Strange Days Indeed

"Watch me, NOW!" she screams.

Nothing brings out the dormant tyrant in a two year old like potty training. They know that they have all the power. They know that you want them to do something. And they make you pay. Oh boy, do they make you pay.

Over the past few days I have done more entertaining in my bathroom than I thought was possible. I have sung songs on command, dance, clapped, cheered, done the hokey-pokey and expressed all the cheeriness I could possibly muster over bodily wastes. I have begun saying, "Wouldn't you like a little privacy?"

After each trip to the bathroom she is rewarded with Skittles. The first day she was rewarded just for trying. Every sit upon the potty earned a candy as a reward, whether or not she actually did anything. By the next day I told her that she would have candy only when she actually pooped or peed. She wasn't that keen on this idea. But she was in love with her new Barbie undies, and who wouldn't be thrilled with Barbie's face on the crotch of their underwear, so there was no turning back.

But my daughter is smart, too smart I fear.

Tonight I was putting on my vaudeville routine in the bathroom when she stopped me by holding up her hand, palm facing me. "I am done," she proclaimed and hopped off her royal throne. "See my poop." I think if she knew the words she would be following it up with,'Wipe my royal ass, you lowly servant woman.'

I look into the toilet, ready to scream with delight over poop. The toilet is empty. "I don't see any poop."

"Yes, it's right there,"she said, and then sensing that I wasn't buying it she decided to elaborate. "Two poopies. See them. One. Two."

"I really don't see any poopies in the potty. Where are they?" I asked.

She let out a huge sigh, as if she is merely humoring me, "Right there! One. Two. They are very very tiny poopies. Maybe you not see them."

"That must be it." I agree because there is no way to win this argument with a two year old.

"Get my candies. Now."

And, having been given my orders, I curtsey and scurry away to retrieve the candies lest her royal highness be kept waiting too long and decide to invoke her wrath upon me or make me put on another puppet show with empty toilet paper tubes.

It's 11:00pm And Too Late For Me To Think Up A Title

I have always wondered what housewives did before the internet, when they were trapped in their suburban houses with little contact with the outside grown-up world. Now I know. They did housework, which sucked the souls from their very bodies.

I am completely caught up on laundry, organized my mudroom closet and took out all of the kids winter gear, cleaned all my bathrooms, mopped every floor in my house that doesn't have carpeting, and fell in love with the Mr Clean Magic Eraser, which I used until it was just nubby crumbs in my hand. I am resisting the urge to call all my children "Beaver"

I wish I had real life friends, instead of my imaginary internet ones, because now would be a great time for them to stop by. I might even bake something tomorrow because I think I have run out of things to clean. Though my daughter is potty training, so there is always the chance she will pee on the floor and I'll get to mop it yet again.

Should you stop by and find me wearing pumps and a pearl necklace, shoot me.

In Which I Never Mention My Computer Or How Much I Miss It

Saturday morning I went and got my hair cut and colored and my eyebrows, finally having recovered from the unfortunate plucking incident, waxed.

I used to go to a she-she sort of hair salon and spend a ton of money. The hair always turned out looking great, but the atmosphere left something to be desired. The hairstylists were so snooty that they seemed intent on making you feel like crap about yourself.

Now I go to a stereotypical small town hair place that mainly seems to cater to the geriatric set who come in for their weekly wash and set. It makes me slightly nervous, but so far I have had good luck and it is nice to be able to get a Saturday morning appointment with only a one week notice. Planning ahead is not my strong point.

This time I decided to get some bangs. I had bangs in some form most of my life, but a few years ago grew them out. The growing out process was long and painfully ugly and I swore I would never cut them again. But I guess like the pain of childbirth, the memory fades.

I was worried that a)I'd end up looking like Miss Piggy with tiny bangs and a round fat face, b) I'd end up looking the little Dutch boy with short bangs and a round fat face, c) I'd totally regret it since it took many many hellacious months to grow them out in the first place. But I put my fears aside and let her cut some bangs.

I came home .

"Wow, your new hairstyle makes you look ten years younger."

"Seriously? You think so?"

"Yes. I really do think so."

The kids all came over and they agreed that I looked much better, which is always a double edged sword because you come to the painful realization that you looked like crap for a few years there.

"So honey, how old do you think I look now? Be honest."

"I'd have to say twenty-eight."

"Twenty eight?"

"Definitely."

"So... what you are saying is that before I got my haircut this morning I looked OLDER than I actually am?"

"Did I say twenty-eight? I meant eight. Nine, tops."

It's A Lifestyle Choice

Last Sunday night, Extreme Home Makeover was on television and because Rob was away I let the the kids stay up and watch it.

"Wait a minute, let me get this straight. So, they give these people a whole brand new house and brand new stuff?" my 9 year old son asked.

"Yes." I answered.

"Can't we get them to come here? I mean look at this place!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, we choose to live this way. We enjoy restoring our old house. And well, we aren't economically disadvantaged."

The looks on their faces let me know that they didn't know the new pc word. "Poor. We're not poor." I explained. "Typically they are people who can't afford to fix up their houses and they have also endured some sort of hardship."

"Hardship, like what?"

"Uh, I don't know like they have been shot, paralyzed and forced to drag their body 10 miles through the snow for help because their infant triplets were starving." I said.

"Huh?"

"Okay, I am mostly kidding. I think this man on the show had to cut off his own arm in a tragic fishing accident."

"What do you think I could get for a toe? I am totally willing to part with a toe if I could get a cool bedroom like that one."

If anything motivates you to tackle projects around the house it is your children offering up their body parts in exchange for home improvements. So we used this long weekend to knock out the wall that separates our kitchen from our family room and to remove the hideous dropped ceiling and fluorescent light fixtures that have disgraced our house for too many years. What would ever make someone put those things in an historic old house? It felt like we were releasing our house from bondage.

I say we, but really my part was helping to clean up the horrific mess that only smashed plaster and lathing can make. I also ooohed and aaahed when appropriate and ogled my husband's butt while he was up on the ladder. You know, the important things.

I would show the before and after pictures, but I don't have a computer anymore. At least not until December 6th when my brand new laptop is scheduled to arrive.

I Would Post Photos, But My Computer Is Dead

I often joke about being a bad mother and winning the worst mother of the year award. Mostly I am joking. I don't think I am a particularly bad mother. Most of the time I think I am doing a pretty good job. I yell more than I want, I lose my patience more often than I would like, and occasionally say things that I later regret, but overall if there were a scorecard I think I would get a passing grade.

This past week my 11 month old baby burned his hand on our wood burning stove. I could make excuses and say that I told my older kids to keep an eye on him while I went to the neighboring room to wash my hands. I could say that I was only out of the room for a minute. I could say that he has never ever shown an interest in the stove or gone anywhere near it. I could make a host of other excuses, but when it comes right down to it, it was my fault. It is my responsibility to keep him safe. And I failed.

And to make matters worse, in my hysterics, I yelled at everyone else. Way to set a positive example and model self control! Look at me accepting personal responsibility! Go me!

I later apologized to everyone, but still I feel horrible about it.

Oh, and in the interest of full disclosure, I didn't have any Children's Tylenol in the house, so I gave him Children's Tylenol Cough and Cold medicine.

He is currently wearing a little fingerless mitten on his hand to protect the second degree burns. It doesn't seem to be bothering him at all, but it is heartbreaking. We have taken to calling him Michael Jackson and will spontaneously begin singing "Beat It" and moonwalking across the room. Yes, our family has a twisted sense of humor.

I'm clearing away a spot for the award right on the fireplace mantel. It can keep Lego Yoda company.

MIA

I am experiencing withdrawal.

I returned home from my weekend of shopping and discovered that someone had dropped my laptop on the tile floor. The power cord, the one I just replaced, snapped in half from the fall. So essentially I came home to find an expensive paperweight.

Rob ordered me a new one and paid to have it shipped 2 day air. I realized the extent of my problem when I was visibly angry that he didn't pay for same day shipping, or better yet, the "we'll have a trusted employee get into their car, drive without stopping, while breaking all speeding laws."

Now I have to wait for Rob to come home from work to borrow his computer. But by that time of day the kids are needy and my brain is beginning to shut down and I am hard pressed to form a coherent thought.

Anyway, my weekend was fun. I shopped until I could shop no more. Bought the children most of the inventory of ToysRus, though in a few short weeks I will be stepping over most of them and trying to remember why I thought that particular toy was a good idea.

So, yeah, this is probably the most boring entry that I have ever written. We are going to my SIL's house for Thanksgiving dinner, so I will have cranberry sauce from a can with those helpful indentations so it can be cut into perfect slices. Hopefully, I will have my computer back and running so I can write all about it. I know, you can hardly wait.

Shout It Out

It is the chore that never ends
It just goes on and on my friends ...

Laundry. My life revolves around laundry.
It's a lot like parenting, constant, unrelenting, mostly thankless, and never done. Yet, I continue to plug away.

Well, this weekend I am going to be laundry free. And child free.*

I am going away for the weekend, ostensibly to do my Christmas shopping, but really I am in it for the quiet hotel room...
For the meals out in restaurants-- the kind where you don't have to unwrap your food or eat it off of a plastic tray...
And for being able to browse through the houseware section of stores without repeatedly saying, "Look with your eyes, not with your hands" which after saying it a few hundred times devolves into "That's touching! Do your hands have eyeballs? Yeah, I didn't think so."

So if anyone is looking for me, I won't be home. But in the meantime, feel free to throw in a load of laundry for me. I'd be eternally grateful.

*child free, but not baby free. I will have the nursling with me.

Happy Fifth Birthday

To My Son,

Today you turn five years old. That is a big step, turning five. You need all the fingers on one hand to show how old you are now.

What can I say about you? You have always had a flair for the dramatic. It began when I was pregnant with you and wound up twice in the hospital with false labor. You were born screaming and really never stopped. I didn't know that it was possible for a baby to cry so much, a toddler to scream so much, and a child to talk so much.

You were the child who proved to me that I know nothing. After parenting your four older brothers, I thought I had all the answers. The third and fourth in line were exceptionally easy babies and toddlers and I took credit for it. I smugly would think,'I have this down.' You were the baby that brought me back into reality. How quickly as parents we take credit for the things we perceive as "good". You helped me realize that unless I want to take credit for the crying, colic, and reflux, I couldn't take credit for the easy stuff either.

In keeping with the theme of fives, I present five things that are uniquely you

1) You are the only one who has ridden in an ambulance. This happened when you decided to stop breathing and turn blue when you were a few weeks old.

2) Then you got to be worked on a second time by EMT workers when you fell and split your head open at our local Social Security office when you were 22 months old. You are the only one to have stitches, 12 of them on your forehead.

3) You are the only one who is ambidextrous, like me.

4) You are the only one that we call a completely different, completely unrelated name from the one we put on your birth certificate.

5) You have a rich imagination and can invent elaborate games to entertain yourself. I love to watch you playing.


You are not what one would call an easy child. You have definite ideas about what you want to do and how you want to do it. You see no problem with standing on your kitchen chair and shouting on the top of your lungs. Or standing at the end of the driveway and shouting at the top of your lungs. Or sliding down the banister and shouting on the top of your lungs. Or riding in the car and shouting on the top of your lungs. Or doing just about anything that other people would do in quiet, you chose to do it while shouting on the top of your lungs.

You have never had a thought that you didn't feel compelled to share with the rest of us, loudly.

But you are also a caring and generous child, who would never intentionally hurt someone's feelings. I admire your spunk and your energy. Oh your energy, if only I could bottle it up. I suspect that when you collapse in bed at night--and collapse you do--that you feel content, as though your day was full of adventure and accomplishments.

As you grow up, I hope that you always have this love for life, this unbridled energy and enthusiasm, that you continue living out loud. That is my hope for you.

Well, that along with you developing some sort of volume control.

Five Years Ago Today

I gave birth to my fifth son, who proved that colic can indeed strike a family twice.





Happy Birthday my fifth son. We're ready for the colic to end whenever you are. No need to rush. I'm just sayin'.

It's A World Of Laughter, A World Of Tears...

I have found that I either have too many things I want to write about or nothing at all. Both of these result in me writing nothing. The former because I am too damn busy, and the latter because, well, I got nothing.

So in the spirit of sharing I present the Cliff Note version of my week thus far, a week which has only just begun:

I. Virus
The computer kind which has caused me much angst, hair pulling, and required much of my time and the downloading of a new spiffier anti virus program.

The body kind which has caused me a blinding headache, assorted aches, and heartburn so bad I am half tempted to gut myself with a butter knife to get some sort of relief, or die... either will do.

II. Annoying people
The pharmacist who, since she works at a job serving people who are generally sick, crazy, or in need of medication, should be personable. But she isn't. She is mean and nasty and today I told her so. And I never do things like that. Ordinarily I take all the crap people hand out and bitch about it unproductivly later on.

The person who parked right up against the back bumper of my van at the grocery store. I had pulled through and taken up two parking places, like I always do because my van is the size of a small apartment and the back doors open outward. You know the back doors that one would have to open if they had just bought a cart full of groceries and wanted to bring them home. This caused much swearing on my part, as well as the throwing of groceries, and I really wanted to stand on the hood of their car and repeatedly smack my van doors into their bumper. Good thing I picked up that medication, huh?


III.Dads
My children love to watch Animal Planet on television and sigh over all the pets I will not let them own. I maintain that sea monkeys are pets. One of their favorite shows is Animal Cops: Houston. Rob happens to be in Houston this week on business. Today he went to the Houston ASPCA to meet the people the kids see on the television show and takes some pictures. He said the people there were so nice and happy to hear the positive feedback. They gave him some postcards to bring back and he made a donation to their shelter. The kids are going to be thrilled by this. He is such a good Dad. Of course they would be more thrilled if he brought them home a puppy or a kitten, but we have SEA MONKEYS damnit. And one day they will grow and we will actually be able to see them. Then who will be thrilled. Uh-huh.

I think I have found my own father. It a post all of it's own, but I'm still not exactly sure what I am thinking about it all. But what has made that insufferable Disney song stuck on replay in my head is the fact that it appears my long lost father lives across the street from one of my internet friends. I know. Isn't that bizarre? Add to it that I had no idea where exactly either of them lived two days ago. Tell me that wouldn't make you walk around humming It's A Small World.

IV. Christmas

Has there been some sort of holiday change that no one has made me aware of in which we have replaced Thanksgiving with a month long Christmas fest? It's like a Christmas prequel. Where are all the Thanksgiving decorations? The dried corn, the turkeys, the...the... paper hats and buckle shoes. I dunno, whatever it is that says Thanksgiving.

I am going on my annual Christmas shopping trip this weekend with a good friend of mine, though I have come to the sad realization that we really have drifted apart and I'm not sure that we even qualify as friends anymore. She has yet to meet my baby. He just turned 11 months old. I guess she didn't want to rush over.

How To Make A Mother Proud

My 9 yr old has recently developed a passion for cooking. He wants to prepare every meal, make desserts, and just mess around with the stove. I think it is the pyromaniac in him trying to find an acceptable outlet. Yesterday he made me scrambled eggs, toast, tea, and baked a cake.

I am all for it, because really is there such a thing as too many home baked goods? Especially home baked goods that I didn't have to make myself.

Today he is going to make some kind of cookies. He isn't sure yet what kind so he is reading through some cookbooks. That counts as school, right? Reading, math, measuring...

Anyway, he came up to me a little while ago and said that he thinks when he grows up he is going to be a chef and own a restaurant. He had it all planned out. The 6 yr old would be the waiter. The 4 yr old would wash the tables. The 8 yr old would just sit and eat all day and tell the people to "enjoy their meals" or "have a nice nice day"

The 11 yr old is going to be a professional baseball player and even if he wasn't he said "[he] has no desire to work in a restaurant and have to serve people all day long." Probably safe to say we could rule out the Peace Corp for him as a career choice, or a Red Cross worker who takes draws blood.

And my daughter, well he said "She can dance on the tables and entertain everyone, since she loves dancing so much."

And here I was hoping that she would outgrow her penchant for taking off her clothing and dancing on the furniture.

Quote Of The Day

"No, they are made from real dogs."

said by my 6 year old when he was asked if we were roasting vegetarian hot dogs over the bonfire.

I didn't know whether I should laugh that all this time he has thought I was serving him dog, or be horrified that a child who finds things like mashed potatoes, chicken, and applesauce too offensive to eat, would willingly eat what he believed to be dog.

In Which I Over Use Quotation Marks and Euphemisms

and show that it is a very fine line between sharing and oversharing.


"I have to bring another "sample" to the doctor tomorrow."

"Oh boy! Lucky you."

"The doctor gave me the container to bring home so I could have some "help" getting the "sample"."

"Oh boy! Lucky me!"

Time passes, "help" is rendered, and the "sample" is obtained.

"The doctor said I need to bring a "sample" in every day for an entire month."

"Nice try."

Eleven

Eleven years ago I went to bed, feeling like I would be pregnant forever.

Eleven years ago at 3:00am my water broke while I was sleeping.

Eleven years ago at 3:01am, I had my first contraction and panicked because OH MY GOD it really hurts and who knows how long this is going to last. I don't even like to do things that feel good for hours on end.

Eleven years ago at 3:03am, I had my second contraction and the realization hit me that this baby was really going to have to exit my body.

Eleven years ago at 3:05am, I had my third contraction and decided I wanted all the drugs that the hospital could give me and I wanted them right now and why wasn't Rob moving more quickly. Who cares if he isn't dressed.

Eleven years ago I threw the telephone across the room when the doctor told me to try to talk through a contraction so he could assess if it was time to come to the hospital. When Rob retrieved the phone the doctor said, yes it would appear to be time.

Eleven years ago we walked out the front door of our apartment as a family of two for the last time.

Eleven years ago when a nurse told me she had four children I told her she was crazy. That anyone who would go through this more than once was crazy. And then I cried because my baby was going to be an only child.

Eleven years ago I pushed for three hours before telling the doctor that I changed my mind, I really didn't want a baby thankyouverymuch, and please just make it stop.

Eleven years ago the doctor attached a vacuum to the top of your head and pulled you from my body. I think we both screamed.

Eleven years ago a piece of my heart began living outside of my own body and I would never be the same again.

Eleven years ago I began this journey of motherhood; eleven years later I am still navigating the way with you in the lead.




Happy Eleventh Birthday, my first born son.

My Dentist Loves Me, or More Accurately My Money

"Remember when I said that I was committed to flossing my teeth twice a day for the rest of my life?"

"Yeah."

"Well tonight when I was flossing I think I was a little overzealous. I yanked one of my fillings right out."

"I told you flossing is highly over rated."

"Yeah."

"One day the ADA is going to do a complete reversal on the entire flossing thing. Mark my words. I should write this down because one day no one will ever believe I said it first."

"Don't worry, I'll write it down for you."

"Thanks."

"That way when all your teeth fall out from advanced gum disease I can bring it up. I'm loving like that."

When Actions Speak Louder Than Words

For those of you interested, my newest post is up over at dotmoms.

Forty Before Forty

This weekend I came to the sad sad sad realization that I am getting old. I came to this realization based on several factors.

First, when I look at the so-called fashionable clothes I laugh. What is this clothing item called a shrug, and why do I want to wear something who's sole purpose seems to be creating extra bulk on my body?

Second, I wistfully expressed my ( mostly theoretical) desire for botox shots to my children. When I explained to them what the shots were for, one of them asked why I would want to get SO many shots ALL OVER my face. Two words... justifiable homicide. I'll miss that kid.

Third, I am a full year older than I thought I was. I mean I *know* how old I am when I stop and do the math, I just prefer not to think about it.

Fourth, in the spirit of being a "fun" mom, I did a cartwheel across by backyard. I was limping for days afterward.

Fifth, ninety percent of the things I use every day were not even invented when I was a child. When my children ask me, "What did you do when you were a kid?" I tell them I crushed my own berries to paint on the wall of my cave. And I enjoyed it, damn it.

So, I have compiled a list of things that I want to accomplish before I turn forty, which will happen in exactly 3.5 years.


Forty Things To Do Before I Turn Forty:

1) Learn to knit, so I can one day knit a blanket, scarf, long chain for my grandchildren

2) Start and continue an exercise regime for three months, even if it kills me

3) Do sit ups everyday for 3 months

4) Learn to accept my body and all it's imperfections (yeah, right)

5)Read novels I should have already read, classics I read a long time ago and either hated them with a fiery passion or loved them with a fiery passion to see if time has changed my feelings towards them

6) Go to Paris with my husband

7) Spend a summer in Italy with my children

8) See the Grand Canyon

9) Take my kids to a Broadway show. I used to go frequently when I was child and have such fond memories of the experience

10)Bring my daughter to the American Girl Cafe

11)Find my father, before he ends up dying and I never get to meet him.

12) Renew my wedding vows and have a party to celebrate, since we never had a wedding.

13)Finish writing a book (should probably start it too.)

14) Go through all our photographs and select some to matte and frame. AND hang them on the wall in our family room.

15)Gather pictures of our home renovation and compile them into a coffee table scrapbook thing

16)Spend an entire 24 hour day without once yelling

17)Bring my children to one of those indoor playgrounds and let them play without making myself nauseous over the amount of germs and bacteria they are touching and NOT once force them to go and wash their hands in the middle of playing. (Not sure I can do this one as just typing it is making me sick to my stomach.) I do draw the line at coating their hands with hand sanitizer and spraying them down with lysol before they get into the van; there are just some things that I can't give up.

18) Ride on a rollercoaster, and if I feel particularly daring one that goes upside down

19) Catch up on buying all my children their annual Christmas ornament. (The idea is that I buy the children an ornament every year that represents them at that year of their life. When they grow up they will take the ornaments. Though who knows they will probably think it is totally stupid and queer and I will be stuck with all these ornaments on my tree forever or my attic)

20) Work tirelessly to rid the fashion world of low waisted pants by complaining constantly to anyone who will listen.

21) Dig out my paints and easel and paint a painting

22) Hang the painting up somewhere in my house

23) Read the entire Narnia series aloud to my younger children

24) Take all my children to a baseball game at Fenway Park, wear a baseball hat, cheer and pretend I am a fan for the day

25) Find a reliable babysitter

26) Buy a huge bottle of vitamins and take them every day until the bottle is empty, without missing a day

27) Make it a habit to drink 8 glasses of water a day

28) Finish renovating my house

29) Get rid of all the things in my house that are just clutter and would benefit someone else

30) Make an ice skating rink in my back yard, build a bonfire, make hot chocolate, and have a skating party and enjoy it

31) Learn html

32) Learn how to make a really good pie crust, from scratch

33) After I finish nursing my youngest baby, buy some new expensive bras and matching underwear

34) Re-invent my mother's ring since it is missing a few stones

35) Buy a plant and keep it alive, instead of treating plants as if they are meant to be disposable

36) Practice saying the word "forty" so that I can learn to not throw up a little while I say it

37) Unpack all the boxes in my attic and label properly the things that will stay

38) Organize a box for each child to hold their special childhood crap memorabilia, limit size of said box so that they can never say they don't have room for it in their own house

39) Keep the flowers alive in my flower boxes on my front porch for an entire summer. This will be accomplished by watering them instead of ignoring them and blaming drought like weather for their demise

40) Come to grips with the fact that I am closer to 40 than I want to realize and there is no way I will be able to accomplish all of these things

We're Off To See The Wiggles, The Wonderful Wiggles From Oz

Heading Out To The Show
Originally uploaded by the big yellow house.

A decade ago if you had told me that I would be spending my Friday night going to a Wiggles show, I would not have believed it.

A decade ago if you had told me that I would be looking forward to it, I would have laughed.

A decade ago if you told me that I wouldn't want to spend my Friday evening any other way, I would have called you crazy.

A decade ago I could not have known that seeing my child's eyes light up at the sight of four grown men dressed in colored shirts, singing insipid songs, and overacting would fill me with such joy.

A decade ago I could not have imagined that the happiness of my child would matter so much.

Busted

There is a loud banging on the bathroom door.

"Mom, what are you doing?" a voice says. I can tell that the lips of the person are pressed right up against the crack of the door.

"Uh, I am using the bathroom." I answer.

"Using it for what?"

"Do I really need to give you details of my bathroom habits?"

"Well, I hear paper rustling."

"It's the toilet paper, I think."

"No it's not."

"How do you know?"

"Because I can smell candy through the door. And don't try to tell me that is how your poop smells."

Bringing New Meaning To The Term Soup Kitchen

My husband has a full size refrigerator/freezer at his office. In the year he has been working at this office a few people have occasionally made use of the refrigerator for storing their lunches. The freezer, however, has always been completely empty.

A couple of months ago, Rob decided that he would bring some food in to put in the freezer, so that when those days arise where he can't go out for lunch, because he is too busy, doesn't have the inclination, or whatever the case may be, he can go to the freezer take out a hot pocket or something similar and microwave it. And there, instant lunch! He brought a couple of boxes and stacked them neatly in the back corner of the freezer. The rest of the freezer remained empty and unused.

That is until yesterday.

Rob went into the freezer to get his last hot pocket and found this:

Office Refrigerator
Originally uploaded by the big yellow house.

The entire freezer is filled with containers of soup.

He stood there looking at it in disbelief, wondering if it was some sort of practical joke, when one of the secretaries, or whatever the more politically correct word is now, came into the room.

"Do you know what is up with all this soup?" he asked.

"Oh yes, it's mine." she answered, "I just love soup."

And here we come to reason #432 of why I could never have a job where I had to work with people. I would have been forced to say something like, "What the hell do you mean you love soup? Don't you have freezer space at your own home? Are you anticipating a soup shortage and stocking up for the long cold winter?"

And then I would have taken a picture of it and posted it on my blog. I like soup too, just in moderation.

I have been giggling about it all day. Yes, it doesn't take much to excite me as evidenced by yesterdays post. I forced Rob to go with his camera phone and take a picture of it for me. I just had to see the former cool whip and butter containers pressed into service as tupperware.

I was not disappointed.

In Which You All Will Wish You Were Me

This morning while showering I forced to make a difficult decision. Do I:

A) shower while a screaming baby bangs on the shower door because he can't see me clearly through the frosted glass. "Oh My God, I HAVE NOT YET LEARNED OBJECT PERMANENCE, therefore my mother (and more importantly the breasts which are attached to her) has ceased to exist. Woe is me." or,

B) shower with the shower door open, simultaneously flooding the bathroom and freezing my butt off in spite of having the water temperature set to scald.

Guess which one I chose?

In other related news, I washed my bathroom floor today.

My life is so damn exciting that I can hardly stand it sometimes.

Dear Diary, It Was Halloween

Yesterday we finished up the carving of the jack-o-lanterns. My oldest three sons all carved their own this year. I was a bit leery at first to allow it since sharp knives are involved, but in the end I relented with strong warnings not to cut themselves because I was NOT going to the emergency room and would sew them up with thread from my sewing kit.

It was after setting all the pumpkins out on the front porch for display that it came to my attention that I didn't have any candles to put inside them. Thus began my foray into swearing the attic and into our Christmas decorations where I was positive I had some small candles. Many expletives boxes later I found some that I was able to cut in half, as well as a very lovely smelling apple blossom candle. At least I think it would have been lovely smelling if it wasn't mixed with the stench of pumpkin.

I got everyone into their costumes at 4:00pm in anticipation of our town weenie roast which began at 5:00. And as a testament to my immaturity, I couldn't say weenie roast without giggling or making hollow weenie jokes.

Before we left, I broke up several sword fights, duct taped a broken knight sword back together, warned Indiana Jones not to whip anyone, put 14 batteries into 7 flashlights, replaced batteries in my camera again, sewed a stuffed parrot onto my 10yr olds shoulder, convinced my daughter that she could not go trick-or-treating naked, and yelled, "I'm doing this for you, I don't really care if you get candy tonight or not. I'd be perfectly happy staying home!"

I sat everyone outside on the front porch, where I forced them to fiend happiness and took their pictures so we could remember this joyous moment forever.

Our town closes off the little "downtown" area and everyone trick-or-treats there. In the weeks leading up to Halloween the little general store has a bin out for candy donations that are then distributed to the people who live on those few streets. It is so quaint and sweet that you think you have stepped into a Norman Rockwell painting, well if he painted scenes filled with scream masks, jedi knights, and clowns. So maybe more like if Norman Rockwell had taken acid and then painted.

Rob got home at 5:00 and we headed "downtown", met up with some friends, ate some weenies, and began our candy gathering in earnest. Some the kid's friends were dressed up as Jedi Knights so we were treated to a lightsaber duel between Darth Vadar and several Jedi Knights while we ate. Who says small towns offer no entertainment? As it got darker and darker, and colder and colder, we realized that we had left all the flashlights behind which made it increasingly difficult to see the kids as they ran ahead of us on the street. It also made it difficult for me to spot people in time to divert the stroller from their path.

The baby was less than impressed with his costume and eventually fell asleep, sparing the rest of the town his ear piercing shrieks, no matter how holiday appropriate they sounded.

It was about half way through the evening when we came upon our favorite house. Where we were treated to wine. I'll give it a minute to sink in. YES, wine! I know. Now you all want to come trick-or-treating with me, don't you? But you can't.

As Rob and I finished up our wine, our chatting with friends, and our walking up the street to the next house, we suddenly realized the limitations of our multi-tasking. We were missing our wee pirate.

(I have to preface this by saying that at no point were we worried that something bad had happened to him, I was just talking to him a few minutes prior to discovering he wasn't with us. I was worried that he would be scared.)

We ran around to the neighboring houses and finally heard someone yelling, "Does someone need a little pirate?" I yelled back, "Well, need might be a little strong, but we have grown rather used to him." He wasn't the least bit upset, because in his own words, "I had all my candy with me."

And we soldiered on, braving long dark driveway after long dark driveway, for our fun sized treats. My daughter really got the hang of it and laid the cuteness on so thick people couldn't help but give her several pieces of candy.

We ended our evening by stopping in at the small apartment complex for the elderly. The old people love seeing the kids and so I try to hold my breath and not breathe in that smell of lysol, bleach and death that permeates the building. I was a bit put off by the person who was walking around the building wearing a hazmat suit complete with respirator. Rob maintains that it was a costume, but I don't think so.

From there Rob made a quick stop at the liquor store for our own bottle wine and we headed home with our loot. Our town may be very very small, but it does manage to support two coffee shops, a pizza place, a restaurant, and a bustling liquor store.

We went home, poured all of our candy out on the floor, ate it until we thought we might puke from either a) the eating of so much candy, or b) the witnessing of the eating of so much candy. Then we brushed AND flossed our teeth and all those under 5ft tall were sent to bed.

And I drank wine. And uploaded pictures. And it was good.
But even more importantly, it was over, until next year.

And if you read all the way to the end of this, I am impressed. Get yourself a glass of wine, you deserve it.