I don't even want to contemplate the alternative...

::boys playing with dinosaurs::

"....and then the t-rex goes "gggrrrrrrrrrrr!!! I gonna eat you!"

and the little one runs away

and then.....(more dino-story plotline)

....and then this is ass-poison!"

Mommy: ::looking up from her People magazine:: Whaaaa? What did you just say?! what poison?

Bear: Ass-poison!

Mommy: "Ass-poison?" What are you talking about?

Bear: Ass. Poison. See this is an asteroid and it has poison in it. So, it's ass-poison! And it kills the t-rex when it crashes into the Earth! Cool huh?

Mommy: ::sighing with relief:: Yes, very cool. Carry on.

*Mrs. Kindergarten is going to LOVE this.*

A few words for the parents in front of Candyland Elementary School

1. When you stop in the middle of the street and wait for your child to be realeased from school, it not only backs up traffic for blocks, preventing all of the other parents from being able to park and pick up our kids, it also endangers your kids and all of the other kids trying to get to their moms (or whomever is picking them up). Cut it out. Find a parking place. Nothing is worth compromising the safety of your child. Or mine.

2. When you DO park, pull all the way over to the curb, please. Stopping near an open spot is not the same as parking.

3. When you have a yield sign it means just that. YIELD already, dammit! I don't care if you do have a Lexus SUV. You still have to wait until traffic has cleared before it is your turn. Moron.

4. When you are dropping your kid off in the morning and you need to escort him in, please do not park and get out in the "loading and unloading only" area. Even for "a sec." It screws everyone else up. And besides, if you were to go about 22 feet around the curve, you would find a parking lot. Very handy for these situations.

5. Standing next to the driver's side window and talking to your friend after school has let out also blocks traffic. I don't care what position you hold on the PTA board, I am going to run over your Juicy clad ass AND your Kate Spade bag next time it happens.

6. Having a new Suburban does NOT automatically give you right of way.

7. Turn your damn music down. I don't appreciate the migraine I get from hearing your bass nor do I want my children learning the "lyrics" to anything that 50 Cent, Nelly, or whoever that is you have blasting from your windows has recorded. Sheesh.

8. This is an Elementary school for goodness sake. When someone angers you with his/her poor driving skills or etiquette, consider your language before you begin to berate that person. Do you want to hear those words coming form your child's mouth? I certainly don't.

Enough already!!!

All alone on my anniversary....

Thirteen Years ago today, I married a wonderful, sweet, young Lieutenant in the United States Air Force. He ripped me away from my family and dragged me to South Carolina, of all places. He has since dragged me all over the world and it has been quite a ride. But I don't regret any of it. Now he is a wonderful sweet, old Lieutenant Colonel (select) in the United States Air Force. And, even though, thirteen years ago today I couldn't have even imagined it, I love him even more. More than I knew it was possible to love someone.

And so now, I present to you:

25 Things About SugarDaddy:

1. He's hot.
2. Seriously, you should see him in a flight suit. H.O.T.
3. He is a wonderful daddy.
4. He is very romantic.
5. He is very infuriating (sometimes).
6. He is so smart it is just scary.
7. He is very expressive.
8. Sometimes too expressive.
9. But it's better than the stone cold silent alternative.
10. He remembers every little anniversary.
11. He doesn't mind that I don't remember every little anniversary.
12. He cooks the most awesome spaghetti sauce.
13. He still sees me as I looked 15 years (and 35 lbs!) ago.
14. He's very forgiving of my procrastination and forgetfulness.
15. I hope.
16. Since I still haven't gotten his anniversary present (or his Valentines) in the mail yet.
17. Even though I know that it takes a couple of weeks for mail to reach him.
18. Because I suck.
19. But this is supposed to be about him, isn't it?
20. He is a great kisser.
21. He has a great butt.
22. He is an incredibly gifted musician.
23. He can play just about anything on the piano.
24. He sings me songs.
25. He is the love of my life and I don't ever want to try to live it without him.

I love you, my wonderful husband. I can't wait until you get home. I'm just not as good of a...me without you.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Like weeds

I have come to an important decision. I am no longer going to be buying the fresh fruits and vegetable, lean meats, organic yogurt, milk, orange juice and all of the other healthy foods that I have been purchasing all these years. I just can't afford it. From now on, it's Pop Tarts, chips, sodas, coffee, and lots of over-processed foods.

What?

I know that those foods cost as much or more than the fresh, healthy stuff. It's not the food that I can't afford. It's the clothes and shoes that are bleeding me dry. These children are growing at a ridiculous rate. SugarPlum has shot up two pant sizes since school started. And two shoe sizes as well. Every day, when she gets dressed, I dread the conversation that will inevitably ensue about her pants being too short. Seriously. Two inches above her ankles. And she gets mad at me as if I somehow shrunk the pants. This happens with Bear as well, only he doesn't care as much and pretty much wears what I tell him to. Gotta love five year olds. And boys.

And the shoes. You should see the feet on these kids. If we ever move to Colorado, we'll save a bundle on skis. I bought them both new sneakers in August, just before school started. Good quality, name brand (not cheap!) sneakers. Because, I knew that they would likely last all school year without coming apart. But they barely had time to get dirty. By October, they both needed new sneakers. Bear came to me and said that his shoes were coming unsewn at the top. I was MAD. Those were N*kes, dangit. They weren't supposed to come apart in two months. Then I looked at and felt his foot in the shoe. They were coming apart because his toes were poking through the top, they were so small. Ouch. SugarPlum outgrew hers about three weeks later. So much for the BOGO at Shoe Carnival. Couldn't those two have coordinated this?

I have begged, pleaded, insisted, and ordered them to stop growing already. They refuse to comply. They go on eating all of that healthy food and growing taller before my eyes. And it must stop.

Thus, no more health foods. I must staunch this growth before we have to file for bankruptcy. So, from now on, its Froot Loops & Koolaid for breakfast; bologna sandwiches (on white bread! *gasp*), chips and soda for lunch; and pizza bites with CheezWhiz for supper. Snacks will be brought to you by Little Debbie and Dolly Madison. Mommy, can I have a banana? No, here, eat a twinkie. Coffee and sodas will be available at all times.

I may even teach them to smoke.

That ought to do it.

Happy Valentines Day!!

It sucks to be by myself on Valentines Day. But I have these three beautiful children to snuggle and love. (And two of them are home all day today, since Bear woke up with a fever of 102.4!) And, my wonderful, wonderful husband sent me a huge bouquet of tulips! I was going to post a picture, but I can't find the cable that connects the camera to the computer. I'm a dork. But they look a lot like the picture above. Same vase even! Only there are more of them. And they are even prettier.

Last year, Valentines was a little tense, still. This year, our marriage is stronger than ever. We are doing better at communicating...although it is sometimes a challenge when you are separated by an ocean and two continents! However, we are committed to doing this. Failure is not an option!

So, I love you my wonderful husband. I can't wait until you are home.

Also....thank you to all of my wonderful friends who have done all they can to make sure I'm not too sad this Valentines Day! I love you all!

I'm exhausted just typing this **UPDATED**

So....HonestyRain posted this weekend about how her family has started eating healthier and included the planned menu for the week. And let me just say that if I could get to Canada every night, I would totally be eating at her house. Except for the vegetarian meatloaf. Because that is just wrong.

I got to thinking about how crazy our eating habits have become over the past few months. I have always been a mommy who cooks healthy. Anyone who knows me can tell you that. Except that I don't cook lowfat. Because, yuck. But we almost always have a protein (or "crotein" as Bug says) and at least one vegetable. And I try not to be too carb heavy - if we have potatoes or rice, the kids are often disappointed that we don't have rolls. And I really don't ever fry stuff. Mostly because I don't want to have to clean up that mess, but also because greasy stuff makes me gag. (That said, I AM a Texas girl, and so I do make Chicken Fried Steak every so often. I am required to by law.)

Lately though, things have slipped a little. I am probably still pretty healthy by many people's standards, but not my own. We have eaten more fast food than I would like to admit. And we have even had cereal for supper more than once in the past few weeks. I'm not proud.

As I was reading HonestyRain's post, I got to thinking that maybe I should do a better job of planning our meals. Then I thought about our schedule for the next few weeks and realized that I don't even know when we are going to eat supper. Let alone what I am going to fix.

Until the end of the month, both Bear and SugarPlum will have basketball AND soccer practice. In addition, I am going to start a yoga/Pilates class at our church. (Aren't you proud Peaches?) As a result, our schedule looks like this: (edited Monday evening)
Monday: Bear - soccer 5:30 - 6:30 Bear's soccer practice got moved to Sunday afternoons at 2:00!! Now we can eat supper before b-ball practice. YAY!SP - basketball 6:00 - 7:15

Tuesday: SP - soccer 5:30 - 6:45 (or so)
Bear - B-ball 5:30 -6:30
Mommy - Yoga/Pilates 5:30 - 6:30

Wednesday: Church supper 5:00
All three - children's choir 5:30-6:30
Wednesdays are fantastic, because supper is taken care of and the kids are occupied...by someone else!
Thursday: SP - soccer 5:30 - 6:45
Bear - soccer 5:30 - 6:30 5:00 - 6:00, the coach has agreed to drop him off at the church if he's done before my class is over!Mommy - Yoga/Pilates 5:30 - 6:30

Friday NOTHING!!! Gray Gray & Gram coming.

**1. No, the soccer practices are NOT at the same places. 2. The b-ball practices are at the church, same as the yoga/Pilates and they have childcare, so at least there's that.

Since my boys reeeeeeaaaallly need to be in bed by 7:30, I ask you, When in the hell are we supposed to eat? I am guessing that we will be eating at like 4:30 and having some sort of snack before bed. That, or we are back to picnicking at practices!

But really, do you know what I think I really need? (Other than a refill on my Xanax) A driver. And/or a chef. And/or a nanny. No, no, no. What I need? is a wife.

Wham, Bam, Thank You Mammogram

Well, well, well. I never knew what fun it would be to have my boobies squished between two pieces of plastic. But these things happen when, in the course of your (sorta) monthly breast exam, you come across a little knot the size of a pencil eraser.

Okay, first, you hyperventilate.

Then you stay up all night obsessing about how you are going to die of breast cancer, because of course, you do the (sorta) monthly breast exam just before you turn off the light at night. And only then because, for some reason, you realize that perhaps it has been a little more than a month (or two)(or three) since the last time you did it. So, you perform the obligatory circular feeling of the tissue all the way to the pits on the left side and then on the right. Then, as you are about to smugly tell yourself that everything is fine, as it should be, you find yourself saying HUH? What is that? Crap. That's not the same "mammary" feeling thing.

So, after a very tumultuous night of "sleep" you call the doctor first thing in the morning. Of course you have to call the flight surgeon, because that is your doctor. Totally who you want to trust your boobs to. And of course, the first appointment you can get is in two weeks. Fine. So you have two weeks to obsess. And continue to check a couple of (fifteen) times a day to see if maybe, maybe that lump has disappeared.

Sometimes, it takes a minute to find it. And you get your hopes up. But in a bit, there it is. Pesky thing.

Finally, you go to the flight surgeon, who is twelve, and get to tell him about you boob and the extra stuff that shouldn't be there. And then, the twelve year old "doctor" in the flight suit gets to feel you up. And he can't find it. And you can't find it. For a minute. But, there it is and you show him and then? He still can't find it, but, following the advice of the civilian nurse who is in the room as a "chaperon" (and is NOT 12, but very experienced and one of my favoritest people in the world) takes your word for it and gives you a referral for a mammogram and ultrasound. And a biopsy.

Crap. Another biopsy. Those are so fun. (but that's not till March...I'll have something to post about next month!)

Can I drop the whole second person scenario now? It's getting tedious, don't you agree?

The mammogram "people" managed to get me in in a week. Very nice. They gave me a sheet about how to "prepare for the mammogram. I glanced over it & read that I could keep taking my medicines (good thing...all I need is to stop taking the crazy pills at this point) and not to wear deodorant the day of the procedure. Good thing this is happening in February. As I was drinking my tea the day prior, I read over the sheet once more, I saw that I was also to cut back on caffeine consumption the week before. Oops. Evidently, caffeine can make your boobs tender and lumpy. Who knew.

The day before, all of the kids were home from school, sick. I stood over them that night, doing some voodoo to make sure that all were well enough for school the next day. Because I was not putting this off, dammit.

Fortunately, everyone woke up healthy-ish yesterday morning. And Mommy was such a joy to be with that all gleefully exited the van. After dropping off Bug at school, I dashed to the clinic to have my boobies squished. WHEE!

I got to sit in the waiting room for about 17 months twenty minutes. During that time, I was able to peruse the heart-warming memoir of a breast cancer survivor whose symptoms and "discovery" very closely mimicked my own experience. Wonderful.

At last, I was called back and Kelly explained the procedure and gave me these little tiny bb's to stick to my nipples. Nobody warned me about this. Because I know from experience that adhesive on the nippular area never ends well. (as an aside, I am slightly disturbed by the number of posts I have had concerning my boobs) She then placed my right boob in the vice and began to lower it. Then she did the same on the left. Then different angles of both. (A little to the left...lower you chin...now say "MILK!" click)

And? Well, it really wasn't that bad. Not an activity that I would choose for fun. But, better than childbirth. But honestly, what isn't? I theorize that the mammogram much be worse for a woman with actual boobs. But, as a member and officer of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee (I'm Recording Secretary, but someday...President!), it wasn't so bad.

Next I proceeded to the Ultrasound portion of our program. The radiologist himself (who wasn't 12! He was probably 14) did the ultrasound of my boob. And the very first thing he did? He ripped that bb bandaid off of my nippular area. YOUCH! This was, by far, the worst part of the whole day. Seeing my face, he says, "Oh, sorry." But he didn't mean it. Bastard.

Nah, he was nice. He got to feel me up, too. But he was able to find the lump. The ultrasound was pretty thorough. He said that he really couldn't see the "area of concern" of either the mammogram or the ultrasound "which is a good thing." He recommended that I get another mammogram in four years or so.

I'm not sure what the status of the biopsy is now. I'm torn about whether I want to go ahead and have it, just to completely rule out the scary possibilities or trust that it is probably just a lymph node or something. Any input on this decision (as if I have any say in it) is welcome.

So...there you go. CRB was waiting with bated breath for this post. Hope that it met your expectations. Next up....Sugar Mommy goes to the dentist!

How many times...

....does this have to happen before I learn????


For crying out loud.

Must fold now.

Lucky to be alive, that child

Sometimes there are days that I love and adore my children. Okay, I always love my children, but I do not always adore them. Sometimes I am amazed at how well behaved, considerate and thoughtful they can be. Then there are the other times. We have had many "what the fuck?!" moments around here lately. But Sunday night. *sigh* Sunday night....well it was the crowning "what the fuck" moment of the year thus far.

Bug had been quite the little shit all weekend. He had been pushing the limits. Seriously. Dumping the clothes out of the dresser, refusing to go potty (that's a whole other entry), defiance. But then he would be all sweet and cuddly and make me love him again. Those toddlers, they're crafty.

After Gray Gray & Gram left Sunday afternoon, he was really on a tear, though. When I called him for supper I noticed that he had little bits of styrofoam all over him. And I do mean all. over. him. WTF? I chastised him appropriately, told him that that styrofoam is NOT a toy, and we had supper. After supper, I was cleaning up the kitchen and Bear came and got me to tell me that Bug had torn up more styrofoam and , oh yeah, "I was fanning it. With my pants." WTF?

I go in the boys' bedroom to see...the blizzard. Seriously. It looked like, well, Denver in there. (sorry, Hula) Bug was naked - except for the nine pairs of underwear he was wearing. WTF???And, the pièce de résistance, he had pulled about half of the freshly folded laundry out of his drawers. Huge pile of pjs, underwear, socks and shirts. Hadn't we just gone over that two days ago? Arrrrggghhhh! I was FURIOUS. (I suppose I could say that I was pissed off, but that would be a terrible pun and so I won't subject you to that.) (heh)

I told them that they had to pick up the chunks of the styrofoam while I refolded the clothes to put back in the drawers. A moment later, Bear tells me, "Uh, Mommy? Bug tee-teed on those clothes. All over them." And yes, they were soaked. What. the. fuck?!? Was it an accident? No. As Bug explains it, the clothes "were on fire" and he was the firefighter putting it out. My hero. This is when I lost it.

WHAT, in the name of Elmo, is wrong with this child?

It was all I could do not to scream at him. (Well, yes, I will admit, I did scream a little.) (Little is a relative term, right?) I then gathered up all of the soiled clothes and took them to the laundry room to rewash them. Because that is my favorite thing EVER to do. I continued to supervise the cleaning up of the styrofoam and berate any boy who stopped to complain. That shit was everywhere, all over their room. And it's a big room. Once the big chunks were picked up, I made them sit on their beds (Bug was n*ked, since I had taken all nine pairs of underwear off in preparation for bedtime) while I vacuumed the teensy tiny static-filled bits up. That took forever, it seemed. And for a child who hates loud noises, that was the most heinous punishment I could come up with.

With the clean up complete, I got both boys ready for bed. Bug wasn't allowed to sit with us for the bedtime story but I did snuggle and rock him while I sang our bedtime songs. I'm not a monster. And they both went to sleep without any protest. I think that they could sense they had pushed me to the very edge.

Not surprisingly, this week has been better. Actually, Bug has been in underwear *dry* all week. The impression of Mommy-on-the-brink seems to have tempered the rebellion somewhat. Don't know how long that will last. For their sake and mine, I hope it will be a while.

A Perfect Post

I have been wanting to award a Perfect Post award for sometime now. Every month, I read a post and think to myself, "When Lindsay sends me that reminder this month, I am going to nominate this post." And then I forget. Can't for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to nominate.

But, last week, I popped over to Small Things to check up on Kristi. Her husband is in the Navy and he is deployed to Iraq right now. I have to say that as awful as it is having SD away for a year, I thank God every day that he is in a place that is relatively safe and not in the line of fire and putting his life at risk every day. Truly.

Over at Small Things I found a post entitled This military wife is getting mad. Kristi found a way to so very eloquenty and vehemently express her opinion on the war, and the news about the war and all of the BS that is surrounding and clouding all of it. And I realized that her words were almost exactly what I would have said, were I as articulate and well spoken as she.

And so I am delighted to award Kristi with the Perfect Post Award for January. You make me proud to be a military wife and proud to call you friend!

For more Perfect Post nominees, head over to Suburban Turmoil and Petroville!