Saturday, October 8, 2011

Livin' the Single Life in a Pumpkin Patch

I have visions for this picture. I may even dedicate an entire page in a photobook to it and showcase this as a prime example of how utterly happy my children were growing up....because it's the only picture I have of the two of them smiling (and they're fake smiling at that).

So, I'm a single parent this weekend. Papa bear needed to rebuild the shed (because remember, the "professional" tree cutters dropped a tree on our old one) so I'm without him. Instead of wallowing in a wasted weekend, I decided to power up my patience and take them to Milburn Orchards. This place is gawgeous; big; animated and lots of fun. I pictured hours upon hours of fun....they lasted 55 minutes which was how long it had taken us to even get there. In summation? This was my day.

Yelling to get out of the house "on time" because I wanted to get there right at opening to avoid the crowds= 60 people already there at 10:05am; Paid $8/pp= Ava bear not wanting to do anything but drop to the ground and play with gravel....the...entire....55 minutes; Brought stroller along to carry Ava bear when she got too tired= her insisting on pushing the stroller straight into the hundreds and hundreds of people standing in her way; Katie bear just wanted to play in the sand box = Ava bear hating the feeling of sand on her fingers=agreed on playing on wooden structures which produced about 3 head injuries and 2 face injuries; A fun corn maze that entertained Katie bear = lost one or both cubs at least 3 times.  

I came home and told Papa bear that if he ever considered leaving me that I wanted the kids during the week and he could have them on the fun "Fallfest" weekends.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Pregnancy Brain

So, I have a condition. It's called Pregnancy Brain (or PB, for short). I've been blaming this disorder for just about every mis-step I've stumbled through these past five years. Was I pregnant all five years? Um, no, but then I was able to just lean on Mommy Brain and people just solemnly nodded their ascent as to why, yes, I am an idiot at times. Luckily, I was able to start my life with Blonde Brain (sorry to all lib's who're ticked I'd insinuate something so demeaning) and thanks to Loreal, I'll be able to use that as much as possible.

But the part that ticks me off is the fact that Papa bear does not have any of these impairments. Oh sure, he can be clueless at times but there's no diagnosis for that besides that darn "y" chromosome but how come there isn't Balding Brain or Snoring Brain? I'd even take a Marriage Brain for goodness sake. Why do I have to carry all of the burden (and embarrassment)?

I bring this up because of a series of events that just took place yesterday evening. I was preparing a healthy nutritious meal for my cherubs (basically, forgot I had to feed them until about 5 and opened the freezer and picked out what was the least frost-bitten). Put some popcorn shrimp in the oven and brown rice on the stove. I even boiled up a few carrots for Vitamin A. Done and done. Mother of the stinkin universe. I even find the motivation to clean off the countertops and knock back a cold Sierra Mist.

All is well in my organized world until I go to grab a pan off of my pot rack the following morning. Instead of the pan, I grab a box. Inside the box? The rest of the shrimp that somehow didn't get put back in the freezer the night before. Huh. Okay, everyone does stupid stuff like that. I move on. Later on, I go to grab a pen out of the basket on the top of my frig and pull down the once-cold butter stick from last night's rice. Oh. Um. Okay...I've read some recipes call for room temperature butter. I was just, um, being prepared. Moving on a few minutes and Ava bear screams at me that I should've forseen that she is parched and practically dying of thirst so I open my frig to get out some water and out falls my mint chocolate chip ice-cream...that I had, um, put back in the frig overnight.

At this point, I'm totally convinced that my husband has hired a garden gnome to go behind me and make this crazy mess of my life just to screw with me. Papa bear might not have a formal brain diagnosis attached to him but that's probably because the gnome does most of the thinking. I just wish he'd do a bit more cleaning.
Totally stole this off of Facebook. Totally my life.