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.

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.

Why I'm glad I didn't hook-up with Edward Cullen

Much like half of the twi-hard fans, when the Twilight Saga first came out, I had a small, itty-bitty, obsessive crush on Edward Cullen and, by extension, Robert Pattinson. Even though I have since stopped writing "Dani Cullen" all over my journals, I find myself more accepting of "vampires" in general, like the ones on True Blood or Vampire Diaries.

Anyway, I was reminded last night when I was lying on Ava bear's floor as the other incisor was breaking its way through her gums and wrecking havoc on the once-quietness of our house, that I'm pretty glad I didn't wind up with Edward. Not only would vampire-parents have to deal with their children's fangs coming in but does it hurt every time they pop out? If Bill Compton from True Blood can be believed, by the look on his face, it looks like he feels uber-constipated when the fangs descend. I doubt Mylanta could touch that with a ten foot pole but there are other reasons I'm glad I don't have a vampire for a child:

• I'd hate to see a vampire child during witching hours. I know how impatiently Ava bear waits at my feet while I'm making dinner- screaming and demanding that I cook faster. Can you imagine a baby vampire? And when exactly would witching hour be? Between 3 and 5am?
• Although it would be nice to not have to figure out what to make every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner, what goes on the side of blood? Definitely not garlic mashed potatoes but what? Broccoli? Stuffing?  Plus, what if you have guests over? "Please ignore the body dangling from my child's mouth?" That's like trying to ignore the proverbial pink elephant. I'd never get to have a dinner party again!
• I could barely open my mouth far enough to say "Mommy's here" every five minutes from the floor of Ava's bedroom. Imagine having to actually be standing and upright during the whole entire night? And what on Earth would we do every night? Bounce houses, libraries and Wegmans would totally be closed (Well, I guess bounce houses would be out anyway because of the pointy fangs).
• I am STILL scarred by the birth scene of Renesmee. You think I want to go through that 3 times? I'm sorry but I don't care how cute he is, how well he can sing and play the piano and how fast he can run, pregnancy and the toddler years are hard enough without adding blood-lust to the mix. I'm just saying.

Anyway, I'm not saying I'm Team Jacob. I never will be (although I did have a very delicious dream about him last night- first time EVER!) but I'm just saying that I think I'll stick with my own cub's. They may drain the life out of me figuratively but it's about a thousand times better than having it drained out literally.

The Throne Room

I don't really know where the expression"throne" room came from because I've never talked to a single woman who has ever been royalty in her own bathroom. We're more like the serveant to every living thing that resides in our house. So, much like most of you, on any given bathroom trip, I have at least 3 creatures crammed in there with me (not to mention the bean in my belly that is the reason for the frequent bathroom trips) and that's no easy feat since our bathroom is literally the size of a janitor's closet.

I have my black retriever, Ebony, crushed in tight between the toilet and the shower. She doesn't realize she's 65 pounds and that the space is only big enough for the toilet brush (which is where she likes to rest her head) so she's pressed in againt my left hip. Then I have Simba, my golden lab, who truly believes that a person's lap is HIS domain. If you have one, he will put his head on it. I was born a girl so you can imagine there is a lap every time I use the throne and yes, his head is.....right....there. Then there is Ava bear who insists on playing with the water in the sink, which means climbing up her sister's steps, "dancing" on them while pouring water all over the floor.

So, at any given moment, I have my left hand on Simba, getting him away from....well, the reason I'm in the bathroom. My right hand on Ava's back so she doesn't fall off the now-slipery steps. I'm getting pushed off the pot from Ebony and I'm listening to K-bear yell at me for forgetting to brush her teeth, get her milk, give her a snack, play with her, etc.

Now for those wise-asses who are asking why I don't just close the bathroom door? Well, then I would have Ebony standing....literally standing on the other side of the door. Simba crying, lying down directly on the opposite side of the door to which Ava-bear would come over and join in on his crying and will see his lying there as a perfect opportunity to take out her frustration...on him. If she ignores Simba, she will then just chose to go over to her sister and torment her so much that there will be a strong echo of screams and "AVA, NO!" bouncing down my entire neighborhood.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I totally understand why everyone puts such an emphasis on the benefits of "the man cave" but I'd like to bring forth a movement to create a space just for the woman. The kitchen is grand central station; the living room has no doors that you can lock; the minute a girl even steps into the bedroom, she either has someone slamming on the door that they need something or a husband who thinks her presence in a room with a bed is an invitation for...making more living creatures and the attic may be quiet but then the woman is too bothered by "what the heck was that noise" to really relax.

So, to all of the home builders and architechts out there, you want to know how to get out of this economic slump? Screw the mancave, give us a damn throne room!

An endless supply of OOPS!

At the end of my life, I will definitely be able to say that I've lived a full life and by "full" I mean, chockful of OOPS. Some have been small, mere hiccups in the chaos of my days- stupid stuff, like putting the ice cream in the frig or drunk-dialing my high school crush in the middle of my senior year of college (of course, I called his parents first to get his phone number at like eleven o'clock at night just to make matters a thousand times worse). But then there are the others....

• Like the time I ordered 200+ beautiful invitations to our wedding and wrote the wrong time down.
• Like the time I inserted all of our wedding money into the ATM without an envelope (I like to think my stupidity was the reason for those new envelope-free ATM's)
• Like the time I was singing and dancing at my best friends wedding to the song, "Mony Mony" and the mother of the groom, who just so happened to be the most spiritual, religious person in the room, came over and asked what everyone was singing after the words "Mony, Mony" and I helpfully, without guilt or awareness, told her "Get Laid, get *$%@" and guess whose overly perceptive videographer got that little exchange on film?
• Like the time I sent out an e-mail about a recent hook-up and accidentally included my aunt's in the "to" line (yes, this happened to me in my 20's and yes, I still cannot look them in the eye).
• Like the time I told my husband we were safe at a particular time of month when we were smack dab in the middle of "you need to stay at least 20 feet away from me" and we are now expecting our 3rd child.

Puppy chow

Would it surprise you to learn that you can actually eat what's in this picture? Would it surprise you to learn that someone has probably just licked the computer screen in an attempt to prove my theory wrong? Well, I'm willing to risk your shock and awe with this TTD (Taste, Tested and Drooled) recipe. It's easy. It's perfect. It's literally insane. I can't remember where I first learned about this recipe but found this description here.

PUPPY CHOW

9 cups of crispy rice cereal squares

1/2 cup of peanut butter

1 cup of semi-sweet chocolate chips

1 1/2 cups of confectioners sugar

Melt peanut butter and chocolate chips in your microwave in a large bowl (please use a microwave-safe bowl). Stop and stir every 30 seconds until completely melted. Add the cereal (you can add more or less depending on how much chocolate-y goodness you want in every bite). Dump the sugar into a large plastic bag and then add the cereal mixture and shake!

Viola! Go ahead and kiss me...never mind, just kiss the screen but this time, hold back the tongue.