Complimenting Strangers and A Challenge for YOU!

Today, I crossed the vile threshold of the evil empire (i.e. Walmart).

I had just come from my appointment with my new counselor,  of which I showed up an entire half hour late for (kinda sorta not my fault.  I had  9:00 a.m. written down on my calendar, but I SWEAR the reminder call said 9:30. I should have called to verify, though).

But actually, I showed up an entire day early.   Truly, I did.

 I walked in yesterday morning at 9 a.m., bright eyed and ready to spill my guts to the unwittingly, poor gal who had agreed to take me on as a patient.  It wasn't until I saw the confused look on the face of the receptionist that I realized that it was Tuesday, not Wednesday.

So, since I had actually gotten dressed and put my face on, I decided to show it around town.  I dragged a constipated Maggie to several thrift stores, discount stores and hobby stores.

"Oooh, you have a shopping companion," said a little old lady at the Salvation Army in Daytona Beach, where I found some freaking adorable Children's Place skirts and Gymboree shirts for $1.50 each.

"An uncooperative one, yes," I said, as Maggie ~ as if on cue ~  dramatically crumpled and laid down on the sidewalk in front of the woman and refused to move.

So today, as I was wondering the aisles of the evil empire, picking out the Miralax for Maggie, I saw a girl who was wearing a fantastic cardigan.

It was hard to miss.  It was white, with a toile-ish, black pattern.  Oh, my.  It was my style.  I had to know where she got it.

I passed her in another aisle.

"Excuse me," I said.  She startled.  "I love your sweater, where did you get it?"

I do this a lot; I scare the crap out of people.

My most notable example was in a local Publix, but I think that this had to do more that I hadn't showered in several days and I looked like a homeless person.

I was also suffering from that chronic cough I had for six months this past summer, so I was on the cough medicine that made me extremely chatty and obnoxious.

I had taken several French showers to mask my stench, and I was wearing a baseball cat to hide the greasy hair.   But the clothes had been worn for several days, as I do often because....well....sometimes things are just comfortable after a day or two.  Or four.

And I wasn't expecting to walk by someone who smelled delightful.

She was an older woman and she was deep in concentration.  I should have noted that.  I walked past her and got a whiff.  I smelled a note of patchouli, and flowers, and something else.

I loved it.

I stopped my cart and backed that ass up.

"You smell wonderful,"  I exclaimed.

Seriously, I thought she was going to have a heart attack.  She nearly dropped her coupons and she made one of those faces that only are made when someone probably leaked a bit of urine in her Serenity pad.  I felt bad.  I should have apologized, but I didn't.

Instead, I continued.

"Are you wearing lotion?  Or is it your perfume?  I just love it!"

Her mouth moved for a moment and nothing came out.  When she finally spoke, she muttered something that sounded like "Angel," a perfume that I am quite familiar with, being a fan of the designer.

"Oh,"  I exclaimed.  "Thierry Mugler?"

She nodded.

"I love him!  I have "Alien."   I'll have to check "Angel" out.  It smells really nice!  Have a nice day!

I left her, recovering, in the middle of the frozen vegetable and pizza aisle.

I saw her several more times during that shopping trip, but she made beelines to move away from me, so I didn't have a chance to apologize for frightening her.

I like complimenting people, though.

If someone is wearing something that I think is pretty, I will tell her.  I also will  ask where she got it.   If someone I know looks particularly nice, I will tell her.  If a color looks nice on someone, I let her know.

I especially like doing this to strangers, even if it does scare them a little bit.  

You expect compliments from your husband, or your kids, or your family.   You don't expect them from a fellow shopper; therefore I think it makes it a little more special.

I challenge you to do it.

No, seriously.

Find something special or unique about someone.  

Don't be disingenuous...wait until you actually see something about someone that catches your eye.  Is someone wearing a broach, necklace or earrings that are particularly pretty?  Let them know!

It will probably make their day, and I guarantee that it will make you feel good, too.

Just don't do it when you haven't showered for days and look like you just ventured out of the dumpster behind the building, or are jazzed on any sort of stimulant that could be misconstrued as an illegal substance.  That is pretty much guaranteed to creep them out.

I speak from experience.

New Year's Resolutions and Eating Toilet Paper

I quit making New Year's Resolutions a long time ago.

This year, however, I have made a simple vow:  not to run out of toilet paper in my house.

I vow that no one will have to use paper towels, napkins ripped off from the last fast food restaurant we visited, or dried out baby wipes.    It seems simple enough, right?

I actually thought about making a resolution to keep my house clean.   But...that was sort of a joke.  I look around and am not sure when the last time the carpet was vacuumed.  I'm sure Chris was the one who did it because I have been in a mood lately....a laissez-faire mood.

My weeks have generally consisted of one day that have had one unusual burst of energy and I get a lot of things done.  Then.....nothing.   Nada.

At least I pretty much kicked that nasty habit of taking a nap every day.

It wasn't because I wanted to; it was out of necessity.

One can't really take naps when she has a child who will wreck shit if left alone.    And I really MISS those naps, because things have been a little more stressful around here.

About a month ago, Maggie stopped taking dumps.    She has started killing herself trying to hold those bad boys in.

I will glance at her and she will be fiercely squeezing her butt cheeks together,  face purple, with a look of blind exertion that appears to be causing her eyeballs to practically pop out of her head.

On  another note, I started seeing a new doctor this week who seems decent.  I am thrilled that she is tall, sort of homely and most importantly ~ chubby.

I hate going to pretty and skinny female doctors.

There's something about them that makes me feel like a complete and utter loser...like I could have been them if I would have tried just a little bit harder and the pharmaceutical companies would have released certain types of medications to straighten my imbalances out just a few years sooner.

Instead, I flailed around internally and banged my head against the wall ~figuratively speaking~ for years.  By that time, I was pudgy and was already sort of a screw up.

Looking at "together" female doctors reminds me of this.  And I secretly hate them.

So when my new doctor walked in, I was happy to see she probably weighs more than I do.

She wasn't happy, however, about my Xanax usage.

"You take this every day," she asked.

"Um.  Mostly.  Yes?"

"Because it is habit forming."

"Oh, okay."

In my mind, I was saying, "So what?"

Everything I do has a propensity of being habit forming.

I was watching this new show on bizarre addictions on TLC this week and this girl was addicted to body building.  Another was addicted to sucking her thumb.  Yet another was addicted to eating toilet paper.

Yeah, the toilet paper one was really bizarre...and probably was pretty harmful.  Can you imagine?

But my point is that anything can be habit forming if you let it.

I'm addicted to coffee and caffeine.  I'm addicted to Chapstick.   I'm addicted to going to thrift stores.  I'm addicted to putting cayenne pepper on my food.  I'm addicted to needing to check myself out in the mirror every time I get in the car.   I could go on and on.

Add Xanax to the list.  No, really.  Please do.   At least I'm not addicted to eating two ply toilet paper, or licking doorknobs.  Or doing something so horrifically anti-social which causes my family to cringe, mortified and unwilling to claim me as their own.

Anyway, the toilet paper I buy is one-ply.  It's the cheap crap.   The family used to complain but they finally got over it.

I bought the good stuff one time and I spent the entire two stupid weeks it took to use up that 24 pack plunging toilets because the morons didn't understand the usage rules of two-ply toilet paper (i.e. less is more).

So, my new years resolution is not to run out of toilet paper, and not eat it.  And not to worry about habit forming medication, because I don't give a flying foogaysie, because we're all going to die anyway.  I'll just be a little more relaxed, and a little less of a weirdo on my way out.

The Story of the Hot Tamales

Last night, after a day of shivering in bed with a fever, the only thing that sounded good to eat was Hot Tamales.

I gave Chris and Wes my request and they fought  their way into the local Target past the gaggle of last minute Christmas shoppers to pick up some food and antibiotics.  I put the seat back in the car and waited miserably.

When we returned home (almost FOUR hours after we first left for urgent care) I grabbed the box of candy and began to shuffle off towards my bed.

But there was something wrong with it.  It was a BRICK.

I shook it.  Nothing rattled.

"What's this," I held the box up to Chris and Wes.

"I picked out the hardest one for you," Wes said.

I have yet to decide whether this was an innocent, 9-year-old's comment, or a calculating, passive aggressive strike against me.

"It's HARD, because it's ruined.  It got WET,"  I yelled.  I was SO looking forward to that candy.

I continued, "SEE???  SEE,"  I jabbed my finger angrily at the obvious water damage.  I ripped open the box and displayed the hard, red lump inside.  "SEE," I screeched.

I shuffled off and crawled into bed.  I felt sick.  I felt out of sorts.  I felt disproportionately sad and pissed about this freaking box of Hot Tamales.

I didn't know what the damage was caused by.  It could have been water.  Or as far as I knew, it could have been anti-freeze or urine.

I didn't care.

I laid on my side and peeled off the Hot Tamales individually and ate them.  I ate almost half the box before I turned my attention on the sweet Chex Mix.

I worked hard for those buggers.

And they tasted good.

Pain

Please.

Allow me to vent.  

I am currently on day 3 of being sick.

Sometimes, I do confess that I exaggerate and/or make up being sick for sympathy or for a nap.

It goes something like, "Ugh, honey, I'm not feeling well.  I sort of feel like I am going to throw up."

Perhaps I might spread some black eyeshadow under my eyes to enhance the appearance of bags and dark circles.  "I need to go lie down for a little bit," I say weakly.   "Will you watch the kids?"

And I'll disappear and take a nap.  

But I am not going to lie:  this time, I am SOOOO not faking.  

I can take the 24 hour thing, but again, this is DAY THREE.   Total bull-sh**.

I had a 102 fever  and sat for a miserable 2 hours at the disgusting urgent care clinic yesterday evening to be told I had a sinus infection and an ear infection.

Personally, I think it is more than that.   He mentioned strep, but didn't do a test because I am allergic to penicillin, so I start immediately on the Z-Pack, which is the medication they use for strep.  So it would just be an unnecessary test.

I think it is a combination of strep throat, the flu, ear infection, and a brain aneurysm.  Because that is what it feels like.

I still can't swallow without a searing pain in my ears, so I'm sure I'm crazy dehydrated, too.

On the upside, I got on the scale this morning and I haven't gained any weight.  I was certain I had, what with all the cheese and candy I have been eating.

Plus, a "friend" ~ I use that term lightly~ turned me on to flavored coffee creamer (raspberry cream cheese truffle, to be exact).   The bitch.

I don't even have all of the Christmas shopping done for the kids....and the ONE BIG gift for Maggie that my husband ordered off of Ebay THREE WEEKS AGO has yet to arrive.

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN not to order something off of Ebay and expect it to be here by a certain date.  Seriously.   But, it is the Wonder Pets Flyboat and isn't available to buy in stores.  So we had to pay through the nose on Ebay.

And as wonderful as my husband is, MY KITCHEN STINKS.   I KNOW he has been trying to keep it clean....thanks honey....but it smells like rotting food in here.

Thank you, dear Internet, for allowing me to complain.

And ooooooh, the stabbing pains in my head!!!!!!!!

And Maggie just turned on Spongebob!

Excuse me while I go hang myself.

Fire Starters and Bark

There's something about beginning therapy with a new psychiatrist that makes me feel like a complete tool.

I know there is nothing wrong with having a shrink.  Most people have one, and most people are on anti-depressants...aaaaand those who aren't, probably should be.

I walked into the new office yesterday morning and proceeded to fill out the kajillion pages of my history.

Since my 'tard general practitioner  refused to refill my anti-depressants (I KNOW, right?  What an douche.),  I had to bust ass and get an appointment with a REAL psychiatrist.  I'm still bitter about the general practitioner situation. And cynical.    

This psychiatrist thing was a big deal for me, y'all.  Because I have not been too keen on them since my last one told me that I wasn't "in a sorority anymore."   Ummm, yea?   Rude.  I'm NOT the Greek type.

I've been trying to get into the Christmas spirit, nevertheless, WITHOUT being properly medicated.   Which is harder than one might think, yet when making yummy treats it helps things out a tad bit.

So, as you can see, I made an obscene batch of my mother's sweet Chex Mix.

It has pecans, coconut and raisins in it...along with a brown sugar butter and vanilla sauce poured over it and cooled.

F-in' "A" it is so righteously awesome.    I'm going to be giving it out as gifts...except the family has eaten almost two bags already.  So, I better give them away very soon.

I am also making cinnamon sugar almonds and almond bark-dipped pretzels to add to my gifts I planned to hand out, but who would have thunk that "almond bark" is no where to be found at the local "Pubix," (as my dad calls it)?

Is almond bark a Midwest thing?

After wandering around for a long while, I finally asked someone who looked like he had worked there for too long.

 "Where is the almond bark?"

"What?"

"I'm looking for almond bark."

"Bark is in the deli."

That didn't sound right, AT ALL.

Almond bark is an alternative to white chocolate.  It comes in a big brick that can be melted and goodies such as  pretzels, Oreos, etc. are dipped into it.  It is sweet and not anything akin to a slab of  ham.

"Almond bark is in the deli,"  I asked, suspiciously.

"Well, "bark" is in the deli.  I'm not sure about almond bark."

There was CLEARLY a disconnect.

I thanked him for being so incredibly helpful and wandered off toward the bakery, then the deli.

There was no "almond bark," nor was there any "bark."

What the hell did he think I was asking for?  I'm still wondering...what the frack is "bark?"  Is it a southern thing?  Did he think I was looking for firewood?   I'm still confounded.

I wanted to say to him, "In Des Moines, there were entire ENDCAPS of almond bark stacked six feet high and it sold like hotcakes."

So I left, with a lone bag of pretzels and no almond bark.  I would have ventured on to another store, but Maggie has decided that she will refuse to sit in a shopping cart.

When I try to forcibly PLACE her in a shopping cart, she won't sit down and screams bloody murder.

So, it's either, a.) carry her (she weighs upwards of 35 pounds now), or b.) allow her to walk.  She has no fear, however, and wanders everywhere else other than by my side.  She was particularly fascinated by cupcakes last night.  

This does not make for an enjoyable shopping experience.  It actually makes me want to hang myself.

I went to bed with  good intentions of getting up this morning to continue with my festive Christmas baking of easy snack foods that will surely add another ten pounds onto my fat ass.

But I do believe that between 11pm last night and 7 am this morning, I was hit by a truck.

The fifteen year old is already bitter that he occasionally watches his 2 year old sister while I go to the grocery store, but I asked him AGAIN ~ despite this ~ to watch her so I could go back to bed.

Maggie has a propensity now to get into her ass cream and spreads it all over her stuffed animals, walls and on the dog.   So she has to be watched uber closely.

Also, last month she almost set fire to the house  because she pulled down the toaster's lever to "on."  That would have been fine and a rather benign incident; however,  I was sorting bills and placed our property tax bill on top of the toaster.  So...it promptly set afire.

 It's wildly frustrating that I can't just have a normal toddler who will zone out in front of the television  so I can nap.  Instead, I have one that sets fires, who tries to escape and who  climbs the pantry shelves.

She is also quite different in that she doesn't care for dolls and other things that other girls are attracted to.  Instead, she carries her two Pikachus around and asks me to find Pokemon videos on my Iphone.  This is one of her favorites.  

After a nap, though, I don't feel any better.  In fact,  I feel worse.   My entire body, including my hands, aches.

HO-HO-HO.

I'm a little nervous because we clearly do not have a doctor to go to.  

Perhaps some more sweet Chex mix will make me feel better?  Or some good ol' carbs in the form of bread?  Or what about some boxed wine?

Yep, some boxed wine sounds like a plan.

Highlights and Snuggies

I'm sitting here wrapped in a blanket, freezing my ass off and surrounded by plants that had to be brought indoors because there was a frost warning last night.

It's just all wrong, living in Florida and all.

The beach is FIVE MILES AWAY and not even two months ago we were sweltering.  I was worrying about my pit stains and crotch sweat and every weekend  the kids frolicked happily in the surf.  I was sun-kissed.

I've been woefully uninspired to write.  And the story I could tell you that I could spin as "amusing" is still terribly disturbing to us (see #5).   The situation still stings.

Chris did a fab job on the outside lights.

I finally got around to putting up the inside lights and decorations this week.    It looks really nice, although I had to leave most of the ornaments off of the tree because Maggie is almost as bad as a feral cat and is tearing ornaments off  of the tree almost as fast as I can put them back on.

Here are some more highlights/activities of our Fall 2010 in Florida.

1.  I taught myself how to play guitar via the Garage Band application on my Mac.   It took me an entire day.   

Part of the reason I was so hell-bent on learning the guitar is that both Calvin AND Chris have been trying to learn to play, too.   I wanted to blow them all to hell and crush their testosterone driven self-esteem.  

Plus, I just wanted to say "I taught myself how to play guitar in one day."  

Now I'm playing guitar in our church praise band.   I think that the pastor's wife playing guitar is SO much less cliche than the pastor's wife playing piano...which I do play, too.   

I studied piano for years and years and guitar is so much easier.      

2.  I organized under my sink in my bathroom today, which is more astonishing if you would have seen the "before" situation.  I would open the door and shi* would literally fall out.  

About two months ago, I bought something that looked like shelving (but was still wrapped in plastic and unassembled) at a yard sale for a dollar.  I asked the guy selling it what it was, and he just shrugged, "I dunno."    Today I put it together and it was exactly what I needed to contain my out of control collection of lotions/perfumes/soaps I have acquired (see pic).

3.  I finished painting the master bathroom (that I started about 2 months ago) and began painting the master bedroom.   I touched up the spot where Maggie decorated the wall with lip gloss.  I was smokin' on fire and was a painting machine, then I ran out of paint. 

4.  A car was stolen from our next door neighbor's house last weekend while I was STANDING IN THE DRIVEWAY taking Maggie out of her carseat.   I must have been completely out to lunch because I didn't even notice that it happened until the owner of the car ran out of the house yelling, "What happened to my car?"      

5.  Our doctor completely flaked out on Chris... sort of like a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde situation.  I kid you not; we have never had anything like that happen before.   

Chris called his office and asked to speak to him personally because he  had some questions for him regarding some prescriptions.   

The psychotic freak weirdo called him back and was obviously taping the phone call.   The doctor yelled at him, insulted him and told him I was lying about what medications I was on.  The entire "thing" started about a medication that he abruptly refused to refill that I have been on for years.   

Maybe someday it will be funny, but right now I am too cynical and way too pissed off.   I'm pissed off I have to find a new doctor, most of all.  They are a dime a dozen, but it is difficult to find a good one.  Obviously. 

If you want to know what doctor to NEVER go to just holla.    This dude has obviously been sued before.

6.  I shot a gun for the first time.  

I mean, come on....we live in Florida.  I'm convinced that most Floridians have shot some sort of weapon by age five, and that a good 50% people are packing heat in the local Publix.   

Concealed weapons permits cost $50.00 and a class is required.  That's it.  And if you are in the military, it isn't even required that you must take the class.     

Chris took a video of me shooting a Glock 9mm, and I looked really kick ass.  Almost like Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith, as far as YOU know.   

Okay...actually I looked pretty lame, but I shot the target in the nuts several times.  And I wasn't even AIMING for anything.   

During all of these shenanigans I have done not ONE lick of exercise.   I've fallen off the wagon so hard, it smarts where my large ass hit the ground.  

I will get back into it, I'm sure.

As in, probably when everyone else does after the first of the year, like a  chubby lemming.  

I'll follow the masses as they all show up at the gym on January 2nd (or the first Monday following the holiday).  Presumably after they have consumed all the Christmas candy and the leftovers in the refrigerator.     

I'll be right there with them, because if I am anything, I am a follower.   "That's a GREAT idea," is one of my favorite phrases.    

Right now, a great idea would be take a  cruise to somewhere warmer.   Because it is freezing outside again tonight.  And I don't think I am cut out for the cold.    A Snuggie would definitely be welcome for a Christmas present.  

Christmas Lights!

It is our first Christmas in this house; the second Christmas in Florida.   

Over a stretch of three days after Thanksgiving, Chris decorated the house.  I instructed him quite well and he followed directions okay.  

My firm request were for the candy cane stripe columns in the front of the house.  I was pretty adamant about that.  Those columns  SCREAM for candy cane stripes, don't you think?   

We have more decorating to do.  With a toddler who desires to escape at every chance that is humanly possible, it is a little difficult.   We are practically biding our time until DHS is called on us; this child is smart and inventive with her escapism plots.

So a little-at-a-time is how we roll.  

S

When You Say "Wisconsin," You've Said It All....

If I had one wish, it would be to be a student at the University of Wisconsin.  That is the greatest school ever and I love the whole state of Wisconsin.

For Christmas I would love for Chris to purchase tickets to the Rose Bowl or whichever bowl it is in which Wisconsin plays.

SCONNIE!!

Tearing out Shrubs and Planting New Flowers

The people who landscaped our house will probably weep if they drive by our house.

That's because yesterday I yanked  out everything they planted in our front landscaping, save for the sago palm.  

It's amazing how spoiled we have become with this house.   

This is a picture of our first house.  

When we first moved in, there was NO landscaping.   As in none.  

Chris planned and created the retaining wall landscaping all by himself.  (I was so proud of him.)  We were completely broke with the down payment and moving, so we had to wait to the following year to landscape.   Until then, it looked sad and barren.  

I had always wanted to have lilacs, and these lilac bushes on the south side of our house FINALLY bloomed the VERY LAST YEAR we lived there.  

We lived there just shy of five years.   I loved my lilacs, and honestly, I was so sad to leave these shrubs.  I knew lilacs don't do well in Florida and they are my favorite flower.  

Now, jasmine has become my new lilac.  

Before closing.

Early summer...getting settled.

Adding more to the front...see the bistro?  Probably mid-late summer.

 As I said,  we have become really spoiled.

We were presented with this beautifully landscaped house and I ripped it all out yesterday.    It was driving me bananas, and I realized why:  there was no color!

I have set the plants out in the places where I intend to plant them, but they aren't officially in the ground yet.  That is tomorrow's project.

(Sidenote ~ I'm driving my husband completely bonkers because the inside of the house remains unpainted.  He has asked me to finish the painting "project" before I start others like landscaping, decorating, making windchimes, etc.  But painting just isn't as much fun.)

I took pictures to show my mother today when I visited.  I thought I would share them with you, too!

All set out.

Hibiscus "tree" and the Imperial Blue Plumbago 

Imperial Blue Plumbago & pink double knockout roses! 

Hibiscus

Roses, Imperial blue Plumbago bush and the yellow Verbena

This was the most interesting petunia I have ever seen...it is pink on the inside, with green around the outside.    They are also the "wave" variety, so they will cascade out of the hanging basket.  So cool!

This was the prissiest little bougainvillea plant for the longest time.    I honestly thought it was dead.  It has finally perked up,  grown like wild and has gotten flowers on it.  I am going to buy a trellis soon for it so it will climb up the south side of the house.  

 

I am a dumpster diver!  Someone threw this almost-dead aloe plant out in the trash....with a little TLC, it has come back and is ALMOST healthy.  

These climbing roses are getting SO BIG!

I tore out the regular grasses and replaced them with varigated grasses instead.  

I'll update the pictures when I am completely finished and my landscaping is complete.

Actually...scratch that.  Knowing me, it will never be complete.  I'll keep fussing with it.  I'll never be settled.  Changing things out/adding to/taking away from the landscaping is what makes owning a house so fun.

Freak Outs and Insanity

I don't like announcing the fact that I have been alone with the kids for two weeks in my blog.

However,  since these two weeks from effing hell are heaving their last, labored breath and are winding down, I feel I can disclose my vulnerability.

I guess if I think about it, I am fairly anonymous so who the heck cares?

But there are those horror stories, you know...  In my case, I watch too much of the local, Orlando news about weirdos and freaks.

And statistically, because Florida is more populated than a state like Nebraska,  there are THAT many more freaks living here.    So, I just think twice about writing publicly that my husband is out of town.

He has been in South Carolina at Army Chaplain training school.  He has been telling me about it, but as usual, I have been "hearing," but not really "listening."

 I do know he has been at Fort Jackson, because the last time he was there, Wes and I visited him and we had a splendid time kicking it in the base's kick ass water park for a week.

At the end of our visit, I split to Florida for two weeks of "mommy alone time," to be taken care of my MY mommy and lay by the swimming pool.

However, the weather gods had other ideas, and sent hurricane Charley directly through the path of my parents' and my brother's house and messed up my sunning, shopping/dining out plans.   Everything closed and there was no gas available from Florida to Georgia for weeks.

Anywho, here are just a few highlights of my two weeks home alone with the kids.

There were many other times in which I wanted to "swim out past the breakers, and watch the world die," (as Everclear  put it)  and offer myself as shark bait.

Yet. I have been hanging on with, bleeding, unmanicured fingernails.  There is a slight chance that I may need to be admitted somewhere sometime in the near future; however, I haven't been listening to the Counting Crows 24/7 like last time, so the situation hasn't hit "critical mass" just quite yet.

1.)  The brakes went out on my old Mercedes.  To anyone who knows anything about Mercedes vehicles, when brake pads go out, the entire system (pads, rotors, etc.) need to be replaced.  Can anyone say, "beaucoup bucks?"

And since we are fabulous planners in our house, do you think we were ready for this?   Riiiiiiight.   My neighbor had to take me to rent a car at the nearest Enterprise.      There was one car available.  It was a convertible.

I had this little daydream floating around in my puny little brain about my hair blowing in the breeze along A1A.    

"I just need a car to get around town and pick up kids and stuff like that," I told Luke, the Enterprise dude.

"Eh, how many kids you got,"  he sounded hesitant, and frankly, his tone of voice was seriously cutting into my rock star daydream.

"Three." 

"Three might be a little difficult in this car.  There's practically no backseat, and it is a two door."  

Mehh, I thought...they'll manage.  It's a convertible.  

I realize Luke was a little wiser than he appeared ~ what with the food stains on his shirt and the greasy hair ~ the very second I tried to get the car seat in the back seat of a two door convertible.  

And you just try securing a wiggling two year old into a car seat in a two door convertible EVERY SINGLE TIME you get into the car.      

It wasn't this particular convertible.  I wish.

And you can't put ANYTHING in the trunk if you want the top down.    Not even groceries!

And if a kid wants to get out of the back seat, and someone is in the front seat, the person in the front seat has to get out of the car to let the person in the back seat out.  

And most likely, the person in the front seat is the person in the back seat's brother.  And they hate each other.  And it causes a fight.   And name calling.  And punching and hitting and shoving.  

And the mother wants to go drive the said convertible into the ocean.  

And those two doors are way heavier and bigger than I am used to, which means I keep slamming the driver's side door on my thigh.  I have a ginormous bruise to show for this.

AND it has rained much of the week.  Now it has turned way cold.  Not convertible weather.  

Dammit.  I should have just rented the Chevy Cobalt.  Not sexy.  But neither are straightjackets and thorazine.

2.   Last Friday, Calvin couldn't get a ride home from the varsity football game.  

It was an away game and the bus arrived at approximately 11:30 p.m. at the high school.  

I was frantically texting him.  

"Did you get a ride?"  

"Find a ride?" 

 "Status?" 

 "TEXT ME." 

 "CALL ME."  

"LET ME KNOW."  

The hysteria was setting in.

Because I was alone with two sleeping children and I honestly didn't know what I was going to do or who I was going to call at midnight to come sit with the sleeping kids.  I COULD leave them, but people are arrested for that sort of shiz all the time around here, and I didn't want to chance it.

I peeked out my door to the neighbor's house.  He's usually outside drinking beer at all hours, working on one of the six cars in his front yard.   And he didn't fail me now.  

Although HE wasn't outside personally, the garage light was on and it looked like everyone there was still up.  

I walked over and knocked on the door.     Imagine his surprise to see YOURS TRULY on his doorstep at 11:45, begging him to come sit on my couch for 25 minutes.  

I swung into the school, frantically looking for Calvin.  

He glanced at me sauntered towards the car.  

He saunters and moves extremely slow.  I have no FREAKING  idea how he was put on varsity offense.

I rolled down the window.  "Hurry up, dammit!  I left a STRANGER with kids!"

I was met with a vacant, fifteen year old boy stare.

"Move it, move it, move it," I squealed as I motioned frantically.  

"What's wrong," he said as he flopped into the car, flipping his hair.

"I left the neighbor with the kids.  I don't know the neighbor."

"Sorry, mom."  

"Yeah, whatever."

3.)   This week, Wes decided that he wasn't going to go to school.

Yeah, I KNOW. 

He woke up with a little allergy induced sore throat the first day, but certainly not enough to stay home from school.   There was some freaking out, threatening of "no more Jaguars games," which brought a few tears, but not enough to motivate him to get his nine-year-old butt to school.  

The SECOND day, he flat out refused to go to school.  I'm still bigger and stronger than he is and I suppose I could overpower him, throw him in the car and and just drive him there, but a.) he has been known to jump out of cars (I KNOW, this kid is nuts when he doesn't want to do something), and b.) there is the problem of having a two year old along for the ride.    

So, I called my Hungarian neighbor.  

Wes is a little scared of her after she chewed him up and spit him out for running around the neighbor hood with no shoes on.  ("Vhere do you think you live?  You live in Florida now.  Things vill kill you in Florida.  You vill vear shoes.  You VILL!!!!"  Except it went on for about ten minutes and Wes was in tears.  It was awesome.)

"I vill get him to school,"  she said.  

After a while,  when she realized he wasn't going to be convinced to go to school,  the tone turned to, "I vill get him to clean his room."    

And she did.  And he cleaned the family room.  And vacuumed.    I heard her yelling the entire time, "Vhat is this?!  You mother and father give you, give you, give you.  You live like a gypsy! (He didn't get the insult.)   Look at this room!  Vhat a mess!  Look at the trash!  Candy wrappers!  Oh, my GOD!  Vhat a mess!"

This morning, another neighbor came over and had him crying and out the door by stressing he was going to fail school and would have to repeat the fourth grade if he didn't go to school.   

 I wish I would have thought of that one.  

Other mothers would be embarrassed to admit failure to have to call in help, but I am not.   As the kids get older, I'm buying more and more into this "it takes a village" shit. 

 Wes is a different bird and he is so ready to have his father back.  He is so wicked smart  that sometimes he outsmarts me, and sometimes even outsmarts Chris.  

Chris  told me a few months ago, "Everyone gets it...the kids drive you nuts."  As in, "don't blog about it anymore..."    

But you know what?  Sometimes when I read other peoples' blogs about how nutty and out of control their houses are, it makes me feel a little better about mine.  Like...I am not alone in my insanity.  

And it HAS been insanity.   The blood pressure has reached 2008 levels.    I am hoping things will calm down now in our lives.  I don't think there are going to be any more out of town trips any time soon.

You know, there are some mothers who are cut out for this kind of stuff.  They can handle what is thrown at them, they can organize like rock stars, they make it all seem effortless.  But, that is not me.  

Things seem to fall apart when he is gone...because he is the stabilizing one in our family; I am more of the flake.    

 Maybe that isn't the best thing, but he loves me, and I love him.    And when he is gone, I learn to appreciate him more than ever.  

And I don't know what I would do without him.