O.M.G.

When I was little, I believed that my dolls would  come alive at night.

I would tuck them in and make sure they were happy and cozy.   There was a part of me that thought that perhaps they would come after me if they were unhappy.

I think of my baby dolls, so sweet and innocent-looking.   A sweet and innocent doll wouldn't do something like that.

But THESE DOLLS??  <<<<<<--------- CLICK HERE.  These dolls would take your eyeballs out with toothpicks and do horrible things to you at night.

I'm SURE of it.

Fascinating Stuff.

My mother in law is coming into town tonight.

I love her to pieces and I can't wait. I wish she would live with us, but I think she would miss her husband.

My problem is that when people come to visit me I go bananas and clean for days and days.

I've been cleaning my ass off and am currently burned out. I am checked out and practically drooling on my recliner in front of the television and I still have the downstairs sinks and bathtub/showers to do.

I was doing really well for a while with maintaining a clean house. I would clean sinks and toilets weekly, even when they didn't need to be cleaned. Then I stopped; it seemed like a really silly thing to do. Really.

Yesterday, as I picked up the ten zillion Legos in the upstairs playroom, I tried to tell myself that I would miss the spawn they went away to college. At least, that is what everybody tells me.

It took me twenty minutes to pick up all those Legos, though, and I cursed each and every Lego by the end.

It was a huge BIN that someone had dumped out. For some reason ~ on that day ~ it infuriated me. It was a big speed bump in my cleaning groove.

I had been cleaning bathtubs, toilets, sinks, picking up books, toys, stuffed animals, then bah-BOOOM! It all came to a halt when I turned the corner and saw that bin completely emptied of its contents on the playroom floor.

The Legos were the tiny little hands, heads, bits and pieces. I had to drop to my knees and pick them up individually. I put in an appropriate amount of time, then vacuumed up the rest.

I semi-cleaned our bathroom, too, so when my husband suggested that we go to the beach today I sort of felt like clawing his eyes out.

"What's wrong," he asked.

It was hard to put in to words because I felt SO psychotic. Women take things like cleaning terribly personally. I could feel my brain boil and my eyeball twitch.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. Twitch. "I've been cleaning for three days, and now you are going to bring SAND into my clean house?"

While Chris took the boys to the beach, Maggie and I went through the McDonald's drive through. I ordered a 1/3# Angus Burger, large size fries and finished off Maggie's leftovers.

I cleaned the toilets, then moved on to the outdoors and watered my sad looking flowers and plants. I swept the sidewalk and driveway.

I finished up as a crack of thunder and a flash of lightening ruined the fabulous day of golf and/or the day at the beach for many folks on this Labor Day weekend. Within five minutes it was pouring, and continued to pour buckets for the next hour.

I am still stalled out with the cleaning. The floors need to vacuumed, the master bedroom bathtub/shower need to be cleaned (my mother-in-law probably won't be spending too much time in there, though...), the guest bed needs to be finished up.

She won't arrive until about midnight and I haven't decided whether or not if I will wait up. Midnight is atrociously late for those with two year olds who won't sleep in. My 36-year-old body can't handle the strain of those late nights like it used to. And with all of these four mile runs I have been doing, and all of this cleaning?

And add in all of the flipping out I have been doing at the kids, too? Whew. My body has been through some awfully crazy wild strains lately. I think a normal bedtime is in order.

After I finish cleaning, that is.

Graduation and Clothing Choice Fails

Ragnar the Viking dog officially passed puppy kindergarten yesterday. By observing him, you would never be able to tell; he is still full of "piss and vinegar."

Last night instead of humping all of the other dogs, he changed his tactic to chewing on their ears and hip checking them to push them down. The vet had to separate him, yet again, because he couldn't play nice.

He passed, I believe, because of his ability to learn quickly. I attribute this to the Shepherd half of his mix.

I'm definitely relieved that the class is over.

As much as I tried to be my charming self, the vet didn't like me. I have a feeling about these sorts of things. I could just tell.

I suppose it is fairly understandable because I was the largest disruption to the puppy kindergarten this session.

I honestly think that she was one of those "I like animals better than people" type individuals. So when I showed up at the first class after taking a dose of my cough medicine that made me zingy and chatty (I was in the throes of those coughing fits that made me piss my pants), I'll admit I probably was a little too much. Not a great first impression.

I was excited about having a new puppy, and between a hacking a lung out, motored on about Ragnar, the process of buying a new puppy, how good he was, our family, the kids, our house, our neighborhood, our friends, our extended family, our church...etc.

Even I was a little too much for me.

Between the first week and the second week, my husband made the decision to start coaching our youngest son's tackle football team and I had no babysitter for the two year old. So, with the wild puppy and two year old in tow, we showed up at the second week of puppy training class. On that particular night most of the puppies were better behaved than Maggie.

Maggie promptly found the toy area set out for children. However, she wound up with the most damaging of all toys ~ crayons ~ and when I had my back turned scribbled a Picasso on the wall.

A few weeks ago, we couldn't make it to class because of scheduling conflicts. The vet SOUNDED disappointeded, but I KNOW she was doing a happy jig on the other end of the phone because we weren't coming.

Last night, I had to bring Maggie again, and Ragnar was in full freak out mode. I think he takes his aggressions about the wildness of our home life out on the puppies at kindergarten class.

His match was a Mexican Presa Canario. They wrestled, knocked over chairs, plants and small children. His sensed sweetness as a source of weakness in a Golden Retriever/Border Collie mix and gnawed on her ears and, at times, wouldn't allow her to drag herself up off the floor (hence the separation).

Maggie fed off the craziness of the room and wanted to be held the entire time, which was no easy feat. YOU try to hold a 32 pound kid in one arm, a dog treat in your other hand, yell "come" to a German Shepherd mix, then proceed to do a "Sit, Down, Up, Down" command IN A SKIRT. Yea, I was a dumb ass last night; clothing choice FAIL.

So, I am happy that this is over and that I have a few weeks to figure out babysitting until first grade starts. Someone asked when first grade would start and she said "in a few weeks because I need a break." And I swear ~ I SWEAR ~ she glanced at me when she said this.

There is also going to be fly training this fall. I think that Ragnar would kick ass with that.

The vet will probably weep when she sees us show up again.

What You Will Do to Get Your Keys out of a Public Toilet

I heard once that Murphy's Law states that "anything dropped in the bathroom will land in the toilet."

I suppose that this statement is even more true if you are locked in a Pepto-Bismol colored vestibule with barely enough room to turn around and shut the door without squatting over the crapper.

I had no pockets in my gym shorts and was juggling my car key, an Ipod, water bottle and a towel. As I set these contents on the back toilet, I watched helplessly as my one and only SUV key slid off the back of the tank and into the toilet.

The toilet appeared to be fairly clean, thankfully. Quite honestly, it looked a hell of a lot cleaner than any of my toilets at home, some of which look like diarrhea fest 2010 occurred in them. Hey, I have TOLD you guys I am not Suzy home maker.

I stuck my hand in and grabbed them, feeling a hopeless resignation. At least it wasn't the Ipod.

I had barely made it to the bathroom in the first place. I was on about 2.50 miles on the treadmill before the painful rumbling in my belly forced me to hit "Stop" and go search for the nearest bathroom.

I guess I am happy I didn't run outside today, or I would be squatting in bushes. I have heard "real runners" sometimes do this during races. I don't know if I could do it. I would rather implode.

I was so annoyed, because I had completed a successful, albeit messy, four mile run on Tuesday. I was working toward it again today. I was half way through my This American Life podcast when I realized that the four miles weren't going to happen.

Which is how I found myself in the stall designed for an Oompah Loompah, not a 5'9" big boned girl who had just dropped her keys in the toilet, reached her hand in and fished them out. I didn't want to wipe my dripping hand on my shorts so I shook it off a bit and gingerly peeled (as fast as I could...the stomach pain was relentless) my soaked workout clothes off and sat down.

I noticed then that there was no toilet paper. NO TOILET PAPER. Seriously...I pulled up my soaking wet underpants and shorts and waddled over to another Ooompah Loompah stall and sat there for a minimum of ten minutes, listening to a vapid discussion about cheer leading. Oh, God. It was so fascinating, I just about pooped myself. Wait a minute....

I usually would care if someone noticed that I was in a stall for about ten minutes, but I didn't even care today. I was too disappointed that I missed my four mile run today, by a mere mile and a half. I got on the miserable elliptical machine and did fifteen minutes and listened to the screaming children being dropped off and picked up at the nursery.

My child had screamed and was a snotty, wild mess when I dropped her off today, too.

I suppose this is what one would call an "unsatisfactory gym experience" day. Tomorrow WILL be better. I am now training for this. I will write more about it the future. I now mean business.

Chris is Awesome

Yes, he is!!!!!

He is the most awesome husband ever!

Dingleberries and Sucker Punches

I'm sitting here in my bedroom, the refuge.

Sounds of canned farts and "umphs" are wafting in from the family room. Someone's nose is inevitably being broken from being nailed point blank by the Sucker Punch on "Wipeout."

Along with school starting, I am reminded of another welcome effect of Fall: a new television season starting and no more Wipeout. It's currently on a hundred times per week. I am SURE of it.

I am feeling like a bit of a failure today, for a great number of reasons. I won't go in to all of them here...just a few.

I was on fire last week with my running. I really was. I bought those Under Armour clothes and everything. I was tooting along with my 3.25 miles and inserting this fact into everyday conversations with people, like the check out clerks at Publix.

"Hi, how are you today," the clerk would ask.

"I am great! Fantastic," I would say, enthusiastically. "I'm training for a 5k, then a marathon, and today...TODAY, I ran 3.25 miles."

Okay, so I didn't say it exactly like that, but I did work it into conversations and Facebook updates. I know, totally annoying.

But I completely recognize that I am one of those annoying people who do that, and in a way, I think it makes it all right. Don't you agree? It's the people who DON'T know that they are annoying, who are the MOST annoying. I recognize it and own it. I think my husband would disagree....but I think he is one of those annoying people who doesn't KNOW he is annoying yet. He thinks he is cool. So...he sort of doesn't count.

I digress.

But my running THIS week? Oy.

PSYCH, to the chubby jiggly wannabe posing in the overpriced Under Armour gear.

The two times I have actually MADE it to the gym this week, I have limped along to two miles. I then came home and ate a bottle of blue cheese (mixed with some honest to goodness real crumbled blue cheese chunks for good measure) with garlic and cheese Texas Toast croutons mixed in.

OR, tomato soup (which isn't too bad, except I have high blood pressure).

OR, three pieces of fried chicken and three helpings of mashed potatoes with gravy last night when my mamma came and helped out with the kids.

I stepped on the scale this morning and I shouldn't have done that. You know that voice that is in your head that tells you not to do something in which you are in the process of fixin' to do?

It goes something like, "No! No! Stop it! Don't do it! Don't! Don't! Don't! Don't do it! Nothing good will come of it! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Then you do it anyway? And you are all like "Ah, damnnnnnnnnnn, that voice was so right. She is always right, nothing good came of it. I feel like a piece of shit now."

I think that voice? Her name is Willpower. It is something which I have zero of . I mean...this chick tries, but I blow her off, like 99% of the time. I don't even know why she says anything to me. Dumb beeeyotch.

I heard her all during pregnancy. She was like, "NO! Don't eat that pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia! Don't do it! Don't! Don't!" And I did. And it was all bad and I gained sixty pounds.

So, the other failure I have had today is that I saw a palmetto bug ~ a freaking COCKROACH ~ if you will, in my house this morning.

At first I though it was a dingleberry that fell off of the dog's butt because I had just taken him out and he had taken a crap.

The dog was super interested in it, and I was like, "Oh, damn. I have to pick that piece of shit up off of the carpet. Gross."

Then the piece of shit MOVED.

Then I put my glasses on.

It was a cockroach!!!!!

And I was really not happy for several reasons, the first being that we have a pest control service that is SUPPOSED to be taking care of these things for us. I know that they can't control everything, but since they have come, we have had an influx of some wicked little urchins called "earwigs," which are apparently harmless, but they are crazy ugly.

We have also had some ants. And some spiders. And Maggie has woke up with bites on her legs, which I am not 100% convinced were not there before she went to bed, but still.

So, the pest control service is not doing the job to the best of the ability that I believe that they should. We should see NO pests. ESPECIALLY not a cockroach.

Another reason I am not happy about this is that I am actually striving to be a little bit better about cleaning up. I am cleaning up dishes, taking trash out, cleaning up floors. I have about five different vacuums in my possession and I use them fairly regularly, inside and outside of my house, AND I change the bags in them and/or dump the contents (in the case of the shop vac) quite often. So, cockroaches are unacceptable.

I told Chris about it when he called to see how the children were behaving (another source of feeling like a failure). He echoed my thoughts on how happy he was that the pest control service was coming out tomorrow, as he had called them yesterday about the earwigs and the ants.

"And I am really upset about the cockroach," I continued, "because you know I have been trying to keep things cleaner since we got the dog."

There was silence. SILENCE.

Which leads me to believe that he doesn't share my thoughts on this and doesn't make me feel good.

My bed is feeling really super comfortable and I think a nap may be in order. There are no more farting noises. Wipeout is over; Shaq Vs. is now on. Another summer winner.

Dear God, I will weep with joy when school starts next week. I don't know how homeschool moms do it. I am hiding in my bedroom right now, emotionally broken and bleeding, and it has been not even three months since school let out in June.

But I won't complain about this topic anymore because my husband tells me that everyone has "gotten it" by now that they drive me nuts. I just will re-iterate my gratitude for the public school system.

Nap time out.

Jenny McCarthy and Inappropriate Pictures

Tonight, my 15 year old son suddenly blurted out, "Mom! Jenny McCarthy is HOT."

I immediately thought of the book cover in which she cradled a watermelon sized belly. The book that discussed mucous plugs, epidurals and childbirth classes. I thought about all of the autism campaigns over the years with her cute little blond bob, cheesin' it with Jim Carrey. She's cute. She's a mom.

Most importantly, to a 15-year-old, she should be considered OLD. She is, like, MY age.

"Jenny McCarthy," I asked.

"Yeah," he flipped his Justin Bieber-ish hair. "She's hot."

What the heck.

I dismissed it. I dismiss a lot of what my kids say. I'll admit it. I shouldn't, but I do. Unless they say something really unique and precocious, it's often met with an "Uh, huh," and it's in one ear; out the other.

I forgot about the Jenny McCarthy comment until I found these tonight when I was bored on WWTDD.COM.

He was supposed to be syncing his Ipod.

What? More Pictures??!

Whoa! More pictures! "What's up with the pictures," you ask.

Well, about a year ago, Chris let Maggie play with our digital camera. I KNOW, right? Predictably, she threw it and it shattered into a million pieces.

He further made the problem worse by trying to fix it himself and unscrewing those itsy bitsy little screws to see if he could "see what the deal was." I KNOW, right?

So, we have been without a camera for about a year. That is, until I took the initiative to order one online.

Knowing nothing about cameras, I chose one very scientifically.

I knew that Ashton Kutcher was the spokesperson for this particular model. I am not a huge fan of Ashton Kutcher, nor do I think he is "all that," but I am easily manipulated and swayed; a marketing/advertising company's wet dream.

If it is good enough for Ashton Kutcher, it is good enough for me.

When Chris got the order confirmation email, he asked, "What kind of camera did you get?"

"I don't know. It's a digital one, a Nikon."

"What's the pixel, blah blah blah," he asked. It was a bunch of technical crap. I had no idea what he was talking about. I just wanted a camera.

"It is the one on t.v. that Ashton Kutcher is selling."

I don't think he was too happy with me. But, you know. We needed a new camera. We were missing important events in our childrens' lives that you just can't capture with the Iphone camera. I took a leap. It was a blind leap.

So, here we are with our new camera. I'm taking pictures of everything. Including, apparently, raccoon turds in my back yard.

My neighbors already think I am little off...taking pictures of turds probably isn't helping.

In our cul de sac, we have New Jersey people, New Yorkers and people from Connecticut. And Colombia. I suppose they have seen it all.

So....here is me. On our way up to Jacksonville.

Maggie pulled this book off of Chris' shelf at work.
Ragnar! He is 30 pounds now...same as the 2 year old! He's a sweet boy...great temperment. Awesome addition to our family.

Sid the Science Kid and Chicken Nuggets

I am currently parked in my comfortable arm chair watching one of more annoying television shows in the universe: Sid the Science Kid.

I could say a lot about this show. Maggie likes it. I don't.

I don't like how all of the kids' hair looks like worms. Or how the kids' "voices" are adult voices or act like they need to be on medication. Or how teacher Susie pronounces "incline planes" or "pulleys."

I'm sitting here because I am too lazy to get up. I need a refill on my coffee. Yep, too lazy to even get up for that.

I had a moment of weakness and made chicken nuggets, mashed potatoes and corn for everyone last night. I licked the mashed potatoes saucepan clean, and shoveled in the leftover nuggets.

This morning, I very well may be suffering from a chicken nugget and mashed potato hang over.

It might not be so bad, except this is a gym day and I'm supposed to jog my 3.25 miles. If I can't even make it to my kitchen, how am I going to make it to the gym? Not promising.

As I look around, I am just a wee overwhelmed at all that I have to do. I started painting the powder room and didn't finish. Everything needs to be cleaned up. The bathrooms upstairs haven't been cleaned for over a month.

My oldest son comes home tomorrow.

He spends the summers up north and his room seemed surprisingly vacant this summer. I'm looking forward to having him home. His room, although clean, needs to be prepared today. The sheets and comforter need to be washed, as I'm sure they have collected the dust of disuse over the summer.

My mind is swimming with all that "needs" to be done today, and in the midst of my nugget hangover, it all seems overwhelming. It's just one of those days in which there is no direction. Ever have one of those?

I just need to start somewhere...

Like with another cup of coffee.

An Update on My Overpriced Under Armour Running Shorts

Just an update on those $29.99 Under Armour shorts I purchased on Saturday.

They don't really "wick away" crotch sweat, nor do they eliminate odor. Those are two things that I come to expect with jogging, so I can live with them. They are part of the "sport" of running (in my case, trudging), if you will.

What I couldn't live with was that after about two minutes, the inner thigh area of the shorts began to creep up.

I did a sneaky little wiggle to get them out, but after about twenty minutes, even the wiggle didn't work and the insides of the shorts were permanently wedged in my crotch area for the remainder of my jog. All 3.25 miles of it.

After about 2 miles, I was too miserable to care what the beefy dudes behind me thought. I was hating life.

I couldn't gather my momentum because my mind was obsessed with the Under Armour shorts and where they were stuck.

My inner thighs began rubbing together and started to chaff. (My body is just made like that...the inner thighs are a problem.) I began to fret, which brought on some bowel issues. I felt impending diarrhea. I felt like crying.

All brought on because of a pair of over priced shorts that, because they are now consider used, I can't take back. Sucks monkey butt.

I'll stick to my non-breathable Nike Basketball shorts, I suppose. I don't look like a "real" runner...I look like a wayward, out of shape WNBA player.

My old shorts are comfortable, and they cost me an entire dollar at Goodwill. Pretty ironic.

The Under Armour shorts ARE remarkably comfortable though. And I can wear them to the grocery store. I can APPEAR to be an athlete, even though I know I'm more of a poser.