Pass The Wine, Please

My 13-year-old son has hair on his legs.

Not the cute, fuzzy little-boy stuff that you sort of expect will last forever because he's always going to be about the age of 4 or 5 in your mind, no matter how tall he gets (and he's getting dangerously close to eye-level with me).

It's man-hair.

Forget the wine, I need a shot of whiskey and a Toblerone.

A Honeymoon Photo Wherein I Reference Sex

Taken in June on the first day of our honeymoon sitting on our dock at the lake drinking Pink Bikini-tini and laughing our heads off.

You probably can't tell from this photo how sexually charged the atmosphere was, but I can.

I think it had something to do with his shiny new ring.

Meh.

There are so many things I could write about on here, but, as I do in my day-to-day life, I choose to edit those topics.

Why?

We have all encountered people in our lives (either on the peripheral or smack dab in the middle) who voice their own, usually very strong and very wordy, opinions on everything from politics and religion, on whose responsibility it really is for the glaring spelling mistake in the newsletter that's already been printed and mailed to a thousand people (and no, I'm not using a current example here) right on down to whether the size of the dust bunny under your bed is more or less a houseguest that never leaves.

Why do I edit on here? There are a lot of reasons. Mostly because I'm often too busy trying to make it through every day to even have time to sit and FORM AN OPINION (unless it involves anyone in my house wanting to wear a T-shirt outside when it's minus 10 degrees, in which case, my opinion is less an opinion and more of an order of the I-don't-freakin'-think so-kind.)

I edit because I think if I unleashed some of the pent-up anger and frustration I feel, while therapeutic in the moment, would only hurt me in the end. So, I pretty much keep my opinions to myself.

But I will share this with you - stupidity doesn't discriminate.

Birthday Girl

Danielle is 5 years old today and if the last week or two are an indication of how it's going to go in her teens, she may not make it to 6...

I also really wish you weren't so fascinated by everything "Hanna 'tana" related because Strawberry Shortcake still RULES.

"Smile a sunny morning!
Sunny all the way!
Something new is da-a-a-w-w-n-n-i-n-g,
Bet it's called TODAY!"

Happy Birthday, Stinky-Feet-Scooter-Butt.

I love you.

Ways To Charm Me

Inform me in your matter-of-fact voice that "the old Danielle is in the garbage because she doesn't do very good listening. And this is the new Danielle - she's a lot nicer."

I couldn't agree more.

Question For You

I'm pretty sure I've whined about this before, and here I go again....how and when am I going to make me a priority?

This is a constant struggle and I have great admiration for all women out there who somehow find the time to exercise, to do crafts, to spend time with your friends, to volunteer, to read a book - to do whatever it is that gives you pleasure and energy for the demands on the rest of your time.

My day generally starts at 5:00 a.m. with the alarm going off and if you know me AT ALL, you know that I'm not exactly a morning person unless I can be very quiet (at one time I would have suggested "quiet as a mouse" but having heard them in the walls and ceilings of our house I can inform you quite honestly that mice are about as quiet as a 4-year-old's birthday party. Therefore, being quiet as a mouse should actually mean that you are screaming loudly, fighting over a Barbie doll and on a sugar rush that has you speeding around like you've just swallowed your first hit of meth.)

I shower and get ready to leave for work by 6:15 (this routine always includes checking on the three kids and giving little hugs & kisses - hubby too - and double checking there are enough bottles made for the baby because lately she's been waking up a lot - growth spurt-check.)

My commute is approximately 40 minutes long, depending on the traffic and I start work at 7:00 a.m. I eat lunch around 11:30 and weather-depending go for a walk and try to read a bit of my book. Workday ends at 3:00 p.m, commute home is longer because of traffic, pick up the baby at daycare by 4:00, the kids are home from school at about 4:15, and then I'm swarmed for the next few hours. Time to talk to the kids for a few minutes, try to get baby settled so I can make dinner, hubby gets home around 4:30 and he helps with homework if needed, we break up an argument or two over what constitutes an appropriate snack considering dinner will be ready within the hour. The teenager is hugely helpful with the baby and setting the dinner table and then it's dinnertime, clean-up after dinner, playtime with the kids, bathtime, bedtime and before you know it, it's 7:30 and time to put in a load of laundry, make tomorrow's lunches, get everyone's clothes ready and finally GO PEE because I should have done that 2 hours ago, and then it's almost 8:00 and I'm exhausted and ready for bed myself.

Hubby helps out a lot too, but he's swamped with renovating our flooded basement (I still haven't told you about that, but I will) every spare minute he has and he's also on call 24/7 with our local fire department, as well as being a captain there and in charge of training (which they do every other week.)

And somewhere in this long day I am supposed to be exercising my soft ass into rock-hard shape, or do some stamping/scrapbooking crafts, or finish that damn blanket I started knitting some time ago.

Am I really this lousy at time management? HOW DO YOU DO IT? That's not a rhetorical question by the way. I would like to hear your answers.

Ways To Charm Me

Give me one of your best little-boy hugs because in your sleep-induced haze you've forgotten that you are now a teenager and are not supposed to "need" me anymore.

I love you, too.

You Have GOT To Be Joking

I was cleaning up the kitchen Sunday night as Jeff came upstairs with a weird smile on his face and quickly walked past me to our bedroom. Within seconds he was passing me again, headed down to the basement where he has been working his arse off doing the renovations after our basement flooded (wait a tic, I haven't told you about that yet, have I?), again with the weird smile but I noticed that he was trying to hide a tennis racket behind his back.

You know what this means, don't you?

EXACTLY. Bat-chasing time.

Which means I promptly hid. And by promptly what I really mean is I dropped the dishtowel and coffee mug into the sink and ran to our bedroom to slam the door shut before I started screaming hysterically. As I passed the living room, I asked/told/demanded that Derek go down there and make sure Jeff had killed it and report back to me. I didn't lose my mind completely because I had the foresight to close the girls' bedroom door (they were asleep) in the event that motherfucker got its' way upstairs, something I refused to think about for more than 5 seconds because then I would start screaming and crying and freaking the hell out.

A minute or two later I heard "thwack" so I was pretty sure mission accomplished, and then I was informed that, "Oh, no, Mummy, it wasn't a bat. It was....(pause).... ummm....(pause)......just a little mouse."

Now, I am sometimes known to be naive or slightly gullible when it comes to life in general, but NEVER when it comes to this because the little hairs on the back of my neck were still standing at attention, so while on one hand it was sweet they were trying to protect me from this little phobia of mine, I also knew the truth - everyone knows you can't kill a mouse with a tennis racket - you need peanut butter, a good trap and the ability to not be too grossed out by the sight of a dead one. But bats are STUPID and thank god for that. I also thank my husband for his great aim.

And now, the great tradition of scanning the ceilings and windows and curtains continues, followed by many sleepness nights to come.

I HATE BATS.

Ways To Charm Me

When asked, "Where are your pleases' and thank-yous?" reply matter-of-factly "Well. Mummy. I lost them."

Mushy Brains

This is a blanket I started knitting, oh, 4 years ago? I pulled it out of the closet to try to pick it up again and if you look closely (towards the bottom of the pic) you can see that I've become completely clueless on how to continue.

Knit 2, purl 4? Knit 4, purl 2? Knit 4, purl 4?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Sunflowers

I found this photo on my camera and realized I took this picture two years and love it still. There's something about sunflowers that always makes me smile.

I also realized I really need to sort through the 1000's of pictures on my camera....

Ways to Charm Me

Inform us with that side-cock of the head, serious-looking face and 16-year-old-attitude in your almost-5-year-old body that you and your friend, Noah, had a "wedding test" yesterday where you "practiced" getting married.

You should know your father almost passed out.

Ways to Annoy Me

Stand against the opposite wall of the elevator so I can feel you looking directly at me as I face the elevator doors like you're supposed to.

Creep.

Starbucks Christmas Blend

One of the highlights of the coming Christmas season is this coffee.

Cue the choir of angels.

Drawing A Blank

It's pretty self-explanatory.
I can't think of anything to write.

Danielle & Olivia - Pretty Smiles

So Long, Farewell

Halloween is over for another year and I am still counting my blessings. If you are new to this blog, take note - I am an All Hallows' Eve hater.

There are so many things I don't like about it - the widespread usage of clown make-up, the running rampant clowns (they pop up everywhere and each time I see one my hysteria only grows), the creepy-zombie-vampire-bloody-gory-body-parts-hanging-off-trees-and-in-store-displays; and the complete availability of mountains of mini-chocolates and candies.

It snowed on Saturday night and was still cold with lots of the white stuff covering lawns on Sunday night and bless her little heart, Danielle was satisfied with 40 minutes' worth of trick-or-treating. The baby was wrapped up snugly, and Derek was nice enough (and grumbled only a little) to escort his little sister to front doors where the child-who-NEVER-shuts-up became mute. Albeit a very sweet, sparkly mute princess. He even scored a bag of candy at one place because they thought it was so cute that a big brother was helping that way.

Meanwhile Jeff and I were freezing our asses off curbside - my eyes glued to the stroller in front of me while he scanned the streets for clowns. And a testament to how much he loves me is that he will warn me to keep looking the other way if he sees one. I'm pretty sure he'd also beat the shit out of one if it came over to me. (Another reason why I'm happy I married him...)

There's lots more to tell, but never enough time for me to get online to write it down. But I'm trying.

I hope you are well!