.

Boredom makes me want to eat straight mayonnaise.

2012-01-25T21:08:00.001-06:00

On Day #4, I am finding myself...bored. I cleared all obligations and scheduled activities this week, mostly out of fear that I would be chained to a toilet (not the case), but also to keep my calorie burning to a minimum--lest I go for a run, or chase children at the playground, or clean the house, and become dizzy and stumble and DIE. I can think of nothing worse, than for my obituary to read that I perished while juice cleansing; instead I am holding out hope that I will go quietly in my sleep while parachuting. Or something equally as peaceful and bad ass and fearless.

Because here's the thing: when I am bored, I want to EAT. Something, anything, straight mayonnaise even. You know you have food issues and PROBLEMS if straight mayonnaise--or condiments in general, really-- are tempting. And it's not just the mayonnaise, but ANYTHING besides juice. Even whole grains sound amazing, despite my previously expressed hatred for anything natural and "healthy". The heart of this battle is NOT that I am starving--but that my tendency toward TERRIBLE choices is really hard to break. If I load up on juice every couple of hours and stay ahead of the hunger curve, I am great. I'm not tired (but I am getting 9+ hours of sleep every night so that I forget I am hungry). I've learned the secret to making the juice palatable, and it is LEMONS--in everything, because it covers that nasty vegetable taste/aftertaste. What I'm saying is that if you buy a big bag of lemons at Sam's Club, this entire experiment is completely do-able--aside from the part of me that wants to eat MAYONNAISE or raw oatmeal. RIGHT NOW.

The problem is NOT the juice. The problem is the thousands of bad and tempting choices that I face everyday. You can keep this in the context of food, or you can really apply it to...EVERYTHING. How I spend my time, how I raise my kids, what I choose to volunteer for, how I spend my money--you name it, there is a "healthy" way, and there is a way that I justify not-so-great choices out of convenience, or comfort, or because everyone is doing it, or because I "deserve" it. I drink gallons of Diet Coke, and I gain weight, and I run to neutralize it all out, and I'm tired, and I'm constantly feeling like I am a few miles behind having everything together. I know that's my season of life, and it's who I am at the core; I would NEVER be happy sitting idle and not sticking my nose into some kind of project. But perhaps the thing that needs to go, at this point, is the way I treat my body and how I fuel myself. And maybe making wise choices here, will inspire changes in other areas of my life and my time, because it is amazing how clearly we see when we strip away some of the crap. This new routine is HARD--oh, so HARD--but everyday that I stick with it makes me a lot less likely to drive through McDonald's next week. Written as I gulp down a broccoli/yellow pepper/carrot/apple/lemon juice.

As I mentioned before, sacrificing my 84-ounces of Diet Coke hasn't been an issue at all, and I think that's because it's a liquid, and I am so f-ing done with liquids right now, it's not even funny. However, if Diet Coke was a baked good covered in buttercream frosting, I'd have *real*problems--as opposed to the one's I am making up in my head (i.e., craving straight mayonnaise).

Also, quick side note: Mike and I DO NOT own a juicer. However, at least 10 people we know do. You know why? At some point, everyone thinks this juice-kick is an AWESOME idea. Maybe not as a 14-day (or what is likely becoming a four day) cleanse, but as more of a long-term way to add fruits and veggies into one's diet. But then they blend some parsley and celery with a couple of apples--and it is freaking AWFUL, and they vow never to do that sh#! ever again, because feeling good and 10+ years of life is NOT WORTH IT. And this is mostly because they didn't use LEMONS, but still, they have this fancy juicer sent to them by Satan himself. We borrowed our juicer from one of those friends.

The point here, is not to document a juice cleanse for any of you who might be tempted by my GLOWING and POSITIVE reviews! I think we ALL know each other better than that. The point is to bring you along on this painful little journey, so that you can see what it looks like for me to make some big changes and to show you that drinking straight juice for four days isn't going to kill me. In the words of Kelly Clarkson, it's going to make me STRONGER.

Or, at the very least, it gives me something to blog about. That's a win for you, friends--and you don't even have to juice any kale. You're welcome.

If this juice cleanse is a horror movie, then my free will is the girl that will not die..

2012-01-24T21:44:00.000-06:00

Conversation prior to the start of the juice cleanse:

Mike: You know, you're going to feel hungry, all the time.
Me: I think I can handle it, I mean, what's the difference between this, and being on Survivor?
Mike: Nothing really--except you know you're not on Survivor, right?

**********

Whatever, Mike. If you've read my post about leaving my purse in a shopping cart at Sam's Club, two days before Christmas, then you would know my life is VERY MUCH like being on Survivor: American Suburbs. Only here, they serve non-stop diet coke and left over mac-and-cheese, and let me tell you, that feels almost as bad as a juice cleanse.

So, here's the thing, friends. Two days, 4.5 pounds down. I almost couldn't believe it myself, but then I remembered that I am only DRINKING FRUITS and VEGETABLES, and it made more sense. Honestly, the weight loss is NOT the point of this--Mike and I really needed some kind of drastic kick to get us out of our very unhealthy habits--but I aint gonna lie, it's a really nice side effect. Especially since I'm having my pictures taken in my underwear (in a hotel room) in about 5 weeks. I know you're gonna find this hard to believe, but once again, it's NOT PORN.

Because I know MANY of you are interested, this cleanse hasn't posed much of an issue for my *bowels* or their various functions. As in, there has been NOT ONE trip to the bathroom. Probably because everything is juiced, and my colon is sitting unused (official medical diagnosis). I pee alot, but then again, I'm drinking A LOT. At some point, I assume this "cleanse" is going to make me feel AMAZING and I expect to start glowing like a Cullen in about 12 hours--but mostly, I am agonizing over just how much I want to eat goldfish, or pretzels, or cheese cubes, or anything that isn't fruits and vegetables, really. This is a mental battle, and Lofthouse cookies have WAY more power over me than I expected.

The truth is that I find myself FANTASIZING over what I'm going to eat in 11 days. Or less than 11 days, because I am also quite fond of cutting this cleanse short. Mostly, I will see a half eaten chicken nugget and think "Ohhhhhhmyyyyyyyyygoddddddddddd, I really want that chicken nugget"--and then I think, wtf, it's a cold piece of artificial meat that my kid has slobbered on. And it's in those moments of desperation over a gross piece of faux-meat that I get what it is I'm doing here.

I'm pretty sure I haven't gone more than 24 hours without a Diet Coke in YEARS. Literally, YEARS. I wasn't so worried about having to give it up, because I drink so much of it, that honestly--it gives me headaches. There was very little doubt that I was going to feel better on a daily basis, simply from that standpoint alone. Caffeine withdrawal has not been an issue--or at least, not nearly as much as FOOD withdrawal. See, it's all relative.

Last night, I slept for almost 10 hours, because it was 9:30 p.m. and I was starting to feel hungry--but NOT in the mood to peel some fruit, and juice some fruit, and drink some fruit and then wash the 20 different parts of the juicer that are caked with fruit rind. So instead, I closed my eyes and delayed the process by 10 hours. Lack of sleep, as it turns out, is probably one of the reasons I feel like crap on a regular basis--and by 10 p.m. on this juice cleanse, I just don't have the energy for anything besides hibernation, so that's a bonus too, I guess.

As I write this, we are bringing Day #3 to a close; it has gone by remarkably smoother than I expected it to. Maybe that's because I discovered that you have to put half a lemon in EVERYTHING--it disguises the nasty vegetable taste. Or, maybe I was better at pacing my meals today. Or maybe my body is getting used to it all. There's no way to be sure, but I am definitely encouraged to keep this little experiment up for a few more days.

Do any of you use a juicer on a regular basis? Any secrets you care to let me in on? What about experience with a "cleanse"? Anybody? I'm desperate for tips, secrets, expectations, encouragement? If you have any, do share.

Dissecting the beast.

2012-01-23T21:25:00.001-06:00

Let's talk about Art Fest, friends. Because let's face it, it was my LIFE for eight weeks straight, and if I don't blog about it, then it will be like a bear didn't crap in the woods or a tree fell and no one heard it--or whatever corny saying that means it doesn't ACTUALLY exist until I blog sarcastically about it on the Internet. For future reference, when some one asks a question about validating the existential existence of something or other, the appropriate response is no longer "Is the Pope Catholic?", but rather "did someone hash it's details out on Blogger?".

This project was a helluva lotta work. And not in a way that's exaggerated for Internet effects, but that it was ACTUALLY a crap ton of work, and probably the closest I have ever come to having an aneurysm. From the start, I understood what this event was all about--creating a night of art projects and demonstrations for our student body--however, I was new to the concept of leading a PTO committee, and as we all know, my ideas for grandeur and details and crafting and themeing can *arguably* be compared to the vision Bruckheimer has when bringing a prison break to life, but on a fraction of the budget. So right off the bat, I am sort of screwed.

Because here's the other piece of the puzzle--volunteers are *kind of* unreliable. If this was a committee of 20, I would say that five of us did the work. Half never responded to a single email I sent out. Many were busy holding down full-time jobs, or chasing kids, or driving them to the three various extracurricular activities they participate in on any given day. I GET THAT, and I am not in the business of making ANYONE feel bad about it. I signed up to be responsible for this job, and I am going to DO IT. And I am going to do it WELL, all or nothing, and not cut corners, with or without help. It is the same unwavering resolve that was DETERMINED to create a real (fictional?) fan page for Jon BonJovial, even if it took 30 hours. I can't ask anyone to share that kind of crazy, and I can't turn it off either. Quite the conundrum.

It's just that Art Fest had SO MANY moving parts. It evolved into 15 different art stations: a school-wide finger print art project on a large canvas, yarn wrapped balloons, small scale tye-dye on paper towels, painting the ceiling of the Sistine chapel (kids painting on paper taped to the underside of short tables), recreating Kandinsky's Dots with oil pastels and water color paint; creative stamping using items like plungers and potato mashers and mardi gras beads; paint pendulums (that we built) and used to swing paint in wide arc patterns, and salad spinner art. In addition, there were artists on hand who taught the kids how to make balloon animals, demonstrated a potters wheel and basket weaving, helped us hand-sew quilt squares, and managed a large-scale paint-pouring project. There was the coordinating of all the projects, the purchasing of all the materials, the begging for donations, the creating of printed materials and signs--and the set-up of it all, that was basically done by THREE people in THREE hours. There was the building of 4 wooden penis looking things for the paint pouring project, and the creation of a SEVEN FOOT circus master and his lion (by the balloon guy). And what made it complicated, was that I determined the success of Art Fest to be two-fold: creating something that was fun and exciting and OVER THE TOP for the kids, and doing it for less than my $400 budget.

Fifteen stations + paper and supplies for all of them + 150 kids + $400 budget = A LOT OF WORK. But not impossible--and those are dangerous words for me, because if it's do-able, I will lose sleep trying to make it happen. In fact, as you'll remember the post I did a couple of weeks ago, it's AMAZING what people will do for you if you ASK. Problem is, in today's day and age, we just don't like to ask anymore.

I'm not saying any of this to toot my own horn, or to play the worlds largest imaginary violin, or to ask for an Academy Award--but to share the anatomy of a BEAST. So that the next time you go to an event at your kid's school, and it's awesome, and your kids love it--that you would know that someone probably poured their soul into it and fed their kids chicken nuggets for 3 weeks straight. Not because they are trying to be an alpha mom or win a popularity contest or make you feel like crap--but because they are passionate about it, and they are going to make. it. happen. Trust me when I tell you that heading up a big PTO project is one of the LONELIEST and toughest jobs in the world--because you are taking something on, and just not sure if anyone is really going to jump on board. Or maybe they'll join you, or maybe something will come up and they will give you 15 minutes notice that they just can't make it. Or maybe they are going to help, but they aren't willing to make 15 trips to Hobby Lobby to get the most out of that 40% off coupon, and that will cost 20% of the event budget. Or maybe they don't see a need for 15 projects, when six would be fine. Or maybe, they will give back-handed compliments about how all that work and effort somehow makes them feel like less of a mother or human being (for the record, this DID NOT happen on this particular project, but I have been around women enough to know it happens ALL. THE. TIME). FYI, that is the WORST thing we do as women, and I am absolutely guilty of it too--tearing down the strengths of others out of insecurity. We need to knock that sh#! out. I'm talking to you, anonymous commentor, who implied that because I live in a basement in LADUE and that I am lucky enough to have my own kitchen here, that moving FOUR kids and 15+ years of stuff that would qualify me for an episode of hoarders WASN'T difficult. I know you didn't mean it like that, because we're Internet friends, but you KNOW how we girls are, and I was really tired and emotionally spent and pretty raw, and we were in the throws of negotiating a contract on our house, and it felt a little personal, and I took it hard. I'm telling you this so that you know I have actual feelings (not just sarcastic ones)--and now that I have officially declared them on the Internet, they do, legitimately exist.

Anyhoo.

All this to say, if you are a parent at an elementary school, and you think the PTO and it's committees are like a cult of stepford wives, please, PLEASE know that these women are working their asses off--and if they appear to be clique-y, it's probably because they have lost hours of sleep and cried tears of actual blood together, and made calls to beg for more HELP--and those calls where they ASKED for something, were probably answered by a few. And that is precisely how friendships were started.

So. The planning of the actual event was time-consuming, but it was NOTHING compared to setting it up and actually making it run. Three hours and three sets of hands was NOT enough to have it ready to go with any kind of confidence, and while the big things were taken care of, it was the details like raffle ticket boxes and big trash cans that were overlooked. There was A LOT of racing from our gym to our cafeteria, which is NOT a short distance. There was acrylic paint used where fabric paint should have been (sarcastic GASP!). There was the washing of oh-so-many things covered in paint. And there was the fear that maybe it wasn't good enough. Or maybe it was too much. Or maybe it was being compared to every other Art Fest since the beginning of time, when God himself chaired the committee in the Garden of Eden. Or the fear that I didn't properly thank the artists and maybe they felt under appreciated. Or that I just couldn't help everyone there that needed it. Or the regret that I just didn't have enough time to figure out how to string lights and paper lanterns and balloons EVERYWHERE, like I planned. Like I said in a previous post, I KNOW it was well-received, that our principle was incredibly gracious and helpful, that the families there were kind and appreciative--by all measures (aside from the paint on the gym floor), it was a success, but the details, OH THE DETAILS, they can consume me.

Four days later, I'm starting to relax about it, and let it go a little. Mostly because I don't have the energy, because I am TWO days into this whole juice cleanse. It's better, thanks for asking--but now I'm getting bored. And when I get bored, I want to eat cookies, and so that has become rather difficult, as I have been confronted with just how many cookies I was consuming in a single day.

Now. Go out and volunteer at your school. Be bold enough to make new friends, to try something different, to offer help, to be the new fish in the PTO pool. If your PTO is clique-y, then be the one to CHANGE it. We are women, aren't we? After the high school years and the insecurities and the generally cattiness that often defines our gender, I think we've totally earned the right to be awesome--and to model it for our children.

Juice Cleanse Day #1: The death of my stubborn, stubborn will.

2012-01-22T22:40:00.000-06:00

How can I put this, exactly?

A juice cleanse is NO JOKE, people. I've been alternating between feelings of intense nausea and extreme starvation all day long--whoever says that a diet of fruits and vegetables will give you tons of energy and make you feel TERRIFIC is full of sh#!, and I'm beginning to think this is all one, big Internet hoax. Except that Gwyneth Paltrow is a proponent of the juice cleanse, and she doesn't seem to have a sense of humor, so that's saying something, I guess.

All things considered, breakfast wasn't so bad. I had 1.5 apples, an orange, a cup of strawberries and half a grapefruit (nasty)...juiced. We made it through church and the donut tables, and then headed home for a "veggie" lunch, before meeting friends at the mall food court, to live vicariously through our children, whom we loaded up on MSG. Here is where we tried our first veggie juice, and it was one of the most painful physical experiences of my life. OF. MY. LIFE. Lunch was the "juiced" equivalent of a half a sweet pepper, tons of baby carrots, tons of spinach and an apple. Gag. Double Gag. Triple GAG. But I chugged it in like, 3 minutes, and therefore went from being FAMISHED to bloated and burping veggie juice--and let me just tell you, that sucks.

It took all of my willpower, but we made it through lunch, and the free Asian food samples and the smell, ohmygod the SMELL of pizza, but by 2:00 when I was tempted to eat a hamster, we went ahead and had another "juice" and then it became very clear that my body was shutting down, and I was *obviously* becoming a vampire--because I just couldn't keep my eyes open, and so I slept for 3.5 hours. I'm not kidding. It was the highlight of my day, because I don't recall being hungry or nauseous during that time; and so I am working on a plan to juice nyquil (it's got to be plant based, right?), and thus remain 98% unconscious for the next 13 days. I simply need to time my 30 minutes of alertness with morning/afternoon pick-up schedules. To the moms at my kid's school: Don't be alarmed, I am on drugs, I am simply doing natural juices. And at at the end of two weeks, I'm gonna look like a Cullen.

I think I forgot to explain WHY we're doing this exactly--mostly because I'm really not sure, particularly after juicing asparagus and wanting to remove my tongue. This is supposed to be life-giving, and good for us and a way to clean our chemically abused bodies, but I'm not gonna lie--it feels an awful lot like death, however, I just assume that's the nutrients that are "changing" me. We've sort of committed to living a year of radical choices and making life really interesting (and not sticking with our same old boring choices out of fear)--and then Mike saw this movie about juicing, and it all just clicked, and now we are being interesting people by killing ourselves with fruits and vegetables. At the end of the day, it is GOOD for us to change our bad habits of only drinking diet coke; but it is also fairly obvious that GOOD choices are hard, and kind of gross, and sometimes gag-inducing. Comfortable doesn't always mean BEST, but that's a fun little lie we're tricked into believing on a daily basis--the idea that shaking things up will damage or disturb us too profoundly. It just isn't the case, friends. Also, I don't really desire to drink this crap for the rest of my life; but I suppose that I'm done believing that I couldn't be trained to tolerate it. This is completely an exercise in examining my boundaries, friends--because when we convince ourselves that we don't like or can't handle certain things, eventually we put BIG limitations on what we are willing to try or what we are capable of. This is, simply, an experiment in trying something new and seeing where it takes us.

I'm *hoping* to end up in a land where I am 10 pounds skinnier. And being able to climb trees and run really fast and sparkle like diamonds in the sun wouldn't be so bad either.

My day can be summed up in millions of paper bits and 7 (left over) gallons of tye dye.

2012-01-20T23:34:00.000-06:00

This morning, I woke up at 8:19 a.m. and fed the children a healthy breakfast of sugar and preservatives (cereal). I just didn't have it in me to make eggs benedict, or cinnamon rolls, or TOAST for that matter. We were eating, and we were eating s-l-o-w-l-y and we were letting L tie her own shoes, even if it did take 27 minutes (per side). It's the least I could do for keeping them up at school for 12 HOURS yesterday, and feeding them a highly nutritional McDonalds dinner at 8 p.m. True story.

I would love to say I slept great last night, but it wasn't the case. I passed out in my clothes, with my head at a WEIRD angle, and the waistband of corduroy pants was trying to saw me in half at 2 a.m. All that, plus I was too jacked up on paint fumes or glue, or the f-ing psychotic side of me that will revisit every. single. detail of Art Fest and vow to do it BIGGER! And BETTER! AND with FIRE, next year! But of course, this would be fire that DOESN'T stain the gym floor, because we managed to accomplish that goal this year.

And then I pulled myself out of bed at 8:30 this morning and was met with THIS lovely sight, which quite frankly, does NOT capture the millions of tissue paper bits covering the floor. MILLIONS. The next time I do things to the best of my ability, PLEASE let it not include the use of tissue paper pom-poms. Or yarn. Or glitter. Or paint. Or tye-dye. Oh hell, I'm SCREWED.

And partially I wanted to die, or move to another basement, or just start drinking wine, or maybe do some speed and eat some McDonalds, or have my 456th Diet Coke for the week--because I found four, mostly-full ones on various desks and ledges, and for a good part of today, it was like a fun game to guess which one was not expired.

But then I got it all cleaned up, and my husband informed me (via facebook, with his other 300 friends) that our house is under contract. Which is AWESOME (not the facebook part), since we are already out of it, and have been waiting for this moment for our whole lives--or at least since last May.

When I thought about it for a minute, I asked Mike what we are going to do with our king sized bed (still at the old house). To which he reminded me that we also have a large dining room table, two full-sized benches, two sets of bunk beds and a larger dresser to deal with.

Which means, another POD, or course. Son of a bitch.

I am WAY too tired to think of something witty, so insert your sarcasm HERE.

2012-01-19T23:16:00.002-06:00

Art Fest is OVER. It went well, from the standpoint of a participant. I sort of can't breathe, and I just ate a cupcake for dinner at 10:30. That is the one of the hardest things I have ever done in my ENTIRE life, which is saying something considering that I have birthed five children, raised preemies and moved a family of six into a basement.

I have a lot to say about tonight; and not in a way that's rehashing details, because there is SO MUCH MORE to it. It was all adrenaline filled and highly emotional and guilt inducing for me--none of which I expected. Maybe it's because I am exhausted, or maybe it's because parts of the gym will be stained with paint for some time. I dunno. But now I am being sucked into watching "The Fugitive" and holy hell, Richard Kimball has PROBLEMS, and they do not include whether or not everyone had fun at Art Fest.

To be clear, I am SO GLAD I did this, but I will probably be plagued with thoughts that I could have done it better. Less messy. It's just that this beast had TWO MILLION moving parts, and at some point I had to just. let. it. go. But that is a lesson that I learn at a painfully slow pace. I NEED to do less; but given the option to go over the top, or just enough, I will NEVER choose to just skate by. It's in my DNA, I can't help it.

But for now, it's OVER. And the kids had fun. And I'm not waking them for school tomorrow, we'll get there at some point, after I empty my van--which, I *think* contains open buckets of paint. And that means maybe we aren't going to school tomorrow, because just the thought of getting out of bed kind of makes me want to vomit, and I'm just not sure I can handle the unloading that would make transportation possible.

More to come, friends. Including video of how it all went down and commentary by my EXTRAORDINARY husband. Whom I owe my sanity to. Because if you didn't know it, my breakdown over the cost of wood was really my ego CRACKING under stress--and because it's funny, I will tell you that only TWO of our FOUR wood structures got used.

New Year's Resolution: DO LESS.

Art Fest better come quickly, or we are going to drown in a flood of latex paint.

2012-01-19T00:53:00.000-06:00

It's all beginning to look quite lovely around here. That is, until you ZOOM OUT, and then it looks like we were vandalized by circus clowns. What a freaking mess.

Art Fest is ONE DAY and counting, and I am less of an unstable mess, now that I discovered a paint store that sells gallons of off-tint paint for $4. This is, by far, the most economical way to mass produce painting projects for grade schoolers. For about seven seconds, I considered *making* the paint, but then I decided I DON'T HAVE TIME for an aneurysm in the next 24 hours.

And now an update on my expensive-wood-meltdown of 2012. Many of you will recall that I cried over the cost of the wood Mike used to build me a structure for one of our Art Fest projects. I realize that was SO VERY SYBIL of me, but apparently, what Mike took from that "episode" was that I needed another, LARGER structure of wood. One that's almost the size of my five-year-old. Now Mike feels like he just can't win, because I FREAKED OUT over having to buy more paint for (what can be argued is) a large wooden penis.

Oh my. I am SO READY for this to be over, at which point I will drink some wine and eat McDonalds and SLEEP...until I start my 10-day juice cleanse on Saturday. That means there is at least a solid week of crazy vegetable delusions coming your way--and it's possible I will be convinced to eat our hamsters, friends.

{Art Fest is ONE DAY away, and today I painted leave-less trees on t-shirts and a large canvas.}

The cost of wood has affected my mental stability, and other tales from the brink of sanity.

2012-01-16T22:18:00.000-06:00

Today, I was elbow deep in fabric starch and hollering the twins through the process of wrapping wet yarn around a balloon. This was WAY more complicated than one might imagine, and I was seconds away from losing it when Mike walked in the door.

He was home to HELP me. And also to bring by a project he is working on, on my behalf, for Art Fest. Weeks ago, when I had what can only be described as the kind of dreams of grandeur one might have while high on acid, I asked my husband to build this three-stepped, wood structure for a paint pouring project, that I saw on Pinterest or You Tube or who knows where. He agreed, but I have come to believe he did so with a small amount of loathing, regarding me and my ability to fixate on art projects that are three-dimensional and involve woodworking.

Which is precisely how we found ourselves in the middle of a passive-agressive war over ART SUPPLIES. Because when Mike came home with the fresh cut wood and told me it cost $30, I FREAKED OUT. And he was all, "WTH, I am about to build you a structure out of wood for the purposes of CRAFTING, how am I the bad guy here?" I mean, he didn't actually say that, but it was implied with that confused look and furrowed brow.

At this point in the Art Fest planning process, my self esteem and emotional stability are TIED to my ability to replicate tye-dye with heavy-duty paper towels. And to provide a night of fun and creativity with a small budget, that I am DETERMINED not to use. It's like this fun game, to see how much I can get done without spending money. Only, it's probably become less like a fun game, and more like something that would drive me to boil a rabbit on a stove.

Because here's the thing. I've spent the last two months asking for donations and pimping myself all over town and pinching pennies--and paying for $30 worth of wood is like stealing my soul as it relates to Art Fest, which has *accidentally* become the purpose of my entire life, I think. Only now, Mike is ACTUALLY terrified, because I am crying over the cost of wood and how it devalues me as a person, and he's not quite following, but he knows it's a big deal. In his defense, he argues that it's the week of Art Fest and there probably isn't time to search dumpsters for free wood scraps? And that's when it takes a huge, GIGANTIC wrong turn, because somehow it's communicated that I/ Art Fest is not worth hours of searching dumpsters for free wood--and never in a million years did he figure that would EVER be a standard by which I measure my self worth. But to be fair, I would have felt abundantly loved if he had called around to various carpentry shops and collected their free scraps, OR if he had convinced them to build a nine-foot structure, OR if he had just chopped down a fresh tree and started from scratch. I mean, I'm not THAT hard to please, really. We went at this issue from more sides than is REALLY possible, examining it from the standpoints of hormonal humans and muppets and whatnot, and it all ended with Mike saying that we would pay for the wood, so it was no big deal because it wouldn't eat into the budget--but that's like stealing from my Target clearance rack allowance, which is really how you kick a psychotic animal when she's down.

Instead, he *quickly* ushered the children from the house, in fear that I was gonna BLOW; which is like saying I am CRAZY, and that never ends well-- but the chances of him surviving Art Fest with all of his fingers in tact was like, less than 2% anyway, because anyone could see this melt down coming. I mean, we are 3 days before the blessed event, which is EXACTLY the moment that my schizophrenia rears it's many heads.

{Art Fest is THREE days away, and today I cried over the cost of wood, and made fabric buntings out of felt.}

Oh, you were SERIOUS?

2012-01-12T23:06:00.000-06:00

Snow. REALLY????

I mean, I heard rumblings of a forecast with a 1-2 inch snow prediction--but I didn't ACTUALLY believe it, because, well...it's been in the 50-degree range here, full sun. Barely cold enough to justify a jacket, warm enough to be at the park after school. The kicker here is that we discovered we were missing a set of mittens which is really *funny* considering that until this morning, we have been living in an eternal fall climate. I suspect there is a beanie baby that is using it as a sleeping bag.

We all know this is a crazy couple of weeks for me. Tonight culminated in the assembling of 70 goodie bags for our women's retreat this weekend; and on top of learning to run a sound board, formatting nametags, making two desserts and buying MORE art supplies--blowing up the freaking huge snow tube Little J got for Christmas was NOT on my to-do list. I am fairly confident that this will be the most annoying snow that I will ever experience in my ENTIRE life, as I am ill-equipped (with time OR attitude) to deal with snow clothes and mittens and everything being wet. Also, not sure if I've mentioned that Mike and I are going to go on a 10-day juice cleanse? As in, only consuming fruits and vegetables that have been run through a juicer--nothing solid, only *green* drinks. But it needs to wait until the end of January, because honestly, I DON'T HAVE TIME to go to the bathroom 18 times a day right now.

Anyway.

The kids played out in the snow for an hour after school, which is AMAZING, because it was freezing balls out there. When they returned, L was bawling her eyes out, because they had been playing in the creek (?) and her hand was freezing. Coincidentally, her skin did appear to be cherry-red--and ohmygod, we DO NOT have time for frostbite, because I have tissue paper pom poms to make! But as it turns out, a hot shower restored blood flow, so we are going to escape this day without a trip to the hospital, or an amputation. Phew.

Hope your week has been a good one, friends! One day to go, and then I'm out for our retreat, and then I'm back, and then we're burning a lot of Christmas trees, and then we are going to live and breathe kids art projects for a few days, until Art Fest is over and I officially collapse in a pool of acrylic paint. FYI, I will be drinking A LOT of wine next Friday.

{Art Fest is 7 days away. And today, I did NOT ONE SINGLE THING for it, because our church's women's retreat received my full attention. Also. I'm looking for the cheapest way to mix large amounts of glue and water, in case this happens to be your college major.}

In my mind, this could all end in a fiery inferno.

2012-01-11T22:35:00.000-06:00

Ahhhhh, Art Fest. Officially, planning a evening of Art projects and artist demonstrations for my kid's elementary school is much like juggling 12,000 simultaneous balls. Which is impossible, unless I smoke crack (do some 'shrooms?) and imagine myself with 5,000 additional arms.

The other problem here is that I am kind of a perfectionist. Which is REALLY bad, particularly if this event flops on it's fat face. Yes, I have a committee, and I am *learning* to use them, because there is a crap-ton of stuff to do--not so much a lot of prep work, but A LOT of purchasing. And there is a part of me that is PANICKED that I/we are going to forget to buy black sharpies, which will set off a string of unfortunate events that ultimately lead to the school burning to the ground. Forgetting Sharpies = disaster of this kind of magnitude, in my (crazy, obsessive) mind.

What we're looking at here is a TWO HOUR EVENT. With 16 art project stations OR actual artist demonstrations. Originally, I was working with a messy art theme, which is how I had the brilliant (sadistic) idea to do tye-dye and build paint pendulums out of PVC piping, but I couldn't come up with a theme name that I loved, and so it evolved into "Carnival". Because that sounds big and bold and (potentially) messy, right? And also, it means I get to obsess over MORE ways to use fabric buntings and paper lanterns.

Pictured above: fabric for the all-school quilt we are *attempting* to have the kids make. If it works, it's going to be AMAZING. If it doesn't, I have a project that is going to keep me busy through April. I kind of feel like this might be the kind of project that evolves and becomes streamlined over the years; but for now, we are going with an idea and seeing where it takes us. And hoping that it doesn't lead to me sewing an entire quilt by myself.

We are a public school; and as such, the budget for these kinds of things isn't HUGE. It's decent, but we're talking about supplies for 125 kids to do 16 different projects, and that adds up. I LOVE the idea of creating projects for the kids to play around with--but let me tell you how much it TERRIFIES me to have to call artists and ask them to volunteer their time on our behalf. Not my strong suit. I started shaky, but quickly realized that this is something I really believe in, and that giving artists and local businesses access into a public school and it's families is VALUABLE. In my previous life in public relations, I ALWAYS thought I was terrible at the part of the job that required me calling reporters to pitch a story; turns out, I simply had ZERO heart or conviction for what I was selling and WOW, does that make a difference. Because once I got the hang of calling, and asking for what we need--it's like I couldn't stop. I just kept asking for free stuff, or popping into local businesses and ASKING for raffle items--and people just kept giving it to me. Amazing. While it's true I am whacked out beyond belief over this shin-dig, I am completely grateful that it forced me to ASK FOR SOMETHING, because honestly, I can't remember the last time I had to depend on the kindness of others to get something done. It's really easy for me to live this life, in this basement, behind my computer, with my kids. I can go to the grocery store, and cook (barely), and do laundry and clean (every now and then)--and I am tricked into believing that I can do this whole life, all by myself. I go out of my way to be self-sufficient, and working on this entire project, and hearing what people are passionate about, and the kind of art they do, and what motivates them, and how a small public school can be something they can get excited about--it's all been VERY surprising, how much I love it. Seriously, it's AMAZING what people will do for you, when they are needed.

I highly suggest that you all get involved in a project that has you drowning in tasks that are over your head--because, as it turns out, no one actually dies from that kind of thing.

***Official update: Art Fest, eight days and counting. And today I practiced wrapping balloons with yarn soaked in glue and I kind of suck at it.***

Homework still blows and an ADHD update.

2012-01-10T21:37:00.000-06:00

How many is this?

Ten, twenty, thirty...

That's not a dime, it's a nickel.

Ten, twenty, thirty...

Not a dime, a nickel. What's twenty plus five?

Twenty six?

No.

Thirty six?

No.

Fifty six?

No. {Deep breath}. Let's try this a different way. Count by one's, starting at twenty.

Twenty, thirty--

Ones. What comes after twenty?

{Insert G}. Mom, I don't understand this--I'm supposed to find the error in the subject-verb agreement, but I don't know what that is. {Insert: REALLY?? W.T.H.}

G, you're gonna need to wait a minute, because I have no idea. Big J, let's get started with your homework, buddy. L, ready, count by ones--twenty...

Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty FIVE, twenty six, twenty seven--

Okay, stop. Now, what's twenty plus five {holding up five fingers}?

Forty seven.

{Sigh}. Try counting by fives. Go.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty five--

STOP! What comes after twenty, when you're counting by fives?

Twenty five?

Yes! Twenty five! Now add ONE to twenty-five--what is that?

Seventy five.

No.

{Insert Big J.} Forty One?

Yes.

{Insert both twins recording the number 41 as their answer}. L, not you, that was Big J's answer. You're on a different problem. What is TWENTY FIVE plus ONE?

Forty one.

No. Count by ones, starting at twenty--

Twenty, thirty, for--

No. Ones, not tens. Twenty, twenty one, twenty two...

...Twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six--

STOP! What's twenty five plus ONE?

Seventy five.

{Insert me, giving up}.

The good news here is that Big J's ADHD medication seems to have kicked in, and--I'll be damned--it's working, but I wouldn't be surprised if he needs a slightly higher dose. What I'm seeing is absolute progress and homework was less painful than slowly bleeding to death, so that is a really noticeable difference. There was the minor (10 minute) issue of continually confusing "won't" and "want", but I blame stupid, nonsensical phonics for that--try teaching a kid with learning disabilities to read, and you will suddenly realize that the English language is jacked. I'm not sure if I ever mentioned this, but our pediatrician did address the issue of the popular Internet diet for ADD, and in her opinion, there is nothing about it that is proven to have any kind of lasting results, other than driving parents CRAZY--which is awe-some because I really don't want to be the kind of mom that FREAKS every time my kid eats a goldfish cracker. Let's face it, before the meds, that's generally where we were headed--because SOMETHING has to take the brunt of the frustration that comes with trying to understand an ADD brain, and it might as well be snack crackers. Sounds about as healthy as the diet's suggestion of a coffee breakfast for my seven-year-old, which seemed to be against even my better judgment.

I feel *kind of* like we are on the upswing here, but still, there's the constant heavy shadow of their prematurity. At least I think it's their prematurity, and not the fact that I am dividing my attention between four children and 763 projects at the moment. I feel like everyone is teaching their kids to play the piano or speak Spanish, or learn the basics of cage fighting--but it is PAINFULLY obvious to me that we need to be working on +1 addition facts. We aren't even ready for counting with 5's and 10's--that sh#! is extracurricular in my opinion, like canoeing.

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

As an added bonus--I am adding a "Days to Art Fest" countdown to my daily blog, along with the most ridiculous thing I have done for the day, in preparation for the blessed event. Officially, we are NINE days away; and today, I purchased MANY permanent dye packets, because I *thought* it would be a good idea to let 125 kids experiment with tye-dying paper towels. I probably shouldn't be smoking crack when making said decisions.

We had an invisible, glow-in-the-dark theme this year.

2012-01-09T23:35:00.000-06:00

The Scavenger Hunt. Friends, I need to write a post about this, because it literally consumed me, to the point of madness, in the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve. Now might be a good time to tell you that I do a really shitty job of managing my time--and this has NEVER been more evident than RIGHT NOW, when I have volunteered to write/execute a scavenger hunt for 50 people on New Year's Eve, plan the women's retreat for our church (this weekend) and coordinate Art Fest at the kid's school (next Thursday). And this is me, in the year when I decided I was going to take on FEWER commitments.

But here's the thing, friends. When I sign up to do something, I do it. There is nothing that bugs me more than cutting corners out of laziness; I dream large-scale and very theme-y, and when I am attached to an idea, it is heartbreaking for me to have to scale back. As witnessed by the 15 hours I spent creating Jon Bon Jovial on Facebook. Ri-di-culous, I know. I KNOW. But also? The details of writing a fictional biography that includes obscure details, like--"Failed to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (as a band), so he created his own. Right next door. With an all-you-can-eat buffet and nightly fireworks."--REALLY excite me. Special is in the DETAILS, and the time and effort it takes to create something truly unique. If you want it to be good, I mean, REALLY good, it's going to cost you your soul, literally.

So. The Scavenger Hunt. Twelve teams and eleven clues hidden across St. Louis city and county. Finding locations is not the difficult part of the process--as we've learned in the years we've been doing this, you can hide clues ANYWHERE. But for a minimal amount of stress, they need to be in places where they can't be disturbed or influenced by human error. We have buried clues in the sand pit of a volley ball court, hidden them in books (that appear to not have been touched in YEARS) at a local library, given teams a picture of someone they needed to find at a mall, and planted clues at the house of a person playing in the game. We have made our little game ENTIRELY too hard, and suffered the wrath of our closest friends--but you live and learn, and you realize that people like it to feel interesting, but not be so challenged that they want to hang your severed head on a stick.

But also, every time we do this, we try to come up with something big and memorable--our very first scavenger hunt began with a simple ticket to a Cardinal's baseball game (which was being played as we started the hunt). We pulled a favor with a friend to get the tickets, AND to have the clues planted before the start of the game, on those specific seats. To date, it is the detail we are most proud of, because that is some bad-ass pre-planning, you know? But also, most difficult to *top*.

This year was the first time we've ever done a scavenger hunt at night, which lent itself to ideas involving things that glow in the dark--or more specifically, pens that were invisible to the naked eye, but reveal messages when illuminated with a black light. Sound crazy? That's what I thought when Mike began obsessing about this idea, particularly as he was talking about paint that costs $500/gallon. But I gotta give it to him, homeboy did his research, and found pens that worked SO WELL. And blacklight flashlights (given to all our teams) that were quite cost effective. Proving, that you never give up on a good idea, because you can *usually* make it work if you search Amazon.

We used those pens EVERYWHERE. In very public places like the City Garden, the City Museum, Forest Park, the Moonrise Hotel, Rocket park, Llewellyn's--and the best part about it, is that NO ONE knew it was there. Downside: It is REALLY difficult to write with invisible ink, fyi. The game began with us kidnapping one person from each team and dropping them at an unspecified location that they had to lead their other teamates to, and ended with a glow in the dark clue planted in the MIDDLE of a long, curly slide at a local park. Cops were involved there for some teams, but failed to press any charges when they realized the teams were a bunch of mostly 30 year olds playing a GAME.

There was the 15-minute delay of game when no one could find Jon BonJovial's address (because it was wrong), but ultimately, the first team arrived back at our house within 10 minutes of the official end time--making this our BEST planned scavenger hunt, as far as timing goes.

On Friday, I will share with you all the secondary game we play, in addition to uncovering the clues--it's a game of numbers that is worth points, and can potentially pass the lead on to a team that doesn't finish first. Cause we like to keep you on your TOES.

It's all in the DETAILS, friends.

Where I explain why my "NO Pride & Prejudice" policy stands firm on the basis of genetics.

2012-01-08T17:36:00.000-06:00

Mike was riveted by "Pride and Prejudice" on Friday. This is him after 20 minutes, in a coma, because *obviously* his mind was blown. It was 8:45 p.m., by the way.

As a rule of LIFE, Mike and I have generally instituted a "No Pride and Prejudice" policy; mainly because there is a new version that comes out every 18 months, and we can't handle that. If it needs to be remade that often, it can't be that amazing, friends--unless it's a version with a facebook app, a music library, and a high-clarity camera which can be utilized via finger-swiping technology. Then we'll talk.

Mike and I are big movie people--or at least, we used to be, back before we had children, when it didn't cost $100 for a night of babysitting, and dinner and a movie. Again, this factors into our changing philosophy on what justifies a night away; and it IS NOT a Lindsey Lohan movie, fyi. But back in the day, we would see all of the Oscar contenders and argue for (or against) them with great flair; and it was during this season that we flocked to the theater to see the MUCH acclaimed "English Patient", which is the. most. boring. movie. ever. made. EVER. Like, Forever-EVER. As in, I think I actually fell into REM sleep, eight different times. If you are a fan of really boring movies like "The English Patient" or "Pride and Prejudice", please don't take my comments as a personal offense; I was simply born lacking the gene that finds any kind of pleasure in British films. And also, seeing Les Miserables (the play) that one time was much like being put under anesthesia--and I KNOW it's a French novel/play/movie, but I don't know what to tell you, except that this means my *disorder* does not discriminate against ANY films with historical settings, made by ALL European nations. I am nothing, if not an equal opportunity hater of the arts; except for films depicting history in America, because Jerry Bruckheimer does not f-around when he considers the role of MASSIVE explosions in story lines. Look, we ALL know that slavery ends, and Columbus discovers America and that the colonists were a-holes to the Native Americans--but now, tell it to me with some CGI technology.

Back when the Keira Knightly version of "Pride and Prejudice" came out, everyone was all "OOOOOHHHHHHH, it's sooooooooooo good" and "what an AMAZING love story"--blah, blah, blah. And then there were the award nominations, but really? We had fallen asleep one-to-many-times in the artsy-fartsy movie theater here in town, to fall for that. I can't explain WHY, exactly, I decided to rent it from the library during the busiest three weeks of my entire life--maybe because I am breathing too many paint fumes, but also, I kind of figured that 8-10 of you couldn't be wrong, and so I did it. I wasn't even planning on it being an in-home movie date; I was really just thinking I could have it on while I perused the Internet, or during the MANY hours I am spending to create 16 different posterboard signs with hand-cut paper buntings (for our school Art fest). But this would also be a misconception, because I CANNOT understand a single bit of what they are saying if I am not staring, INTENTLY, at the TV screen. Also, the entire premise of this book/movie is that none of it's characters are actually COMMUNICATING, and I spend waaaaay too many hours in my day telling children to USE THEIR WORDS, to be able to tolerate it in adults who would be, like, 200 years old if they were still alive. It's been ENDLESSLY remade into a movie since Jane Austen wrote the damn thing--they should KNOW BETTER by now.

Instead. I posted my torture as a status on Facebook, and friends, you DID NOT disappoint. I mean, we can still be friends if you are a "Pride and Prejudice" fan (though we probably shouldn't see movies together), but MORE IMPORTANTLY, I have learned there are a great number of you who enjoy the Real World/Road Rules Challenge, and we need to go get matching Smurfette tattoos or something equally alarming, because it just seems like something we might do. If we can harness the power of this kind of crazy, we will CERTAINLY be able to rule the world--but more likely, we will reveal our numbers by selling out the pre-packaged Krispy Kreme donuts in grocery stores across the country. Because that is SO us.

Hope you all had a great weekend. Monday, you can suck it.

The multiple (and conflicting) personalities of vacation.

2012-01-05T23:57:00.000-06:00

I should probably tell you that Mike and I are out of town. On a mini va-cay, which was BRILLIANTLY timed, as it has been 60 degrees in Missouri for these particular days. I have a great post stewing about how my outlook on vacations has changed since having children, and how there is now always an undercurrent of FEAR that time and freedom is running short, and so we need to get after it and go hiking (or something brutal) at 10 a.m., or else we will miss this opportunity to do something GREAT and WORTHY and PHYSICAL. I can tell you that this wasn't my mentality in my early 20's, and that I did very little hiking--and even if I did so, it wasn't before 3 p.m. because I was ASLEEP.

So, Mike and I went hiking this morning--despite entertaining thoughts of laying in bed ALL DAY--and our path started near some horse stables with the *distinct* smell of sh#!. I blamed it on the horses, but Mike INSISTED it was indeed human, mostly to mess with me, I think. We looped ourselves up to a view of the lake, and it was beautiful and warm, and it appeared that we were circling back, but then we kept going up-and-freaking-down what appeared to be one, single valley, and REALLY, how many times do we have to change elevation on one hillside? It was annoying. Mostly because we were kind of lost, if that's what you call it when you are never more than .3 miles from a resort, and you just keep traveling vertically, and not so much toward anything (besides the sky, and the bottom of the valley). There were LOTS of plaques identifying trees, but not so many directional arrows. There were, however, PATHS and the constant sound of cars, and this is what prevented me from panic and produced a more intense irritation, as if the universe was punking me.

At some point, we ended up on a horse path and there were trails EVERYWHERE and Mike just decided to wing it, which is how we found ourselves in a large-ish area of what looked like green grass, but was really a sort of ground covering made up of very small plants. It was kind of magical, all this color amidst the gray/tan tones of winter, almost like we had stepped into that meadow in Twilight where Bella and Edward laid around, glistening and smelling each other in.

Except that it's JANUARY in MISSOURI. And everything here is dead. And vampires are MAKE BELIEVE.

And that's when it hit us that, perhaps, raw sewage was feeding this rather fertile ground. Mike thought this was AWESOME, and I instantly saw sewer rats--and just when I thought we were surely going to mutate 4 extra toes, we spotted our actual condo building. Which was NOT where we started the hike, nor where it was intended to end.

But we survived and I proceeded to wash down half a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips with three diet cokes, thus returning order and balance to my multiple vacation personalities. It was a GOOD day.

Tales of diamonds and dirty bastards.

2012-01-05T00:27:00.000-06:00

The year was 1997, and I was working at the Guess? Store in Hawaii; it was summer and I was home from school and thousands of miles away from my boyfriend, and this is precisely how I came to be a generally miserable human being serving a retail prison sentence in PARADISE. As a sidenote, this was also the summer I discovered M.A.C. make-up and really tight black pants and eyebrow waxing.

Anyhoo, growing up in Hawaii lends itself to many *oddities* and superstitions and run-ins with famous people. Friends, even if I tried, I'm not sure I could convince you of what my childhood was like exactly, but I will tell you that it is documented in a series of YEARLY photos (taken professionally, mind you) with my friends, that spans 6-7 years worth of unfortunate clothing choices, and ends, so awesomely, with our senior shots featuring ALL 12 OF US wearing identical black and white ties. I don't care what those pictures suggest--I was freaking cute in that tie, with my black cuffed shorts, and those velvet clog heels that made me six feet tall and a giant among Asians. How I managed to escape being chased through the Indiana cornfields, by mainlanders wielding torches, for the sin of arriving on my college campus in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt is a MYSTERY--and an OBVIOUS testament to my *amazing* personality.

This is the history of the 20-year-old that met Ol' Dirty Bastard in a Guess? Store. She was Wet Seal mixed with the Gap, and Color Me Badd confused with the Dave Mathews Band--all at the same time. Not a girl, not yet a woman, with not a single ounce of personal style or self awareness. The Internet wasn't a big *thing* yet in my world, and I had never seen the Wu Tang Clan on the top 20 video countdown on MTV, so you can understand that in my little island bubble, I had NO IDEA WHO THEY WERE.

Or... why a large group of men walking into the Guess? Store with a working boom box, pulling STACKS of clothing off the racks, was alarming. Not in a racial way--at least it didn't feel like that--but in the sense that they were bold and loud and the polar opposite of the Japanese tourists I was used to helping on a daily basis. They were attracting attention not because they were black men, but because they were blasting music in the kind of classy establishment that is credited with discovering Anna Nicole Smith. You can believe whatever you want, but Hawaii is an unusual place when it comes to race, and I don't say that in a sense that it's free of racism or prejudice, but that it exists with more of a scrappy little underdog complex that comes with a group of minorities that lives (generally) a simple sort of life in a place perceived as wealth and five stars. It has it's share of stupidity and ridiculous racial stereo-types and insecurities over what makes us different--but perceived differences are not the same in Hawaii as they are in middle America; in Hawaii it is the color of white skin that has always been the biggest threat, or fear or source of distrust, or whatever it is that tends to lead to terrible generalizations for people who don't KNOW how to separate random acts of ignorance by individuals from entire racial groups.

So. There was the initial ALARM, but also there was the enormous diamond tooth, or teeth?, that were EVERYWHERE. Singing to the boom box. Needing a bigger size in a striped polo shirt. Really, the entire men's section, which was in a smaller second-floor area, was a flurry of activity, mostly with salespeople and managers who were coming to see what the commotion was about and then being asked for 3 pairs of those long denim shorts in black, please. It was strange, and then I thought it was a joke, and then I remembered that tooth (teeth?) and I knew it was serious, because that diamond wasn't f-ing around.

And then a whisper started that they were famous, and I think a stock boy identified them as the Wu Tang Clan, which sounded reasonable without the use of iphones or the Internet in general--but he could have said it was the Indigo Girls and I might have believed him, because I had NO IDEA. And then they came to check out and that's when ODB graced me with a version of his interlude in Mariah Carey's "Fantasy" remix, which was like, totally my favorite song in 1995--and it became very obvious that I was standing before greatness with a diamond-encrusted tooth (teeth?). And then he signed a Guess? bag for me and the 15 other people working in the store that day who had no idea who they were. Minus the stock boy, who of course, pulled their identity out of his ass. And by then, they were there for what seemed like hours, because by the time they left after spending thousands of dollars, the store had been officially closed for some time.

And as an interesting note--YEARS later when Mike and I were in Hawaii for a visit, Ol' Dirty's "Got Your Money" single was played on every radio station at every second of the day. I found that totally ironic.

So that's the story of how I was, indeed, serenaded by Ol' Dirty Bastard.

And....end scene.

Crap, we have school tomorrow.

2012-01-03T23:50:00.000-06:00

So tomorrow is back-to-school day, and that's going to suck, because I haven't seen the hours before 8 a.m. in a VERY long time. Not counting the hours between midnight and 3:30, during which I created Jon BonJovial in my facebook lab for four days straight.

And true to my genetic code, I waited until TODAY to fill the prescription for Big J's ADD meds. Maybe I was supposed to start giving it to him two days ago? I sort of can't remember, but I was able to FIND the prescription AND the free coupons, and so we are already batting over 100, or doing a hat trick or bowling a turkey, or whatever it is you call it when you find that TINY (and yet very important) piece of paper even though there was a GREAT likelihood that you could have mailed the prescription in one of your Christmas cards. Note to doctors: please make prescription pads FLORESCENT.

I took four children up to Walgreens and dropped the prescription off, and was told that they don't work with our insurance provider anymore (make. mental. note.), but that they could indeed fill my prescription because I had a coupon for a free month's worth of drugs. This kind of stuff NEVER works itself out, particularly at Walgreens, and so I am expecting that the universe is going to send me a bout of acne or maybe a root canal. But at the time, it was a SCORE, except for the part about not taking my insurance anymore, because I won't remember that in February. But also? I had this other enormous tri-folded cardboard box that my pediatrician gave me, which was a *supposedly* a coupon for a YEARS worth of drugs--and it was obnoxious. Except, when I handed it to the people at Walgreens they looked confused, as it wasn't a coupon exactly, but a secret spy contraption meant to hook into a USB port on my computer, or something. WTH?????

Since when did coupons stop being made out of paper, because I can't believe that it is economical for a company to create a mobile computer device SIMPLY for me to go to their website and PRINT their coupon AND then give me a free year's worth of stuff. Newsflash: I could have saved you 42 steps here and my burning irritation, because if you're gonna give me free stuff, then I am kind of a sure thing and am completely unimpressed by fancy computer doo-dads. It all sounds ODDLY like something fancy that's REALLY going to require me to purchase 2,357 boxes of tampons before I get my free drugs.

Whatever. We'll cross that bridge next month, when I'm looking for THAT coupon. For now, we have 30 days of free Focalin and let's place bets as to when, exactly, I am going to remember that I need to pick up another prescription from my pediatrician and take it to somewhere other than Walgreens before we run out of our 30 magic focus pills?

Parenting just got a whole lot more complicated.

Don't blame me, blame Jon BonJovial.

2012-01-03T00:04:00.000-06:00

Blog world, meet Jon BonJovial. Jon BonJovial, meet Blog world.

Jon BonJovial started as an idea to hide a scavenger hunt clue in Facebook. Of course, this all needed to be very hush-hush and a huge, giant secret--which is precisely why I created an entirely new Facebook account for one very cheerful rock star. And it was all freaking hilarious, particularly when creating his "fan page" and being asked whether he was an entertainer or a fictional character? I was leaning toward entertainer, which led to a heated debate with Mike who INSISTED he was fake, because at that point the line between reality and Facebook and carrying-a-blow-up-doll-and-pretending-he-was-a-jovial-rock-star was very, VERY blurry.

Except that, I guess you're not supposed to create fake Facebook accounts, because THAT'S WHAT PEDOPHILES DO. I learned this because creating a fan page and was so damn complicated, that I had to google tips on how to create fake fan pages for fictional Facebook friends--and that's when it popped up that you aren't supposed to do that. Even worse, considering the profile I created featured a man with a lot of visible chest hair and frosted tips. I mean, it's like I was SCREAMING illegal activity, but totally not on purpose.

Facebook, if you are reading this, I did not intend to behave in a manner befitting a sexual predator. I was simply creating a scavenger hunt and was attempting to lure a group of people to an empty apartment with a set of clues. Which, now that I actually put it into words, STILL sounds kind of gross and pervy, so never mind. My new argument: This profile would only entice suburban housewives or women who should have given up leather corsets 20 years ago--and THEY SHOULD KNOW BETTER.

So then I deleted that account out of fear that I was about to be arrested, or worse--kicked off of facebook, GASP! But I still wasn't ready to let the idea of Jon BonJovial die, and so I set about the task of creating a Jon BonJovial fan page as part of my (actual) Facebook account. And it STILL wouldn't work. We couldn't find him when typed into the Facebook search feature, and so I decided to try creating an official "Sara Denckhoff" fan page, which is why ten of you received an opportunity to "like" me. I felt very douchey, particularly since my page was El Lame-o with not a single, snarky status update. But I NEEDED to see how it all worked, and I think that after 84-hours of research, I have discovered that Facebook doesn't make you legit until you reach 25 "likes"? Or else, I am still on the sexual predator list and am being strictly monitored and restricted.

So I got ahead of myself and made all these pictures with JB Jovial sporting party hats and saying AWESOME quotes, and it seemed like the world was never going to see them! And maybe it's because I was operating on very little sleep and growing a gigantic caffeine tumor, but it all seemed really tragic. And when Mike told me it was consuming me, that it was time to MOVE ON, and that Jon BonJovial was, in fact, NOT REAL--I cried tears of frustration and heartbreak. He was f-ing real because I just devoted half a week of my life to creating him on FACEBOOK, damn it, and I don't care if no one else could see him besides me {insert me bawling my eyes out}.

Mike quickly apologized, and slipped a Prozac in my diet coke.

And then we figured out a way to put a link to his direct fan page in our clue (versus having to search for him)--and glory, glory, HALLELUJAH, IT WORKED!!! Except that Jon BonJovial got his address WRONG (that a-hole)--and so, at the end of the day, it was a 15 minute delay-of-game, as every team was searching for a non-existent house belonging to a fictional rock star. I cannot make this sh#! up, people. But I can take the train to Crazy-town and write a set of rhyming clues that lead 50 people there as well.

So. I know I've called in a lot of favors, what with the begging for comments last week--but if we are friends on Facebook, would you find Jon BonJovial on my profile and give him a big "thumbs up"? Or write on his wall. Or try searching him, and if he pops up, then like his page? Or try THIS LINK. I would like to hit 25 "likes" and see if he becomes a real, jovial boy.

Happy New Year.

2012-01-01T23:31:00.000-06:00

Happy 2012, Friends!!!

I'm *pretty* sure I entered the new year on Facebook's list of potential sexual predators, and I am DYING to tell you this story, except that litigation is pending. Just kidding about the litigation, but not about the part where I accidentally behaved like a virtual perv. But that is a story for tomorrow, because I am brain dead. As in, I actually let my kids play with matches and juggle with knives just to keep them independently entertained today. Planning a city-wide, New Year's Eve Scavenger Hunt for 50 people aint no joke.

Despite the inevitable panic in the hour leading up to our start time, it all turned out pretty great. Maybe our best, in terms of timing; definitely nothing like the cluster of 2009, during which we learned that GPS coordinates to suitcase dangling from a cable off of a bridge on a running/biking trail was TOO HARD.

Today, however, I am pretty freakin' excited about the year ahead, a new blank canvas. There is no question our lives WILL look different this year, or maybe, exactly the same as they were 6 months ago, except with black granite counter tops and renovated bathrooms, because we are seriously talking about moving back into our house. I'm working on an update along these lines, because I know it's been a while--but honestly, sometimes I just forget we have a really clean house that is two miles away, probably because I have spent the last 10 days pretending to be a fictional creature (Santa) and writing clues in invisible ink on playground slides.

Also. I have a New Year's resolution to lose WEIGHT because my thyroid has mutinied, or gone south for the winter, or died--I'm guessing it has something to do with my 28-day peppermint-bark diet. My fancy sweat pants are only a suitable option for the next 5.5 months, at which time I will be expected to wear the equivalent of my underwear (bathing suit) for 3 months straight.

But for today, I hope you are all excited about the story you're about to write. Let's rule the world in the new year, friends.

My heart DID go on: Tales of poor clothing choices and college drunkeness.

2011-12-30T21:52:00.001-06:00

And now, for the big reveal....

{insert drumroll}

...I did, indeed, graduate from High School with Miss America 2001, Angela Baraquio.

...I also taught an aerobics class and broke my finger.

...The tanning bed story is, sadly, true. Because I grew up in HAWAII and had no use for a tanning bed because we had the SUN in FEBRUARY.

...Mike and I did see "Mullholland Drive" at the Ritz in St. Louis, and Bob Costas happened to be the only other person in there.

...and lastly, while I WILL go into details of this in a post next week, the Wu Tang Clan did visit the Guess? Store I was working in (summer of 1997) with a real boom box and I was, in fact, sung to by ODB. I have an autograph on an actual Guess? bag to prove it, but it's in...the POD. I sort of forgot this story, because it feels like it happened 23 lifetimes ago, before I boarded the Starship Enterprise to live in the vacuum of space, but you know what? It is more hilarious through the lens of time, for sure.

So now you know--

The story of me missing my first sorority formal is FALSE. Sort of. Because, while I did indeed consume a bottle of Boone's wine before I proceeded to pass out in a bathroom, I had a few things working in my favor: 1.) The buses were running late that evening, giving me some unexpected time to sober up, and 2.) My date ran next door to Burger King and I woke up to the sound of him pounding on the door because he bought me a Whopper, which served as a great sponge for all of that Boone's wine (gag). I did have to BEG our social chair to be allowed on the bus, but would PROUDLY like to state that I was NOT the one who threw up on it (person(s) to remain nameless). And sadly, I was in fact wearing a GIGANTIC heart choker with rhinestones, which became SO LEGENDARY that it was referenced and named "The Heart of the Ocean" TWO YEARS LATER when Titanic was released in 1996. Also, I had this really big love for Celine Dion; I was a hot, hot mess between 1994 through 1997 and while I DID NOT miss my first formal, sadly (and shaaaaaamefully), most of the other details are true.

I would like it noted that I was NOT a drinker in high school. But one time, at a sleepover, someone brought Boone's. Fast forward to fall semester of my freshman year, when my new best friends who were randomly selected by a bizarre set of parties/brownie eating/skits/loud chanting (translation: sorority rush) were asking me WHAT I wanted to drink before our formal? To which I answered BOONE'S, because I didn't know any other kind of alcohol besides keg beer, and an entire keg seemed excessive, no? Then my friend Adler (who was an ENORMOUS drinker and penny loafer-wearer in high school) asked, how many bottles of Boone's did I need, exactly? Three or Four?

Totally, that should do it. This was me playing it cool.

FYI high school/college students: There is NO SUCH THING as cool. Please reference the movie "Can't Buy Me Love" and the African Ant-Eater Dance scene. There is "working really hard to fit in with the popular people", who are working really hard to fit in with the Kardashians, who are working really hard to fit in with real famous people/actors, who are working really hard to act like FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. And then there are rock stars, and they are ON DRUGS, or else they are so ecclectic that they wear 15 scarves or a dress made out of meat, and really it is only this kind of CONFIDENCE that has balls to wear metallic python leggings, and thereby inspire an entire decade (the 80s).

But for the sake of our little story, let's just say I played it REALLY cool, right up until I passed out in that bathroom. Because, I stand by the statement that the pre-party, unless timed appropriately, is the WORST idea of all time. Do you know when 6 shots of Dark Eyes vodka kicks in? When you're drinking that Natty Light and head-banging to "You Shook Me All Night Long" by ACDC. Liquor before beer, my ass.

But also. I was wearing a dress made out of a fake velvet/spandex combination (sounds unbelievable, I know), with an ENORMOUS leg slit--but when I went to the grocery store (yes, I said grocery store) to buy nylons, I ended up picking up a pair of thigh highs, which are undoubtedly the most irritating invention of. all. time. I was 18-years-old and 115 pounds and they STILL gave each of my legs a muffin top. Unacceptable.

And when they weren't doing that, they were sliding down my legs and revealing themselves in the slit of my stretchy-green-fake-velvet-spandex-dress, which I'm *sure* I was keeping appropriately covered, seeing as I was drinking Boone's wine and vodka shots and passing out in hotel lobby bathrooms. CLASSY.

I like to think this little exercise in humiliation, and t he 5,000 others like it that characterized the painful period of independence-still-funded-by-mom-and-dad (translation: college) made me the blogger I am today. Because if I wasn't laughing about it, I'd be living in a sad, insecure hole set to the soundtrack of Celine Dion's greatest hits. It often dawns on me, when I meet someone in adulthood who REALLY cares about what other people think, that they are probably missing an experience in which they locked themselves into a bathroom, passed out, and led an entire sorority to think they have drowned in a public toilet. Because you have to own that sh#! or it will kill you.

Because after waking up, downing my Whopper and adjusting my thigh-highs/gigantic leg slit, LIFE WENT ON, even with eyeliner streaked down my cheeks. And you know what? I rocked the "Alice Cooper" look too.

Proof that I TAUGHT my kids something today.

2011-12-30T00:41:00.000-06:00

Still. Working. My. Ass. Off.

I wasn't gonna post, even though I WANT to post, but right now, I'm pretty sure that anything I write about would relate to this scavenger hunt, and there are too many of you that are playing. So boo.

But 50+ comments on my fake story game? Be still my virtual heart. The truth shall be revealed...tomorrow....

I know I weenie-d out last night with a lame post too, BUT, I am simply jumping on here tonight to tell you that I successfully taught ONE of the little chickens to ride our electric razor scooter. I might also mention this was the half-blind child, and so I do indeed, feel like I deserve a trophy, or a crown, or a Nobel Peace Prize. Also, I managed to threaten G into TURNING the damn thing (whereas previously, she would only travel in a short, straight line), so now I have two kids that are proficient in electric scooters. G's a really sweet kid, but when she gets an idea in her head...well, let's just say I can already tell we are going to have some kind of battle over a hideous prom dress with abdominal cut-outs in the shape of lips, or kittens or something equally hideous--and she is going to FIGHT me out of stubbornness and I will CAVE only because I know, one day, she will CRINGE every time she sees that picture on my wall, or in her wedding slideshow, or on family reunion t-shirts, or 40th birthday cakes. G, just ride the freakin' scooter, or wear the dress with the turtleneck and PLEASE don't spend the $12 you've saved 6 months for at Cici's Pizza's bootleg arcade. Sometimes I just know BETTER.

But not when it comes to knowing when it's appropriate to remove a naval ring. Which is not when you're 32 weeks pregnant and it's sticking out like a skin Idart, fyi.

Blog comments are like virtual chardonnay.

2011-12-28T22:23:00.000-06:00

Blog World!!!!!

Your comments on yesterdays post...they made my entire existence. Just so you know, my dear HUSBAND got the answer wrong, so I know you all are anxiously awaiting the BIG reveal on Friday. I'm holding off for all of you that catch up on me once a week. I know this because I have a SITE TRACKER. No really, I can SEE you. Well, not you exactly, but the 12-digit code assigned to you by the Internet police. But for those of you who commented for the FIRST TIME today, I am not kidding when I say this brings a great deal of joy, like chardonnay, to my sober heart. I have checked my in-box countless times today, and have delighted in EACH of you!! Truly. It's nice to know that I can ask and you will respond; and one day in the near future, I may call again, because I have plans for us to take over the cloud-vapor-kingdom of the Internet, friends.

Anyhoo.

Today's post is short because:

I REALLY want the rest of you slackers to click over to yesterday and PARTICIPATE. Don't be the goth chic with the foot piercings that thinks organized activities are, like, SO LAME. Everyone is scared of her because they think her brain might be leaking out her serrated skull ring. I mean, REALLY, sometimes joining a group of mommy bloggers IS the right (and less scar-filled) thing to do. So leave a comment.

But also. I am working on a project that is SO AWESOME it is seriously blowing my MIND right now. But it's top secret and so I can't talk about it!!!!! It's killing me, because you guys--it's SOOOOOOOO good. And it has everything to do with the scavenger hunt we are planning for New Year's Eve, which is the reason for the big hush-hush. But there are like 10 million amazing blog posts about this one, very specific *project* I am working on, and GAH! It. Is. Killing. Me.

Peace, friends. You rule. Dare we push yesterday's comments up to 40???????

Where we play a game that forces you to throw me a freaking bone.

2011-12-28T00:53:00.000-06:00

Ah, the holidays...are over. Based on my December 23rd post, we all know that I almost required sedation this year, and so it is a very good thing (regarding my mental health) that we are putting Christmas back in it's box. KIDDING! We all know there is a fat-chance-in-hell that my new fake tree is going ANYWHERE before the very end of January.

We have officially moved into the second most, shake-inducing phase of the holidays...the season of the 30-day return. Let's put it this way: on a typical week, I am at Target two? Maybe three times? And yet, I'm not even sure I've EVER successfully returned anything there, which is how I ended up owning (and OWNING, if you know what I mean) the ugly blue bathing suit that causes my husband to dry-heave (link HERE). I suck at returning stuff. And if I ordered it on the Internet? Fogetaboutit (that was "forget about it" in a thick mob accent). Amazon, I am yours--hook-line-and-sinker--with that free two-day shipping biz-ness, because I sold you my SOUL, which is weird, because I paid a membership fee for you to OWN me. But now it's like the universe just sends me crap, and how do you return something to the Internet? It's made of vapors and clouds or something, and it's address is the air, baby.

Oh dear. I've hit a tangent.

Because the point of today's post is a little...game. To pass the time between Christmas and New Year's, I'm going to give you a few scenarios that may/may not have ACTUALLY happened to me. Can you spot the fake? Do you even KNOW me, blog world? The answer is yes, YES YOU DO, because I don't just have normal conversations with people about the post-birthing supplies that I hoard in my bathroom closets. Only you guys {insert air kiss}. But when I look back at it, weird (stupid) stuff sometimes happens to me, like that time I told you guys about that photo shoot I had with my college friends in a seedy motel room, that WASN'T PORN. Yep, that was (horrifyingly) real. But which of these is fake?

I once broke my finger while TEACHING an aerobics class in college, while doing a behind-the-back-toe-touch type of move AND while wearing spandex. Gross.

While working at the Guess? store in Hawaii over summer break, the Wu Tang Clan walked in carrying a boom box and I was terrified until Old Dirty Bastard sang (rapped?) me the bit he did on Mariah Carey's "Fantasy" single. To this day, I can still see the DIAMOND embedded in his tooth.

I missed my FIRST college sorority formal, because I drank an entire bottle of Boone's wine (and some shots) and passed out in the lobby bathroom of the hotel we were "pre-partying" in. Whoever invented the pre-party should be SHOT, because nine-times-out-of-ten it ended with me vomiting. To add insult to injury, I was wearing this enormous heart pendant on a velvet choker that became known among my college friends as "The Heart of the Ocean" (once Titanic was released). I was HIDEOUS.

There was a future Miss America in my high school graduating class.

I went to a tanning bed for the first time in college, and did not close the lid, because NO ONE TOLD ME. So, I FRIED my back, but my front was as white as the Indiana snow. And I didn't realize this was the issue until hours later, when a friend saw my two-toned skin and joked, "What, did you forget to close the lid or something??" Light bulb moment.

Before we had kids, the Ritz-Carlton in St. Louis converted one of it's meeting rooms into a small (kind of bootleg) movie theater and the only movie Mike and I ever saw there was "Mullholland Drive". There was only one other person in that theater, and it was Bob Costas.

Here's the DEAL...in order for this to be fun, you actually have to PLAY. What on earth does it take for you people to comment????? I KNOW you're out there! I SEE YOU!! I will send you that ponytail I found in my desk earlier this year OR a pack of post-birthing pads if it will get you to leave a comment. I know you have to type in that annoying security code, or whatever, but I KNOW you can do it. One time. For me. Pretty please. You are single-handedly going to be the wind beneath my wings. I wanna light the comment board UP--and by that, I mean, I would like to see if it's possible to receive more than 10 comments in one day. I have faith in you, blog world. I know you would send me a care-package of your own hair in a ponytail, if I REALLY needed it.

Our fun game ends on Friday, at which time I will reveal the fake and maybe (?) award a weird prize.

Now.

Go leave a COMMENT.

From fear to hypnosis.

2011-12-25T21:00:00.000-06:00

The year AFTER our kids stopped screaming like Santa was a serial killer. I came across this gem in my picture archives last night, and you know, it works. Well call this "2008: The Year of the Five Deer in Headlights".

Do me a solid? If you are jumping into my Christmas blog-a-thon, continue on to the previous post about our kids and the miracle of them surviving Day #1 on their electric Razor scooters? It's so completely awesome and I just want the entire world to see it, because we were one concussion away from it being tragic--but in the absence of a flesh wound it was the funniest thing I've witnessed in a long time.

Definitely funnier than me losing my schmidt at Sam's Club (click HERE). The holidays have truly *inspired* me.

Peace, love, joy and chardonnay, friends.