Youth Gone Bye-Bye

I was pleasantly surprised when Ethan told me that I looked "young" the other day.  I know that I immediately started smiling , and I checked my smiling reflection in the mirror to catch its cheery youthfulness. " Young?!" I thought to myself.  "I AM YOUNG!!"  I finished in positive affirmation.

I was just thinking that I  loved, loved, loved my boy for his youthful comments when he threw his afterthought at me.

"You are young mom, even though sometimes you look sooooooo old!"

Sigh.

Youthful moment gone.

Thanksgiving Week Catch Up

Oooooh!  

So sorry to have been gone so very long.

Did you miss me?

I certainly have missed all of my bloggy friends.  My past week has been crazy.  Insane crazy, you know.  Crazy more than my normal daily insanity, crazy.  

For instance, I traveled round trip for 8 hours with 3 kids in the car. If you do the math, that equates to 247  Are we there yets?,   approximately 10,000 orange barrels, and 2 cranky parents.  Now, normally my thanksgiving trek is around 6 hours, but backed up traffic and 17 thousand pee breaks makes for a longer journey.  Note to self . . . bring ear plugs next year.

I also woke in the middle of the night to shop my first ever Black Friday!  I woke at 3:30 am threw on some  sweats, made myself some coffee (You didn't think that I would leave the house without coffee did you?  Heaven help those other shoppers if I had!), and I was off.  I was accompanied by one of my more experienced Black Friday shopping girlfriends.  She was waiting on her porch at 4:45 when I arrived.  She had all of the ads and circulars with notated post it notes sticking out here and there.  The girl is one serious shopper.  I am in awe, and naturally, I love, love, love her!

So, after getting almost all (Yes!  I did say all.  You are jealous, aren't you?  It's OK.  I'd be jealous of me too if I didn't know what was coming.)  my shopping completed for Christmas.  I trudged home, ate, napped and got busy with some Christmas decorations.  A pleasant day all in all until the most insane thing happened.

Ellerie.

It was bedtime, and I was trying to get Ellerie undressed and then dressed again for bed. (Never an easy feat!)  I pulled Ellerie's shirt over her head, and when I did, she giggled and then she took off running.  Her shirt was over her head and resting on the back of her neck, and  her arms were still in their sleeves and pinned quite tightly to her sides.  As she ran, she turned and looked over her shoulder, and when she did, she slipped on the area rug and fell face first.  Hard!  Her hands and arms were pinned by her silly shirt, and she was unable to catch herself when she went down.  Immediately, she started screaming.

I knew I was in for it, because Ellerie does not scream.  I have seen her fall down a flight of stairs, get up, and say, "I OK Mom!"  The girl is usually indestructible, so when she was inconsolable and continued screaming, I knew she was hurt.

She was.

According to the Emergency Room docs, Ellerie probably has a broken foot or ankle.  Apparently, it is pretty hard to see broken foot bones in a 2 year old's X-rays, but based on their physical exam of El, they are pretty sure that it is broken.

Her appointment with the Orthopedic Doc is tomorrow.

So, this weekend has been full of an angry, hurting  two year old who can not move.  Initially, I thought, "Great!  This will slow her down a bit."

But really, this has slowed me down immensely.

My girl has only wanted to sit on my lap on the sofa.  She is currently there as I type this post.  I am feeling quite trapped by all of this.  I also feel so guilty that this even happened.  Mostly I feel for my baby with her little left leg casted.  She is miserable, and I am too.

So there you have it.  My past week's insanity. 

I'll keep you posted on this week.

Home Sweet Clean Home

We are traveling this Thanksgiving.  My sister in law has graciously offered to host the family, and we quickly accepted!  No cooking.  No washing sheets.  No preparation, really.

So why am I running around the house going crazy?!

Simple.

I don't like to leave my house dirty when we travel.

I know.  I know.

No one will see it.  It will just sit there, bright and shiny and sparkly for no one to appreciate.  It will exude fresh smells for no one's nose to sniff.  It will be empty . . . but clean.

And frankly, that's what matters.

Because nothing, nothing,  puts me in a foul mood faster than returning home from a trip to a dirty house.  Seriously friends, traveling with 3 kiddies, is stressful enough.  There's the funk that the family is inevitably in because we are out of our routine.  There's the mountain of dirty clothes that follows us home.  There's the sleep deprivation we all experience from sleeping on pull out beds and sofas.  It already is an ugly picture folks.  But if you factor in a dirty house . . .egads!  You may as well just take away my Krispy Kremes, because I wouldn't be as cranky as if I returned home to a mess.  

Home is, well, home.  It is my haven.  My favorite place, really.  And when I am gone, I long for it and all its prettiness that hubby and I have created.  

When I walk in the door, I just want to kick off my shoes, sink into my sofa, and sigh.  That's it.

I don't want to tackle the dishes that were left in the sink or vaccuum up goldfish crumbs that adorn my floor.  I want to just veg and appreciate my home.

So, I will continue to run around like a crazy woman these next few days to clean my house.

It will be worth it when I get home.

Here's Johnny!

Johnny Depp was voted the People Magazine's Sexiest Man of 2009, and I only have one thing to say about it.

Seriously?!?

Johnny Depp???

Is it me or does that guy weird anyone else out?  I mean, back in his 21 Jump Street days,  my teenage self drooled all over his messy do and earring wearing self.  He seemed like a bad boy.  A rebel.  What's not to love about that?

But then,  as he aged, his movie choices just seemed to get odder and odder. 

Cry Baby?  I actually left the theater for that one. 

Edward Scissorhands?  A man with scissors for hands . . . hmmmm. . . really?  Just say no to foreplay with him!

And let's face it.  He ruined the whole Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for me.  As far as this girl is concerned, Gene Wilder will always be my favorite Willy Wonka!   Johnny's version of Wonka made me feel like I needed to take a shower after I watched it.  

Creepy!

Finally, there was the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy and Captain Jack Sparrow.  Was  Jack drunk?  Was he gay?  Was he drunk and gay? 

Each time I try to watch it again, I still scratch my head in wonder.

I guess I just don't get Mr. Depp or his sexiness.

Now,  give me a  Matt Damon or a George Clooney, I would heartily agree.  They are, in my estimation, sex worthy.

But Johnny?

Say it ain't so!

Confession Wednesday 11/18

It's Wednesday, and I am ready.

For what?  You may ask.

Well, my lovelies, I am ready to confess my insanity sins.  

1. I confess that I hate to mate socks.  I have a basket of approximately 10,000 unmated socks. ( Okay.  Okay!  I am exaggerating. . .  but . . . not by much.)  I think that this is a hereditary trait, because I remember my mother had a pile of unmated socks just like mine when I was growing up.  Obviously, it is in my genes.

2.  I confess that I steal my hubby's socks in the winter time, because I don't want to go through the sock basket for mine.  He hates this.  

3.  I confess that despite the fact that I know he hates me stealing his socks, I still do it, and when I do, I secretly smile at my naughtiness.

4. I confess that if hubby stole my clothing, I would ask him to get some professional help.  Quickly.

5.  I confess that I let Ellerie eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

6.  Consequently, I confess that I sometimes eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

7.  I confess that I let the macaroni that lands on the floor dry for at least a few hours before I attempt to sweep it up. (Have you ever tried to sweep up wet macaroni?  Yuck!)

8.  I confess that there have been days when lunch rolls around and the macaroni is still on the floor underneath Ellerie's chair.

9.  I confess that on those days I try not to let the drying macaroni bother me.

10.  I confess that, often, it doesn't work, and I get on my hands and knees and pick up the macaroni.

There!

Much better!

Happy Early Christmas

Recently, I have been scouring the Sunday ads and circulars in the hopes of finding some good deals for Christmas presents. Last Sunday, a store in our area had Star Wars figurines for $3.00 each. Ethan is a complete Star Wars nut, so, I was excited to get such a good deal on something that I knew that he would love. After scouring the store shelves, I found a few of the figurines left waaaaaay in the back, and I purchased three of them. Then, I left the package in my van's stow-n-go area under the seats, well concealed from Ethan's prying eyes.

That is . . . I thought it was well concealed.

But, apparently, it was not.

Because today, while out running errands, Ethan shouted with glee from the back seat.  "Mom!  There are some Star Wars men back here!!  Thank you mom!  Oh thank you!"

And, before I could say anything, he ripped into the packaging and started to play with those men.  Those Christmas presents.  He was so very excited and animated that I just didn't have the heart to tell him that he would have to wait for Christmas.

Sigh.

Happy Early Christmas E . . .   now, I am back to square one with my shopping.  

I guess Santa Claus and I will just have to be a little more clever this Christmas.

Any ideas on hiding places???

Falling for Him

How could you not fall for this boy?

This photo is being entered into I heart faces autumn week.

Happy Birthday Hubby

It's hubby's 40th birthday today.

A momentous birthday in the scope of birthday celebrating, yes.  But hubby doesn't really like birthdays.  

I know. I know.

What's not to like about birthdays? 

In my estimation, any day that has cake and presents and people celebrating you being in the world is, well, a great day.

Hubby doesn't think so.  

I think that he gets flustered by all of the attention and would rather just treat his birthday like any old plain day.  In fact, when he was a kid, he apparently went off to play with his friends and completely skipped out on his family birthday party.

I don't get this.

I would never miss a party, let alone a party in my honor.

So,  being that we are polar opposites, we both have to compromise.  He has gotten quite good at cards and birthday dinners.  And I have practiced toning it down on his birthday.  

It has been painful at times.  

Sigh.

So, in honor of his birthday today, there will be no big party and no cake.  But, he didn't say no to a blog tribute.  (Alright.  Alright.  I didn't ask him about a blog tribute. So sue me!)

To my hubby,

I love you.  You know that.  You make me laugh with your crazy ways, like how you check out people's eyes.  It's crazy.  But it's you!  I love your passion for things . . . like your sports.  You wouldn't be you without it.  I love that sometimes you embrace your inner geek, and you spend hours solving a rubik's cube,  and you think Pam Dawber is hot.  You know how that nerdiness make me smile.  Finally, I love what a caring and sensitive man you are.  You are the perfect husband for me and my insane ways.  Always patient and loving.  What more could the kiddies and I ask for?

Happy Birthday baby.

Let's go celebrate with some wings and beer!

Love,

Annie

*****And for those of you that are new and don't know all about hubby yet, just click on the above links for a taste of his insanity.  If you think I am crazy, then he is nuts too!

Wasting Some Time

My Friday the 13th is starting out to be wonderful.

What?

You couldn't understand me?

Oh.

It's probably because of my tongue firmly planted in my cheek.

There.  That's a bit better. 

Anyway, I have just spent the better part of 20 minutes scrubbing E's right cheek.  After it looked quite red and raw, I asked him the obvious question.  "Ethan, what in the world did you get into that could possibly get you this dirty?  This dirt is not coming off of your cheek!"

He looked at me and answered the typical boy answer, "Nothing mom."

"Nothing?"  I questioned in disbelief.  "Then what is this on your cheek?"

He answered me in his regular, matter of fact, Ethan way.  "Oh.  That's is where I ran into the dining room table yesterday.  I think it's a bruise."

Quickly, he was up and off to play, and I was left wondering why I just spent 20 minutes of my busy morning scrubbing a bruise off of my son's face.

And if that wasn't bad enough, after showering (with both kids in the bathroom talking to me, I might add),  I started to get dressed.  It was only as I was pulling my shirt over my head that I noticed my other morning faux pas.  Yes,  I noticed that I had, in fact, shaved my arm pits.  Unfortunately, I had shaved the right pit twice, and left the other side to continue growing its hairy forest.

Not pretty my friends.  Not pretty.

I am hoping that the rest of the day doesn't bring any broken mirrors or black cats.

Confession Wednesday 11/11

Bless me blog readers for I have sinned.  It has been 1 week since my last confession.  And since today is Wednesday, I declare it to be Confession Wednesday.

Onto my secret craziness . . .

I confess that not once, but twice, last week I allowed Ellerie to wallow around in a mildly offensive diaper, because I knew that hubby was moments from being home, and I felt that it was his turn to change her.  I am an equal opportunity parent like that.  

I confess that instead of doing laundry this morning, I watched my DVRed Grey's Anatomy episodes, drank coffee and did pretty much little else.  El was napping because of a cold, and Ab and E were at school.  Consequently, it was blissfully quiet and wonderful!

I confess that I did not feel guilty at all for the above confession.

I confess that I also consumed a large chocolate bar at 9am during my couch potato moment.

Which brings me to my next confession . . . I have not been to the gym in ages.  When my trainer texted me about the next time that he would see me, I didn't recognize his number it had been so long, and I thought, for a moment, that I had a mysterious stalker.

I confess that I was a tad disappointed when I realized that I did not, in fact, have an admirer, but instead, I had a mildly ticked off personal trainer.

I confess that I considered telling my trainer that my family had had the swine flu as my reason for my lack of attendance.  I didn't do it though, because I was afraid that that would jinx me into actually getting the swine flu.

I confess that at times I am ridiculously superstitious.

I confess this embarrasses me.

I confess I am pooped, and it is only 8 pm.

I confess, I am giving in and going to bed.

Aaaaaah.

Much better!

Prince Charming . . . The Idiot

While watching Disney's Cinderella the other day for the 16th gazillion time, I had a thought.  (I know.  I know.  A rare occurrence!)  What is the big deal about the prince anyway?  Yes.  He is handsome.  And, yes, there is that whole royalty thing, which could be nice ( A butler and a maid?  In my dreams!) but, in reality, he is not all that.

Quite honestly, the prince is an idiot.

Yes.

That's right. 

I said idiot!

Consider this . . . Cinderella dances with the prince and only the prince for the entire evening at the ball.  Shouldn't that amount of physical and emotional contact lend itself to allowing him to remember what she looks like?  Instead of searching the kingdom for the beautiful blonde girl that stole his heart while he danced with her, the prince uses a shoe to determine if he has the right girl.

Really?

A shoe??!!

Even my eight year old daughter knows that a beautiful pair of shoes is not just owned by one woman.  If that were the case, Manolo's would never have achieved their cult status.  Women love beautiful shoes. And, women buy beautiful shoes at any price!  After all, a savvy shoe will never be too small because you ate your weight in french fries.  So, chances are  good that  another lovely lady may have had a pair of glass slippers somewhere in her closet or under her bed, saving them for just the right occasion.  

By using a shoe as his meter stick, the prince was taking a serious chance with fate.

Furthermore, didn't the prince and Cindy talk at all during the evening?  Didn't they stop to get punch and chat about their hobbies ( him-playing polo, perhaps, at the castle and her-sweeping up ashes)?  If he was really interested in her, wouldn't he have tried to find out about her hopes, her dreams, her loves? 

Isn't it possible (even probable) that the prince was completely superficial.  That he was a pretty boy that wanted a pretty girl on his arm.  He only judged Cinderella on her outer beauty.  Clearly, if he would have met her in her ashy, non-fairy godmother attire, he would have walked right by her.  By only dancing with her and not finding out about the real Cinderella, the prince just proves that he was only out for a nice piece of ass.

But before you say, poor Cinderella . . . consider that she wasn't innocent in this either.

Cinderella was a hard working, self supporting girl.  She could cook, she could clean, and she was a seamstress.  This girl needed a spot on Project Runway, not a night dancing with the royal idiot.  Yes, Cindy sold herself short.  She fell for the pretty boy.  And, she lived happily ever after.

I guess that is why it's called a fairy tale.

Personally . . . I'll take my not-so-pretty boy that gets me coffee, plays cards with me, and makes me laugh any day. 

He may not be royalty, but at least he is not an idiot.

She Picked One for You Too

Continuing on the theme from my earlier post today . . .

Ellerie walked up to me and smiled.  It was obvious to me that she had something in her mouth.

"What are you eating, silly girl?"  I questioned her.

She smiled and said, " MMMMmmmmm.  Yum.  Boogie!"

My sanitary, germ-a-phobic self almost passed out at the explanation.  And, it dawned on me that  . . .

1) Piggies will surely fly at my house, and my kids WILL inevitably get the H1N1 flu at this rate. 

or

2)My booger obsessed kids have the strongest immune systems of any kiddies around.  Their little systems look at those big bad flu germs and laugh in their faces!  Flu germs, ha!  They have been taking their boogie vitamins!!!

I am hoping for number 2! 

I Picked This One For You

Hubby clipped Ethan's fingernails this weekend.  They were in desperate need too!  His nails were sporting that little boy, dirt packed hue that totally gross me out.

So, this morning on the drive to school, Ethan threw out this gem.  "Hey mom!  My nails are so smooth!"

Trying to encourage his good hygiene I responded, "I know.  Isn't that nice when your nails have smooth edges?"

I could see his grimace in the rear view mirror when he stated emphatically, "No!" 

"No?"  I questioned.  "Why not?"

"Because if my nails are smooth then there are no sharp points to help me . . . (wait for it) dig out my boogers."

Yes, dear friends.  

By encouraging cleanliness, I apparently have deprived E of one of his favorite pastimes:

booger picking.  

I do not know how I will live with myself.

Tooth Fairy? Anyone???

Ethan is a maniac . . . about his teeth, that is.

The kid brushes, flosses, and uses mouthwash twice a day, no fail, with no prompting.  Pretty impressive for a 5 year old!  Even our dentist, Dr. McKay (who Ethan lovingly refers to as Dr. Decay) was amazed at how well he does with his teeth.

That is why I shouldn't have been surprised when Ethan, well, pulled a typical Ethan.

Yesterday, while speaking with the butt-cleavage-displaying drywall man, Ethan said matter of factly, "Hey!  You are missing a few of your teeth!"

I could have crawled under my couch and died amongst the discarded goldfish that have gone belly up.

Fortunately, dry wall man is a very gentlemanly man who has many children and grandchildren.  He handled Ethan's comment with grace and said, "You are right!  I didn't take care of my teeth and that is why you should!"

Ethan, of course, detailed his teeth routine, and then gave drywall man a glowing recommendation for Dr. Decay.

At least he hasn't noticed the man's butt . . . I do not know how that one would have played out!

Confession Wednesday . . . Part 2

Since I loved, loved, loved confession Wednesday last week soooooo much . . . I decided to keep it going!  You really should try it.  

Really.

You should.

So, up for my absolution today are the following:

1.  I sneak and eat my kids' Halloween candy at night after they are asleep.  So far, they are clueless to the fact that their stash is slowly dwindling, and clearly, I am not going to let them in on it.  If they ask, I will lie.  I am not proud of this.  OK.  OK.  I am a little proud of it, but mostly I just like getting my chocolate fix.

2.  I have considered pulling up the drywall man's pants so I don't get flashed with his ever-present hairy, butt cleavage.  I have considered it, but I have not done it.  I am too chicken . . . but I play the scene over and over in my mind.

3.  My friend's kids have the swine flu.  When she told me about it, instead of feeling empathy for her hard week of sickness ahead,   I mentally calculated the last time my kids had played with her kids.  Then I breathed a sigh of relief that the kids' playtime was not within the H1N1 contagious window.

4.  When hubby decided to go as The Pope to a Halloween costume party, I actually considered going in the following costumes . . .  a pregnant nun (bad!), a prostitute (worse!!), and an altar boy ( I thought for sure I would go to hell for this one!!!)

5.  I accidently threw out hubby's issue of Sports Illustrated.

6.  When asked about said Sports Illustrated, I promptly walked over to the garbage can, pulled it out, dusted it off, and brought it to hubby.  I am not sure that he knows where it was, but I do not intend to tell him.  

Hmmmm. 

 That's all I can think of at the moment.  

But really, after lying to the kids and hubby . . . isn't that enough???

Happy Wednesday!

Post It Tuesday

How about a fun, fresh idea for a Tuesday?

Let's try it!  If you'd like to play along, check out Adventures of a Wanna-Be Supah Mommy.   You can also check out The Mother Load  for more Post It fun!  On to my short, but sweet Tuesday thoughts . . . 

Whew!

I feel better now!

36 . . . 24 . . .36????

My birthday was on Saturday. 

 I am officially now 36.  (Thank you for asking!)

And while I am not that phased by the passing of another year, I am phased by the fact that I am no longer in the 24-35 year old demographic.  Nope.  I am now in the 36-45 year old portion of the population.  Just one, tiny 1/4 of an inch separates the two check-off boxes on official paperwork, but in reality, I am finding that these two boxes are worlds apart.

For instance, at 24, it was an accomplishment to hold my pee during a rowdy night of beer drinking with my friends.  We teased each other about "breaking the seal".  No one. No one wanted to be the first to break her pee seal, because we all knew what would inevitably follow.  Once a girl relieved her bladder, she would be back and forth to the bathroom for the rest of the evening.  At 24, I could hold my bladder like a champ!

At 36 . . . not so much.

At 36, I am lucky if my bladder holds my first cup of morning coffee, let alone a night of beer.  In fact, the old girl seems to be rebelling at me at any chance.  If I sneeze, I pee.  If I cough, I pee.  If I laugh, you guessed it, I pee.

I am heading towards the Depends aisle in the grocery store, my friends.  

This.  This does not make me happy.

At 24, I got my eyebrows waxed regularly, at a salon, by a professional.

At 36, I wax my own eyebrows.  Consequently, I have burned the skin between my eyes more than once.  At 36,  not only do I have to wax my brows, I also have to wax my lip . . . a duty that I had once relegated to the ranks of my old and hairy italian aunts.  Apparently, at 36, I am now part of those ranks.  I carry a pair of tweezers with me at all times, and I pluck stray hairs in the car while I am stopped at red lights.  It seems that the magnified rearview mirror is the only place that I can see those pesky hairs that pop up!

At 24, I colored my hair for a change of pace.

At 36, I color my hair for necessity.  While I have very few grays (hooray!), I am not above plucking out a stray gray.  And now that sharpie markers come in so many different colors, I have and will continue to use a sharpie to color in a strand or two of offensive color.  I love my sharpie marker!!

At 24, I had no idea about who I wanted to be, or, for that matter, who I was at that moment.

At 36, I am comfortable being me.  I love my life of wife, mom, teacher, tutor, instructor, friend, laugher, lover and blogger.  My life is full of daily silliness, laughs and hugs.  I never knew I wanted to be a stay at home mom with 3 kiddies, but I wouldn't change it for the world.  I am blessed!

Because at 36,  my boobs may be way lower than they were at 24, but there are better things than perky boobs.  

I am wiser.

I am more appreciative.

I am thankful.

So, I don't mind checking off that 36-45 box in the slightest.

But, I won't take plastic surgery off the table either!