Five For Friday

Oh lest ye should think I wrote a few times and gave this shit up again... I am here to prove you wrong.  WRONG I say!  But I would like to point out that this week has been mayhaps one of my craziest and I am fried.  (It IS 4/20, but it is not at all in a good way.)  So Ima just spit some shit out and we'll see where it goes.

1. We've had appointments every damn day for the last week and a half, Maximus and I.  I am still cursing the irritatingly-beautiful-unfrumpy-dermatologist, but moving on... next came the midwife on Monday.  The Hubs and I have decided to wait to find out the sex of this next wee babe.  I have to say, that'll be exciting in the delivery room, but for right now... it sucks.  Let's face it, and pardon me while I whine... this is the 5th baby... nobody cares.  Well, they care.  *I* care.  But you don't hear the "squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!" or the "oooohs" and "aaaaaaaaaahs" like with the first baby, or perhaps the second.  Frankly, people may just think it is odd-er when I'm NOT pregnant.  (Aww.  Look at me, I'm trying to make my own jokes about it.)  But there's also no planning.  I've got boy stuff.  I've got some girl stuff.  Bam.  Done.  I am as prepared at 18 weeks (or 19?  20?  see what I mean?  I can't remember.)  ...as I will be at 40.  I'm on a quest to figure out a way to make it more exciting... like Santy Claus coming or something.  I dunno... not knowing the sex... it's interesting.  Throw some ideas at me. 

2.  Moving on through appointments...  we had our first Occupational Therapy appointment this week.  I will tell you this, it should make my fried feelings a bit clearer:  in the middle of the appointment, the therapist asked if *I* was okay to go on.  I guess I had been sitting in the corner of my living room making some pretty twisted awkward faces.  We have the Dr. House of OTs.  Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate it...  but its not always easy to watch.  She was out to show Max just who the alpha-dog is.  Whenever he'd cry (oh... 85% of the visit) she'd throw him on the balance ball, work him out and declare, "THERE IS NO CRYING IN THERAPY!" (Is it wrong that as shattered as I was to watch my baby get so distraught, some part of me was giggling on the inside and repeating, "There is no crying in baseball!"?  ...I think I'm sick.)  Anyway, Dr. House was wonderful and I feel we're on the right road... it's just not at all pleasant.

3.  Here's one for you.  A priest walks into a bar...

No, no, no...  how's about... a frazzled, frumpy woman who is distraught over the fact that the nursery volunteer did NOT show up again to church, walks up to the priest at communion time.  (This woman is me, did you catch that??)  All my duckies follow in their row.  Daddy is the caboose.  Before blessing each 'blessing' and handing me communion, the priest says in a booming voice (this is in front of the church), "How DOES this HAPPEN!?"  oh, you funny, funny man.  I giggled and said, "Ha!  Ha!  I just don't know!  Ha!"  Of course, I fall asleep at night developing new answers... I usually come back to, "Wouldn't YOU like to know.  Ha!"  See.  I am safe no where.  Not even a Catholic church.  I will have to get over this one and become a friendly person again.

4.  My babymama texted me a million times Wednesday night.  Don't get me wrong, we have a pretty good relationship and I like her fine... it was just dinner time... by myself... with all the minions, a guinea pig and a dog.  Caleb was at his track meet and vying for a place at district.  I'm excited for the guy, but when Lola gets hungry... all hell breaks loose.  I was starting to get irritated when she texts, "long jump:  8ft 1 in.  1st place.  We're going to district!"  I did one of those only-in-the-movies double takes.  I set my phone down and picked it right back up again.  What the what???  The next day the kids and I taped that shit out on the floor.  (home school math, right... right?!)  Damn is all I can say.  That booger jumped 8 FEET 1 INCH.  I'm proud.  Daddy's going to go watch our little Olympian this weekend at district.  (its so obvious I didn't birth him.  My stumpy self probably couldn't jump a foot... and by the time you have a few babies... well... nobody wants me to try, I am sure.)

5.  Something rare has happened tonight.  As rare as a big foot sighting.  Nay, the McRib!  I am home alone... well, with 75% of the babies.  This.  feels.  weird.  My Cooper has joined the Scouts.  He has jumped in with both feet.  I'm just not used to such enthusiasm from the kid.  Not that he doesn't get enthused... it's just that he doesn't always let us see it... out in the open.  Anyway, he and The Hubs are at his very first campout.  I am hoping nothing weird happens to take away his enthusiasm.  And yes, I know that kids have to go through stuff... it's part of the learning... but just not tonight!  I am so excited for him.  And as everyone's first question is always (gulp) 'WHAT ABOUT SOCIALIZATION?!?!" when it comes to home schooling, I am super-duper psyched that he is making new little friends.  (I am also crazy psyched that next time someone asks me about the 'S word', I can say, "BAM.  Boy Scouts, bitches.  done and done." ...only I'll be nicer... maybe.)  

So there you have it.  I'm gonna eat this night up.  Live out loud!!  Be wild!!  Ima paint my toes... and... and...  eat cereal in bed... and... and...  watch crappy basic cable television all night!  (Is 'What Would You Do?' really our best option for Friday night television, America??  Am I the only one with John-Quinones-Anxiety, fearing that guy is going to jump out of every awkward public situation in my life??) 

And then in the morning I will be so ready for everybody to be back home.

Happy Weekend, ya'll.

Just Get Your Ass In the Car

In the drama where I have my computer in my room, which is really no drama at all, I had a bad experience last night.  This situation puked all over my Sunday morning and quite nearly ruined my whole day for me.  I guess it wasn't really about the computer, but was definitely fueled by the thing.

I was warm and snuggly in my bed when the small green light on the CPU began blinking.  It was around 1:00am because I MUST watch SNL every Saturday at least for a bit because I've watched it ever since I... have been watching TV.  What is normally such a tiny and insignificant light appears really GINORMOUS in the dark of 1am.  I should enter here that I am the lazy type of person that, while so bothered by the light, could not bear the thought of exposing my arm to turn off the computer.  (I also wait until the very last moment to get up to pee when all cozy in my bed.  Now that is lazy.)  I think on some subconscious level, this blinking light destroyed my Saturday night sleep.  The 6:45am alarm was just... ridiculous.  I think my lack o'sleep did not bode well on an already volatile situation.

I am not sure if its this way for all gals or maybe just me.  I hope I'm not alone in this one, but getting ready to go somewhere is torture.  Maybe it is because I stay at home most of the week and feel pressured to 'show good face' on Sundays when we go to church.  When I go to work on Tuesdays, its scrubs and ponytail time... no biggie.  But Sunday morning INFURIATES me.  I can't find anything to wear.  My face, due to ridiculous overwhelming acne, appears to be rotting off my skull.  And my hair hasn't been 'did' in months.  I know they are probably not... I hope they are probably not... but I imagine people saying, "Poor dear, motherhood has really taken a toll on her".  To top all of this off, the newest priest at the church I attend has decided the catechism teacher should walk all the way down the aisle to meet the children IN FRONT of the entire church at the beginning of mass.  My youth director laughs at the fact he has requested this because she knows I hate nothing more than walking in front of people.  Anyhoo...  back to my face rotting...  I wish I could scream, "FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO DO THIS.  I HAVE ACNE."  ...not a very good excuse I suppose.  There's also these four minions we must get ready every Sunday morning at the ass-crack of dawn.  They too must look overwhelmingly decent, lest my fellow church goers realize I just don't care about appearances.  And so, my family got to enjoy a nice little bitch fit and icy mood once we finally got into the car (late).

(I guess I don't give my church peers much credit.  We're all there for one reason right?  I hope God doesn't care what I look like.) 

Anyway, where am I going with this?  I don't know.  I wish I could wear my new Pearl Jam Zombie shirt to church with my black Converses.  This may kill two birds with one stone:  something comfy to wear plus they may ask me to NOT teach preschoolers due to my questionable t-shirts.  The acne though... the acne kills me. I do not have any recollection of any worries of pimples in high school.  I enjoyed amazingly clear skin.  None of that after-school-special oh-my-god-I-have-a-pimple-on-picture-day drama.  But THIS?  This adult skin?  Fuck you, adult skin.

I read a tiny little tweet today by a pal.  Such a little thing to make me feel slightly better about the whole omg-its-church-time-again situation.  It read:  I hate doing my hair and makeup. Boys are so lucky. They just clean their genitals and they are ready to go. #unfair.  It made me feel a tad bit better, like I'm not alone.  I guess the whole getting ready for church thing is just my growing pains again...  who am I?... well dressed, put together mom or just me, jeans-birkenstocks-tshirt-just-get-your-ass-in-the-car... gal.  I guess I'll stick with the latter... with a little less acne, please.

Sabbath

Sundays somehow snuck in and became my favorite day.  They usually start with a too-early alarm clock followed by my wails of, "I have NOTHING to wear"... because I don't.  seriously.  I used to complain about having to teach the pre-schoolers at church too.  "Why can't anyone else do it??"  "No one is as busy as me."  "I have too many kids to fit this in.  Can't anyone see that?"  And then getting at least the six year old to sit calmly through mass...  Caging the nearly one year old.  Lord forbid if the volunteer didn't show up to do the nursery for the other two... hell hath no fury.

Over time though, it's become better.  I still have nothing to wear, but I've tried to curb that by putting together  something ridiculous to wear the night before.  (I've decided I want to dress like Ellen. That chick knows what she's doing.  I think it looks classy but casual.  and fun.)  Anyhoo...  although I still wonder why I've been chosen to fit in the preschoolers during my (lack-of) down time, sometimes having to deal with the crazy little people puts my little people into perspective.  May sound mean, but some of them make my kids' crazy behavior just... not so bad... sometimes.  And besides that, I like getting the hugs and the funny little whispers of hello from across the church.  It really isn't so hard to give 20 minutes of my time a week to 'the cause'.

We usually go for doughnuts after church.  This took some guiding...  at church they charge $1.00 for one doughnut and a juice/coffee.  ...times 5 people?  ludicrous.  Here's where budgeting edu-ma-cation comes in and now we go pick out our own on the cheap at the grocery store.  We then all sit around with the newspaper and comics and big mugs o'coffee and milk and just... chill.  After doughnuts are Hoovered in nearly no time, the boys (I include Hubs here) usually wrestle around and get silly.  Then...

naps.

for everyone.

aaaah.

This was all followed up yesterday by spooky house painting.

I sat back.  Took it all in.  And did... nothing.

This may sound so trivial, but I call it amazing.  I am not the most religious, but lately I've been trying to "keep holy the Sabbath".  I think God really knew what he was doing when he planned the whole Sabbath thing.  Six days out of the week we go like crazy people.  It's pure ridiculousness.  Between homeschooling, house-wife-ing (this encompasses, like 100,000 jobs) and holding down multiple ("real") jobs we usually teeter-totter right on the edge of burnout.  Sundays are necessary.  I don't do laundry.  I don't vacuum.  I don't scour.  Only the necessities.  I think everybody needs that.  Call it "Sabbath" call it "OOoga Booga" just do it.

Anyway... it's Monday again.  Usually on Sundays all peaceful with my family, I think, "Man, I could just have tons of babies."  By Monday, say.. around 8am, I don't necessarily want... 4 babies.  Well, I want them... but in straight jackets for some of the day...  just sayin.  Monday brings ya back to reality.

Here's more spooky house pics.  Have a peaceful good fine ... just have a Monday.

I found this lurking under the table while everyone was painting...

(dang dust bunnies!)