I Tremble, They're Gonna Eat Me Alive

Yesterday I had the opportunity to go to a friend's house and check out her garden. Actually, it's not just her garden - she and a mutual friend tend to it. It's humongous.

And when I say "garden" I mean garden, as in nearly enough to feed two families -- which consist of 11 people total.


I'm totally stealing her tomato staking ideas.


Or, at least, I'm gonna make Aaron do it. After all, he is in charge of the veggies.







She also has teenagers, lot of 'em. Like, over two million. Or five. You pick. This one was exhausted from making gluten-free banana bread and a gluten-free blueberry cake.

Which? I can say? YUM.

After the garden tour, my friend's oldest (he's 14) decided to "entertain" us which was really horrible jokes and stories of his antics, like getting kicked out of his girlfriend's house and trying to insinuate I am old enough to have been in Grease (am NOT, by the way) and jumping on the back of my van and holding on while I drove around his neighborhood. Little does he know, I'm moving from teaching the three and four year-olds at "church" (which, by the way, all my friends now call their own churches church-with-out-quotation-marks, as well they should with all their Jesus love) to teaching his class of 12 to 14 year-olds.

And let the torture begin.

Hey, They Say That a Stitch in Time Saves Nine

"So, guess what I did today."

"What?"

"Dude, guess."

"I don't know. What?"

"I cleaned up downtown."

"You cleaned up downtown?"

"Yes."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Because I have my annual vajayjay on Thursday."

"Wait a minute.. you cleaned up for your doctor?"

"Duh. I can't be going in there with her thinkin' I'm majoring in Forestry or something."

::blink::

"What?"

"It's just... but it's for me too, right?"

"NO. Not for you."

"Stupid OB, stealing all my thunder."

And You Get in Your Car and You Drive Real Far

Griffin started back at school, this week. Second grade. Have mercy.


He went two half days, which were more like let's fuck up your days, parents, because the public school system isn't asshole enough. So two half days were enough for Griffin to beg to drop out and go to blacksmithing school.

I had to point out that they probably won't teach String Theory.

Griffin said second grade wouldn't either.

I was SERVED by a seven year old.

Darwin went to Kindergarten Orientation.


"Kindergarten Orientation" is code for parents to fill out paperwork and kids to play with Legos. That gave him a stupendous false sense of reality. "Kindergarten is awesome! I get to play with Legos ALL THE TIME!"

On his first day of school, he was a wee bit shy until her met this little lady five minutes after arriving.


"I'm the Mack Daddy and the Daddy Mack."

I am, and will continue to be, SO ROYALLY FUCKED in regards to these boys and their charms.

So now both boys are in school all day. All day. ALL DAY. This means seven hours a day of pure, unadulterated FREEDOM for me. FOR SEVEN HOURS A DAY, FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

Obviously, you may not get it, but this means I can have a phone conversation uninterrupted, I can go to the bathroom and not have an audience, I can buy groceries without whining, CAN YOU HEAR THE ANGELS SING?!

It Seems I Don't Get Time Out Anymore

"Darwin? What are you doing?"


"I'm shielding Griffin's eyes from the sun. It's called TEAMWORK, Mom. GET THAT BATTLE DROID, GRIFF!"

You're Bangin' Your Head Again

"So do you think you managed to wash all the poison oak off?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'm much less itchy."

"Okay, good."

"Uh-oh..."

"Uh-oh?"

"Um... where I got into the oak I'm shiny..."

"Shiny?"

"Yeah, shiny."

"Um... did you get something like sap on you?"

"I don't know..."

"Is it sticky?"

"No, it's like stripper glitter and it's all over."

"Stripper glitter?"

"Does poison oak look like stripper glitter?"

"I don't think so... um, which soap did you use?"

"OHMYGOD I'M COVERED IN STRIPPER GLITTER! The poison oak is everywhere!"

"Aaron, WHAT SOAP did you use? Did you use the new soap? Or the regular soap?"

"...STRIPPER GLITTER..."

"WHAT SOAP DID YOU USE?"

"That doesn't matter, ohmygod, this is gonna be painful!"

"AARON. WHAT. SOAP. DID. YOU. USE?"

"Huh? Why?"

"My new soap makes you sparkle. Did you use that?"

"Oh, the stuff with minerals? Yeah, I used that."

"Well, that's why you're covered in stripper glitter. It's not poison oak, it's my soap."

"You mean, I'm suppose to sparkle?"

"Well, I don't sparkle when I use it, but you sure as hell do."

"So, it's not the poison oak? It's your soap that's got me covered in stripper glitter?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good. Whew. It's kinda pretty."

"Yes, your sparkles are very pretty."

Is Your Bed Made?

This weekend I was catching up with my feedreader and caught this great post and I thought, now there's something I can get behind.

I get it quite often, the whole "How do you do it all?" bidness of being a full-time work at home mom, kids on summer vacation, keeping on top of the house, making sure the dog doesn't piddle on the floor, husband constantly going on business trips, not rotting my kids' brains with too much Spongebob and all I got to say is I FAIL.

I FAIL A LOT.

I don't think - and I certainly don't hope - I come off as one of those people who has her shit together because I don't. I don't, I don't, I don't and I'm not about to give anyone (or my future self) some false identity of lo, life is grand and I gots my shit together.

I'm not a happy-ness blogger. I'm not a let's-linger-over-coffee-for-awhile person. I'm more of a choke-it-down-we-got-shit-to-do person. And no offense to anyone who is like that, rather in real life or on the internet (because, hey, I love reading blogs like that) but that's not me.

I haven't made my bed since I was in sixth grade.

I'm happy if I can remotely keep the bathroom clean (and I live with three boys).

We dig clean clothes out of laundry baskets.

I sweep the floors when my feet have big chunks of yuck on them - not before.

I make Aaron pick up Chipotle for dinner at least once a week.

I fall asleep if I'm not doing something with my hands.

My sewing area is (and has been for months) covered with the boys' school papers.

I haven't scrapbooked since... April? I think?

I rarely comment on my friends' posts. (BIG MASSIVE FAIL.)

I don't click over from the feedreader to read posts.

I still haven't unpacked from my trip over a week ago.

I have two car seats sitting in my living room because I have NO WHERE ELSE IN MY HOUSE TO PUT THEM.

I haven't downloaded pictures off my cameras IN WEEKS.

I'm quite certain I have kitchen counters somewhere, but just don't ask me where.

My garden exploded and I'm officially avoiding the mess.

My kids watch television.

Yes, there's quite a few things I do right (and I've officially become a workaholic) - I cook a lot for three people with outrageous allergies, we take an evening walk, I put work aside to interact with my kids (usually) but I most certainly do not have my shit together. Never have, likely never will.

And I'm okay with that.