Two For Flinching

I'm back.  I don't know how long, but I'm back for now.  It's been harder to get over here lately.  Life. 

I'm blogging at night, which is really strange, as I tend to do this in the morning, when I'm all fresh and rearing to go.  Honestly, the girls are at dance right now, my house is clean and stuff is ready for tomorrow--I just really want to go stretch out on the couch and watch Employee of the Month (a funny flick despite the fact that Jessica Simpson is in it--gag).  We hit on that the other night and almost got hooked on it, had we not already decided to watch another of Dane Cook's movies--Good Luck Chuck. I love that Dane Cook to pieces, but I don't know if I would recommend Good Luck Chuck.  Dane makes me laugh every time, but there is a lot of...skin.  A little much.  Pretty crude, a little socially unacceptable. TMI. But I was just thinking how great that must have been for Dane Cook to film all that...skin.  He twitters me and from his comments, I can tell he wasn't hating it.  Oh, btw, whilst we were Tivo-ing Employee of the Month and watching Good Luck Chuck, I got a twitter from Dane.  I'm not gonna lie--the boy twitters me all the flipping time! I think I've actually said, "It's Dane...again." Quite the coincidence all the Dane, huh?  But anyway...so yeah, you are up against my couch and Dane Cook right now and lookie--you're winning. 

Okay, what else? Something interesting...(taps fingers)...So, this is a first--I had a girls weekend about a month ago today (this makes me a little sad realizing this). This time last month, I was in Tucson with four of my best girlfriends from back in the day.  High School.  God Bless those High School years. This girlfriend getaway business, I totally recommend.  We laughed, y'all.  We laughed good. Symptoms included random stuff coming out of your nose, the inability to breathe normally, numerous facial muscles hurting, maybe a couple new wrinkles around the eyes and mouth,  and the use of stomach muscles you had no idea existed. That deep down laugh that will add days to your life, I'm sure of it.

And get this--we wore matching t-shirts--I know! It was that kind of getaway. We totally wore the t-shirts at the same time too, all matchy-match! We got pedicures, tattoos, we shared numerous pictures from when we had the big hair and the boyfriends.  Pre-everything.  We talked about everybody (yes you) and everything (yes that).  We drank and ate like champs. We went out, somewhere that had an oxygen bar in it and some other stuff. We danced. We watched the girl movies, them love stories that make you sigh in unison and cry like a baby. It felt good, y'all.  It felt so good. That kind of a good is a drug.  Something I went into total withdrawl from after I got home.  I crave those girls now. 

I do have something to remember it by though.  Tattoos. Two of them.  Dos.We all got ladybug tattoos on the top of our feet.  Depending on how many kids we had, that was the number of ladybugs we got. Piece of cake, right?  They are little, simple.  No.  NOPE. It hurt.  It really hurt.  I've never been so happy that I only had two kids, instead of four like some of us did that day. I had to find my happy place and do a little baby labor breathing.  To top it off, I'm a flincher.  I had no idea. I get an "A" in flinching. Despite the fact that I can't control such things, Mark (the tattoo artist) said bad words and looked at me like my dad used to when I did something a-really bad. So one of my ladybugs has a little "extra".  Mark was not pleased, cuz you know, he's an artist and perfection is a must.  He was so disappointed in me.  I totally let a brother down. But you know, maybe after the 5th little minor flinch...all these little flinching warnings I was giving him, he would've held my foot down better.  Just sayin'... It's okay, I love Mark.  I'll go back.  See, the funny thing is, even though that hurt like a mutha, I totally want another one.  What the heck?  I make no sense.

Well, I think you know some more stuff that you didn't know a few minutes ago.  More insight into the mystery that is me.  I'll try to get back here more often, cuz there's more.  So.much.more. For now to hold you over, a picture of my tattoos the day I got them. 

P.S. I *just* got a twitter from Dane.  No lie.

Why So Random?

After I hopped back on the blogging wagon yesterday, it occurred to me how very much I have not told you lately.  Like all summer I did stuff and didn't share.  How rude of me.  I had a very eventful vacay to Minnesota and didn't even show you one picture of cows.  I have so many.  Then I went to Vegas and let me say, THAT was really good.  So much to say there, but there's so much I can't say, cuz you know...it's Vegas.  There were pictures too, but you know...Vegas.  I have a reputation to maintain, you know.

So instead, I will share some other thangs.  I seriously might throw a cow carousel in here though, cuz you just don't see that every day. 

My kiddos started school a couple weeks ago and it's a brand new world!  I now have all the people that belong to me in school full-time.  They are happy.  I am happy. And if the hubbs were here, he'd be happy too. I miss them and actually look forward to That Kid Noise when they come busting through the door.  I'm ready for it. 

Cow Carousel.

There have been a few firsts for Them Kids.  They are now riding the bus.  I don't know why when I tell ALL my family this they are like SO PROUD OF ME that I would let my kids do such a thing.  They clap. They think I'm quite the Nervous Nelly when it comes to my kids.  I beg to differ.  When my oldest was brand new and sucking the very life out of me, making me feel like I KNEW NOTHING--yeah, I was nervous, anxious and bald, from pulling my hair out.  But it's been a few years--I think I'm getting better at this. 

So they are riding the bus.  The dog needs to be walked every morning at precisely 8:05 anyway, so I just happen to be with them at the bus stop.  I may be the ONLY mom "walking her dog" at this precise time and location in the morning.  Maybe.  My dog is officially the neighborhood dog and it would disappoint a lot of kids (except mine) if I didn't show up with "everyone's dog" at the bus stop at precisely 8:05.  And then again when the bus brings Them Kids home after school too.  It's only coincidence.

Want to know how many kids are at Them Kids O' Mine bus stop?  You ready?  Like 45.  I stopped counting right about then.  This is ONE bus stop, and only elementary kids.  Have you ever heard of such a thang?  I'm new to the bus stop stuff, but I think this is a-very lot of kiddos. 

Bus stop.

On a completely other note (with no transition from the last paragraph at all--I would so be in trouble for this in college)--one more thang.  You need to see some baseball pictures, right?  I know you're saying, "How did she KNOW this?"  Psychic. 

We ended our summer with a-very lot of Portland Beaver baseball.  We ate a lot of baseball food. No more hotdogs.  Don't even ask. But we did good supporting the team.  We made a sign, bought the window cling, bought a baseball hat with a pink "P" on it (for Portland, y'all), and did the wave with the rest o' the stadium.  We are your cheerleaders.  So there's that.

The sign.

I could watch the pitchers all the live long day!

Stretching is sooooo important!

Me and my seester (a.k.a. Biggest Portland Beaver fan EVER!).

This picture was the whole inspiration for the blog post today (don't ask). This is what my kids are doing when they are not telling each other to stop breathing in their space.

You've just learned some stuff (that you can immediately forget).  There's more stuff, but you know, I have to save something for later.  I am (so not) a mystery.  Where has the "Spell Check" gone on this blogger? Seriously, someone help a sistah out.  Cuz  *that* really is a mystery.

Picture Daze

**This post is dedicated to my friend, Jen.  She shared her picture day stories with me and made me laugh.  So much. 

I know it's been a while.  You missed me.  I'm sorry.  It's just that I have been soooooo busy since school started for Them Kids.  I'm on the PTO board now at their school, so I have stuff to do.  I'm such a hot shot right now.  My name tag says Vice President. Even though almost everyone on the board under the PTO President is a VP, I pretend I am The Vice President.  I have a wave. I swagger.

Today was Picture Day at the school.  It was one of my many (long exasperated sigh) jobs as VP.  It was really hard (not even a little).  We were in charge of bringing the classes to and fro and checking for misguided hairs, crooked collars and boogers.  We had combs and everything. 

I had to laugh at some of Them Kids though. If I had a boy (instead of Them Two Girls) my boy would have had a Fohawk today.  Oh yeah.  No question.

(My boyfriend w/his fohawk.)

There were a couple boys with the suits and ties too.  Two boys.  Very reminiscent of those eighties movies we all know and love, with the suit all collar-ed up, finishing it off with the Converse. One of them pulled out chapstick.  It was impressive.

And the girls were girls.  I saw handheld mirrors and lip gloss.  Sparkly headbands. Glitter. Purple hair dye.  Lots of practice smiles.  It just took me back.  Well sort of.

Okay, so I'm just gonna throw it out there right now--I have a lazy eye.  Oh yeah.  Sexy.  It was even better when I was little--when it was all new and stuff.  My parents and eye doctor tried to correct it.  They did their best. I had to wear the eye patch, and back then, they didn't have all blinged out cool ones.  No Bedazzle, no pirates, no princesses, no Zac Efron or Hannah Montana, not even a plain ol' black one.  I got the band-aid patch.  Oh yeah.  I looked good.  And to top it off, I lived in Phoenix.  It was hot--I got sweaty and band-aid's don't look so great, sweaty.  On your eye. I had to wear it every ding dong day.  I hated that sucker.  Hated it hard.  So I would take it off as soon as I got to school--which totally explains my sexy lazy eye today.

Anyway, on picture day, I was so scared I was going to get caught not wearing my eye patch that I actually put it on for my picture.  Yeah.  No one helped a sister out.  No one suggested I take that sucker off. So enjoy--this is for you.
  

(I am in the front row, third from the right in that smashing green and yellow vest w/the socks and sandals and high waters--pretty).

I had some cute ones pre-eye patch and post-eye patch...

(Pretty sure I did my own hair for this one.)

                                      (What exactly am I looking at?)

Then I got into Junior High.  Try as I might, I could not find one school pic from then and I'll tell you why.  Every single...and I mean EVERY SINGLE picture day I had the cold sore.  Or six.  I mean, who needs an eye patch?! I really wanted to find you a cold sore pic, cuz I know you aren't believing, but it's true. What I did find you was one fine, fine Kristy McNicohol impersonation. And that's where the pics are going to end. 

da, da, da, DA!

I woke up at 2:30 a.m. this morning, just drenched. Pj's, hair, pillowcase, sheets, blanket. I had to get up and change. Usually, I just change and scooch over to the dry side and resume the sleep, but a little person that belongs to me snuck in at some point during the night and, despite her sweet little size, was taking up half the bed. So I shivered and blogged in my head.

I hate that. Dang hormones. All the magazines say it's cuz I'm old. But I'm not a fan of that excuse. I'd much rather blame it on a delicious dream where I was stranded in the middle of the ocean only to be rescued by dolphins that carried me to a yacht owned by a rugged, Australian manly man (or New Zealand-er, cuz I have since discovered that either will do--more on that later). And then we went to his house and went swimming in his pool. Then we walked under a waterfall. Maybe it was just a very vivid dream.

I don't feel old. Ancient. Of long standing. Belonging to an early period. Advanced in years. Showing the effects of age or use. No longer in use.

No. In fact, I feel like I'm getting younger. I'm definitely going more for 26, than 36. I think it has a lot to do with the consistently (an approach that is really not my best trait--I blame the Taurus in me) of me exercising on a regular basis for almost a year now. Five days a week. Never in the history of me, have I been able to pull that sucker off. All they say about the exercise is true. It is good for you. More energy, less stress, your booty looks better in those Capri's, you can cross your legs, endorphins, la, la, la...the rumors are true.

Only one year ago, I was flipping tired and insisting that I had the body of an 80-year-old. We've lived the military life, which equaled me being a single mother a good chunk of time, and two little kids that felt like five. They had all the energy. I had none. And nothing has really changed since then, cuz for the most part my hubby is still there and I'm here and the two kids still feel like five, but now I feel like two moms. Supermom--da, da, da, DA! Okay, so not really, I still, on occasion, turn into the werewolf, but I do feel better. Younger. I can do it all. Well, a lot of it. And the only thing that I can find that has really changed, is the exercise.

Recently, I went to Vegas with my mom and sister. I had never been to Vegas, and I was ready to go experience it. I thought it would be a good chance for me to go somewhere beyond Albertson's sans kiddos, so that I could re energize and actually miss those little people of mine.

I loved Vegas way more than I ever thought I would. I actually missed it when I came home. Got a little tear when I threw my secondhand smoke laced, Vegas clothes in the washer. It was a good time had by all. Apparently I really needed to get away. I had the major quality time with my mom and sister. We laid by the pool all the live long day, danced, met people with New Zealand accents, Canadian accents, Jersey accents, Mississippi accents, we were on the first name basis with the bartenders at Toby Keith's bar, we went to McDonald's at 5:30 a.m. and went to bed when the sun came up. We even got yelled at by our mom for staying out all night. Nothing makes you feel young like getting yelled at by your mom.

I haven't done such things since I was...never. That's a lie. And the beauty of it was that I could do it. Today. Right now. I didn't die of exhaustion. Though, four days was really about my limit. Sleep really is a priority at some point, whether you're 5 or 101.

Another thing that stands out in Vegas is that in meeting all them accents mentioned in the above paragraph, it has come to my attention that I might not look 36. Whatever that means, cuz I love being 36! It's 100% younger than I thought it would be. But I gotta say, having people guess I was 26 and not believe me when I said I was 36, felt pretty darn good. Yes, yes it did. I didn't even know I wanted to hear that.

It was a topic of conversation in Vegas. It really came up. I give the kudos to my young and beautiful and energetic (10 years younger than me) sister. It was youth by proximity. But even since Vegas, with my sister not even around, I've heard it. I went to a Portland Beavers game the other night and got carded (which also never happens) and the guy didn't believe my birth date. I got a "no way". I love the no way. I really do.

Anyway, I don't feel like I should be waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. I look and act too young for this, right? Say yes. I have good genes. My 93-yr-old great aunt is frisky as ever and I recently raced my 60-year-old Dad in the pool and he totally won. I am so encouraged. We healthy. We're gonna be young, even when we're old. So all I gotta say is the dolphins made me do it.

Old School

Funny story. With all the road trips we've had lately, we've been going Old School with the things to entertain the girlies in the backseat. I think the girls are up to 256 campers/RVs/tent trailers and we've just about scratched all but 45 states off the list with the license plate game. The Quiet Game, just plain doesn't happen. And, you can only play "I Spy" so long in a moving playing field.

The latest game we've sprung on them is Slug Bug. They couldn't believe their luck--we can hit?! Of course we explained the difference between slugging and hitting (of which there is none). It took a while for them to get it down, punches being thrown right and left for any kind of car that was "roundish". We had to really break that part down for them, cuz 8 and 6-year-olds can make just about anything a slug bug. It's an open invitation to get some of that aggression out for taking the best Barbie, sitting in "their" spot at breakfast, looking at them with "the eyes", singing "All The Single Ladies" too loud, breathing their own personal air. Yeah. I should have really thought out the Slug Bug announcement a little more. Do I know my kids at all? Though, I gotta say, it's helped The Momma release a little frustration as well.

They are finally starting to get the rules down. You know, you gotta say the color and hurry up, fastasyoucan, say, "No slugs back!" And you can only "slug" once. After that, you're hitting and in trouble. Great way to confuse the kiddos, eh?

This weekend we were driving down 99E, coming back from downtown and the girls we're popping off slug bugs. They are getting pretty good at spotting them now. I was sitting in the passenger seat, with The Hubbs driving and I spotted a yellow slug bug, hovering in the air over 99E. It was on a billboard. I could see the slug bug, but not what the billboard said. I really only cared about the slug bug anyway. Fastaslightening, I slugged The Hubbs (before he could get me)--Slugbugyellownoslugsback!!! He grimaced, shot me a look as if to say, Just you wait, My Pretty... and right about then we got close enough to read the billboard. This is what it looked like--

That's just funny.

p.s. Yes, we went back to take a picture, cuz that just had "blog" written all over it.