Friday morning thoughts

You know you’re an experienced mom of boys when you open the bedroom door and find the two of them (sigh) roasting mini marshmallows in the shape of Easter Bunnies on plastic chopsticks shaped like animals in front of the space heater and you don’t freak out. They’re buzzing from the sugar right now.

Colorado’s Wacky Weather continues. Ten minutes ago it was pouring rain, now it’s snowing like crazy. We could get 10-22 inches of snow today. And it’s going to be in the mid-70s by Tuesday.

Despite the crazy climate, all four of us have allergies and are snotting all over the place. If you think that’s a charming mental image, come visit and have a listen too.

I’m trying to decide how badly I want the milk out in the milk box right now. I mean, it’s not like it’s going to get warm sitting out there. I just don’t want to step outside and get it and the paper.

A has a doctor’s appointment in Boulder this afternoon, right after school. I’m thinking the weather is going to be bad enough that we may need to cancel. The question is, though, will we be charged for the last-minute postponement? ‘Cause this doctor isn’t covered by insurance and I’m not too keen on paying for the visit twice.

Perhaps I’ll have a more thought-provoking post later today…

So I may have broken WordPress

Don’t know how, but something’s broken. Took forever to post Sunday’s post, had to do it on Monday after much gnashing of teeth and ripping of garments. And now comments are all borked up. I reply to comments 99% of the time…and just noticed that the “reply to” address is now wordpress and not the commenter’s email. So if you haven’t gotten a reply from me, know that I did reply, and it’s now floating around in the internets. In the internets, no one can hear you scream.


This means I will actually have to fix it. Fix something I did not break, do not know how to fix, and don’t want to fix. Because comments are crack to me. I live for comments. Otherwise, I’m just talking to myself, and I do enough of that in real life. Give me comments, and that’s one less bang of the head on the desk. Or something. And I won’t just be able to fix one little thing. I’ll end up with a whole freaking makeover…something I’ve wanted to do for awhile, but have been putting off. That’s what happened when I was over with Blogger. I just wanted to be able to reply to comments without having to jump through high flaming hoops, and ended up moving the whole shebang here.


So, leave me comments that I may or may not be able to reply to. Watch this space for more head banging and maybe, just maybe, a new look. (Crap!!!! Now I have to do it! Stupid comments getting all borked up!) Send me some sanity; we’re 4 1/2 weeks from summer vacation and we may very likely get hit with a heavy spring snowstorm on Friday.

Oh, and send me a goat. My damned sweet, loving husband has this superstitious Cubs flag thing going on, and he borked it up this week. I need a goat to try to counteract it.

And yes, borked is the word of the week. Pass it on.

‘Cause the struggle is FUN!

See the smile plastered on my face?

See the threats coming out the clenched teeth?

See the relief when the phone rings?

This is me, every week, struggling with J and his violin lessons. He can’t help it, he’s four. I can’t help it, I’m 35 and have three music degrees.

Signing him up this year was a raging mistake. Shouldn’t have done it, but my common sense was apparently out to lunch that day. Hope it was a good lunch…maybe sushi and saki. Yeah, common sense can go out to lunch for sushi and saki; fast food no.

But it’s one thing to struggle to get him to practice…and damn, it’s a struggle. It’s another thing entirely to go through that struggle, only to have his lesson canceled with an hour notice.

J’s teacher has GOT to be the sickliest person on the planet. We have missed more lessons than have taken this term. I do not want to make them up. I want the term to end and return the teeny tiny violin. The teacher is a nice guy, just doesn’t do all that well with very young kids, and gets sick at the drop of a hat.

On the plus side, I’m sitting here typing instead of dragging him off to a lesson that will end with me grounding him for his poor attitude. And it’s sunny out, so I’m throwing both my children to the park, with express instructions to not return until dinner or Armageddon, whichever comes first.

Ahh…character is built through struggle, right? In that case, my character is a shining example to all around me.

You’re welcome.


Easter morning

(I think wordpress hit sugar crash yesterday afternoon; I tried forever to get this written and posted yesterday. Everything was borked.)

In the wee hours of the morning, when the adults are still snoozing, young boys awaken and sneak down the stairs. They tiptoe into the family room and discover the Easter Bunny has paid a visit! They peek into the baskets and LO! There is candy and it is good. Curiosity of how EB got into the house, of how he digs out the baskets from the basement without waking anyone, of how the Peeps are the exact same ones Mom bought at Target earlier in the week…all this is wiped from their minds as they gaze over the sugar.

Everything else is wiped from their minds within an hour, after 90% of that sugar has been consumed. The parents awaken just in time for the sugar crash, which coincides with breakfast (HA!) and church preparations. Much threatening negotiating ensues.

At least they’re cute.


You crazy insurance company, you

Dear Insurance Company,

Maybe the rates to insure my flock of musical instruments wouldn’t go up every year if you didn’t find it necessary to send me reminder letters that my premium is due six weeks before the due date!

That is all.



Thisclose to sucking

Well, you know you’ve really become a wine-sotted Happy Homemaker when you start obsessing about vacuums. I don’t understand it. One day I was a musician, tootling away happily, and the next thing I knew, I was scouring websites for vacuum reviews.

My current vacuum sucks. Er, rather, doesn’t. And therein lies the problem. Pre-dog, it didn’t really matter. I am way gung-ho about keeping surfaces clean and uncluttered, but the deep cleaning…well, I figure with kids the ages I have, it’s just gonna get filthy again, and why shovel the driveway in a blizzard? I clean when I have company over (and the guys do the bathrooms every weekend), and fantasize about the day when I can hire someone to come do a deep cleaning every three months or so.

Enter Rosie. I love my dog. She is the perfect canine for this family. She is calm, wants only to be loved and have her belly rubbed, and came into my home already trained. I adore my dog.


She sheds like…holy crap, there is no possible analogy for how she sheds. I can do the Furminator. I can brush her with that metal torture-device looking brush thing. I can use a special glove and rub her all over. BUT SHE STILL SHEDS LIKE NOTHIN’ I’VE EVER SEEN. I figure I could easily knit Rosie a companion, but why? She’d just lose her shit over having another dog around.

My vacuum can’t keep up. My vacuum practically went on strike when we moved into this house with the new carpeting. My vacuum is the most temperamental P.O.S. I’ve ever had to deal with. Well, other than the temperamental P.O.S. on which I’m currently typing. Ol’ Hoover can’t keep up. And so I’ve been hitting the vacuum sites on the sly (no point in pissing off the only method of keeping my floors clean).

I’ve pretty much decided on a Dyson Animal D-17 or something like that. I want something that can suck-start a leaf-blower (name that movie). I want something that is going to get Rosie hair out of my couch, out of my carpet, and out of my <name it>. Her hair is everywhere. At the risk of grossing out anyone who plans to visit my humble abode, I have found Rosie hair in sealed containers in my fridge. How? How I ask you?

So once I have recovered from sending Uncle Sam a kidney, half a liver, and the top lobe of my left lung, I’ll be investing in a quality vacuum. I’d lurve to walk around my floors barefoot and enjoy it. I’d lurve to not have Rosie hair all over God’s creation. And I’d lurve to have a vacuum that really, truly sucks.

Throwing in the towel

I’m done. Tired of trying to figure out what to do next with my life. Tired of being a slave to the to-do list. Tired of getting up in the morning and just piddling til I go to bed at night.

So I’m running away to Bermuda with the UPS guy. He already has twelve wives, but wanted one more for an Baker’s dozen. I’m looking forward to it; some warmth and sun is just what I needed.

Tom quit his job and is moving to Alaska to be a deep-sea fisherman. He’s also planning on working on Sarah Palin’s 2012 Presidential campaign. He figures she just didn’t get a fair shake.

The boys were both accepted into Major Tom’s Military Boarding School and Bait Shop. A is looking forward to learning how to use an AK-47 and hooking his own line. J isn’t  too sure about it all, but figures if he gets to learn to cook, then he’s good.

Rosie is going back to school to be a guide dog for the terminally clueless. I keep asking her if this is what she really wants, but I just get this quizzical look and a lick. I guess that’s a yes.

Well, I really should go pack. Wait, I don’t need to pack. As the 13th wife at a nudest colony (oh, did I mention that part?), I’m not going to need much other than sunscreen.


Some answers would be nice

But sometimes there just aren’t any.

I had originally planned to write here about A’s appointment yesterday at the Eosinophilic Esophagitis clinic down at Children’s, and how disappointed I was that nothing really came out of it. They’re kerflumoxed as to why he has the irritation, but we all suspect it’s likely reflux. As for the super-slow digestion, that may just be how he is. And so we play the wait and see game.

I had originally planned to write about what the next step might be, both with his digestive issues and the ADHD, and with the gifted testing I keep waffling on.

I had originally planned to write about how all of that is going to be difficult to follow up on because the IRS wants the left kidney I had planned to sell for the gifted testing and homeopathic workup.

But not today.

I’m writing about two families today. Two families who have never met, to my knowledge, but who are both struggling. The blogosphere is in mourning today for young Maddie Spohr, who passed away unexpectedly yesterday. Her mom, Heather, writes The Spohrs Are Multiplying (I’d link here, but her site is down today from all the traffic). The family has requested that in lieu of flowers and cards, that donations be made to the March of Dimes. Because sites are going down left and right today, I’m linking to A Mom Two Boys for the donation information.

No linkage to the other family out of respect for their privacy. If you know the family, please keep it to yourself. I’m heartbroken for a dear friend, who had to hospitalize her five old son for psychosis. Read that again. A five year old with psychosis. My heart has been so heavy for my friend and her family today. She has done everything possible for her son, everything. I cannot imagine her heartache and pain right now. And she still has another child at home to care for. So in honor of her family, and all families suffering with mental illness, please consider a donation to the National Alliance on Mental Illness. If you’re a fan of the TV show House you can even get a snazzy “Normal’s Overrated” t-shirt. Mental illness is still so taboo, but it’s just an illness, like diabetes, and I’m sure nearly all of know someone with some form of mental illness.

My heart is breaking for both of these families. One has lost a child forever, and the other has lost a child to his mind, hopefully temporarily. I know sometimes I really need a knock upside the head, and this did it. My children, with all their quirks and challenges and difficulties, are alive. And healthy. And coming home this afternoon.

I can’t ask for more than that today.

Monday tidbits

The theme of the day is:


I can’t really say a whole lot more than that, ’cause I get all choked up and teary. And then I have to go blow my nose, and the honking and snot tend to scare people off. A is off to school and I’m letting J do whatever the heck he feels like doing today (shhh…don’t tell him!) because put a fork in me, I’m done. I have a phone conference this afternoon and I’m going out tonight. I can’t wait til the boys are on the same schedule next fall. Only have to survive summer before that little piece of deliciousness can begin. Oh, when does summer vacation start, you ask? Six mother-lovin’ weeks. No, not a typo, A is out on May 15th. I get queasy thinking about it…or was that when I think about what I spent on summer camps? I can’t remember, both send me running for the peppermint tea.

Today is Opening Day and my beloved Cubs are still in first place. AND THAT IS THE LAST I WILL SPEAK OF THEIR RECORD FOR THE REMAINDER OF THE SEASON BECAUSE I AM THAT SUPERSTITIOUS. HEAR ME? STOP TALKING ABOUT THEM FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!!!!! Hmmm…the boys both need new Cubs shirts…online shopping is good and dangerous.

This week begins what I affectionately dub “The Week When Jen Goes Batshit Crazy Cleaning Out Every Freaking Room In The House And Getting Rid Of Crap.” It’s a good thing. The weather (fingers crossed) seems to be evening out (gonna be near 70 tomorrow), so my mojo will start to bud like Roger, The Rhubarb Plant Hell-Bent On World Domination, and I’ll be a cleaning machine. Or I’ll just sit outside and enjoy the nice weather. Perhaps I’ll flip a coin.

And, finally, I was awarded some bling this morning, which made my day ’cause I don’t get a lot of shiny stuff in real life. Well, unless you count the wee little tin foil bits from candy the cherubs shouldn’t be eating all over my floor (no, mom, wasn’t me!). From the lovely Lynn at For Love Or Funny:

friendship-award“The Friendship Award is given to blogs that are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. The winners must choose at least 5 more blogs that embody the feeling of friendship, and include this cleverly written text into the body of their award.”

I needed this today, Lynn, thank you. It’s been a OMG %$^*&#%&#$ long 10 days with the kids home. My brain, it be fried beyond recognition. So now I get to send some lovin’ out into the blogosphere, which makes me happyhappy. Let’s recognize and visit:

Mattcmob (we went to college together and talk more now than we ever did then)

The Clothesline (eventually we’ll meet)

Don’t put boogers in your neighbor’s cereal (best blog title evah)

These are words (friendship is so important)

Pediascribe (ok, leave multiple comments and maybe she’ll revive the blog the server ate and burped back up at her when she moved from Ohio to Florida. I MISS HER!!!)

And now I have a four year old hanging on me, begging for lunch. ‘Cause, you know, the eleventy billion snacks he’s had this morning just can’t hold him over another couple minutes.

Not a lot of freaky as hell stuff today, but that’s ok, I still have good stuff

Oh, I searched to find more freaky as hell stuff in my coupons today, oh how I searched. But the “could hold two small squirmy piglets” bra and the “for the truly unsexed” mens jeans just couldn’t hold a candle to the freaky baby and the creepy monkey of previous weeks. Maybe I’ll hit the jackpot next week. Actually, I know what I need…hmmm…wheels are turning, there’s a slight scent of smoke in the air, I must be thinking…

But instead, let’s look at how the times are a’changin’. Are you familiar with the Vermont Country Store catalog? I’m sure you’ve gotten one in the mail at one time in your life. I usually get mine in the fall, in time for the holiday gift-giving season. I love flipping through the pages, imagining days gone by. The long nightgowns, the old-fashioned favorite candies (OMG! Chuckles! I haven’t seen those in ages! But where are the vanilla cream drops?), the vibrators

<insert sound of scratched record here>

Jen, did you say vibrators? Yes, indeed, Google Searchers, I said vibrators. I will now also say dildos and “impo-aid”, AKA cock-ring. (Holy hell, the searches I’m gonna get off this post…) The Vermont Country Store catalog now has an “intimate solutions” section. Instead of hitting a home party, I can now order lube and vibrators and pubic hair coloring (really? pubic hair coloring? why?) from the privacy of my own home. So can Great-Granny (I don’t actually have a Great-Granny, but the fact that she and I could possibly share on shipping on the matching vibrators is going to result in an extra glass of wine tonight).

I heard about this a few weeks ago, in the midst of the Virus That Will Not Effing Die (and it’s close cousin, the Virus That Returns From The Dead, is trying to visit as I type), and forgot all about it. Until about ten minutes ago, when I started typing and desperately needed something to type about and now I’m sitting here giggling like a 12 year old boy.

Oh, the times, they are a’changin’. I have to agree with the proprieter’s outlook on sex and aging, that as the population ages, they’re still gonna want a little boom chicka wahwah and aren’t really going to go out to a sex store or host a home party (though I’d really recommend Slumber Parties, ’cause they’re a riot and a great excuse to have girlfriends over for drinks and laughs. Oh, and sex toys.).  But to see the “intimate solutions” in the comforting, black and white pages of the Vermont Country Store catalog brings out my inner 12 year old. I’m thrilled that such a catalog is providing this service for its aging clients, but really, it makes me laugh. It’s so modern and jolting in an old-fashioned catalog where I can still buy Tired Old Ass Soak and beautiful old glassware. It would be like going to Great-Granny’s house, putting away her soft old towels, breathing in the scent of her fresh soap, and finding her (ahem) personal pleasure device. My eyes, my eyes!!!

Good for you, Vermont Country Store. Good for you, for stepping out on a limb, taking the criticism and the (giggle) laughs. Just, bring back the vanilla cream drops. Those things rock.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.