chopped liver.

My daughter had her first real sleepover on Wednesday night.

Her friend Haley from kindergarten called on Tuesday and invited her to spend the night and then go to the waterpark with her family on Thursday afternoon. They have not seen each other since school let out in the spring. (remember how long those summers used to be???)

So on Wednesday, when it was nearly time to leave, I asked her, "You aren't nervous, are you?" and she looked at me like I was insane and said, "WHY would I be nervous?? I know Haley!" and I said, "Well, I know, but you will be staying at a house that you have never been to before. I just don't want you to be nervous or scared. If you get scared, you know our phone number, so you can call me."

She said, "Mom. I am not going to be nervous. See, I am kind of like Kuncle. I like adventures and going new places. I don't get scared about things like that."

Kunkle is my brother. Nathan recently sold all of his belongings and left in a pickup truck from Fayetteville, Arkansas to Tampa, Florida to try to find a job and live on the beach and drink Corona's all day. Elizabeth thinks he is a modern day Indiana Jones.

Obviously, that puts me into the "not-adventurous" category.

Well, it rained all day yesterday, so they didn't get to go to the waterpark, so Haley's mom took them to the movie instead. I picked her up on the way home from work yesterday, and she and Haley both were begging for one more night together. We promised that we would do it again soon.

We get in the car, and she starts telling me all the things that they did. Haley's mom did this, and then Haley's mom did that, and Haley's mom is building a rocket ship, and she makes everything from scratch, and her house is clean all the time, and she never yells and she plays Hilary Duff CD's in the car without complaint, and and and and.

If that wasn't enough to make me feel like a complete failure as a parent, THEN she says, "I wish Haley was my sister and you were in the family, too."

I asked her, "What does that mean? How am I going to be in the family??" Thinking she is going to want two moms living in the same house.... ummm, no.

"I would like for Haley to be my sister, and Haley's mom to be my mom, and maybe you could be my aunt."

ouch.

random observation

Nothing ruins the fun of the redneck love pool than finding that a valiant squirrel has lost his or her life in a horrific drowning accident... Thank GOD we saw it before we got in, in the dark, or I would have seriously thrown up and then died right along beside the poor dear.

Elizabeth Van Gogh

As I have mentioned, Elizabeth plans on being an artist when she grows up. Not having had supportive parents growing up myself, I try to be super supportive on everything she is interested in.

Last week, she got to attend Art Camp. A full week of art projects using every medium available.

On Friday, they held an art showing for the parents and grandparents. Due to my shitty job, and a nervous breakdown that I had there, Marty, my aunt, Colby and I were late. She was upset and I feel like THE WORST mother in the world. By the time we got there, most of the other kids had already taken their art home. (The guilt is pressing on me now, and I am about to cry.)

One fun thing I did, however, is that she wanted more "artistic" hair for her showing.... So I gave her a couple of red streaks using food coloring... I think I got "non-toxic" confused with "not - permanent" because for some reason I was stunned when it didn't wash out last night... Ooops! It was worth it though, because I got the old, "OH MY GOSH!! I LOOK SO COOL! YOU ARE THE BEST MOTHER IN THE WORLD!" routine... Yes, that was obviously before I was 15 minutes late to the show...

Either way, here are three photos of her artwork. She was getting punchy and ready to go so I didn't get any photos of their other 37 projects. (Oh, and the shirt was a project, too.)

Her oil painting of "Flower as Sun"





















Her chalk rendition of an island in Hawaii:













Here is where she was getting irritated with my photography because none of the other moms were taking pictures, so she over dramatized her joy... It also shows her Trash To Treasure project... a string puppet bird.

Just 6 random tangents... because I have nothing else to discuss

1. I really think that Mr. Clean Magic erasers are made with real magic. I don't understand how two swipes with that thing, can do what bleach, or soap, or comet, or SOS pads can't. AND it isn't messy, AND it doesn't smell bad, AND it isn't really very hard to use. Very weird. And magical.

2. It is always odd / funny to me when people that I meet don't have extended family. "Oh, it is just me and my mom. That is how it has always been." Then what do you DO?? Who do you talk about??? I seriously have well over 100 first and second cousins, altogether. Marty's family is much smaller, but still not small. He has a brother, a sister, and two step sisters. And two sets of parents. (As do I.)

3. An Elizabethism: We were in the car yesterday, and she said, "Mom, can you please give Toppee (her stuffed dog, her lovey since she was a baby) a bath? His fur is getting rough."

I replied with, "It is getting RUFF!! Of course it is getting RUFF!!! He is a dog!! RUFF RUFF!!!"

She didn't even really laugh, just kind of half smiled and said, "Mom, that was actually kind of funny. You should have been a vegetarian."

*ba dum dum*

4. My land line telephone service provider offers voice mail instead of having to use an answering machine. I loved it at first, but now it is getting to be a pain in the ass, because: a) there is no blinky light to tell you that you have messages so I forget to check it, and when I remember there are usually 27 messages... 17 of which say, "I need you to call me RIGHT NOW."... and they were left 4 days ago. And b) the machine cuts off the first few seconds of most messages. Not generally a big deal, until you get messages like I got this morning (that was left on wednesday, btw) that say, "....ach Natalie. It is very important that you try to call Mrs. Daniels back as soon as possible." Who the hell is Mrs. Daniels? First, I try to remember what bills I am behind on, and whether I am behind enough that they would be calling me. Then I try to think of any other reason that a Mrs. Daniels would be calling me through another person, instead of calling me herself. Because of my positive outlook on life, (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! HA!!! HA!!!!) that generally leads to what I believe is called, "delusions of grandeur"... Then I convince myself that:

Mrs. Daniels is Oprah's booking agent, calling to invite me to her Favorite Things show.

or

Mrs. Daniels is from Extreme Makeover, they want to build me a house because... ummm... wait. I haven't done anything House Building Worthy. So maybe Mrs. Daniels is:

From What Not To Wear. That would be a little closer to the truth.

Or

She is from Jerry Springer... Marty is actually a male prostitute that has been sleeping with my mother and stepfather for money... but dressed as a woman.

Or

I won the camera from the photo contest that I entered... oh wait. I haven't entered yet.

For the record, she was a bill collector. *sigh*

5. I have a bad feeling I am never going to get out of this house. As in sell this house. I told Marty I wanted it to be on the market in one year, but it is just not going to happen. I am going to be ninety seven years old and still living in this damn too-small house. The thought makes my heart race. In a bad way.

6. I am home for the day with a sick Colby. Colby does not do "sick" well. And Elizabeth has an art show today. Yeah, I wanna get pregnant again. You betcha.

"Meet my son... the future Norman Bates."

(That title made me giggle.)

Ok, here is the thing. I am insane.

Not like "that cutie / wacky / off-beat / nutty or goofy girl" , but seriously "Needs Medical Attention" insane.

This morning, my little Colby came in the bathroom as I was about to get into the shower and was pulling at his diaper and saying, "Pee Pee Pah-heee."

WHAT?? "What honey?" I said, thinking I must have misunderstood him since we are not potty training AT ALL.

He is still trying to push his diaper down like a pair of pants and saying, "I peepee pah--heeee."

Well you can't, son. Because you are A BABY and you are MY BABY and probably my LAST BABY so, I am SORRY but you can't peepee on the pah-heee. So, lets go get a fresh diaper and hush up with that silly pah-ee nonsense!!!

Ok, I really didn't say that, but I wanted to. I took off his diaper and sat him on the potty and stood there for about 5 minutes and then tried to get him down, and he screamed, "NO!! I peepee pah-HEEEEE!!!" So I put him back up there, and went ahead and got in the shower. He sat there the whole time I was in the shower, proud as punch, with his chubby little feet dangling down. I finally had to force him off so that I could get him dressed and all of us out the door.

He never did actually peepee on the pah-hee, thank goodness!!!! YAY COLBY!!!

HANG UP AND DRIVE

I know I am in the EXTREME minority here, but I hate cell phones.

THREE times this morning, I almost got hit by cell phone drivers. One guy pulled right out in front of me and I had to swerve into the (thankfully) empty opposite lane, to keep from getting hit. As I drove past him, I beeped my horn, to let him know he almost killed me and my babies. HE WAVED at me, and kept talking. OMG!! I don't KNOW you!!! F-ing DRIVE.

The next time, I am approaching a stop sign, and a log truck driver pulls in, and of course has to swing wide into my lane. He is also on his phone, and just keeps on pulling in... he is LOOKING RIGHT AT ME. THERE ARE CARS BEHIND ME and I have no where to go. I started blaring my horn and I literally saw his "Oh, crap!" expression, before he stopped and allowed time for everyone behind me to back up.

The last lady had the right of way, and I am at yet another stop sign. She stops. She has no stop sign. She waves me on, and keeps talking on her damn phone. I point that I have a stop sign. Her son in the seat beside her points out to her that she needs to go. She STILL waves me on, and I get pissed and pull on out, about the same time that she figures out that she has the right a way... she seriously missed me by inches. And if she had hit me, my f-ing insurance would have had to pay, because I didn't have the right of way.

I hate cell phones. I hate them. I hate them in cars. I hate them in restaurants, I hate them in places of business where it is apparently no longer against the rules to have your cell on while you are working. I hate that teachers in Colby's day care all have them attached to their belts so that they can (technically) have a big screaming fight with their boyfriend while my son puts crayons up his nose. (just an example, I don't know why he put crayons - or bananas or chunks of plastic or marker lids - up his nose.) I hate having a damn conversation with someone and they tell me to "hang on" because someone important is calling. I HATE BEING ON THE RECEIVING END OF A DROPPED CALL. OMG. There is nothing more annoying than someone calling ME and saying "sspppkkkssss soooskkkkkkssss msorskssksksksssssss" WHAT???? Call me back on a real phone, or I can't help you. Can you tell this topic makes me insane??

And while I am going off... I HATE the new ear clippy phone things. First of all, you don't look cool, you look like an alien. Secondly, most people think you are talking to yourself, therefore are insane, and someone to be scared of.

So there.

And before you ask, yes I have one. BUT I never have it with me, as all my friends can tell you. Generally if you call it, you get Marty. He is a cell phone, eating, drinking, digging for crap in the floor, driver. And he thinks it is funny that he has never had a wreck and I have had three. (But they were ALL in 1993, before I learned to drive in traffic.)

Ok, I am done. Hopefully I have not ticked everyone off. (Hello?? You still there?? You are coming back right?? When I said "you look like an alien"... I didn't mean YOU.)

"It's not a toomah"

Have I ever mentioned that I am a hypochondriac??

Well, I am. I have been since I was a kid. I have learned over the years to not voice my concerns over illnesses, because my family thinks it is one big joke. If I complain of a sinus infection, my dad will say, "I bet it is sinus cancer. You need to get an MRI." If I complain of a headache, my aunt will say, "It is probably an anuerism, just on the verge of popping."

For a few months, I subscribed to this Medical Encyclopedia thing where you paid $13 a month and they would send you 20 cards every three weeks or so to fill your three-ring medical binder. I did this for about six months until Marty got tired of coming home from work and finding me crying and clutching ten of the twenty cards and proclaiming, "I have ALL these symptoms!! ALL!!" and he cancelled my order and threw the binder away.

I am educated enough about this to know that I am insane, and that my hypochondria hits when I have other issues going on in my life. Kind of like my overeating disorder. I fill my anxiety with tacos, and my fear that the plastic that I heated them up in has just started my tumor growing.

I have been really stressed lately about money, my parenting skills, money, my dumpster house, money, my job, my boss, and money.

And two days ago, the joint in the right side of my jaw started hurting. It has gotten worse. I asked Marty if he had noticed me grinding my teeth in my sleep or anything, but he has not. However, I could probably use a power drill on my teeth in my sleep right beside him and he would never know it. I don't know how he is a fireman, as heavy as he sleeps.

So by this morning, I convinced myself that I have a small tumor in my jaw joint. I got so worked up about it that I started having a panic attack and got short of breath. Then I convinced myself that it had already spread to my lungs and that was why I couldn't breathe.

I made myself stop before I started writing good-bye letters to my family, and made myself go out for a walk.

I got hit with a bout of this about 5 months ago, and Marty made me go to the doctor to get a complete physical. Everything came back fine. Everything.

But my damn jaw still hurts.

The Little Pool That Could

A couple of weeks ago, I promised the kids I would buy them a swimming pool. I had ulterior motives; I really just needed to clean up the breezeway, and I can't leave them unattended in the house for fear that they will drink bleach or stick my car keys in the outlets, or play dominos in the toilet water. (I threw away the dominos, by the way.) So a pool was a good solution, as I could set it up right outside the breezeway, and clean while I watched over them.

But apparently Wal-Mart cleared out their cheap kiddie pool inventory to make room for Christmas decorations, because all they had was the much more expensive, round, pump variety.

Being the penny pinching tightwad that I am, I debated for over half an hour over the smallest pool... which was $45.99. (quite a bit smaller than the one pictured, and without a ladder... I couldn't find the exact one online.)

It was the best $45.99 that I have spent in a long, long time.

Marty and I discovered that we can sit on the bottom and the water comes up to our necks.

So every night, we have been putting the kids to bed, waiting until we are sure they are fast asleep, then fixing some martini's for me, and beers for him, ("fixing" a beer means popping the tab and sticking it in a coozie) and we go out and relax in our pool under the stars for at least an hour. It has been so nice. I had forgotten what it was like to actually enjoy each others company, without talking to someone while on the computer, or talking to someone while they are on the computer and not listening to what I say, just muttering "oh?" "ah" "hmm" every time I pause, or trying to talk to someone who is watching Monster Garage, or just going to bed alone and reading while the other stays up and watches tv until they fall asleep on the couch.

It has been a reconnection.

And now, we are even getting greedy with our time. We left the kids at my mom's on Sunday and went on an actual date. We dressed up and went out to eat, and then went to see Superman Returns. (NO flack on this. I am a Superman addict. How can you not LOVE Superman? I have seen the Christopher Reeves ones until I have them memorized. I think Marty was actually a bit embarrassed to be seen with me, because I gasped and yelped and covered my eyes, and squealed and grinned... he kept whispering, "It is SUPERMAN for crying out loud?? Why are you so surprised? What did you THINK was going to happen???" I wish Superman were real. *sigh*) Then we drove around Hot Springs and stayed out half the night.

It is like, after years of passing in the night, we have rediscovered each other. It is nice.

Don't get me wrong, we still have issues. He still spends money like the garden is truly going to sprout tomatoes full of $20's, and he still doesn't notice that the house is dirty and needs to be picked up, and I still get bitchy about little things, but the little things aren't as big to me anymore.

Now I just look forward to getting in the pool.

yin and yang

Yen: Today I picked up Elizabeth from her first day at Farm Camp. Of all the camps that I have scrimped and saved to send her to this summer, she has been the most excited about this one. And her little face when she got off that bus was just glowing. (well, she was sunburnt, but she was joyous too.) She couldn't talk enough about all the fun she had. "We rode HORSES and I named mine Milk Chocolate Fudge because she was just the color of fudge and she was so SWEET and we fed CHICKENS and they STUNK, and they had a PETTING ZOO and we got to pet a cat that had been ATTACKED by a DOG, how mean is that? And I got to shoot a bow and arrow!! But I didn't hit the thing!! But I shot at it THREE TIMES and we built SAND CASTLES and I made two new best FRIENDS and guess what ELSE???" She hands me a little envelope. I open it up, and inside is a blue ribbon. My sweet girl won Camper of the Day on her very first day at camp for her positive attitude and willingness to try anything and for being helpful to the other kids. I was nearly weepy with happiness. I hung the ribbon on my rearview mirror, so that "all the other drivers could see that I had the Camper of the Day in MY car!"

Yang: We then went to the daycare to pick up Colby. He was redfaced and sullen. He grabbed up his didgee and immediately put it over his entire head, as if to shut out the day. I grabbed his daily sheet and noticed that the "notes" section was full. To paraphrase: "Colby had a really rough day today. Nothing I did seemed to make him happy, so I finally just left him be. He wouldn't listen in group, and even put his fingers in his ears when we tried to get him to join the songs. At lunch, he did not touch his food. (Except to throw his sandwich on the floor and stomp on it.) No big deal, tomorrow is another day. Hopefully we will both feel better tomorrow! :)." That isn't exactly right, because I am typing from memory, but you get the gist.

So which kid is really mine, and which one was switched at birth?

Hello! My Name is________

I have not been feeling myself lately. I don't know what is wrong with me. I am alternately sad, joyful, depressed and nostalgic. I don't want to sit still, but can't think of anything to do. I am tired, but don't want to go to bed.

I made the joke at lunch with Marty the other day that I think I may be going through the Change of Life. He looked horrified and said, "I hope not!" and I said, "Why would it matter?" and he said, "Because we have not had our last baby yet!!"

Excuse me?? "Uh, yes we have. His name is Colby and he is at daycare. Have you two not met? I will introduce you later."

We have had this conversation a lot lately. Marty wants one more and has said that he would like for me to be pregnant this time next year. In theory, I would like to have another kid. "Kid" being the operative term here. Like, when Colby starts kindergarten, maybe we could adopt a 7 year old. Then we would have an instant playmate for both children. The thought of going through the sleepless nights, and the diaper bags and bottles and blankets and carrier car seats and drool and spitup and all those other baby things, makes me break out in hives. (*itch, itch, itch*) It is easy for him to say he wants another, because he doesn't have to DO anything. I am 90% responsible for all the child rearing duties. I don't mind it. In fact, if anything, I feel sorry for him.

Friday Night Campouts are a fine example. Every friday night, Marty seems to be gone. He is either working, or out with his buddies. I am usually giddy with joy at not having to go to work for two days, and Friday Night Campouts kind of evolved from that.

Every friday, after I pick up Colby from school, we go to the video store. Each kid picks out a video. Then we go to (cover your eyes) McDonalds, and get Happy Meals. Then we come home, put all the couch cushions and pillows on the floor, eat Happy Meals in our pajamas and watch movies. Then we sleep on the floor.

And Marty misses it every week. It is sad.

Of course, he also misses the ketchup on the pillows and the fight over movies and the fight over who gets to lay on Mama, and all the bad stuff too.

The Weirdo-Gene Verses Nurture

I have heard the stories a million times. When I was a wee tot, I had a blanket that went everywhere with me. I called it my "gunk". It was a quilt my grandmother made, and had little bonneted girls all over it. My mom still has what it left of that blanket, which, sadly is not much. Bits and pieces of dirty, scruffy cloth, held together by an extra strong stitch here and there.

The odd thing was, before I could go to sleep, or if I was really upset and needed calming, I would take an edge of the blanket, and rub the side of my nose, then my ear, then the corner of my eye, while sucking my thumb with the other hand. I would repeat this circle until I fell asleep or was sufficiently calm.

All my life, my mom and dad have teased me about my gunk. About how weird that was...

And now I have produced a second generation of weird blanket people.

When we took Colby's bed apart, he freaked. And in the middle of his screaming tantrum, he ripped the fitted sheet off of the mattress that we had up against the wall... and he has hardly let it out of his sight since.

(I am sure the child psychologist people would say that his attachment is part of us taking his bed apart too early, and thus forcing him into a toddlerhood that he was not ready for. Well, then he shouldn't have been diving out of his bed on to the hardwood every night.)

He calls it his "didgee". He will not eat unless didgee is in his lap. He cannot ride quietly in the car, unless he has didgee to hold. When he is busy playing, it is either over his shoulder Linus-style, or it is wrapped around his neck like a really ugly scarf. The only time he is without it is at daycare, because they don't allow personal items from home. And the most heartbreaking thing of all is that each morning, when it is time to get out of the car, he puts didgee to his face, and inhales deeply... and then gives it a hug and a kiss. (I worry about the day when we "lose" didgee, because I can't find a backup anywhere.)

And the weirdo part? When he is tired, or very upset, he takes a small piece of the sheet and rubs his nose, and then his ear. While he sucks his thumb with the other hand.

Hopefully he will turn out better adjusted than I am!

"Nobody panic!! Everything is going to be ok!! I am a waiter!!"

Another peeve of mine emerged today. (They sure are piling up around here, aren't they?)

My aunt and I went to the local pizza place, where they offer a lunch buffet. We had a very pretty, very vacuous waitress. "Um, were yall like, wanting the buffet??" she asks.

"Sure," we reply.

"Well, like, it's over? But like, you can have the buffet and eat the leftovers?"

A quick perusal of the buffet made that decision for us, since the pizza looked like it had been there since yesterday. So we asked for menus.

She came back a few minutes later. I ordered a personal pan pizza for the kids to share, and a sandwich for me. My aunt says, "I would like the create a pasta, with tomatoes, onions, and..."

At which point the waitress sighed and said, "Hang on, I am going to have to go get my notebook. I can't remember all that."

Which leads into my complaint. This seems to be the normal thing to do at restaurants lately... "I am such a good waiter that I can remember everything everyone orders all day, and never touch pen to paper."

Hey, guess what? I DON'T CARE. I would 1,000,000 times rather have the comfort and safety of someone writing down what I order. Too many things can go wrong, and in my case, always does. All it takes is Waiter seeing Waitress bend over to pick up a box of spilled straws and suddenly my turkey melt turns into a Ham Sub.

My friends and family and co-workers will attest that I have the Restaurant Curse. No matter how simple my order, it always comes back wrong. It used to be a big joke, but over the years, it has become less funny. I can even go to Subway and WATCH them make my sandwich and wrap it and put it in the bag, and when I get back to the office, I have someone else's sandwich. I cannot tell you how many times this has happened. It is like a magic trick gone horribly wrong.

Either way, why is it becoming accepted to not write down orders?? Seriously, I want to know. Does anyone know? It seems like a bad idea all around. Food being constantly sent back, waiters forgetting orders, customers getting pissed...

For the record, my sandwich was right, except they left off the onions. I like onions. But I ate it anyway.