Are We There Yet?

Today, I actually asked a Star Wars lunch box to define me.

2012-02-09T22:42:00.000-06:00

This morning began with Little J leaving his lunch on our outdoor playground. This makes me crazy for many reasons, but mostly because me running BACK up to the kids school is becoming a habit that I am ill-equipped to deal with before 9:00 a.m. and an I.V. drip of Diet Coke. Which I gave up this month, if you're keeping tabs.

But also, today felt like a day of omens, and I don't really believe in those, except for when I feel like I'm 13-years old again, and the success of any given day can be predicted by whether or not I can get my bangs to stick (no less than) five inches, straight into the air. I suppose I just need SOMETHING, like bang-height or lunchboxes, to trust in today--because we are SO close to loving or losing a house and I need to make (non)sense of it somehow. Or at least I need to believe that it had nothing to do with my *amazing* personality.

{For the record, I did not crimp my bangs and then proceed to tease them, today. In case you were worried. But, sadly, I did kill the ozone layer between 1987--1993.}

Also. This afternoon afforded us an extra hour of time, because Little J lost his television privileges (more on this tomorrow). And in this particular vacuum of the time-space continuum, I managed to coerce/encourage/threaten the boy into writing his valentines, which his teacher requested be sent prior to Valentine's Day--because I don't think she read my blog post about how I have given up all attempts to look like I have my act together (also reference paragraphs 1 & 2 of this post). Except, here is where a small miracle occurred--I purchased STORE-BOUGHT valentines for the boys, which means I am definitely (sort of) evolving from the woman who stays up all night on February 13th, baking 15-batches of sugar cookies and hand-tying them in cellophane baggies with grosgrain ribbon (true story, link HERE). I say "sort of" because the girls are still "making" their valentines; but also, this year was DESTINED to be easier, because Little J has graduated from his preschool class of 40 students, which was a technical, valentine nightmare.

So, I bought myself a few extra hours, but I have to tell you--the Lego Star Wars valentines from Target almost gave me a seizure. I know I'm kind of a Valentine brat, but WOW, $3 just doesn't buy you a licensed cartoon character bedazzled in diamonds anymore, does it? I'm pretty sure I could have bootlegged these babies off the Internet and printed them onto cardstock in various shades of pink, and maybe scalloped the edges. Scratch that--I DEFINITELY would have scalloped the edges, and embellished them in some kind of cool and not-widely-used font (translation: no Comic Sans). They would have been rad.

I suppose the lesson here is that I have visions of grandeur and...radness. And if we are lucky enough to find ourselves in this house we are dreaming of, then I promise to resume my Diet Coke addiction so that I can make it kick ass. Without painting/altering/damaging any of the actual property.

I am having a hard time prioritizing.

2012-02-08T22:10:00.000-06:00

The problem is, I would be happy ANYWHERE.

It's the details that make me crazy--and this is a time for details, apparently. One house is perfect, but it's not in our school's zoned area, and there is a chance that the district won't let us stay. Another house is perfect, but it means we are moving to a whole new district altogether, and we WILL be moving schools. This house is smaller (less to clean!), this house is bigger (more space!). I think I have a favorite, and then I see something shiny, and ooooohhhhhhh, that looks pretty too. Choosing is not my strong suit, which is precisely why I want this to be easy and clear, one obvious choice.

But everything is an obvious choice.

It's the vegetables, it has to be. EVERYTHING looks better next to vegetables, and so I am trying to figure out if I REALLY love these houses (all 57 of these houses) or if I just want to eat them. I'm not sure.

Mike has been PATIENTLY waiting for me to ask his opinion. He's really given me no opinions, which feels a lot like I am drowning in a lot of really small, but really big, decisions about what I'm supposed to like, which ranges from finished basements to the color of cabinets. Until today, when I asked him WHERE we should start looking for a house exactly--and he said the words I KNEW he would, but wished he wouldn't. That we need to open up our search, outside of our school district.

Dear God, NO! I like it there! I'm FINALLY not driving over an hours worth of carpool a day! It's close! We're comfortable! I have a trivia night table! There HAS to be another way!

But he's right. Which is funny, because this scenario he speaks of is precisely the scenario that prompted us to sell our house. I had these dreams of moving one suburb over (which is LITERALLY across the street from our old house), and in those dreams, our house would have sold last summer, and we would have begun the school year there. I wouldn't have shuffled my third grader into this year of limbo, and it wouldn't have ended up being a GREAT year. Better than I thought it would have been back when I was trying to Jedi-mind trick our house into selling. Now, I don't want to leave. I want to stay at our school.

Which is the trick. I grow roots quickly, I fall in love easily. It's pretty surprising that I didn't marry a meth addict, to tell you the truth.

Tomorrow. We are looking at a house that is PERFECT on paper. It is what I imagine my dream house to look like. It is everything we want. I find myself staring at it's pictures, and then talking myself out of love with it, because the popular house never picks the overanxious girl. And unless it has an outhouse, I can't believe that I won't fall hopelessly in love with it, on sight. It is like a GIFT FROM GOD, that's how well it fits our criteria.

Aside from the fact that it's not in our school district.

Which means that, potentially, we are starting this whole adventure all over again.

How I am going to fund a new school wing with lost library books.

2012-02-07T22:30:00.000-06:00

There appears to be a new policy in first grade. One that allows students to borrow THREE library books a week. Because OBVIOUSLY, the library is a fundraiser.

That means, at any given time, there are 11 borrowed library books in our house. Or under or beds. Or being eaten by mice. Except that a couple of weeks ago, I asked Big J where his books were because the math wasn't working out quite right, and he said they were HERE and then I knew we were $38 worth of screwed.

I half hoped they were in his desk and I half hoped that they had spontaneously combusted--because that would mean he wouldn't be allowed to borrow ANY MORE BOOKS until the end of the school year. I mean, it's SO BAD that we have a rule that they are not allowed to take their books out of their backpacks ever, which I know *kind of* defeats the point, but let me assure you--there is no time to READ extracurricular books. We have twins in first grade, which is the year of intense and repetitive and very painful reading, and when we are done with that we are smoking crack to take the *edge* off.

But as it turns out, Big J's books were not in his desk--nor under his bed, or in the hamster cage, or in the black hole that is my mini (van)--and it was looking good, until he came home with 3 MORE BOOKS. Which brings our total up to 14 school library books on any given week, but it's only February, and so I have all kinds of confidence that we are going to be financially responsible for at least 25 books come May--and 15 of them will be on the topic of hamsters, because my girls are OBSESSED with them right now. Not the ones actually LIVING in a pink cage in our house, but the BOOKS that are written about the ones that look EXACTLY like the hamsters living in our house. In an ironic twist of fate, those books are going to cost me more than the hamsters themselves, which is like life, imitating art, imitating hamsters.

We've reached that point in the school year where I have given up on pretending like I have my sh#! together. And by this I mean, I have stopped returning library books AND filling out Little J's Kindergarten reading log. I actually forgot that we were supposed to sell girl scout cookies, until I turned the form in, LATE, this morning--with only our single, sad, sad order for 11 boxes of thin mints. I seriously miss the days when there was less paperwork and door-to-door selling, when reading was something we did all cuddled up on a couch; although back then it had the tendency to feel like I was suffocating in diapers and feeding tubes and velour sweat pants and the same old routines. I guess we've simply traded bibs and sippy cups for ADHD meds and the struggle of CONSTANTLY confusing "that" and "what"--proving this stage (all stages) is awesome in retrospect, but still able to elicit profanities in real time.

Oh, the joy of watching them learn. Which is consistently matched by the frustration of watching them stumble.

What would George Washington say (on Facebook)?

2012-02-03T19:14:00.001-06:00

You know, I had a REALLY riveting post scheduled, about the Justin Bieber songs I listen to while I run--but that all seems incredibly dumb at this point, coming off of yesterday's *very* political offerings. If you are new here, then you should probably know that I am a Republican that likes almost every song BETTER when it's sung by the cast of Glee. Can we still be friends?

On a serious note. THANK YOU for sharing yesterdays post, for commenting, for emailing me, for sending me text messages. Because, true to the self-centered ego that I claim, this makes me feel incredibly important--and as I've proven, I will do anything for you to endorse me on the Internet. Well, anything but porn, to be clear. But if you want me to milk a goat in my beer wench costume, I can probably make it happen.

I think the debate we're talking about is an important one. And I'm NOT talking about the whole Planned Parenthood/ Komen debacle, or the upcoming presidential election, or President Obama's healthcare plan--or any of the MILLIONS of things we could make this about, while we sit back in our nice homes and tell others to be ashamed about issues we are really doing nothing about ourselves. It's about how we live, people. How we treat others, what we unfairly expect, what we think we deserve, what we think OTHER PEOPLE should do about it and what we are willing to do about it ourselves. I'm not asking you to be a Republican--I'm asking you to THINK about how you live your life and what it means. When I said yesterday that I AM the problem, I completely mean it; but I also don't think that gives me license to sit back and be complacent. I need to figure out what I am called to, and I need to DO IT. I cannot fight every fight or every perceived injustice--I just don't have it in me--but I am definitely stirred to do SOMETHING, and I am *fairly* certain my God-given purpose in life is NOT heckling the Kardashians (even though I'm pretty AWESOME at it).

To both sides of the equation, I say this: SOMETHING has to give. Can we agree on that? This current political landscape ISN'T working. And I'm not talking about having a Democratic president; I'm talking about it all just being so selfish, and ugly, and all about money, and impossible to get anything done. We are spending more than we have, PERIOD. I'm not an expert, but that means something NEEDS to be cut. A lot of somethings, actually. And if the whole PP/ Komen debate is any indication, cutting funds is UGLY. People take it personally, and the mud-slinging starts, with the claims that we are taking a good intention and making it about "politics". Well, duh, that's what it's about, people. You can't change it. If the government cuts funding to early intervention programs that help children with developmental delays (I'm using this example, because I am familiar with it, first hand)--then there is BACKLASH. My kids were helped by this very program, no doubt about it--but I struggle with thinking that helping my kids is something my local government may not be able to afford. It's emotional, and it's sad, and it feels like a personal attack for many of us, but the country is DROWNING people. And we're all just so very concerned that none of our stuff gets thrown overboard, that we are sinking right along with it. I don't really think we need to argue over how to tinker with a system that's already overburdened--but it's interesting to consider what I would give up to make it better. What do I bring to the table, so to speak--verses, what everyone else is doing "wrong". I don't really know, but I'm working on it.

Mostly, yesterday's post was just meant to give a voice to those of us (on both sides of the argument) who REALLY hate the mud-slinging. Because I think there can be a voice that doesn't yell, and call names and tell others to be ashamed of what they believe. That isn't who I want to be, and I think that's mostly how you feel too--so I just ask that you THINK about what you throw out there on Facebook. Most of the world doesn't pay attention to the less-angry voices, because they aren't likely to rip the weave off a political candidate, and let's face it, we've come to expect that kind of *entertainment*--so a big THANK YOU to all of those who passed this on and gave it some volume. PLEASE continue to do so, and share your opinions, because I will dance in clogs to earn your comments and to know that you are reading this blog.

Now. Go do some good.

I've really had enough with the over-arching statements of hatred.

2012-02-02T21:45:00.000-06:00

This is a post I want/ don’t want to write, in equal measure. Because it’s scary, and it means we need to talk politics, and in my opinion, politics lead NOWHERE good. Let’s be clear, I am NOT HERE to ram something down your throat--so if at any point you feel the desire to punch me in the face, please, PLEASE, remember that this comes from a good, if somewhat ill-communicated place.

And deep breath.

Let me tell you something about who my husband and I are:

We are parents raising four kids--sometimes well, and sometimes unconventionally, and sometimes disastrously. We live in middle America, Missouri. We own our own business, and at times it is awesome, and at times it is so complicated, that we want to get rid of everything we have and move to the rainforest. Scratch that, the beach (no snakes, killer tan). We have lived in a really nice house on a golf course, and now we want LESS. We have known incredible struggles. We are Christians. We are conservative. We vote Republican.

We have NEVER once put a political sign in our yard. EVER. Because we believe that the *politics* of putting a sign in your yard has become...passive-aggressively, ugly. This isn’t always the reason people do it--so RELAX, those of you who are showing your support for Uncle Steve who is running for State Senate--but in my experience, signs come with a kind of hostility. They are polarizing.   We don’t make it our business, or our general theme in life, to point out the DIFFERENCES we have with our neighbors, and despite even our best intentions, that is what the signs do. Placed even in innocent support or void of malice, these sorts of things breed stereotypes and untruths and prejudices--and we just believe we can be Republicans without them.

We don’t watch Fox News. GASP! We actually can’t handle Fox News, it gives us the shakes. Not because we disagree with it’s content, but we just really can’t stand people whining ALL. THE. TIME. Honestly, I tell my kids to knock that sh#! out, so I certainly am not going to listen to it during the two hours I have to relax and unwind at night. No thankey, and that goes for you too CNN, and MSNBC, and all your counterparts.   I am no political expert, but I educate myself when I feel like I need to, and I am confident that I know WHERE to find information.   The Internet seems to have a lot of it. The economy sucks, unemployment rates suck, the real estate market sucks--I don’t need to hear about whose *alleged* fault it is. I KNOW who’s to blame--I AM, because I am selfish and ego-centric, and there is a part of me that thinks I deserve everything I want. We are ALL part of the problem, friends--and this is the Christian part of me that believes we are DESTINED to screw this up. The Bible tells me that, but even if you think the Bible is a load of crap, can you REALLY argue that this isn’t what human beings do--just look at history. Tell me who has gotten it right?

Which brings me to my point--the things that people are posting on Facebook and Twitter, regarding the Komen’s Foundation’s decision NOT to support Planned Parenthood. Good golly.   I am conservative, I am pro-life--I am not a woman-hater, I am NOT out to destroy the freedom of my gender. You can tell me I am, but I can assure you, I’m not. I do not bomb abortion clinics, or yell and condemn the women who visit them. I HURT for them, I’m terribly saddened by the circumstances that got them there, and for the scars they will carry for a lifetime. I would like to make them candy covered pretzels and craft a flower out of felt for them, because this is my love language. Or give them a hug, if I was a hugger.   I LOVE a handful of women that I know personally, who have had abortions--all of them as teenagers--who came to their decisions out of a place of desperation. I HATE that young girls AND grown women have to face that kind of fear. I do not think I am any better than someone who has struggled with this decision. When Mike and I were expecting our triplets and my water broke with our son Caleb, we were given the option of “aborting” one son, for the sake of Big J and L--and no matter what side of the fence you sit on, that kind of responsibility is enormous, and the weight of those words is heavy and sad. And this is coming from a woman with the support of her husband and family, with the resources to care for her children and to seek medical care. I am devastated for women who have to make that choice in secret, and who hide that kind of pain for years, or lifetimes because they fear judgement. I am pro-life, I do not believe that abortion is the only choice under terrible circumstances; but I don’t believe that not having an abortion means I am going to heaven and that all pro-choice advocates are morally corrupt, baby killers who are going to hell.

I think the Susan G. Komen Foundation has done AMAZING things for women’s health. I think they’ve rallied a nation behind a deeply, personal cause and that they care so much about what they do, that they are REALLY good at raising money to support it.   I also think, that at the end of the day, that kind of money breeds distrust, and that’s incredibly sad. I’ve heard arguments, years before this sh#! storm, that the attention brought to breast cancer awareness tends to take focus and funds away from some of the other cancers. Jealousy between life-threatening cancers is the bottom of the barrel, I think. As is taking the spirit of a non-profit organization who’s desire is to do GOOD, and telling them they are worthless, spineless, political pawns. I would LOVE to say this isn’t political, and at the heart of breast cancer awareness, I don’t think it is--but there isn’t a company or organization on the planet that can raise that kind of money and have that kind of attention placed upon them, that won’t be turned political. With their success, comes THOUSANDS of opinions about HOW they should spend that money and where it should go, and a critical distrust of how they carry themselves. They are DESTINED to leave someone empty-handed, certain to come up short, no matter what their budget. There is NEVER enough, friends. They are trying to cure cancer and they STILL can’t please everybody; even worse, they are inspiring actual, seething hatred.

Which is where the Facebook propaganda really gets me. I think the Komen Foundation has the right to fight cancer the way they see fit. I stand by their choice, I think the world is a better place for the work that they do, and that doesn’t make me ignorant, or an anti-feminist, or someone who wants to see underprivileged women die of cancer--I just have a different opinion. I didn’t vote for President Obama, and I don’t agree with some of his policies--but I’m not going to call him an idiot and spew hatred at him every chance I get. I freaking hate that--oh, that makes my blood boil.   What a way to teach our kids how to be divisive and hostile and stubborn, because they HEAR that, friends. I am certainly *trying* to model respect, for the simple fact that he is the PRESIDENT of the UNITED STATES--even when it’s the more popular choice to jump on an incredibly immature bandwagon. Whether I voted for him or not, I am under his authority, because that’s how this country works and I am welcome to go elsewhere. But I rather like it here, and if I REALLY want to change things, I am welcome to DO SOMETHING about it, create a foundation to raise money and awareness, run for Congress--you name it. Except that I generally choose to watch the Kardashians against ALL OF MY BETTER JUDGEMENT, and that is further proof that I AM the problem with this country.

You all are welcome to discuss this with me. RESPECTFULLY. Because I can love you all, and deeply appreciate you--and we can STILL be different. I am okay with that. I will still laugh at your jokes and cherish your comments, even if we disagree--but probably not if you YELL your seething hatred of me (in all caps, fyi--that’s internet speak for screaming). I will try, but it’s gonna hurt a little, and I’m gonna cry, and then I’m gonna write a sarcastic response.

Sold.

2012-02-01T19:40:00.000-06:00

Did I forget to mention that our house is UNDER CONTRACT? Well, it is.

I think I mentioned it casually, and maybe that's because my feelings are...neutral. Not because I am sad to see it go, but because we are already living in what feels like a never-ending state of limbo, and this might simply be a detail that may/ may not bring big and immediate changes. Living in my in-laws basement for eight months has put a BIG gap in the typical process of moving--because half of the move is already done for us, and now it feels as if we have all the time in the world to look for a house, to be sure, to be wise, to be careful. Eight months is a lot of distance--it means I am less likely to rush, less likely to jump blindly, less likely to pursue something that looks great without thinking through how it works for us. These are AMAZING circumstances, however, they aren't necessarily inspiring me to quick action or excitement, because eight months is enough time to get myself settled here, and fill my days with lots of other projects and ambitions. Life just keeps on keeping on, and being without an *exact* deadline kind of means that I could nit-pick the hell out of lots of little insignificant details, only to FREAK out when we are approaching a new school year and have yet to find a house in our preferred district. There is NO DOUBT, we are wiser consumers through it all, but it means our new house might be on the market, or it might be in a tree tent in the Amazon, or it might be a motor home, or we might be waiting a while. It's all very paralyzing, which is my way of saying that I would rather drink juice and watch the Kardashians than have to figure it all out right now, or think about packing up our basement home anytime soon.

This is the moment we've been waiting for. Dreaming of, actually. The blank slate, the chance to do things differently, the opportunity to be bold. Except that I don't know HOW to do that exactly, or what I really want. Some days I want vegetables and some days I want red meat. Most days I want something small and cozy, and other days I want 6,000 square feet. But mostly, I didn't let myself think about it much, aside from the fact that I REALLY want to repaint my dining room table a fun color like pink or orange. THAT is, so far, what I envision our next home to look like--an ORANGE f-ing table.

I apologize for the lack of posting about our current housing situation--I suppose that when we moved into my in-laws basement, I sort of thought there was going to be an endless amount of blog fodder to work with and be inspired by, particularly as I had to be "retaught" how to record TV programming on THREE different TV's with VHS tapes, because my in-laws are totally against DVR technology. But then I just up and quit most TV altogether, and right around the time that American Idol was set to crown the new Emperor of the Universe--I walked away COLD TURKEY. And imagine that, I didn't die or sprout a tumor out of boredom. I am still living out of boxes, and every night I sleep within 1.5 feet of industrial shelving that holds stuff I haven't touched in EIGHT MONTHS--and it has all just become the new routine. The new comfortable. So much so, that just thinking about moving all of this useless crap (and the two PODS worth, just like it), makes me tired. Am I'm just not so sure I can handle moving (again) and being a vegetarian, so something is going to have to give, and it probably means that cows are going to have to die so that I can find a new house.

My point here is that anything becomes normal when you do it long enough. You too could be come an aborigine, or sail the world, or only eat tree nuts--just give it eight months, and it will feel common. As it turns out, I am somewhat happy here, in this state of limbo that was only supposed to be a 4-8 week layover on our way to happily ever after. Huh. I'm beginning to think the lesson in all of it, the breaking with the routine, the letting go of what feels secure, the "redefining" of what makes me happy--is that, HONESTLY, I am happy anywhere. I see houses with big, open spaces, and I can envision the way they will work. I see ugly houses, and I know the potential they have. My husband and family? They make this an adventure, no matter where we go. Mike especially; he is NOT content with growing complacent, or routine, and he is SO confident that the next thing will ALWAYS be better than the last. I never used to have that ability to trust in the progressive happiness of life, but I KNOW he has changed that about me. I am sentimental, and that tends to make me believe that nothing could top the things I hold dear; until another baby is born, or we go on another vacation, or we move to another house, and thus continues the never-ending cycle of believing that things could never be better than where they are, right now. Which isn't perfect JOY necessarily, it's comfort and security. It's what I know and trust, over the thing that's coming up on the horizon that seems vague and only faintly distinguishable. We decided to sell our house, because we were stirred to discover the things we LOVE but aren't even aware of--you guys, there is SO MUCH of it out there if you are willing to look and try something different.

Sometimes, I forget who I am. I become about houses and furniture and school districts--when I used to be about burning the crap out of my very white skin throughout my childhood in Hawaii, moving to Indiana, chasing a boy to St. Louis, WAITING for that boy in St. Louis, making a new life in places where I knew nobody, having kids, watching my husband survive cancer, going through in-vitro, watching my twins survive EVERYTHING being wrong with them, having a SURPRISE baby (Little J). My happily ever after really looks NOTHING like I imagined; it's not big and comfortable and easy. There was A LOT of change, a lot of redefinition. But I'll be damned, it's been pretty happy--all of it. I love where I grew up, I love the friends I have from every season of life, I love the kids I birthed, I LOVE my husband, I love that seeing him through cancer and losing a child softened me (when it could be very much the opposite), I LOVE the time we spent in the NICU. There are dark days, but the seasons are full of JOY. MY story is a happy one friends, just told with a very sarcastic edge.

And so, that's really where we are with the house. Waiting to figure out where this story is going to continue. Some days I just want to know already! And other days, I just sit--content. And some days, it just seems really important to figure out what pool we'll be able to go to this summer, which is precisely when the SARCASM kicks in, because that is just stoo-pid.

At the end of the day, we will live in a house--any house really--where we are happy. The possibilities are endless, blog world.

The great paint pouring experiment.

2012-01-31T21:50:00.001-06:00

I have another Art Fest post to share, because it is really cool, and my artist-friend who helped with this created an AWESOME video, that makes it all look so purposeful and amazing. Which it was. Kids are FASCINATED with pouring paint, fyi--probably because it's ingrained into their actual souls that they are never, NEVER to pour house paint on anything or risk actual death. Unless being supervised (and video taped) at Art Fest, of course.

And in case your wondering, the wooden structure we are pouring paint upon was, in fact, the focus of my mental breakdown in the week leading up to the big event (link HERE). You know the one--where I went ape that Mike bought "good" wood for this project, to the tune of $30, when I was thinking he could ravage dumpsters to collect what we were needing. What he took away from this meltdown was that he needed to make ANOTHER wood structure, that was BIGGER. {Sigh.}

But also, what I LOVE about this project is that I proposed it to my friend Jeff, as sort of a way to interact with kids in an artsy sort of way. Which is FUNNY, because he is a photographer, and an artist, and a juggler, and an all-around entertainer, so WHY I had to stick my fingers into his creative space is unclear to me (and probably him). I was trying to be helpful, by masterminding an incredibly complicated plan, I suppose. And seeing as I had never actually coordinated Art Fest before, or even ATTENDED it--I had no REAL idea of what a goat rodeo it was. Honestly, I imagined it with white Christmas lights and paper lanterns and FABRIC BUNTINGS (my favorite!), and lots of volunteers, and all of it a very pretty kind of Carnival. For real.

In any case, Jeff was going to display his REAL talents, which at that point, did not include supervising children pouring paint. But 150 kids (and their parents) is a CRAP TON of people, fyi--and it just all became an exercise in survival, and pleasing the masses of children--which meant it became two-hours of constant paint pouring. It is incredibly cool to watch house paint flow and swirl together in real time, but it's even more incredible to see it edited on video, to music--through the eyes of someone with pretty amazing artistic capabilities. It might not have been a great showcase of his talents, but he certainly turned it into something incredibly cool and amazing.

As a side note, if you are ever planning a messy play day, or an Art Fest, or an art party--this is a GREAT project. So long as your husband can build you a simple-wooden-pedestal-looking-thingy (or you freak out and he produces FOUR of them), and you can round up some old house paint (call me, I have 40 cans)--the kids will have an amazing time pouring paint and watching how it moves. They don't get to do that kind of thing enough--WATCHING the art of simple movement--because we are always focused on an end product, and not necessarily the process (guilty, right here). The nice thing is that at the end of it all, this monster actually does make a pretty neat looking piece of art.

So. Check out the video, and be sure to take a look at the rest of the stuff Jeff does at Tall Hippo (link HERE). And that, folks, is my official Art Fest wrap-up!!!

The lazy vegetarian: An oxymoron

2012-01-30T21:57:00.000-06:00

Oh, right. This is why I'm not a vegetarian, or a healthy eater, or a person who eats fruits and vegetables on a daily basis--because it is a crap-ton of work.

This morning, Mike juiced some questionable looking broccoli--to which I turned up my nose and said NO WAY, because I am becoming one of THOSE people, who can't even look half-dead broccoli in the eyes. Mostly because they don't have eyes, but also because I'm pretty sure it's not giving me anything good if it's turning yellow, and if that's the case, I am NOT drinking it as a liquid; just like I'm NOT wearing Tom's without the label, because then what's it really doing for me, you know? That stupid Tom's story is really some kind of metaphor for my whole, entire life, I think. But as it relates to the vegetables, Mike argued, legitimately, from a waste standpoint; and I held firm to my nutritional value/ faux-organic high horse. Legitimate vegetarians, discuss.

After that little philosophical debate, I decided to go to the grocery store this morning, because the broccoli is just one of millions of pieces of evidence that we are down to the DREGS when it comes to food in this household. I'm talking about kale that is wilting and stuff going mushy and the weird chicken nuggets at the bottom of the bag that got mutated into odd shapes in the chicken press at the factory. All of it is just really, really sad--and very unlike the general theme of greenness and health and sustaining life that we are all about this month! Or at least until I have that photo shoot in my underwear.

Since deciding to add solids back into my diet, I've done a pretty good job of sticking to fruits and vegetables--with some small amounts of brown rice, and the occasional egg beater (CRAZY!). I'm *trying* to see how long I can go without meat, just for fun--which is interesting, because it's really not fun at all, and so I think I may have my purpose confused. Also, I am clinging to a plan that cuts BREAD and PASTA out, for the most part, for good--and it's not all that difficult, unless you go to Cici's Pizza (like we did yesterday for lunch), and you kind of wish you could trade an ass cheek for a slice of sausage pizza. Because that would be a solution that would solve ALL the world's problems, really--if liposuction at a pizza bar didn't sound so vomit-inducing.

But. I made it through my Cici's lunch of iceberg lettuce with (my splurge) ranch dressing, and then Mike and I went to look at Open Houses, which is like a whole 'nother post on stuff that is a sh#! ton of work right now. I survived until dinner, at which point, I made myself a variation of the salad/veggie combo I've had for five days straight now--tomato, some corn, green onions, black beans, cilantro, avocado, a little lime juice. If you heat it and put it over rice, it's like a Mexican bowl, and it's delicious, but I predict that it is going to get REAL OLD in about nine seconds.

Which is precisely how I found myself at TWO grocery stores this morning, shopping for the FRESHEST asparagus--because apparently, I have standards and opinions about that now (WTF?). I need the asparagus to roast for my other go-to vegetarian meal, the chopped salad with sunflower seeds and carrots and peppers and light Asian dressing. FYI, prior to eight days ago, I didn't "roast" anything for lunch, unless this term loosely applies to microwaving something that comes out of a cardboard box, or whatever process it is that McDonald's uses to cook their *meat*. Because, as we are learning, roasting is a lot of work.

I mean, not really. But REALLY. Because I had to hunt down "good" asparagus at TWO STORES-- then I had to prepare it, and bake it, and wash the lettuce, and cut the other veggies, and dry the lettuce and mix it all together and then wash the dishes. Or not wash the dishes, because I was OVER all this work it takes to make something that doesn't taste like steak. There is also a bundle? A bunch? A trifecta? of beets sitting in my refrigerator, asking to be cooked, or roasted, or steam blasted, but it feels like a gigantic trap of MORE WORK, and so I am leery. After I braise said beets, I also need to figure out *how* exactly to eat them? Which sounds an awful lot like they will be tossed in a salad of lettuce, and carrots, and peppers, and asparagus, and sunflower seeds--and wait a minute, it sounds like we are back to my standard salad PLUS beets. It's like a vegetarian ground hogs day--which is a little different, because OBVIOUSLY, vegetarians don't eat ground hogs.

Pinterest is helpful for finding some variety, but every recipe I'm drawn to includes black beans/avocados/corn/tomatoes/cilantro (Doh!) and all other new recipes call for something I've never heard of, that needs to be purchased at an ethnic store (grocery run #3), washed, chopped, cooked, and tossed or baked (again). And I'm tired, after JUST reading the 30 various directions. Which is precisely how I found myself in the 10+ pound pickle of eating $.42 mac-and-cheese everyday, because there were only four ingredients and one pot. So for now, I am trying ONE new Pinterest recipe a week, and clinging to the promises that some of the boards I follow claim: that not drinking soda and eating fruits and vegetables instead of bread will give me AB muscles. Because if you didn't know it, Pinterest is totally an Internet doctor/nutritionist, with an interest in crafts and all things Etsy, fyi.

I am pop culture on the clearance rack.

2012-01-29T17:57:00.000-06:00

Mike: Ugh, does that tag come off? It's huge and it looks TERRIBLE on those shoes.

Me: Um, why would I take the tag off? Then how will anyone know that I am COOL?

Thanks to a friend of mine, a REALLY great sale, and the omnipresent power of facebook, I scored these sequined Tom's for $23 on Friday. It was so important that I drove my rabid monkeys (translation: children) across town after school on FRIDAY--the time at which their rabies is MOST pronounced--on the chance that the store would have a pair of Tom's that wasn't hot pink, in a size 7.5. They had ONE pair, in the color/sequins I wanted, so really it was like the voice of God that led me there and patiently suppressed the urge to break into a diatribe regarding the VERY BIG difference between actual errands like the post office (that make me want to LOSE MY MIND) and the fun "privilege"of shopping for clearance rack shoes that may-or-may-not provide a second pair of shoes to an underprivileged child (I'm unsure of Tom's sale policy). On this particular outing, however, the Holy Spirit could only handle so much, and so it lived in the hearts of children by promising HOURS of Wii play for those who did not: 1.) whine 2.) tell me this was boring or 3.) scream loud enough to alarm passers-by while I slipped into the store for 3.7 minutes to buy their sole pair of sized 7.5 Tom's.

If millions of other people didn't buy these shoes, I would probably think they were the ugliest things I have ever seen. But I buy into pop culture--hell, I am Mrs. Pop Culture--and so that is precisely how I find myself wearing shoes that are mostly like sturdy socks, throughout a Midwestern winter. Particularly, with skinny jeans that leave a little of my flesh exposed the elements, because that's how someone *cool* like Paris Hilton or Khloe Kardashian or {insert someone equally atrocious HERE}, who lives in CALIFORNIA, does it.

Crap. In theory, I'm all for a world without Kardashians-- but I'm beginning to think my clearance sale Tom's and my tendencies toward teaching my children the lyrics to LMFAO's "I'm Sexy and I Know It", might unintentionally be responsible for Bratz dolls and slutty Halloween costumes for toddlers.

Crap.

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.