And I Remember the Thunder

Last Wednesday night we had an unexpected thunderstorm.

It was everything a summer storm should be: lightening, thunder, rain pounding on the windows. It was glorious.

On Friday my house began to smell like ass.

::blink, blink::

Seriously. Ass.

A few weeks prior, Aaron had gotten all crazy-productive and trimmed up some bushes in the front yard. Bushes that had over grown and fully blocked the basement windows from sunlight. Turns out, they also blocked them from rain.

So, the "office" in the basement completely flooded.

I put "office" in quotes because it's suppose to be the office but is really more a dumping ground for old magazines, miscellaneous papers, old baby clothes and all sorts of other crap.

On Saturday Aaron pulled out the completely-flooded, starting-to-mold rug (the major component in making the house smell like ass) and I began to do large loads of laundry with boiling hot water and bleach to salvage as much clothing as possible.

I spent the day yesterday filling two trash bags with trash, three bags full of stuff to donate and bag full of recyclable.


Of course, I had to go through every damn magazine that wasn't moldy and rip pages out of it to keep. For what, I haven't figured out yet.

And I'm keeping all my Martha's. I can't seem to get rid of those. Why is that?

So, the room is about a fourth of the way cleared out. A fourth. Oh my holy hell, a fourth.

I'm trying to make myself believe this fiasco is just what we needed to jump-start the reorganization of the basement. But seriously, why did it take the basement smelling like ass to get me to do it?

She Loves to be One of the Girls

Yesterday we had another Kansas City(ish) crafty blogger meet-up.

Lots of awesome people were able to come this time. And Jenny hosted again. And since someone is pregnant, we decided to also make it a surprise baby shower.

baby gift from me: a minky blanket and two mini-moopies

We had a great time and talked about everything (as usual) (we're a gabby bunch).


And it was great to have an afternoon out, especially since Aaron left for a business trip today and our basement flooded last week and oh shit, I'll just bitch about all that tomorrow.

Does it Feel That Your Life's Become a Catastrophe?

So.... good news: the bone in the nose is not broken.

Bad news: the cartilage is.

Let's look at the photographic evidence.... Before:


Nice, normal, cute little nose. Right? Right.

After:


The Barbara Streisand nose. Oh my fuck.

So. Yeah. Hi. The cartilage in my nose is broken. I now have a nice knot on my nose. Everything is swollen and I can't breathe.

I have to give my nose a month to heal. If I still have the lump and/or breathing problems, then I get to go visit an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist and have plastic surgery to fix it. My nose is the last place I would have ever considered having plastic surgery before this.

Wanna know the worst part? The damn doctor didn't even give me any good pain pills. The bastard.

It's the Only Way to Breathe

Last night as I was lying on the couch, bitching and moaning about the heat, Darwin entered the room. Next thing I know, I'm screaming in pain.

It turned out Darwin decided to pelt me with a wooden train, landing squarely on the center of my nose.

Mike's Tender, aka Darwin's Weapon of Mass Destruction

So, yeah, it bled a little and I popped an assload of motrin and stuck an ice pack on my face and ate 20 bazillion popsicles and I figured everything would just be okay.

Well, this morning it was hurting more so I just ate more pain reliever like it was gluten-free candy and just tried to get on with my day. Sure, my nose is shiny and red but, hey! It's summer!

Then this afternoon I realized I was breathing through my mouth. I can't breathe through my nose. My nose and sinuses are really read and swollen. Then I decided to email Michelle and be all woe is me and my nose hurts and she was all duh, doncha think you need to see the doctor? and I was all huh, didn't think of that.

So, of course it's too late in the day to get an appointment (slackass) and the doctor recommended I go to the emergency room. And I'm thinking, uh, no thanks, I'll go to urgent care in the morning and save fifty bucks because, you know, I still have priorities.


Like keeping the children from stealing my ice pack. Priorities.

You Might Think I'm Crazy to Hang Around With You or Maybe You Think I'm Lucky to Have Somethin' to Do

What the hell? Halloween decorations already?


(I have no shame! No shame! Welcome to my messy kitchen counters! No shame!)

It doesn't help that the boys are total Halloween junkies. Griffin lives and dreams in aliens, ghosts and monsters. If some sort of goblin decided to secretly deliver him thousands of Legos, Griffin would be in holiday heaven.

So we have a good 30 more days of hellish heat. Because, damn yo, I'm tired of not having any energy and wittiness. What few brain cells I have are all too busy bitching about the heat to do anything else.

Be Near Me, Be Near

I guess, perhaps, I'm a really bad mother.


Because I do not understand how in times such as these, dirty, stained, sweaty, very most favorite turtle shirts must be worn no matter what.

Hey Baby, Hey Baby, Hey

"Hey, Mommy?"

"Yes, Griffin?"

"You see that baby on t.v?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Isn't it cute?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Doncha wish you could reach into the t.v. and take it and put it in your belly?"

Can't You See That I Am Losing My Marbles? It's Marvelous, Losing Another, Losing Another

You know, I'm really tired of bitching about the heat. But seriously, there's nothing else to bitch about.


Oh, right. There is my hair. My fucking too short, won't even get off my neck in five (five!) ponytails, ridiculously incompetent hair.

And I suppose I could bitch about money. And writing jobs that are actually disguises for advertising campaigns (where has our ethical code gone?).

Or I could complain about this being Aaron's last week in town before he goes on a three-to-four week business trip, oh my hell.

But meh, it's too hot to bitch and complain.

Let's see... good news... good news.. hmmm... good news... oh! Yes! I got some sewing time this weekend. But I can't ruin my friend's birthday surprise so I have to hold off till next Monday. Damn.

You would like me to bitch about that?

'Cause You Know it Don't Matter Anyway

Summer is kicking my ass.

Why is it my children have to go against the grain and get more sick in summer than they do any other season.

Oh, wait. It's because they are my kids and have figured out my secret of fucking everything up. Yes! That's why!

Grrrrrrrrrr...

So. Griffin's been complaining of a stomach ache for about a month. I took him to the doctor earlier this week and as far as they can tell, nothing is wrong. So we took him off fruit punch. He seems to be fine now. Of course, I decided if Griffin was giving up fruit punch I'd give up my Pepsi and WooWeeBoy does iced coffee ever have an ass load of caffeine in it. Wheeeeeeeee...

Now, Darwin on the other hand. He can't stop pooping. He's a non-stop pooper now for the past three days. I'm talking at least a dozen poopy diapers a day, no lie. And his ass? Is totally red. And he's acting like a brat (imagine that! a sore butt and child acting like a brat ALL AT THE SAME TIME, I bet you can't wrap your mind around that one).

Welcome to my life: tummy aches and sore butts.

I Can Do it in the Water, I Can Do it On Dry Land, I Can Do it with Instruments, I Can Do it with My Own Bare Hands

After the kids go to bed, we usually try to catch up on some of recordings of the DVR (so worth that extra five bucks a month, you have no idea).

Last night we settled in to watch Eureka.

In case you haven't been wise enough to be watching Eureka, it's a show about ubber-smart nerds in a town that invents outrageous stuff working for the government. A "regular guy" and his teenage daughter stumble upon the town and he ends up being the sheriff. He's not a nerd but he is most certainly the town hero.

ANYWAY.

We were watching Eureka and one of the characters, Fargo, who always manages to fuck things up gets his hands on a Multi Application Combat Armour Alternative -- a personal force field generator.

Obviously, we watch the coolest shows.

So this personal force field encases Fargo and keeps growing. And growing. Growing so much it may take over the whole world. And it looks as though they are going to have to drop Fargo down a two mile deep hole with a bomb behind him.

Meanwhile, Aaron keeps yelling at the tv that Fargo? He needs to pee on the force field. Because his urine? Will totally short circuit the electrical field.



So, for about 40 minutes all I hear is, Pee on the force field, Fargo! and Damn it, dude, pee! and he's smacking his head and waving his arms and throwing massive hissy fits because that guy on tv is totally not listening to him.

Aaron goes into the semantics of the benefit of urine and how urine is so great and GOD DAMN IT, WHY IS HE NOT PEEING ON THE FORCE FIELD?!

Of course they figure out how to disarm the force field, which totally did not involve any urine.

Instead, it involved a demagnetizer that drained the battery and then when the backup battery started up that used Fargo's body heat they used a big stun gun to stop Fargo's heart from beating.

Duh.