Sushi Friday

It's a family tradition to have a big loud turkey dinner on Thursday, and then an even louder sushi feast on Friday. This gorgeous sashimi was made by the husband, eaten by me!

full

You know what in thankful for?  Making it to 34 years old and never having to cook a Thanksgiving dinner. Part if it is because I wouldn't be able to even if I tried, and the other part is wonderful people who have made it for me 34 times. 

That's kind of impressive, right?  Last year the husband made it. This year, my mom. I love holidays wherever eat lots of things I was not responsible for!

I am also thankful for my mini humans.   They are seriously cool, despite spending massive amounts of time with me.   They are genuinely sweet and I'm sweet on 'em. 

home sweet home!

During the 15 hour drive my brother called me twice to see where I was.   I texted him a few minutes later. 

We are grown ups. Technically. I'm a mother of 3 and he's a bishop. But you'd better believe the first thing I did when he woke up was try to beat him up.  Luckily for him, he inherited our mother's monkey arms and held me off while I tried to punch him in the gut (he was wearing glasses). 

I love being home!!  I'm so tired I want to explode!!

westward, ho!

Who has two thumbs and is driving overnight with 3 small children??  This girl!!

Traveling with wee ones is nuts, but when you have 15 hours to go, you do strange things. Thankfully, I dig everyone in this car. 

Last night we really needed a good nights sleep, so of course the Dude had multiple nightmares and Thing 3 uncharacteristically woke up to eat at 3 am. My brains are fried, but at the end of this marathon drive I will have my mom to giggle at my gaggle and be surrounded by family who have no choice to put up with me for eternity. Awesomesauce!

Tchau Wisconsin!  Helliooo Colorado!  

random pictures from the interwebs totally count as a post

half full

I'll admit it, I've been feeling grouchy lately.  Too much of a good thing - even mothering sick, angry 4 year olds - can get me feeling a little empty.  But my cup is about to be filled, people.

1.  Danielle is driving here RIGHT NOW to visit for a wee bit with her dashing husband before they head to Thanksgiving in Minnesota and

2. I dash myself (and my family) to Colorado for Thanksgiving.  Mommy!  Colorado bestie!  HOME!!!

This week is going to be just what I needed.  Epic rejuvenating, dagnabit!

But right now I have to try and un-gluten the kitchen counters because I am a messy cook and the only thing I make is bread so my kitchen is a gluten-intolerant NIGHTMARE and poor Uncle ChaCha (Dani's dashing other half) is going to try and not die eating in my house.  He should probably go eat in the bathroom, in all honesty.

HERE'S TO CUP FILLING!!!!!!

packed

Jane made the comment after my last post in a long line of The Kids Are Sick posts that this was normal kid behavior, but how am I doing?

This made me think more than it should have. I'm still sick, but this is a non-issue. The fact is, I'm not here. Reva has been boxed up and put into storage. She's coming out briefly in March, because there are St. Paddy's gigs booked for both Celtic bands in ATL (!!!) but then she's going right back in the box so The Mom can get back onto duty. Why pretend I do anything else?  Embrace the anonymity!  Embrace the lame!

I was pondering on that earlier and decided to take a snapshot of the essence of The Mom, while holding the baby so he wouldn't destroy the teepee I made for the kids. It did not go smoothly. 

 So to answer how I am doing, I can only respond with how the mini humans are. That's how I am. I'm not actually here, I'm on autopilot Mom mode. This is exacerbated by the fact that I have a mobile baby and every time I turn my attention somewhere for a nano second, he's choking on a candy wrapper he found in the trash or smacking his poor skull onto any hard, sharp object he can find. I can't do anything but try and keep him from maiming himself for the next 18 months at least.   I can't do anything else or else.   

This post has been brought to you by a sick woman who has not done anything but eat, sleep, parent, and pop Sudafed while living in a frozen wasteland for over a week, so it might be a little maudlin. I'm not sure though, as my brain is currently packed up in a box in the basement. 

tyhyrrt

I want to share something uplifting, not annoying and definitely not whiny.  But you all know there has been sickness in the house and the majority has been by tiny people under my care and that is a loving, selfless act that is also full of moments where I pray for the 2nd Coming to hasten and take me out of my misery.  I don't want to dwell though - so I'll just get all of that out of the way in one run-on paragraph.:

The Dude is trying to kill Thing 3 because he hates him but Thing 3 is trying to kill himself because he hates me okay he doesn't hate me he's just being a 8 month old whose hobbies include climbing up stairs and falling down stairs and eating power cords and also trying to destroy everything his older brother holds dear but let's not feel too much pity for The Dude because that punk has decided he hates going to school not being in school mind you just the part where I take him and he cries the whole way there then stops when I leave and has a marvelous time  and today he went so far to cry so hard in the hallway outside his classroom that he got a bloody nose all over the floor while a pack of kindergartners were trying to pass.

Whew!  Of course now I have nothing to say...  I'll let Cake Wrecks do it for me.

vespers

A quick summation of the day's events:  the Dude had 3 bloody noses and looks like he's been punched in both eyes, but insisted on a piano lesson. Thing 3 is justifiably annoyed with me because I won't let him eat tinfoil. WonderGirl begged me to drug her up so she wouldn't miss school today.  Oh, and yesterday Thing 3 threw up on my neck and for some reason it was the funniest thing ever and I couldn't stop laughing for a good 5 minutes. 

I feel like I've been hit by a truck, but I managed to wear lip gloss for a few minutes so that's a win. And tomorrow is Friday!!  Except that means the next day is Saturday and the husband is taking the youth to the temple in Chicago all day... my chocolate stash is dwindling, people. 

In conclusion, it was a good day.  

goop

You know how when you were sick as a kid, your mom would make everything all snugglywuggly and better?  I always wondered how she managed to have the capacity and energy to do that, and now as a mom, I get it. When my mini humans aren't bouncing off the everything I tend to get nervous.   I did medicine, I did the doctor, but them I'm supposed to be patient. It's agonizing. The very least I can to is give them massive amounts of pretzels, make a nest of pillows and blankets and let them watch tv all day. That snugglywuggly feeling I got as a kid now comes when I can give that to my mini humans. It's all I've got. The poor Dude was literally shaking as he tried to take his medicine tonight. He's got a sinus thing that is coming out his eyeballs and looks like pinkeye, but it's not. In my 7 years of parenting I've never seen this before. I made an illustration for you while I was feeding Thing 3 tonight:

I skipped the goop, but there's that too. WonderGirl has it now and went to bed in a panic because I told her she'd have to stay home tomorrow.  At least I'll have company!  But I still don't have my voice back 100% so I hope they are still lethargic and I won't have to yell. Cuz I can't. 

squishy

Parenting win!  The Dude has some muscle issues in his hands so it's important to do activities to strngthen them.  Playing violin and piano has been amazing - I had no idea he had those issues when he started, but through doing both with him I can actually see which fingers have the farthest way to go and watch him push through the issues because dagnabit, he wants to play Old Pig Donald no matter what.  He's so awesome.

Anywho, his teacher gave me this idea and it not only kept him totally occupied for over an hour (and he begged to do it the next day too) but WonderGirl had to get in on it and they played quietly and Thing 3 was sleeping and it was AWESOMESAUCE.  Totally simple - I put pony beads into playdough and he had to find them and get them out.

I started with 10 of one color, then added 10 of another color and so on.

He started sorting them by color and counting them up too.  That totally sounds like something I should have thought up.

I'd squeeze 'em into a ball and let them go at it.  And then take pictures of them looking crazypants.  Hislittle fingers were working and squishing and it was beautiful to see.  He even wrote his whole name for me the other day - just holding a pencil was insanely difficult for him just a few months ago!

I'm going to take the rest of the day off and pat the heck outta my back.

baby steps

This little baby is now 7 years old, and I just got finished putting together her baby album.  Just the first 6 months, actually.  Sad?  Pffft.  The walk down memory lane has been bittersweet.  I look at that little baby and try to remember what she was like, and try to forget how confused and terrified I was.  Some friends blamed the move to Brasil for my PPD, but it was so much more than that.  Moving to Brasil might have even been what saved me.  I can't believe I survived it - that I have 2 other children and have a fairly normal life - albeit a few yards from a cattle farm.

Wanna look back on 26 year old MommyMe and WonderBaby?  Of course you do.  In no particular order, naturally.

 This was the park I walked to with her every day.  If she didn't get outside by 10am she would scream and scream.  She wanted to get OUT, to flirt with the locals, and have something else to see rather than my ugly mug.

 This was her first Sunday at church...

And her last before we flew back to the states.

 That's my fake-it-till-you-make-it smile.

 This is my absolute favorite newborn picture.  It makes me crack up every. single. time.

 This poor thing.  How she survived us I'll never know.

 I could make her smile...

 ...or not.

 This is an unflattering but very true-to-life shot of our lives.  Out in public?  Try to catch my breath because the Brasilians would steal her.  And I was totally fine with that.

One thing that I think saved me was the bond I felt with her - she was so frustrated as a baby because she wanted to communicate NOW, but she was unable to get anyone to understand.  Ditto.  I actually really liked not having to speak since no one understood me, because it saved me from making small talk like everything was just dandy.  We were two isolated souls, but at least i had her.  I don't think she was as convinced I was a good thing until later.

 In her dreams she could talk though...

 Okay, this one is another all-time favorite - she'd gone into my bedroom, dragged these shoes to the kitchen (across the house) and used a chair to try them on - and right as she did that, I walked in with a camera.  How awesome is that??

 And then I managed to parent #2....

...and #3.  How the heck did we make it this far??

Lost my brains and my voice, come back tomorrow for shenanigans!

dagnabit day 2

Arrrrrrrrgggghhhh!  Okay, TOMORROW you get a real entry. The weekends are tough for this. For now, be content with this awkward selfie of me with the husband while he makes up one of those "Things You Don't Know About Me" lists. My favorites: 17. Tissues are named after me, 2. I co-invented Wonk-Metal, and 11. I married the most beautiful woman on earth. 2 of those are true, bytheby. You guess which!

the post has very little structure. and a lot of opinion-y opinions.

WonderGirl came home from a birthday party last week singing a new song she'd learned - Call Me Maybe.  Um... no.  There are two reasons I try to avoid listening to lots of pop music - one, because I don't really like it, and two, because then WG will sing them over and over and over and over.  I swear, she'd heard that song once and knew all the lyrics already.  I know, not difficult.

It's not that I'm a hipster - I'm just picky about what goes into my ears.  I think a masters in music grants me that, right?  So here are the things lately that I would like to please stop happening:

Country music.  STOP.  IT.

- Most female pop singers are vapid puppets.  As a woman, I'd like them to start acting like one, and as a musician, they need a class or 2.  If it took 12 people to write your hit that repeats "baby" or "ooooOOOooo" for most of the song, you need to be schooled.  Rubbing yourself on stage and/or wearing only your underwears in public does not make up for a complete lack of tone and pitch.  Auto tune can only do so much.  At least do the decency to stop calling yourself a singer or musician, and just stick with calling yourself an entertainer.  You need classes in that too.

- Nickelback.  We've discussed this before.  STOP.IT.

- Misogynistic men who sing about sexing random women.  As a woman, that just grosses me out.  Go see a doctor about that burning.  And if it isn't a random woman, I don't want to hear about it.  If you feel the need to declare how great a lover you are in your "music," then you are definitely overcompensating.  Again, I suggest a doctor.

- Soprano saxophonists.  I get it, it's hard to play.  That still doesn't make any of us want to hear it.

- I don't know who Lady Gaga is, but she should probably just stop it too.

- I finally heard a song by Mackelmore yesterday and I didn't get past the first 30 seconds.

- Wind Symphonies.  Guys, you are good.  Really good.  Amazing musicians.  If you just added a few string sections, you'd be boss!  I'm sorry, but every time I hear one, I'm like - when are violins coming in?  I know, I'm a jerk.  I'm also a violinist.

- Oldies.  I love the classics, but there was a lot of junk that was written back in the day too, just like now.  I stick to the few Goldies.  A diet of only 80s music would make me angry and nauseous.

We do listen to a lot of music around the house.  The kid's playlist includes a bunch of Muppets, some Ting Tings, some Golgol Bordello, some Weezer, Carmina Burana and you haven't lived until you've seen the Dude marching around the house singing Go Down, Moses by the Lower Lights.  That's educational stuff, right?  

I like Noah and the Whale, but really only from their First Days of Spring record.  I love Andrew Bird, but only for a little bit.  It gets me too sedate.  And I like Brahms but if I had to choose, I'd spend my time on some Sibelius or Prokofiev.  I'm very sad that I just recently got into the Penguin Cafe Orchestra and they will never record another album again, what with the death of their founder back in the 90s.  Poop.  I also think I OD'd on Imagine Dragons.  I think we need a break.

I was trying to explain to WG why I didn't like songs like Call Me Maybe because they make me physically ill but she didn't get it.  So the husband explained that music like that was like fast food.  It doesn't last and too much of it can make you sick.  And fat.  I thought that was brilliant, but then he shared What Does the Fox Say with them and after one listening the Dude can quote most of it and does.  Constantly.  But at least it's not Katy Perry.

There's this song on the husband's playlist that I didn't appreciate until he told me what the lyrics were and how it was based on an actual event.  It's one of my favorite 42 second songs ever.


WG is currently dancing around Sara Bareilles' Brave.  I approve.  If she's going to quote something ad nauseum, I'd rather it be about being a strong person and not about how the fox goes NANANANANANANANANA.  Although she's going to sing that too.

stop. sicking.

Thing 3 is actually sick, but I have have the almost sick, which might be worse.  This sore throat that I barely have under control and the lack of energy and baaalllaaahhhh.  I'm working with Sudafed and telling myself that I am not allowed to be sick.  Kind of like this one time when the Chris dude from Parks and Rec tried to talk himself out of the stomach flu:



That's all I have today.  The actually sick human needs me.

ethics

Moral question here.  Well, maybe moral is too strong of a word. Decent person question?

I checked that "other" mailbox on FB where lots of random things go missed, and saw a message from a loooooooong ago friend. The message had been sent over a year ago, and was full of exclamation points and emoticons and how cool it was to find me on FB after all these years. I hadn't approved the friend request when I saw it last year because honestly, I was glad when this person slipped out of my life. Do you ever have friends that just move at a slower speed than you and conversations become painful because you have to work to come up with anything to say?  The people who didn't jump off into life after high school and stayed in a holding pattern for a while?  You know who I'm talking about - you'd go visit home over winter break and you have some friends you couldn't wait to see, and some you don't tell that you're coming because they are just work to be around and you want to spend your precious 3 weeks NOT having to work?

I'm too tired to go back and edit myself, so I may come off sounding snooty. I promise I am fully aware that there are plenty of humans on this earth that would rather not see my ugly mug again. The point is, am I bad for just ignoring the message and request?  I could tell this person that they did tell me to never speak to them again more than a decade ago and instead of feeling bad, I felt massive relief and complied perfectly with those wishes... or I could just ignore and move on. That's not a jerk-y thing to do, is it?

catchphrase! here!

One of the best bits of advice I have for someone moving to a teeny tiny Midwest town is to go to the library. Often. Schedule your week around story time for the mini humans. Religiously. Schedule swim lessons in the summer around them. It's worth it. Get on a first name basis with the librarians.  Check out an obscene amount of books every week, even if the handles rip off your bag. Ask the librarians for book suggestions about issues your kids are facing.  Even if your children aren't perfect, keep going.  Even if one time you are having a delightful conversation with one of the librarians and your 3 year old son walks past you and the entire Babygarten story time with NO PANTS ON.  Completely nude from the waist down like it's totally normal. YES THAT HAPPENED. But whatever, just go. It's free and there are lovely locals to get to have nice awkward conversations with because you can't remember their name. And if they have a holiday origami class for anyone 7 years old and up, go!  Even if you and your daughter walk in half an hour late because you can't read a calendar, there will be plenty of nice old ladies to get you up to speed. 

Libraries. It's a.. um... I need a good catchphrase for libraries. While I figure that out, you go check out a bunch of Elephant and Piggie books. Because you can. Hey, that's it!  Libraries: Because You Can!

Oh, whatever. I dare you to do better. 

conscious

I have too much to do, so I'll get straight to the point.  You know how when you have heavy duty work to do - like painting, gardening, potty training, you put on your "work clothes?"  And then you take a shower and put on something less grubby?  The tricky thing about being a mom is that you're always at work.  I wake up in the morning, look at my limited wardrobe, and instead of maybe that red blouse with the buttons down the front, I always pick old pants and tee shirts.  I consider for a brief moment - something that looks less grubby, something that might even make me NOT look like a crazy drifter - but there's just no point.  The second I put those clothes on, I'm heading downstairs and on the clock, where I'm constantly on the floor, getting spewed with all forms of liquids and solids and sometimes worse.  Even if I had nice day-to-day clothes, I couldn't wear them because they'd get destroyed.  I get to put on a skirt on Sundays, but I have to take into account the fact that I'll be wrestling the kids, so I haven't worn any jewelry in.... I can't even tell you the last time I wore any.

I think about the phrase "letting yourself go" when I look in the mirror, but I have to tell myself that I'm showered and my kids are getting some seriously fine parenting.  I put on makeup the other day for Halloween and couldn't figure out what to do with the eyeliner.  I was never very good at it, but it seriously took me 20 minutes.  To draw 2 lines.  On my face.  And did you know makeup has expiration dates?  I just found out!  I don't have a single bit of eye makeup purchased in this decade.  Wait, except for mascara.  I got that going for me.  But I haven't gotten a haircut (besides the husband chopping off a chunk in the backyard a few weeks ago) or color in over a year and I don't even want to because it'll just be another year until I'll have time to do it again and there's a good chance at least one of the kids will need braces, so that's at least $200 a year saved, right?  Go me!

I can't decide if I'm venting or convincing myself there is a higher reason behind not-so-slowly turning into a cliche.  But this is what goes through my mind when I get ready in the morning:  Work clothes or I'm-Still-A-Woman clothes?

And every day, I make a conscious decision.  Every single day, I choose the t-shirt. My energy and money might shift back to me someday - but by then my kids will all have 17 college degrees, a few Nobel prizes, at least one Van Cliburn prize and can buy me a stylist who lives in my closet and makes me look fabulous every day.

I can wait.

durn it

DAGNABIT.  I missed yesterday.  ARG.  We had family in town and I was crazy busy trying to reign in the screaming.  I can't believe I missed!  Gah.  Here, enjoy this incredibly disturbing picture of a cat:

Here's a palate cleanser:

 Phew.  That's all I have for today, folks.  Tomorrow is where I get back to deep introspection and philosophizing.

WAIT - I do have one interesting thing that happened today.  The Dude and I took a walk to deliver some medicine to a sick friend and while we were walking back I was pointing out all the beautiful things in the world around us - the crunchy leaves, the green grass - and he commented: "It's the earth.  We live on earth!"

"Yes," I said.  "I love the earth."

"I love Jupiter," he said.

"Huh?  Why do you love Jupiter?"

"Because it's HUMONGOUS!!"

Tomorrow I'll make it up to you.  Probably.

sew cool

I'm about to have 4 female nieces under the age of 7 up in here for the weekend, so I have to make this quick. I actually got a topic request (thank you!) for my latest sewing/style creations and I don't have any pictures of those on my phone, but I do have this:

That's a Yoda costume I made for Thing 3!!  Eat your heart out George Lucas!!  Sadly I haven't gotten a great shot of him in it, but here's a snap of the rest of the crew Halloween night (WG had gotten sick of having buns at that point):

I sewed both robe/cloak things!  And I did make two of those humans, so that counts too. I so crafty!

brain order

I read about a study done in 2007 that found oldest siblings have higher IQs.  There's a lot of interesting points in the article, and as the wife of the smartest person I know (who also happens to be an eldest) I don't discount it.  There were lots of interesting things mentioned, such as:

One possibility, proposed by the psychologist Robert Zajonc, is that older siblings consolidate and organize their knowledge in their natural roles as tutors to junior. These lessons, in short, benefit the teacher more than the student.
Another potential explanation concerns how siblings find a niche in the family. Some studies find that both the older and younger siblings tend to describe the firstborn as more disciplined, responsible, high-achieving. Studies suggest — and parents know from experience — that to distinguish themselves, younger siblings often develop other skills, like social charm, a good curveball, mastery of the electric bass, acting skills.
....Firstborns have won more Nobel Prizes in science than younger siblings, but often by advancing current understanding, rather than overturning it.

All good stuff.  But this has been irking me and bugging my brain lately.  And it's not because I'm a 3rd child and feeling defensive about my own traits - because I freely acknowledge I am not the sharpest crayon in my family, and the data makes a lot of good points.

I'm irked as a mother... like, if my other children are going to have lower IQs, why try?  I'm destined to fail?  It doesn't help that my eldest is far smarter than I am.  They put her a grade ahead, and I have always been trailing the pack.  But what gets me is this:

The Dude had a speech delay, and has proven to be an incredibly unique human from the get-go.  When we were finding out all the things that made him tick through therapy and prayer*, I was told by more than one friend (read:non-professional) source that he wasn't talking as young as WonderGirl had because I'd simply spent more time and energy with her.  And that hurt - it still hurts, and is just untrue.  WG is brilliant, but because of who she is, not anything I did.  I spent the majority of the first 2 years of her life sobbing on the couch while she watched hours of PBS kids.  A few times sobbing on the kitchen floor.  You get the point.  The fact she is as bright as she is is a miracle of biology, not environment.

So she's a freakin' genius, but I really hate it when people assume it's because she was given more than her siblings.  I was doing some looking back on things, and found the Dude was reading a year before she was, and even sooner on the violin and piano.  And you guys, he is a really, really good little pianist.  It's freaking me out a little bit.  The truth is, the Dude simply got a better mother early on the WG did.  And I watch Thing 3 watching the Dude's piano and violin lessons with this laser beam of attention.  He's a Suzuki sibling dream!

Not that this was much of a rant, but /rant.

* by the way, the Dude has caught up verbally. And WON'T. STOP.

yo. lo.

We're still in the single digits of this NaBloPoMo and I've run out of things to say. In over 13 years of blogging, I don't think this has ever happened. My daily life is just not as interesting as it was back in the day. Oh, it's waaaaaay better, but it's more in the "you had to have been there" category.

So I went digging I the archives to see that I used to write about, and found this gem from March 2002: 

Okay, I need answers people.Last night at 12:44am I got a message on my voice mail from a male at a blocked number that went kind of like this:"REVA, THIS IS THE ALMIGHTY GOD SPEAKING. I WAS JUST CALLING YOU TO SAY - WHAT ARE YOU THINKING??? CALL ME BACK, BYE."I've called several people that it might have been, but out of the men in my life that would call after midnight, I haven't found the person yet. It gave me a nice giggle. I'll play the message for you if you want - it's hilarious. If not a tad creepy.

See?  The nuttiest thing that happened around here lately was last night when WonderGirl and her daddy were doing done science experiments in the kitchen and I hear her exclaim "Daddy, that's a capillary action!"
I still don't understand what that is, and both of them tried to explain it to me. Apparently she'd learned about it in a science class. Which is awesome and all, except when you realize that 3 weeks ago in first grade she had assignments where she had to circle the pictures that started with a k - and then this in 2nd grade - she's having a ball, but I'm officially useless to her in homework help already. She's SEVEN. Gahhhhhh. 
Can they please test her in something I have a slight chance in understanding?  Concerto structure, perhaps??

PS - help me out here, people!  Anyone have a topic you want me to cover??  Help me get the creative juices flowin'?? Also, can you believe I've used 5 sentences in a row that end with question marks????

quick!

I don't have a laptop, the kids are going to be home in a bit, the baby is asleep and I have approximately 15 minutes of alone time. So I'm going to hide under the covers and watch half a hulu plus show, and blog the first pictures my phone would spit out. 

I do believe my priorities are in the right place. 

blaaahhhg

That's me, circa 2007 with my one human.  And then I wrought this on humanity:

Oh.... the humanity...

A few weeks ago, the husband gave a ride to some folks from church and they were surprised/shocked/freaked out to hear the radio station in the car - it was a normal rock station, heck, a mild one at that, but they were new to the church and were like - "Bishops listen to rock music??"  It was pretty funny.  Especially if you know the husband.  I can't resist sharing this pre-shackled husband pic:

The caption is there because I used that on the treblemaker blog and I'm not sure where I put the original, but let's focus on the crazed bass player pose there.  Niiiice.  I was thinking of that when I snapped this pic at that 80s party last week and put it on instagram. 

I call it "Axl Rose is not amused."

And to make things fair and wrap this up, here's what I was doing in the 90s:

I'm on the right.  But oh, so wrong...

sunday's warriors

All hail Sunday!  

About 6 years ago when we were living in ATL and had a baby WonderGirl, there were a one or two Sundays a month where the husband had early meetings and I was left to get myself and the baby ready for church at 9:30. If his meeting got out early enough, he'd call to check up on me and see how I was doing. Sometimes when I was exceptionally overwhelmed, he would run home quickly and help gather things up and take us to church. Where we would sit in a row with his parents - 4 adults and one WG. Pretty even odds, actually. 

I thought about that briefly this morning while I ran around the house trying to round up this circus and get out of the door for church.  I sniggered. Oh, silly new-mommy Reva. One child?  9:30?  Helpful grandparents?  Ha, I say.  I haven't taken the same car to church with the husband in 4 years. Heck, I haven't sat with him in church for 2, and there are no sainted grandparents nearby. 

I know there are people out there who could totally show me up. But I'm not thinking about them. I AM sniggering at the Reva who struggled to get a baby and herself ready for church, where there were family members with available arms to help out. 

And you know what?  This isn't even as nutty as when we both had 7:30am meetings and still had to take 2 different cars. 

Here's to the Sunday Warriors!

ME,ME,ME.

Day 2 of NaBloPoMo.  Digging...

Actually I went back in my blog for a few months to see if I could find a post that didn't revolve around the kids, and I finally gave up.  I'm not knocking this mothering gig at all, but they say we're supposed to not loose ourselves or something.  Keep wearing makeup?  Heck, I don't know.  But this is MY blog and I've been blogging for over 12 years now so I should probably keep to the main theme that is ME,ME,ME, yes?  At least attempt to post something that shows deep down, I am still a female human who can function outside of my role as Supreme Leader over the humans I created.

Yep... yep...

I, um...

There was this thing...

I got nothin'.  I am officially lame.  The best description of my life is this:

... just waiting for the humans in my life to come back.  And also trying to keep the baby from .... wait, nope, ME,ME,ME theme here.  Just me, waiting for humans.  And then going bonkers.

WAIT!  Here's a picture of not-the-kids.  Halloween me:

I don't do my hairs ever, but I did stick snakes in them in an attempt to be festive.  AND DEADLY.

OH - and then there was this last week:

We went to an 80s party and I was the lamest person there.  Even the husband made me look lame because he wore vinyl pants.  MY vinyl pants.  That will almost certainly never fit on these birthin' hips again.  GAH.  Seriously, most of the dudes wore wigs, the girls were spackled to perfection, there was awesomeness everywhere and the only cool I brought was that I still own a crimping iron.  Which was too subtle, and now that I type it out sounds mega lame too.  GAH SQUARED.

But hey, look, a post that reflects the true essence of blogging, ME,ME,ME!!!  I'm going to go reward myself with a cookie.  If the mini humans don't catch me, that is.