Five For Friday

'scu me if I offend, but... Dr. Who...?

I don't get it.

I don't need it.

My family is totally into it.  Like, right now in fact.

Moving on.

Wanna Five For Friday??  Here we go!

1.  My newly purchased homeschool books are usually in danger once a day when a small child asks me something totally off the wall and I damn near spit my coffee all over them.  It does happen often and I realize this is just the nature of having kids.  Today's handwriting lessons took me to a crazy place when out of nowhere Cooper announces, "You know, I know there is no Santa Claus."  Random.  I'm sick of dealing with the big fat man in the red suit who gets all the credit for Christmas when The Hubs and I are the ones scrounging to find just a bit of fluff in our budget to get even the smallest things.  (We hardly dealt with the guy last Christmas and followed a whole new plan... mayhaps I will tell you about it someday.)  Anyhoo... I looked the wee man in the eye and simply said, "Whatever you think you think, keep it to yourself and don't ruin the magic for everyone because that's what it all really is... magic."  He seemed to accept it.  He then proceeded to ask me the meaning of life... which is where I almost spit out my coffee.  I gave him some catechism answers, some Mother Theresa-ish answers and told him it really is up to him what the meaning of his life is...  then I wiped my brow and drank more coffee.  Kids, man.

2.  I have been trying to get Finn to sleep in his stinking big boy bed.  And I ask the child, "Don't you want to sleep in a big boy bed?" and the turd is smart enough to say, "No.  I a baby."  Smart as a whip, I tell ya.

Yesterday, in fact after chasing him every five minutes back into his little bed, he just nonchalantly came wandering back in to the kitchen... wearing a pink tutu... and wielding a small pink teapot.  "You want some, Mama?"  What do you do with that??  The clock told me to shrug my shoulders and say, "I suppose" and add some fake "nom nom nom"s.

3.  Went and met with Max's teacher today.  I said in much nicer words, "How the hell do I get this kid to settle the hell down and stop with all the violent aggressive shit!??"  I will probably dive much deeper into it later, as you people have made it loud and clear that YOU ARE ON THE AUTISM BANDWAGON.  If I have learned anything in the last seven months it is that once you are on this train, it is hard to find GOOD SOLID information that pertains to YOUR child.  I will start sharing our journey a lot more because it is relevant and you guys have told me you want to hear it.  Maybe something will slip right out of my babbling face and touch you in some way.  ... good touch, not bad touch...

4.  I was sick this week.  I FREAKING HATE BEING SICK.  What a damn hassle.  The snots, no less.  Makes me feel like I am somehow drowning inside my own body.  I can get some wicked claustrophobia, but that has to be the weirdest.

5.   I take some HUMONGOUS comfort in the fact that summer is now unofficially over.  Thank you Labor Day for reminding me that long sleeve t-shirts and pumpkin flavored everything will soon be on their way.  No more stressing over making sure we get out and do EVERY SINGLE DANG THING you are expected to do over summer... picnics, fireworks, outdoor movies.  It was nice, but I am done.  Bring on the chill.

                               

ciao, ya'll.   Dr. Who will be over in a sec, then once again, chaos shall ensue.

Gluten Free = Exploding Brain.

Going gluten free is stupid.  So there.  Frowny face.  At least, here, at the beginning, I definitely think so.  I thought I would tell you friends about it.  It is obviously important to you.  It makes me happy and sad that my post Sandy Poop is on fire right now.  Sadly, I think Italy must have some big bowel problems as they are checking in a lot more often than the rest of you.  Watch out for tangents...

Anyhoo...  I have always wondered a little what "going gluten free" would do for Max and his Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) and his autistic tendencies.  This has always just lived in the back of my mind, especially since he has somehow conned his teacher into believing he is an angel.  I think he is pretty damn great, obviously, but I was hoping he would have the same behavior at school as he does at home.  Twas a no-go.  He is perfect between the hours of 7am and 11am. 

I myself was very much looking for a change of life.  Sitting around with an unemployed husband as "just a housewife" while wondering if the lights would get to stay on while looking at yourself in the mirror and HATING what you see is, well... sad.  Very sad.  I am freaking sick of it.  It also occurred to me a little late in the game that if, damnit, I wanted to go take a walk or work out, there was another person in the house to watch the kids... so what was holding me back???  Anyway, enter my googling tendencies and a slight obsession with Pinterest and you get a bunch of research on the Paleo Diet.  I've always been a bit against any diet that seriously restricts any one food group, but I was pretty interested in the way people said they felt on the diet.  I will say though, that, damnit, I LIKE COW'S MILK.  I 100 percent agree that it is for baby cows, but why do I find it so tasty???  And no cheese?  Well, that's just crazy talk.  Suddenly I realized, there's not much gluten on the Paleo diet.  Actually I wouldn't say suddenly, but eventually it sunk in.  I wanted those results for Max.  What if his slow-to-grow speech or his sensory issues could be resolved by changing his diet?  Don't I owe him at least a try?? 

Kids who have gluten sensitivities often crave items with gluten in them.  Now, I've read the science... can't say that I could repeat it... but I can tell you that it makes sense to me that kids would crave it and get caught in a vicious circle.  I also know I could offer Max 20 chocolate bars or one small bowl of pasta and he would choose the pasta hands-down.  Max is one big pasta noodle. 

It hurts my brain already to go shopping though.  Mama wants to lose weight.  Daddy wants meat.  Cooper wants pizza and hamburgers.  Z, well... doesn't eat anything.  Our food budget is tiny.  I don't like the idea of processed foods.  Or dyes.  Or artificial sugar and additives. I am trying to feed a lot of people on a little money with some ridiculous ideals.  Now I want to go gluten free.  Yep, sounds stupid.  It feels stupid.  ...Unless it gets results.

I figured we would start the process slowly.  That will give me time to stock up and figure out what the hell I am doing.  Max also eats breakfast at school and I know the little Carbo is eating cereal or something with gluten everyday.  Plus, I know this sounds woosy, but I just don't want to discuss a gluten free diet with his teacher.  With only two and a half weeks left of school, I just don't want to have to get into it.

I'll tell you one thing I learned today...  pasta and anything with flour may just not be in Max's diet anymore.  GOOD GOD, the prices.  I thought we would just get him a few gluten free specialty items from the store.  ...stuff to help him ease in, ya know?  Your typical Mueller's pasta was on sale BOGO:  $1.57.  The crap I had to shop from ranged from $1.79 PER BOX FOR 8 OUNCES to $3.39 PER BOX.  Say whaaaaaaaa?  Crazy talk.  Same thing in the cookie aisle.  Same in the crackers.  I knew gluten-free items were often more, but whole DOLLARS worth?  wowza. We may just have to wean the boy to fruits, veggies and meat only because my brain may explode.  But alas, my mantra will be, "Just 30 Days".  If I can just try 30 days solid and see if there is a difference, won't it be worth it?  Damn this junk is hard. 

So there ya go, my fellow friends that like to talk poop and other happenings of the gut.  That's where I am.  We'll see how this goes.

If you ever want some of my "research" check out my Pinterest boards... I'll leave it there for you, my Googling comrades.

Don't Be Person A

As I see it, there are two types of people in the world.

The type that says, "You aren't going to have any more, ARE you?"

...and the type that says, "Are you going to have any more?"

I am talking about kids here.  Am I going to have any more kids.  Maybe you think this is pretty close-minded of me, but I can tell many, many different things about a person in the way they ask me that question.  And I ultimately know, in 1.5 seconds if I like that person or not.  Bridges can also be burned by asking me this question and cocking your head just so... even if I've known you for years.

Let's call them Person A and Person B.

I would like to publicly announce that I freaking live for being asked, "You aren't going to have any more, ARE you?" by Person A.  I should also add, Person A, that I am just fucking with you.  When you ask me your question, I will cock my head just as you do and politely reply in a soft voice, "That's up to God."  Is this my true answer?  No.  Well, yes and no.  I plan on Finn being our last, but I do believe that God gets the final say.  If He decides it's so, well... it is.  Isn't it?  By the look on your face though I can tell that if I found myself in that position abortion is clearly the only answer.  You believe I truly have too much on my plate.  For sure your tax dollars are being used and therefore wasted on my family.  What??  No, no!  You would never...  you just meant... that's not what you were saying!!  When I say "That's up to God," you will catch your breath and say, "How old is your oldest?"  I will say, "7" and you will do quick math in your head.  After I lay out all their ages for you, you will follow with, "well thank goodness you have 2 of them in school! right??"  I will look you right in your little eyeballs and say, "actually, we homeschool."  I will sit back and wait for that to sink in and you have many different responses...  "my, you DO have a lot on your plate!", "WHAT?", "how do you DO it?"  You think all these responses are okay because somehow you are complimenting me.  I hear instead, "Wow.  You are quite the weirdo.  Ima back away slowly because I just don't know what else to say."  I DO walk away because I know you don't see anymore in me than a homeschooling mom of a lot of kids.  Frankly, that conversation got as far as it did because I just like to see you stumble on your words.

Person B.  You are cool with me.  Maybe you've seen me at church where all my little ducklings know how to silently peacefully moderately quietly sit through mass.  Maybe you know us from Scouts or the library, some of the places where the minions receive this "SOCIALIZATION" that everyone freaks out about.  Maybe you've noticed that we all look pretty happy and, hey... who wouldn't want to be a part of that party??  I like you, Person B.  You seem fun and unassuming.  You ask in such a non-chalant, cheery way that I can simply reply...

"NO.  Oh my gosh... no.  Boy these guys are so much work.  It's a happy chaos, but I am TIRED."



...don't be Person A.

Grabbing It Right Back.

Hello, my people.  It is I!  Back from the dead.  Sort of.  Still feeling dead, but back, nonetheless. 

Here's what I'm not going to do.  I'm not going to apologize for having not blogged in the past forever.  Though more than a few people have asked me where I've gone *straightens collar, brushes it off*.  There has been absolutely nothing to blog about and then just FUCKING EVERYTHING.  I have been through a range of stupid emotions that just would not make good writing...  One of those emotions being the one where I think, "I should really write this stuff down... that way when I am so thankful for how far we've come, I can look back and say..." Oh, I don't know.  What the hell.

I'll update you on some things so that we can just get back to our regular blogging station.  I do miss it.  I don't want to waste time rehashing what's been going down for say, the last six months.  So...

The Hubs is unemployed.

There.  I said it.  You reading that sentence did not take very much effort.  That sentence takes every effort I have in my body.  I live that sentence.  I live it going to bed at night.  I live it when I wake up.  In the morning I have approximately 5 seconds to myself where the birdies begin dressing me and my hair is luxurious... rosacea doesn't exist and I am rich.  Then reality sinks in and I literally, in my brain, say, "Shit." as I stumble out of bed.

It has been quite the struggle.  This is the stuff that proves what you're made of, that's for sure.  But it's definitely not all bad.  It is hard to believe that it won't always be like this... I know it won't.  But I will never take, say, a gallon of milk or a closet stocked with toilet paper for granted again.  Can that be a bad thing? 

Figuring out general survival with 5 kids without a regular income is not easy, but it is interesting the things that have gone on around us.  The Hubs and I mentioned at the beginning of our little non-employment journey that people around us are going through things all the time.  ...The old saying that if you stood in a circle with the people you know and all threw your troubles in the middle, chances are, you'd grab your own right back again.  I did not believe this at first.  At all.  Period.  But during these last few months one of our friends lost his home, another their six-week old baby.  Illnesses have come and gone.  Divorces.  A dear old friend of mine lost his mother.  Somehow you keep going.  You endure. 

So there it is.  There have been other things that just don't stand out like the unemployment does...  Z nearly had his finger smashed off his body.  I may tell ya that one, it's a goody.  Max has gone to school... fortunately/unfortunately, his teachers love him... as he does NOT misbehave at school.  At all.  I got my luscious locks cut off... damn near needed to make 3 pony tails out of it just to chop it off, but we got by with 2.  I finally made my homeschool classroom.  At one point I thought I was moving to St. Louis so I sold all my bedroom furniture.  It's now just a permanent camping/slumber party up-in-thar.  My grandma died... guess that's not such a happy point.  Sigh.  My siblings have all decided to get married all at once... though not to each other... that was worded funny.

... I'll end on that note.

You will hear from me soon.  I need ya.  You are my sounding board. 

No Dying Via Smooshing Tonight!

What.  Up.  I am feeling freaking exhausted and I will tell you I don't necessarily think it's always because I am 21 months pregnant.  I haven't posted in awhile... mainly because the shit has hit the fan...  in a good way...  maybe??  Things are getting done.  I have implemented my 'Evil Plan'.  I may let you in on what it entails this week.  I will say that it has been working excellently and soon I will breathe again.  A recap of just the past 10 days... only in the order of which they come to my brain.

1.  One of the dead trees is gone.  Praise Baby Jesus.  I haven't gotten to 'try it out' yet though.  It hasn't freaking rained or stormed since.  I haven't been able to lay in my bed and think, "yaaaaay!  no dying via smooshing tonight!" 

2.  I had the mother fucking IEP meeting.

3.  On that note, I had five people sit around a table and after I asked, "well, we've knocked around the word 'autism' a lot...  do you think this is what's going on here?" they all simultaneously nodded and gave a "yup."  That was both the most gratifying and puke-able moment of my life.

4.  At same meeting, we were in like flynn to the school system's special needs pre-k.  Gratifying, yet puke-able.  Passed... nay... failed with flying colors.  Yay?

5.  I signed up for 'transportation' through the school system.  I will be putting MY THREE YEAR OLD on a bus four days a week.  I am not exaggerating when I say I fear it like I feared finding my father dead when he came home for hospice.  (Fun side note:  I got to be the one to find him, coughing... the 'marble sound' they speak of.  The sign it is 'beginning'.  Monsters are real, folks.)  My brain lets me think it out in my hyper-vigilant, extremely detailed way only to the point he gets on the bus.  Then my brain goes fuzzy and I lose a bit of breath.

6.  Bought a pump for the washer.  What the what...???  We'll be doing laundry NORMALLY again!

7.  Not only have we been putting in resumes, but receiving new dangled carrots from the employer... either way, we're working on it.

8.  We have been cleaning out our clutter like the Hoarders on TV.  This is both for physical space and psychological space.  Mmmm... feels good.

9.  Lola finally got baptized.  According to my mother, she can now go to Heaven... whereas before, I suppose if something untimely had happened she would have suffered in the pits of Hell.  I don't know if my mother and I worship the same God...  at least, I haven't SEEN Lola commit any mortal sins at the ripe old age of 22 months...  hmph.  Either way, glad it is done and it was a most fabulous day with the Sis and good friends.

10.  Coop is OLD.  He is 7.  This also implies *I* am old.  I swear I just popped him out yesterday.

Well, that's all I can think of.  Dumping it here always makes me feel better.  Hopefully it is also moderately entertaining.  Some here, at church, at various places, probably assume I've finally had this baby due to my absence... nope...  just sitting over here, solving the worlds problems and quietly teeter-tottering on the edge of insanity.  

I leave you with pics of our picnic near a little pond we found over the weekend.  It was amazingly quiet and somehow relaxing even with my crowd.  I'd say its just what we all needed.

Twas a must that we go on a picnic ON Labor Day because that is exactly what the sticker said on Labor Day.  Z also expected us to pack everything that was on said sticker...
 

How's THIS for large??  Wowza.  Put me out of my misery.

I couldn't get Coop out of the pond.  He wanted to stay there instead of going to the playground.  Like a good Cub Scout, he even picked up all the litter he could find without being asked.  It's things like that that warm my heart.

 

After the pond/playground adventure, I quickly retired to a well-deserved nap.  After this little nap, I awakened to find my living room had been turned into a man-cave so as to enjoy video games.  What the hell??

It was a good day.



 

Fuck You, Last Week.

I really hope that title was subtle enough.

This entry will present itself as one of those letters you're told to write to a dead friend.  Or mayhaps a letter a  psychiatrist tells their crazy patient to write and then burn.  Either way... it'll help me feel better.  Better than a lot of other responses I could have presented.  Better than being imprisoned for blowing something up or running down the street waving my arms and screaming obscenities.  Maybe you'll get a giggle.

Last Monday was the Hubs birthday.  *My* birthday was pretty awesome 2 weeks before.  Not because our babysitter decided to go party and cut us short, and a friend of mine was a no-show, but because the Hubs somehow managed to present me with a Kindle Fire.  We're pretty old fashioned up in this hizzy so this thing has been treated like the brand new Nintendo our family got circa...uh...  1990??  It hardly ever gets put down.  I am in love.  And I've managed to still regularly go to the library, so I still stand on my soapbox.

Anyway... point:  my birthday was good.  I wish his had just been bad at least... or maybe a little sucky.  I myself began this day with a 'Bad Max Day'.  Insane behavior all over the place.  The kind that makes you call the school system you've been dealing with SINCE EARLY MAY and quite nearly spurt out, "WHAT THE HELL?" literally.  I instead gently reminded this waste-of-oxygen of a woman that we had seen the system's psychologist a month ago.  She giggled.  The woman fucking giggled that my son's paperwork with the psych had been lost, in fact, never evaluated and whoopsy...  they had done it again.  This is where I considered driving to her place of employment, calmly punching her in the nose, and getting back in my car.  Instead I flatly said, "This is my number.  Straighten this out.  Set up the IEP meeting" and hung up.

Meanwhile, at work, the Hubs apparently was taking a psychological beating.  He had an interview for a promotion weeks ago and was waiting to hear what was decided.  Managers and co-workers had congratulated him ahead of time.  Hearing through the grapevine he had gotten it, assuming really.  It was not going to be major, but rather a landmark for our family.  A place where we were growing.  Hope that things are always getting better.  He came home bleary eyed.  I asked him what was wrong and he promptly went to puke.  On his birthday the company told him he should just stay at his position at his meager pay.  He's simply too 'good' to move up.  They need him right where he is.  You are awesome.  Please except this lack o'raise.  Thank you.  This made me incredibly sad.  Hopes dashed.  There it was.  It's done.  But to hear who got it.  OH.  MY.  GOD.  It was a slap in the face and in mere seconds my mind raced to things I had heard and realized this asshole had been groomed for the job right under our noses.  And the very person that will have to help train this person will be, of course, The Hubs.

I left him at the kitchen table, amazingly upset and bewildered.  I had to get to a doctor's appointment that I was sure to be late for.  Sitting down after finding out I weigh a million pounds, I exclaimed to the nurse (the same idiot as this) "I will have high blood pressure.  It's been a very stressful day".  "Man troubles?", she asked.  WHAT?  Sure enough, I had to talk my way out of a situation that could have been very complicated by what seemed to be a 35-week-pregnant woman with high blood pressure.  I could only imagine calling the Hubs sitting back at home at the kitchen table and telling him, "eh... headed to the hospital...guess I'll see you in a few days..."

What was swimming in our heads, the weatherman threatened to make a reality.  Storms.  Wind.  Possible hail.  I have dead trees.  We called someone who was going to help out with these back in May.  And June.  And July.  And then 2 weeks ago.  One of the trees is so dead I lie in bed at night praying to the Lord Baby Jesus to keep me and all those sleeping on my corner of the house safe.  Friday I finally called a tree guy who proudly pointed out a few trees that need to go.  Pregnant, barefoot and embarrassed I asked him which ones were the most dangerous for lack of the million dollars per tree he was asking for.  He chose my target of prayer and said, "I do not even want to be parked here".  This is where my brain turned to oooze and flowed out my ears.  Keeping my big girl panties on, I asked..."you'll be able to cut it down before the storms tonight?"  He cackled and said, "Oh, no ma'am! It'll be late next week before I can get to it."  sigh.  This is where I thanked him politely, scheduled it up and calmly ran into the house before calling the Hubs and completely losing my shit.

I am tired.

And I am tired of people.

Really tired of people that say, 'Ima do this for you'... only to disappear.

Maybe prayers worked.  It never rained on Friday.  Not one iota.  It had been a 70% chance of storms earlier that morning.  The Hubs came home on time.  His 'new boss' had declared no more over-time.  We played music, made finger paints and painted models with the big kids.  I ordered pizza.  I declared it over.  All the ridiculousness.  I'm not taking it anymore.  There won't be another week like the last.  Things are going to change around here.  It's already happening. 

The Squeakiest Wheel.

I try not to blog when I'm irritated about something.  However, lately I'm afraid I would just have to shut the whole damn thing down for lack of material.  One of my favorite blogs lately is:  People I Want to Punch In the Throat.  She did it the right way... she lets ya know straight out the gate she's going to bitch and bitch a lot.  Maybe I should have done that.  If anything, I guess it is truly "always one more thing".  Well, anyway, if you don't want to hear another rant, you should probably exit here.

So last Friday we were kicking it.  I got Max off to the pediatrician, albeit... dangerously...  I thought, anyway.  The man of the house fixed those brakes right up.  Things were looking up.  At least if the school system was going to suck it, I could find help medically for Maximus.  The pediatrician I love so much had her nurse call me MONDAY to get the ball rolling on a referral to a developmental pediatrician.  Done and done.  It was good to sit down with someone who knew me, knew my kid, heard me out and woah... hold the effing phone... did what she said she was going to do.

I was walking around like a plump peacock all impressed that I was owning it and putting life where it needed to be.  (a little life maybe, no, not the effing laundry situation.  we're still baffled.) But at least some of the more important things.  I was chilling out at my desk, vegging out to some Facebook Tuesday morning when a call came through from a number I didn't recognize.  Yes, I screen.  After I got my voicemail, I was winded, shaking, seething and sensing a bit of a puke-tickle.

The driest voice says something to the effect of...  'Hi, Mrs. Awesome.  This is so-and-so's office.  I was calling in regards to Max's referral for a developmental evaluation.  Please give us a call back at your earliest convenience to set up Max's appointment.  Please note, we accept ONLY Blue Cross Blue Shield insurance.  If you have any other insurance you will be expected to pay the out-of-pocket charge of $1,200.'

She went on to say that I could make payments of $400 each.

And then I dropped the phone.

I'm sorry, what was that???  How can a person get away with that?  $1200 for ONE visit.  I can't describe how pissed off I was.  Is this normal pocket change for others?  I felt preyed upon... or something...  there aren't any words.  Except 4-letter ones...  I certainly did not call this insane woman back.  I couldn't think of anything decent I could possibly say to her... I knew diarrhea of the mouth would suddenly take over and I would scream at her for every little shitty thing that had happened in the last week.

After sharing a bit of diarrhea with the Hubs, I decided to use my ferocious momentum to call the school system.  I knew they weren't at their desks yet, but I would leave messages every fucking day until someone finally called me back.  I started with one hand written phone number on our IEP.  I have literally 5 different numbers and 5 different emails and 10 different faces from our last meeting.  I figured I would just keep calling numbers until someone knew SOMETHING.  Imagine my surprise when someone actually answered the phone.  THEN I was mad because they WERE there and hadn't called.  Oh, the nerve.

I left a message for the contact who actually called back within 10 minutes.  She had the very best possible excuse as to why the school system never called back regarding more specific testing for Max:

'I am so sorry, Mrs. Awesome.  We had lost his paperwork and forgot.'

What do I say here?  My feelings have ranged from homicidal to down right sad that no one seems to care... or that they'd rather make a buck.  Everything regarding 'special needs' seems costly, or slow, or overwhelming or just... careless.  I said to the pediatrician the other day, 'I just need the TOOLS.  I can do whatever the hell I need to do with the TOOLS'.  Can someone please just stand up and tell me what the hell is going on here???



I went to sleep that night with all these seething thoughts marinating in my brain.  It suddenly occurred to me that I had requested referrals for audiology and speech pathology in the first place.  The pediatrician was taking me down a whole other avenue.  Developmental Pediatrics???... they diagnose... autism.  Is this what we're doing now??  Maybe I'm just jumping to conclusions.  I'm probably jumping to conclusions.  But there's a huge difference between googling 'autism', talking about 'autism' and actually pursuing 'autism'.

I've since found my own Developmental Pediatrician.  One who actually accepts insurance... including mine.  My doctor called me back within 15 minutes with a new referral.  And after a broken promise that someone from the school system would call me back yesterday in regards to the next phase of testing, I called them again too.

I've heard it and I knew it... but I didn't really know it...  YOU are for sure your child's only ally.  The only one that will speak up for them.  The only one that will fight.  You cannot sit back on your haunches and assume ANYONE will voluntarily do the right thing for them.  I am in the midst of this lesson.  I've been pretty naive, but I am coming around.  It is true, the squeaky wheel gets the most attention.

Itsa Poop Fest!

Tips for hand washing cloth diapers.  Because maybe you like to pretend you live in the 1800's.

1.  Approximately 1 week before attempting to wash your cloth diapers by hand, begin feeding your wee babe a diet of cheese and apples.  This will ensure they create those cute little turdlettes that roll right into the toilet leaving the diaper nearly clean.*

2.  Approximately 3 days before attempting to wash your cloth diapers by hand, use your tub to shave your legs.  I chose 3 because you don't want to turn into Chewbaca, however you don't want to give your husband the expectation that you'll be shaving your legs any more often.  Also, after you see what floats in your tub, you won't want to take a bath in there.

3.  It should go without saying, but every time your little darling poops, flush it down the toilet!  The job is long, nasty and TERRIBLE if you don't.  This is true whether doing this by hand or using your washer.  Even if you use disposable diapers, you're supposed to do that.  No, for reals.  Go check the side of the package...  I'll wait...

...

...

see????  No, no one does that... but you should.

4.  I keep my diapers in a 'wet bag'.  They are AMAZINGLY awesome. I used to just throw them in old grocery bags 'til wash day, but that was just nasty.  The wet bag keeps the smells to itself.  Of course, after a few days of sitting in a bag, the dirty diapers could very easily burn your nose hairs.  I filled the bath tub for the first soak, set the wet bag in there and filled it up with water.  I never smelled a dang thing.  'Twas a better smell experience than using the washer!

5.  I use a big paint stick to slosh 'em around.  Not because I'm worried about getting my hands dirty...  I long ago gave up on that...  it's the bowling ball that prohibits me from bending over correctly.

6.  Approximately......  *here*  .......you'll be glad you shaved your legs.  Drain tub.  Fill with warm water.  Use detergent.  Soak forever.

7.  Drain the tub.  You're nearly there.  Fill back up with warm water and detergent.  Scrub 'em up!

8.  Drain the tub, rinse 'em out and SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE.  You'll never do as good a job as your washer.  (frowny face.)  Hang them out to dry and fluff them in your dryer so they're soft for the lil' one's tushy.  Your electric bill will thank you.

9.  Get yourself a cold drink.  You'll feel like you worked all day, but you only did one measly, very specific laundry load for the day.   Everyone else still expects clean clothes too.

10.  Don't feel bad for me.  We just haven't had the time to fix the effed-up-laundry situation.  We're thinking 'pipe-snake' before we go full-on new pump.  We've got A LOT of ridiculous stuff (no, really, you wouldn't believe me if I told you) coming to a head (gross analogy) this weekend... then it's project laundry and project classroom.  Hell or high water.  Really.






*Don't be a moron.  Some of these things are just silly.  Don't really feed your kid a diet of cheese.  Although it may seem handy.

Ape-Shit-Crazy.

I'm in a bad mood.  Period.  A fantastic time to blog, eh?  Currently I've been sending out emails around my county to figure out what the hell *I'm* supposed to be doing next regarding Max and speech therapy through the public school system.  I am beginning to form opinions.  I was the cool homeschooler that was open and casual regarding homeschool vs. public school.  ...was...  They are not making this easy for me.  I left Max's IEP meeting with a promise to further testing along the autism scale in a convenient and timely manner.  A very re-assuring "WE'LL call YOU."  One chicky got back to me the very next week.  After that test she even admitted, "I don't know why we have to drag you through all this.  He obviously needs Speech."  That was May 15th.  What... hmm... 7 WEEKS AGO?  Max's case worker through Babies Can't Wait once told me, "The squeakiest wheel gets the most attention".  That statement is amazingly valuable.  I'm not good at being a squeaky wheel.  In fact, I find it to be embarrassing.  However, I am about to get hella squeaky on their ass.  Vent over.

Well, the weekend was fantastic.  I took a few pictures for you:

Mmm... hmmm... that about sums that up.  Mess.  Mess.  Mess.  Yes, we are still working on the effed-up laundry situation.  So the first picture, my friends, is... a load of laundry... in my bathtub.  Do not underestimate the weight of a few wet towels!  I do not have a damn clue how the previous owners of this house did laundry, but since the laundry room is down stairs, it needs a way to pump water UP to the pipes to go OUT.  Our washing machine is working just fine... our pump... not so much.  Being on the ol' cash plan, its going to be interesting pulling it together to buy a new pump... but... I have no idea when the Hubs will have the time to put it in.  Just as an example, the guy worked until 10pm Friday night!  (After getting there at 5am... you'd think he was the dang CEO or something.)  The psycho part of me thought, "Hey, it might be fun washing clothes like this!  Just like the pioneers!"  A few minutes later, the normal part of me thought, "damn. this sucks."  Always something, right?? 

I did get out this weekend.  If only for a little while.  I put a few more minutes into my 'Don't-go-ape-shit-crazy' bank.  When things have gotten nutty on this fine 100 degree Monday, I have whisked my brain back to the dim light of the Longhorn Steakhouse table featuring grown-up conversation.

The three older kiddos got out to see Madagascar 3 this weekend which fueled my spontaneous, "POLKA DOT, POLKA DOT AFRO!" outbursts.  I can't help it.  It just comes to me.  Maybe because my life is a circus.  And by the way, my Siskel and Eberts highly recommend it.

So I will leave you now with a few pictures.  While not exciting for you, I love to log this shit so that one day, while sitting in the lap of luxury (or what is left to FEEL like the lap of luxury), I will look back to this day and proclaim,

"REMEMBER WHEN WE USED TO DO LAUNDRY IN THE TUB.  WEREN'T WE APE-SHIT-CRAZY???!"  

And Edith will add...

...those were the days!

Pandemonium Ensued.

There is a woman I put on a pedestal.  Well... an upside down pedestal.  What's the opposite of a pedestal?  A hole?  no.  How to put this.  I thought she was just great, but made her my example of what NOT to be.  The Hubs and I would say, "Well at least we're not the Smiths*!" 

A few years back...  Mayhaps Caleb was around, maybe a Coop...  I was teaching kindergarten at church.  The Smiths were one of THOSE large Catholic families who seemed to have a kid in every class available at church.  I hadn't put much deep thought into their family until my youth minister leaned over one morning and said something about the fact that the family's hair was always just a mess.  (For reals.  A mess.)  It was then that I really noticed the mom.  She.  looked.  tired.  Tired.  Her hair was the same, unkempt.  I would tell the Hubs every Sunday, "Man!  I should just offer her a free massage.  She just radiates that she needs one!!"  It had come to my attention that she homeschooled ALL her kids as well.  Freak. 

She became to me my epitome of the tired, worn out mother.  She obviously lacked any time to herself...  no time to shop for modern clothes or even brush her hair, really.  I formed cruel opinions of her.  Decided I was sooo much cooler than that.  No matter what, I would never end up like Mrs. Smith.  Never throw my hair up in a disgusting pony tail.  Never obviously neglect the appearance of my children.  I was certainly not going to have as many kids as her.  I could never get an accurate count, but thought she had seven, SEVEN children.

It was later in that kindergarten year, after the kids had dominated the Sign of the Cross, that my ever over-indulgent ego thought I would teach the class the Our Father.  "Children"  I said, "Has anyone ever heard of the Our Father?"  It was then that one of the Smith kids raised his hand and said he did.  "Of course you do."  I thought to myself.  ugh.  "Go ahead Bob*,"  I said in front of the class.  "Recite the Our Father for us." 

And so he said, "Okay....  but do you mind if I say it in LATIN?"

Mmm.  Hmmm.  In my mind I was freaking out a little.  Wheels began cranking.  I rubbed an imaginary chin.  Re-thought everything I thunk in two seconds time.  "duuuh... go ahead."

Twas then that I began to think homeschooling may just be... the shit.

When I decided to homeschool Coop, Mrs. Smith was the first person I asked, "Uh... what the hell??"  Looking back, the decision to homeschool is simple.  Being a newbie... it's ridiculous.  She was insanely helpful.  My earlier opinions slowly fell away.  I didn't see the tired mom, instead I saw a mom that didn't care about appearance.  Her priorities are just totally different. 

Hold the phone though.  She's still the church joke.  Or she was.  All those kids.  Homeschooling.  Freakazoid. 

I mozied into church with the Hubs yesterday to pick up three of the minions from vacation bible school.  I was looking pretty amazingly hot.  Unbrushed pony tail.  Thrift store yoga pants.  Kawasaki tee shirt.  (Cause I ride motorcycles, like, constantly.)  We had the two little ones with us.  Quickly the church lobby busted out into fitful roars of laughter.  (Not really, I think a few people were tee-hee-heeing in the corner).  We walked up on a group of gabby ladies.  The short annoying one, who always, always asks about my mother (I've never mentioned her... have I... there's reasons for that...) giggles and says, "There you are!  Someone just told me you were expecting!"  Always the smart ass, I said, "yep.  here I am.  There it is." pointing to my belly.  Mrs. Smith strolls over.  The short one says, "Well we were just saying that you're really giving them a run for their money!" pointing to Mrs. Smith.  Mrs. Smith then laughs (mayhaps evil-ly?) and says, "Yep.  I have six kids.  I bet you're going to surpass me!"

This is where I fainted.  Ambulances were called.  Pandemonium ensued. 

Not really.  I giggled and said, "we'll see."  In my brain I said, "Fuck."

Meet the new Mrs. Smith.





*Names changed to protect the innocent and so that I may continue to bitch, bitch, bitch about people (almost) anonymously...

Let's Run Around in Underwear and Drink Coffee

They left me alone.  They freaking left me alone.  How could they do it???  They have trusted me with this:

 MONSTER*.  Clearly.

My Max has aged out of the Babies Can't Wait program.  Part of me is like, "Freaking-A!  I get my house back!  Let's run around in underwear and drink coffee til noon 'cause nobody's gonna be all up in my business!  And why clean anyway!?"  The other part is like, "oh.  dear.  God."

Each individual's sage advice?  The Occupational Therapist, the Speech Therapist, the Family Trainer?  "...go get yourself a good developmental pediatrician and good luck!"  oh, thank you, thank you.  If you're a little lost in the whole scenario, their reasoning is because Max still has a big delay in speech and constant tantrums and... quirks?  Sensory issues.  (Have I Googled 'autism'?  yes.)  At the age of 3, kids are aged out of Babies Can't Wait (an early intervention program in our state for special needs babies and toddlers) and turned over to the school system.

Now I am not a home schooler that 'be hatin' all over the system'... but I will admit I am leery with it.  Well... leery was the word a few weeks ago.  After a group of ten IEP (individual education plan) team members all told me he did not meet the requirements for special needs pre-school based on 'THE TEST WE CONDUCTED ON THIS PARTICULAR DAY' I decided the system was full of shit.  Thank you, system, for classifying my child into a nutshell based on one test on a particular day.  I fought the whole thing and persuaded them to more specific testing.  So there's that.  Fight the man... especially when it comes to your kids... what better reason?? 

Now, if he doesn't make it in the second time I will do a tiny happy dance because life won't be as inconvenient as I imagine it could get trucking 3 home schoolers, a special needs kid and a newborn to school every day.  ...And then I'll sit back and fret about what to do next.  Pray tell... why does insurance commonly NOT pay for speech therapy??

So... that's whats on my mind.  

Namaste.  ...and all that shit.



*Aww, that's no monster. 

Especially When It Looks Like Nothing

So I've heard I shouldn't blog if I'm bored.  Makes for bad reading.  What if I instead said I feel rather bored, yet I am also so damn busy I can't see straight.  I once read a book... well, okay it was pretty boring...so I skimmed it... but it was called "What Mothers Do (Especially When It Looks Like Nothing).  In it, the author brought up the fact that while a mom multi-tasks a hundred things at once (it's a hundred, right?!) if she was to answer the phone in the midst of it, she'd probably say, "Oh, I wasn't busy".  WRONG.  The author proved her point much better than I could, but I know exactly where she's coming from.  In a moment I'm going to go work on some first grade math while scrubbing my kitchen floor while the dishwasher's running while the dryer is running while the clothes washer is running while the kids are napping while the casserole is thawing while I'm wondering if I'll freaking know how to sew on Boy Scout badges when the Hubs gets home with them while baking a small human inside my uterus...  (and breathe.)  ...And if you were to call me right now I'd say, "Ah naw... go ahead... I wasn't up to anything."

Anyhoo...I damn near (gasp.) vlogged something today because it's been one of THOSE days.  Ie:  at breakfast the children decide to see if they can hit the same note at the top of their lungs in unison.  I was doing laundry at the time and could only just laugh and thought, "Boy motherhood is a... blessing...?"  And then I thought of you, dear reader, because that shit was funny.

I also caught this today:

This is a picture of two toddlers picking up a gigantic mess they made without being asked.  Now, I know they just like to sing "Clean up, clean up" together, but Ima pretend its a product of good breeding... mmmkay?  But proof my day is not all for naught. 

If you want a random track update, I thought I would add that this kid:

jumped 10 damn feet at district.  He didn't even get first place.  What the what??  What do Olympians jump?  This blows my mind.  I'm going to blame the hormones in food or some other soapbox.  Crazy.

Random skinny picture of me:

They don't come around often and simply must be shared.  I apologize. 

Happy Monday, ya'll.

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.

Damn Weighted Blankets.

First of all, I apologize if you just googled and found me because you too are desperately seeking a damn weighted blanket.  If you are like me and have a hell of a lot more time than money (...it seems to be equalizing lately though... not in a good way) you are seeking a way to make this freaking thing.  ...because, 'how hard could it be to make a blanket?'  ...A BLANKET.  argh.

I also apologize to those that just don't give a shit about weighted blankets.  ...And why would you.  I wish I didn't.  I wish I had not become obsessed with the things.  But here is where I stand.  Moving on.

Having a newborn is hard.  It is hella hard.  Not during the day.  I tend to think that's easy-peasy.  Eat.  Sleep.  Poop.  Eat.  Sleep.  Poop.  And the doctors tell you that you should do the same.  It's the night that becomes ridiculous.  I get nauseous just thinking about it.  I hate the feeling of needing sleep, getting 5 great minutes of it and then being awakened.  It makes me literally nauseous.  And it seems all my babies do the same thing:  perfect angels during the day, little devils at night.  I tip toe around the Hubs because of his crazy early schedule and hold these wee babes into the night while silently praying Fox is running a small marathon of Cops.  Otherwise I'll be subjected to nothing but infomercials... hormones will make me cry about the fact we will not give in and pay for cable.  Anyway.  The kids have been good about quickly sleeping through the night... In fact, Lola began respecting my sleep somewhere around five weeks.  Heaven.  The diva still sleeps 8pm - 9am.

It becomes absolutely ridiculous when your NEARLY THREE YEAR OLD begins screaming at least four times a night.  What.  the.  Hell.  A nice mommy would think, 'poor dear' and console him back to sleep patiently... she also poops glitter and keeps an immaculate house (both as unlikely at the Awesome Abode).  This chick stumbles, very much zombie-fied, into the kids room... throws the blanket back on him and trips back to her own bed... unswayed by the legos, stuffed animals and left over pbj's along the way.  My Maximus cries because his blanket has come off.  Every.  Damn.  Night.

Every.  Night.

At first the family trainer (the pack-n-play lady) told me to make up some sort of curriculum during the day to teach Max how to put his own blanket on at night.  This all seemed so unnecessary but necessary considering little Lola can do this herself.  We worked with it... trouble is, once we realized the kid has Sensory Processing Disorder, it became apparent he just simply cannot put the blanket on himself.  The coordination simply isn't there.

Enter the damn weighted blanket.  They are used to calm kids with Sensory Processing Disorder.  Especially those that are affected proprioceptively, as Max is.  Google that shit.  They are worth, like, a million dollars.  Not really... but $100 and $1000000 is roughly the same to me.  I have now been on a mission to make my own.  I have no sewing skills.  I also just learned what a poly pellet is.  (I've also now schooled the peeps at Hobby Lobby and Michaels...leading me to believe no one ever uses these things, really.)  I am not crafty... this should be a humorous adventure that you can now join me on.  Updates to come.

I'd better go.  It's naptime and he's screaming presently...  deep breaths.  deep breaths.

Excessively Douche-y Douche Bags and Other Matters of the Heart.

Alright, alright, alright (read as Matthew McConaughey... it'd be a lot cooler if you did.)  I apologize for my absence... sorta.  Had I been blogging for the last two months or so I would probably have felt pretty damn irresponsible.  Of course, I've been told lately I should take more time for myself... which makes me giggle a bit... psychotically... and wonder how I could make these 'experts' a fly on my wall.

So, I like writing.  Up until the point I don't.  And chances are, you like reading... up until the point you don't.  We will solve this by doing this 'Five For Friday' style just to catch you up a bit.  (I reserve the right to go past five.)  I will throw in a few (what I find to be) entertaining pictures and we'll call this done for the day.

1.  Probably the most interesting thing to happen in the last two months is that Maximus has been diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder.  I'll link it there in case you are a nerd like me.  If you decide to take on that rabbit hole, I will tell you he is affected proprioceptive-ly and perhaps vestibular-ly.  What this means for me is that all his little quirky-quirks that were so hard to explain are now being unraveled.  His speech delay has reasoning behind it.  Waking up screaming five times a night is explained.  Broken windows in the living room are explained.  Even the fact we've always called him 'The Brute' somehow makes even more sense.  It was not that long ago I began googling 'autism', if that tells you anything.  I knew something was up, I just couldn't put my finger on it.  Autism seemed like an awfully harsh diagnosis, but I knew there had to be an answer to his behavior and delays.  The diagnosis of SPD comes with a lot of relief and a lot of damn work, honestly.

2.  This happened:   

All possible chaos hits the fan around September 19th.  My excitement is squelched both by the stress of it all and the

3.  Excessively douche-y douche bags.  There.  I said it.  People suck.  I've gotten pretty sick of people lately and maybe that was one of the reasons I haven't blogged.  Picture it:  you tell someone, "Yay!  We're having a baby!" and it is met with:

"Have you heard from the discovery channel on having your own show yet?!"

"Giving the Duggars a run for their money?"

"Do you know what causes that?"

These statements seem to be all in fun, but I have heard them A MILLION TIMES.  It's like when Grandma tells the same damn story over and over again.  Eventually you want to smack her.  It wears on you.  I always answer, "yep... going for our own show!  That'll make diapers affordable!"  Or "YES.  SEX CAUSES IT.  WE LIKE IT."  Boxed up answers make me feel just as douche-y.  

Answering questions about my uterus or my husband's penis is also very fun whether at work, church or on the street:

"Wow.  Are one of you going to get fixed?"

"Have you heard of a vas-ect-omy!"  

"Will they tie your tubes after labor?"

I have now grown up in a way that allows me to tell nearly anyone, "Well, I really don't think that's any of your business."  

I also love when such a 'mistake' must be due to the fact I am Catholic.

"Is this because you are Catholic??"

"Well, I guess you'll just have a big Catholic family." (this was uttered by a Catholic "friend", without a smile and in a very sarcastic manner.) 

I didn't make up any of those.  Maybe it doesn't seem that bad to you, but I do not live through one single day without a sneer or joke at my expense.  After a while it hurts.  It hurt with the third kid.  It hurt with the fourth kid.  The fifth kid is getting it even worse.  The attitude from family and friends that the fifth kid is not nearly as important as the first is wearing on me as well.  

Okay.  I'm done whining.

4.  I have rosacea.   Nope.  Not as big as cancer.  For some reason I got a lot of hits on my whole rant on adult acne and I thought you deserved an update.  While acne just doesn't seem like the biggest deal, it gets pretty damn old after a while and I am crazy glad to be (nearly) rid of it.  I can now show my face in public.

5. We're still rockin' it homeschool style.  To the point that we'll finish up our curriculum about a month early.  At that point we'll be diving into science full force.  I am crazy proud of Coop.  His reading is amazing.  I don't know how parents get the exact numbers to brag about... 'my child reads on an eleven-teenth-kabillion-one level'... but I'm pretty sure he's up there.  Multi-syllable words are no challenge for him and second grade should get pretty exciting.  Just to update... I may be one of the only mothers to think "The Story of the World" curriculum sucks, but so be it.  We're on the search for history again...  

There you have it.  That's what I've been 'doing'.  Sometimes a whole lot of shit, sometimes a whole lot of 'nothing'.  It's true that as a mom the days are so freaking slow, but the years zoom past.  I look forward to being in touch with the world again...  until next time!

Yummo.

Ima take this thing back up again.  ...And soon... I promise.  But before I do, I should warn you...  my brain feels an awful lot like this:



You are welcome.